Page 13 of Breaking the Rules
“Go ahead.”
With an excited glint in her eyes, Becca pulls away the ribbons. Her greedy hands turn hesitant as she begins to lift mounds of light pink terrycloth out and onto the counter. “Robes?”
“Keep going.”
Narrowing her eyes at me in suspicion, she digs a little deeper and finds a cream-colored envelope and a matching box nestled in the bottom.
“Ooh, layers? So mysterious.”
“Open the envelope first.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her sexy little smirk has me thinking all sorts of dirty things on a Sunday afternoon.
Peeling open the envelope, she pulls out a letter. “Dear Becca ...”
“Don’t read it out loud,” I grunt, half out of embarrassment and half because I’d rather just watch her face as she reads. In any case, I know what it says by heart.
With a smile, she scans the letter.
Dear Becca,
This morning, I called my agent to tell him that I wouldn’t be returning to the NHL. The guys know too. I swore them to silence so that I could be the first to tell you.
Becca’s eyes meet mine over the paper. I nod, silently encouraging her to read on.
Here’s the thing. I got a better offer. The hours are grueling, and I don’t get paid in the traditional sense. But I love it. Being a good dad is a full-time job. The best full-time job I’ve ever had, actually. My favorite part of the day isn’t spent on the ice. It’s when I’m home with you and our kids. Having our fourth child is gonna require all hands on deck—a commitment I’m ready to make. I’m sorry it took me a while to realize that.
This time when her eyes meet mine, they’re glossy with tears. She blinks twice and lowers her gaze to the paper.
I know I can’t buy your forgiveness. Still, I hope you’ll consider this gift basket the kickoff of a long apology tour. You once said pink suits me—and it certainly suits you—so I bought us matching robes to take on our week-long getaway right here in Seattle. There’s a name for that, but I can’t remember what it is right now. Anyway, it’s all planned out, so you have nothing to worry about. The hotel spa is no Number One Foot, but I think we’ll have fun.
Letter writing is weird. I’m not good at it, but it seemed like the better alternative to trying to say all of this out loud without fucking it up. How do I end this thing? I guess I’ll wrap up with what’s important.
I love you, Becca Parrish, and I always, always will.
Yours forever,
Owen
Tears are freely streaming down her cheeks now, but she’s never looked more beautiful.
Pulling my wife into my arms, I cradle her against my chest, rocking us back and forth. She holds on for dear life, like she’s been containing her tears all this time and the floodgates finally broke.
“—cation,” she says with a hiccup.
“What did you say?” I ask, tilting her chin up so that our eyes meet.
“It’s called a staycation,” she whimpers before smooshing her face back against my hoodie, now wet with her tears.
I chuckle and press a kiss to the top of her head. “There’s more on the back,” I whisper, and Becca immediately grabs the letter and flips it over with the excitement of a little kid discovering one last hidden present under the Christmas tree.
P.S. As for the box ... I got you the new model. Can’t wait to watch you use it.
For a moment, Becca stares blankly at the words. Then the box. Then the words. I swear, I can actuallyhearwhen it finally clicks.
With tentative hands, she opens the box to reveal a brand-new toy, not unlike the first one I got her way back when. This particular vibrator has even more features and settings that I know she’ll appreciate.
