Page 17 of Third Time's the Charm

“Hockey ruined everything,” she whispered.

Pain shot through my chest. Hockey had given me the life I always dreamed of, but I wasn’t particularly happy living that life without Berlin. It was an empty dream come true. “No.Iruined everything. I let hockey consume me. I let the idea of success turn me into a Grade A Asshole.”

The corner of her lip turned up at that. “I started calling you Jack-ass right before I asked you for a divorce.”

She probably still called me that. “I’m sorry I ruined us.”

She rolled her shoulders but didn’t say anything. I swear if, after hearing my apology, she still asked me to leave, I would.

At least I thought I would.

Now that I was standing so close that I could see how fast her chest rose and fell, how her cheeks flushed, could watch her chew on her lip, I was done for. It was just like when we were teenagers. My mind was a blank canvas that only Berlin could paint with her hands and lips.

I felt alive again.

Her lip sprang free of her teeth and she looked up at me. Big green eyes all wide and hopeful. “You’re sorry?”

I nodded. “I am. I couldn’t see what a monster I became back then. I was too consumed by it. Thanks to your ass kicking I’ve gotten to see things from a new perspective.”

“And what perspective is that?” Her words came out all breathy.

It did things to me. Things no other woman had ever done to me. “That hockey is only one part of my life. I miss getting into trouble with you. I miss this island. I miss . . . ” I searched for the exact right thing to say that would explain everything clearly. I wanted her to know I was serious.

And then it hit me.

“I miss opening up the sleeping porch on a breezy night and lying awake with you on my chest, talking all night while we look at the stars, getting drunk on a bottle of rum. I miss waking up a little hungover but with the most spectacular sunrise right in front of us. I miss bringing you coffee so we can stay a little longer.”

I took one last large step so that I stood right in front of her. I’m not sure what I expected to happen. Most likely she was going to slap me or just run away. But instead she blinked up at me with those green eyes, dropped the leash, and kissed me.

It struck me somewhere between the zing of electricity and the complete loss of air in my lungs that this was our third first kiss. The first one beingthe first.We were eighteen and in our first week of college. I knew the minute I met her I wanted to kiss her. She was just . . . everything. Gorgeous, funny, snarky. She called me out on my bad flirting, then turned right around and flirted with me. Ten minutes later I asked her for a kiss and before I finished my question her hands were on my face, her lips on mine.

The second first kiss was our senior year. I’d broken up with her after a fight about popcorn. Don’t even ask. (It wasn’t really about popcorn.) But a month later we ran into each other at the library andboom. First kiss number two happened between two rows of books on mythology.

We never broke up again. Not until our divorce. I guess you could count our first kiss as a married couple as a first kiss, but I didn’t. Mostly because it didn’t feel like this. There was something about being apart and coming back together for the first time that made those kisses more intense.

And just like both of those first kisses, this one blew me away. I swear fireworks had to be coming out of my head. I wrapped my arms around her because we were both swaying. Also because I really wanted to feel her in my arms again. Her warm body was so much smaller than mine. So much more delicate.

How had I not realized how important that detail felt? Like it was an intentional design that someone like me with a big personality would need tofeelthat the woman who chose to love me was impossibly strong but also fragile. It felt important now. She would always be light in my arms to constantly remind me to treat her carefully. She put up with me. She stood up to me. But when I pushed too hard I could crush her.

So I kissed her with everything I had. I knew it was my one and only chance to show her no other man could love her the way I could now. I cupped her face where I knew she was sensitive, ran my thumb over her cheek. I held her close. When she whimpered I drank it in, I turned and kissed her even deeper. Then, just when I thought I might pass out, I pulled back, gasping for air.

“Jack,” she panted, eyes screwed shut.

“I love you.” Three words that meant everything and yet were completely inadequate to describe how I really felt.

She shuddered, then opened her eyes. For a minute we had a very silent, very important discussion.

I love you.

She blinked back tears and, I don’t think she realized it, but she nodded. She didn’t hate me.

I ran my thumb back and forth over her cheek, panting, pleading with her to see me as I was now. Lucky bastard that I was, she searched my eyes, her gaze sweeping over my face before locking back with mine and holding.

Holding.

Begging me to be different.

I am. I love you so much.

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