Page 118 of A Game Plan for Love

“Addie.”Loudrustling,followedby annoyed groans, fill the closet of the master bedroom of Declan’s home—our home. “Help me!”

I sigh and drop the large cardboard box I’m carrying in from the garage to save my boyfriend from his outfit disaster. Had I known this event would cause such a ruckus in our lives, I never would have suggested he attend.

But now, Declan is sparing no expense to make this night ‘the most magical night ever.’ His words, not mine. While he’s hitting the dance floor and sipping on fruit punch, I’ll be unpacking the dozen boxes we hauled over from my old apartment that now sit in the entryway.

And rearranging the entire kitchen. His organizational regime would make Deon’s skin crawl.

The soft groans lead me to Declan, who’s in the closet, tangled in the bird tie Nora gifted him for Christmas. It’s hideous, but he’s worn it before every game, and now, his very first Daddy-Daughter Dance.

A soft laugh pulls from my chest when he glances up with concern.

“I’m tangled,” he says, letting the tie fall against his chest.

“I can see that.”

The blue-jays and cardinals on his tie bring out the blue in his eyes, and when I step closer, he releases a sigh—gentle and peaceful. There’s a small tremor in his hand when he cups my face, and I lay my hand over his.

“It’s going to be perfect,” I assure him.

I’ll never shake the memory of when Nora brought home the invitation from school and said she was going to ask Declan. The moment is almost as special as when she asked him, he cried, and she consoled him.

My two empaths. Taking care of each other.

“Maren needs to hurry up,” he says, jerking around as I attempt to fix his tie. I tug on the fabric, and he pauses. “The limo will be here at seven.”

The what?!

“You did not.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. He does nothing half-assed. We returned from Florida and my name was on all of his accounts, he made me his emergency contact at work, and publicly declared—in front of the entire Seattle Mavericks staff, players included—that we werecanoodlingand if anyone had an issue with it, he could take it up with him.

Obviously, no one had any issue.

And once the world knew we were together, he set his sights on convincing us we needed to move in with him, since Nora already had her room decorated, and he owned a karaoke machine.

He made a hard bargain, and now, here I am, head-over-heels in love, trudging boxes into our new home and helping him get ready to take Nora to her first Daddy-Daughter Dance.

“She deserves the world,” he responds, as if that’s the only acceptable response for his over-the-top gestures. I roll my eyes, and he adds, “How was your session?”

It’s my turn to sigh.

Tough.

It’s the only word I can find to describe the therapy sessions with my parents. Each one is easier than the last, but there are years of pain and resentment built up, and I’m still learning how to forgive them.

But I want to, and the sessions without Declan are always harder because he’s not there to hold my hand, but I’m doing it, and on the bad days, I vent to the girl's in our group chat.

“They want to visit this summer.”

“Oh?”

“I’m thinking about it.” I slip into his open arms, and he wraps me in a tight hug. “Maybe we can go to Vancouver Island.”

“A wonderful idea.” He drops a kiss on my forehead. “Charge the card.”

I groan against his chest. “I do.”

“A two-dollar Kit Kat is not what I mean.”

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