Page 42 of Pucking Unhinged
Elijah curses, jaw tight, and stalks out the front door, leaving the whole place staring after him.
Benjamin leans across the booth, casual like nothing just happened, and slides a small velvet box into my hand under thetable. No one notices. I curl my fingers around it, because this is going to make my girl smile.
Callum claps his hands once, loud and clearly cannot read the room because he says, “Alright, who wants a goddamn ice cream sundae?”
Winter slips her hand onto my leg under the table and looks up at me, shaking her head because this birthday is not going the way anyone planned. I lean down and kiss her lips softly, smiling because I’d take these problems over the ones we used to have any day.
WINTER
Istare at my reflection, hands pressed to the edge of the vanity like I can hold myself steady if I grip hard enough. The makeup, the costume, the tight bun at the crown of my head…every detail is exactly how it’s supposed to be, and still I can’t shake the nerves crawling under my skin. I run my finger over the tiny braid that is slicked back and tucked into my bun. That’s for Tristan. I can’t wait for him to notice. He will, because Tristan notices every little thing.
I’ve practiced for months, years, for this moment. Every late night at the studio, every blister and bruise. All of it has led here, and the weight of it makes my chest feel tight.
I drag in a breath, force myself to stand taller, but my pulse only races harder.
Then…three knocks at the door.
My stomach flips because I already know who it is.
Tristan. The love of my freaking life.
The door swings open, and there he is, shoulders filling the frame like he owns the whole damn world. He does own my world, and he always has. I genuinely love him so much it’s hard to process sometimes just how much. I feel a blush rising up my neck and into my face when I see what he’s holding. The biggestbouquet I think I’ve ever seen in my life. Pink and white daisies, soft sprigs of baby’s breath threaded between them.
That’s our thing, mine, Lilac’s, Madi’s. The three of us love daisies so much that the boys are forever keeping vases full of them around the house. Seeing them here, now, in his hand… it feels like he thought of every detail, thought ofme.
He extends them, steady, certain. “I thought you might need something to calm your nerves before you go on.” He doesn’t mean the flowers. He means him, because he is what keeps me sane, calm, collected.
I take them, my fingers brushing his, and warmth spreads through me. His gaze doesn’t shift, doesn’t soften. It pins me exactly where I am, like I’m the only thing that matters in his world.
“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice low, like he’s confessing instead of complimenting. His eyes zero in on the tiny braid I incorporated into my mandatory bun. He lifts his hand and runs his fingers along it gently and smiles down at me.
I don’t need to say it, because he knows, but I want to. “I wanted something to remind me of you today.” My eyes catch on his tie. Crooked. He’s not a suit kind of guy, but he’s dressed up for me. I don’t even know how he cleared being here today. It’s supposed to just be me and the judges. I don’t question Tristan’s capabilities to sway people’s decisions any longer. He gets what he wants, when he wants it, and today I’m very grateful for that. My hand lifts on instinct, smoothing the silk, tugging the knot straight. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. Just watches me with that heavy stare that makes my stomach knot, like he wants to memorize the shape of my fingers against his chest.
When I drop my hand, my cheeks hot, he leans closer. “I love you,” he murmurs, quiet but absolute. “And I can’t wait to watch you dance tonight.”
He shifts then, pulling something from his pocket. A small shape pressed into my palm.
I look down.
My breath stops.
A locket.Mylocket. The one I lost when I was a child. Wejusttalked about this the night he let me read his journals.
Shock slams through me because there is no way on earth that he actually found the real one. “You had it replicated?” My voice cracks. “The details… it looks just like it.”
I tear my eyes from it, glance up at him, and he’s already looking at me. Not smug, not proud. Just soft. He’s so fucking soft for me.
“Open it, dushen’ka,” he whispers.
My fingers shake as I find the clasp and snap it open. Inside, my mother’s worn and tattered picture on one side. My grandmother’s even more faded one on the other.
The air leaves my lungs in a gasp, and happy, yet confused tears burn at the edges of my vision. My throat is too tight, but I still manage to whisper, “Where did you find this?”
Tristan leans down, the brush of his mouth against my forehead in the gentlest gesture. His voice rumbles low, meant only for me. “I paid the Morettis back recently with a contact Sebastian and I have just like I told you would happen. Then it was my turn to ask for a favor. I’ve tried over the years, but I knew that they would have better access to track it down. It had been pawned, but there’s no telling where it was all these years before it ended up there. I didn’t think the photos would still be inside, but I suspect it was sold for not very much money and then forgotten.”
My chest cracks open. I fling my arms around his neck, holding him as tight as I can, my face buried against him. “I love you,” I whisper, broken and fierce. “I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Gratitude burns hot,almost painful, because he’s given me back pieces of my family I thought were gone forever.
His hands press into my back, steadying me, and when he finally pulls back, his mouth finds mine. A kiss that’s soft but sure, a promise pressed against my lips.
