Page 12 of Breaking the Rules
“Your boobs are not deflated balloons. I love your boobs.” As if to prove his point, Owen cups one in his big hand.
I wince involuntarily. “Don’t, Owen. They’re sensitive.”
He removes his hand and places it on his knee—safer territory. “I’m sorry, Becs. I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry that I can’t seem to do anything right lately. I’m sorry I don’t have the right words or the right reactions. Fuck, I’m sorry that my sperm is sohell-benton finding its way into your eggs.”
A wet giggle escapes my lips. “Yeah, you have pretty forward sperm for a goalie.”
Owen laughs, deep in his chest, before pressing a warm kiss to the crown of my head. “I mean it. I’m sorry for all of it. Please tell me how to fix this. I need you back. I need your smile. I need you to be okay.”
His arms tighten around me, enveloping me in profound love.
As much as I want to feel comforted, there’s an emptiness inside me that swallows his sweet words, leaving me hollow. “I don’t think you can fix it. This is just our life.”
A heavy silence falls over us. I watch the steam rise from my cup of tea, wishing I could feel as light as evaporated water. My eyelids flutter closed, and a restless half sleep comes over me.
Soon, a shrill cry from upstairs jolts me awake, and doubles in volume almost instantly. I guess the twins are up from their morning nap.
“I’ve got them. Get some rest.” Owen kisses me softly on the lips before rising from the couch. His eyes are deeply concerned when I get up anyway and follow him to the staircase. “Becca ...”
“I’m fine. You’ll need the backup,” I say with a sigh, waving off his worry.
That’s the thing about twins. Two sets of hands are kind of required. So I follow him up the stairs.
7
OWEN
“You’re making the right call.”
Man, did I need to hear those words today.
Grant’s voice is gruff over the phone, but comforting in thatwise old manway he’s always managed to pull off without actually being old at all. After spending the last hour arguing with my agent, I knew our team captain would be the next person I needed to call with the news.
I release a slow sigh and rub one hand over the back of my neck. “Thanks, man. I know I am.”
Next, I call my best friend, Justin, then Jordie and a few other members of the team. It takes me half the morning, but it’s necessary. With each call, I feel more and more confident in my decision.
When I’m done, the twins are down for a nap and Bishop is bouncing a basketball in the yard. I find Becca in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. She’s conveniently turned away, so it gives me a moment to scope out the right spot to display the ornately wrapped gift basket in my arms without her seeing.
I have Elise to thank for the quick tutorial on basket presentation. I’m careful to avoid the droplets of red sauce scattered across the counter, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe them away.
“SpaghettiOs?” I ask.
“Yep. Bishop’s on a kick. Loves ’em.”
“Like father, like son.”
Becca chuckles softly. “Are you done with your work stuff?”
“I’m all yours.”
She turns to give me a smile and then does a double-take when she sees the massive gift basket taking up space on the counter. Turning off the faucet, she looks at me like I’ve sprouted tentacles out of my ears. “It’s not our anniversary.”
“Doesn’t have to be our anniversary for me to pamper my wife.”
Her mouth curls into an irresistible grin when I saymy wife. All these years later, she still loves hearing it, almost as much as I love saying it.
“Uh-huh ... Should I open it?”
