Page 76 of From Ice to Home
“It’s the playoffs,” he echoes. “The final round. The first time in ten years the Rangers make the final. There are some guys on this team who's been waiting a long time for a shot like this.” His eyes search mine for a second. He swallows. “I kind of just assumed that you’d go with me? To Vancouver” he asks, suddenly more serious. “We haven’t spoken about the awaygames. Would you rather like to stay? Or be with your parents?”
I know he would let me stay in a heartbeat. He’d arrange for me to go back to Georgetown while he’s away if that’s what I really wanted. Because he cares about me and he’s always wanted to see me happy. It’s who he is.
But there’s only one answer.
“I want to be with you, Lucas. Every step of the way.”
His joy and elation is sudden, replacing the tension in his jaw. He lets out a laugh, suddenly picking me up and twirling me around. I let out a startled gasp, then a laugh, clinging to his shoulders as he spins me around. My heart feels light, his happiness spilling over into my own heart.
“I can’t tell you how much I’m thanking God that He sent you to me,” Lucas murmurs, before gently setting me down again. His hands linger at my waist, like he’s reluctant to let me go completely. His eyes are filled with warmth, something unshakable. “You’re going to love Canada, Sanders. We’ll have to buy you a tuque, you won’t survive Vancouver without one.”
Canada.Vancouver, Canada.
The realization slams into me, stealing my breath.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brows knitting together.
“I won’t be able to go,” I say, and it feels like the words are being ripped from my chest.
His hands tighten on my waist. “What? Why?”
“I don’t have a passport.”
I can’t believe that something as small as a passport is going to keep me from going with my husband. It’s something I’ve wanted to get done, but all my time and focus has been poured into my studies and work in Durham. I never needed to have my passport ready.
His expression falls. He steps away, shaking his head, running his fingers through his hair. I’m sure he’s trying tothink of some sort of short term solution, but I’m sure there’s nothing we can do before the flight tomorrow morning.
We’ve been together for two days now, two nights, and now he’ll have to leave.
“How long will it be?” I ask, my voice small. “Three, four days?”
He swallows, his jaw tightening. “It would be at least six. We have the first two games of this round in Vancouver. Then game three and four will be here in New York. If they win, we’d have to go back to Vancouver.”
Six days.
The thought of him being away that long has my stomach in a knot. I can’t believe that there’s a possibility that I won’t even see him win the Stanley Cup if the Rangers don’t sweep the series.
“I’m sure there’s something we can do,” Lucas says, determination in his voice. “What if we get you some kind of temporary thing? It might not be by tomorrow morning, but maybe the day after. I’ll talk to Harry about it, I’m sure—“
Seeing him like this has my chest tightening with guilt. He’s not supposed to be worrying about something like this right now. He’s supposed to celebrate his amazing accomplishment with his team, while getting mentally ready to head to Vancouver tomorrow.
Instead he’s with me, worrying about a passport.
I reach up, gently cupping his face, my thumbs brushing over the roughness of his stubble.
“Luke,” I say softly. “I want to be there with you, really, I do. But I also want you to keep your relationships with the people on your team, with your coach and your GM.” I smile at him, thinking about what a rough couple of days it’s been. “I don’t want to cause any more unnecessary complications for you.”
His brows furrow and he’s clearly torn. Moving closer, Ibrush my thumb across his lips, knowing he wants to fight this somehow.
“I’m going to be at home, wearing your jersey, watching you every minute of those games. And you’re going to win both of them.” I smile softly, an ache in my chest thinking of not seeing him for almost a week. “Then you’ll come home to me and make sure to win the next two games.”
He knows I’m right. I can see the moment it hits him, the way his shoulders sag slightly and his brown eyes dim slightly with defeat. I stand on my tip toes, brushing a light kiss against his lips.
“And don’t forget to bring me back a tuque.” I’m butchering the word, which draws a small smile from him.
“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” he says, his voice low and full of emotion. “This doesn’t feel right, I don’t want to leave you.”
His hands are warm as they slip to my back, drawing me flush against him. The way he can envelop me in one move has me catching my breath. The thought of being away from him is still painful, but it’s something we’ll have to face.
