Page 65 of Slapshot Bride

I want to say something. Something to break the moment, but my brain fails me.

“Fuck…” He steps back.

“Easton…”

My arms fall to my side. Minutes ago, I was warm from the sunlight, but now, I’m hot. So hot, I can’t breathe properly. And he sees it. I know he does because of the way his eyes eat me up. Yet he stays still.

“I can’t touch you right now, sweetheart. I need to wash off the ice, and I need to sleep. But when I’m up, I’ll take care of you. That works?” He cups my cheek.

I lick my suddenly dried lips and nod, but he comes in for one more kiss before fully stepping away.

He crosses the room to sit on the lounger beside mine. He pats the cushion next to him.

I sit, because my legs don't know what else to do. He pulls his phone from his pants pocket, turns it around, and shows me the screen.

It's me. A picture of me.

At the edge of the pool, hair dark with water, my face slightly turned, soft, and relaxed.

I look carefree, like my world isn’t falling apart.

“You looked so calm, I couldn’t resist.”

I look at him, then at the photograph again. I feel his eyes on me, while I watch the woman in the photo. She embodies the woman I’m struggling to become. The carefree version, with a life of her own.

“I want to start taking photographs again,” I blurt out.

“That’s great.”

“For real this time. Not a hobby. A career. I'm going to need to figure out the rest of it. The Preston part. The money. But I want to take the photographs again, and I want to start now.”

He smiles, then nods. “Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“You won’t try to stop me? Maybe say something about how I can't possibly start now, with everything that’s happening, and with no resources?”

“You know I’d never hold you back, Riley. You want to start now? Let’s get to it.”

“Easton?” My mouth opens and closes.

“Only your decision and timing matters. No one else’s.”

I look at him, and for the first time since he walked in, I see how truly tired he is.

“Are you okay?”

“It was a long day. I’m just glad to be home.”

There’s something in his voice that gives it away. He’s more than tired. Maybe something happened at the rink, but he’s not ready to speak on it.

“Okay,” I say. “Want to nap while I whip up something for dinner? That way you can rest a bit, eat, then finally retire to bed.”

He chuckles, then rises to his feet.

“I’ll just take a quick bath, and join you.”