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“Like, really good.”
“I believe you.”
“The kids already love me.”
“Of course they do.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Everybody does.”
Ella shrieks from her carrier — the happy kind, arms going — and we both look at her.
“She wants to hear about the pterodactyl,” Alexei says.
“Obviously.” I scoop her up, settle her on my hip, and steal a piece of whatever Alexei’s cooking from the pan.
Alexei leans against the counter and listens while I tell him about my day — every part of it — and Ella babbles along like she’s adding commentary, and dinner sizzles on the stove, and the sunflowers sit on the counter in their jar, bright and yellow and exactly right.
This is what I was supposed to be doing. This is who I was supposed to be.
It just took me a little while to get here.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alexei
“You can’t be serious.” I shoot a look at Ryleigh, and she rolls her eyes.
Damn, she looks beautiful tonight. She’s wearing a little black dress and bright red lipstick. I secretly love that she’s made such an effort for our date night.
She leans forward, placing her elbows on the table. “What? It’ll be good, I’m sure.”
“No way. No fucking way I’m letting you order just a salad at an Italian restaurant known for their homemade pasta.”
She chuckles at me, shaking her head. We’re on our first real date in what feels like an eternity, having gotten my mom to watch Ella, which wasn’t difficult since she begs to see her almost daily.
Ryleigh and I have been living together for two months, and things have been perfect. It hasn’t always been easy, but we’re learning to navigate the rough patches together. She and Ella even traveled with me to my away game last weekend since I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing them for forty-eight hours.
Ryleigh eventually relents and closes her menu. “Fine. Lobster fettuccine.”
I grin. “That’s my girl. Go big or go home, baby.”
She rolls her eyes and leans back in her seat. “You’re going to make me fat.”
I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “Not a chance. I love your curves.”
The server comes and takes our orders. I can see the diners at the table beside us have spotted me and know who I am. I smile politely and tip my head, hoping they won’t come to our table and interrupt a rare date out with Ryleigh. But knowing me, since I’m grateful for my career and fans, I’ll do the small talk thing and sign their autographs without complaint if they do walk over.
To my agent’s surprise, my relationship with Ryleigh hasn’t caused the distraction Slate anticipated. If anything, Ryleigh’s brought a sense of order to my life. Along with a whole lot of happiness and love that wasn’t there before. There are no more fights with journalists or headlines about me losing my cool on some asshole. There’s just me and my girls.
Andi is in her final days, and we bring Ella to the hospital often where Andi strokes her hair or holds her frail hand. I never imagined she’d have such a sense of peace, but seeing the way Ryleigh and I care for her, I know she’s comforted knowing her daughter will be in good hands after she’s gone. I even hired a photographer to come with us last time, photographing Andi and Ella together—a memento that Ella will hopefully treasure when she’s much older and able to understand the sacrifice her mother made for her.
“I love that you don’t have a game this weekend. It’s nice having you home,” Ryleigh says, taking a sip of her wine.
“It’s the best. Just wait until the off-season. You’ll be sick of me.”
She shakes her head. “I highly doubt that.”
Our food is delivered, and we waste no time digging in. I love how comfortable we are together. There are no awkward silences or need for pretense. I steal a bite of her pasta, and Ryleigh almost stabs me with her fork.
I chuckle and shake my head at her.
