Page 126 of Hard to Handle

I eye him, suspicious. “Deal.” I lean in for one more breath-stealing kiss. “Good luck, Maddox.”

“I’m gonna need it.”

“Stick. Skill. Finesse.”

And it’s not until after he leaves and I settle down on my floor with this massive box do I realize just how much crap is packed in there. There are hats and socks and bears and you name it, along with my most favorite thing, a Maddox jersey.

In fact, there are two of them.

But it’s not until I turn the second one over that I see my surprise.

My breath catches and I stare at it for the longest of moments. Tears blur and slip over and my soul sighs in contentment. I reach out with my fingertip and trace the Sharpie block handwriting that fills the number one of the number thirteen on the back of the jersey.

I LOVE YOU TOO.

I sit and stare at it for the longest time. A confession that just made me more whole than I ever thought I could be. An admission I didn’t think he realized he could make.

It takes a few minutes for it to sink in. How hard that must have been for him to pen and probably even harder to admit to. But the minute it does, I run to get my phone to call him, and of course I can’t find it. After a few minutes, I locate it on my bathroom counter and when I do, there’s a text waiting for me on its screen.

Hunter: I didn’t want to see your expression if you didn’t like my surprise either.

My own laughter fills my silent apartment as I flop back on my bed and hug my phone to my chest.

My first call to him goes to voicemail. So does my second. My desperation to hear him say those words growing stronger with each second.

Hunter: We’re reviewing film before we leave. Can’t talk.

Me: I found your surprise. Tennis balls. Lots and lots of tennis balls.

Hunter: LOL. I meant what I wrote.

Me: I know.

I squeal into my apartment in elation. I probably scare the neighbors, but I don’t care.

Hunter Maddox loves me.

CHAPTER SEVENTY

HUNTER

THE CHARTER COACH IS SPACIOUS. The Cyclone’s arena is too close to fly and too far to get there ourselves, so we’re all spread out among the seats of the bus, each of us in our own row as we make our way to what could be the final game of the series if we can pull it off.

I stare at the manila envelope for a moment, before curiosity gets the better of me and I open it. I spill the contents out onto the tray table in front of me and it takes me a second to realize what I’m seeing.

And when I do, I’m speechless. One of my dreams is coming to life before my eyes.

The renditions are in different colors with varying logos, but they’re all the same thing—or rather the same place. Dekker had a graphic designer create mock-ups of looks and logos for the arena I told her I wanted to buy. The Jonah Maddox Hockey Facility.

I thumb through the fifteen or so versions, over and over, as chills chase over my skin at the sight of them. At the knowledge that she heard my dream and is trying to help me see it brought to life. Seeing the logos makes my idea seem that much more real, and I know come hell or high water, I will make this happen.

I grab my phone to text her, glad she understands that Coach has a no talking on cell phones rule on the bus.

Me: I’m speechless. They’re incredible. I can’t wait for you to help me pick one.

Dekker: See? Dreams do come true. Now, go out and achieve your other dream tomorrow.

Me: I love you.