Page 134 of Her Goal
She sags a little in my arms. “That kiss earlier was awful. I never want to do it again.” She twists in my arms so we’re facing each other. Our gazes lock.
She cranes her head and I lean in. Our mouths crash together.
Her lips are soft against mine and I breathe in her summer strawberry scent, welcome despite the fall season.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space between us. The kiss deepens, and she sighs against my mouth, her fingers threading through my hair.
The rush that has been these last weeks slows to a trickle. The chaos and changes of my move and everything going on in my life narrow, leaving just the two of us sharing this moment.
It’s all I want. All I need—her warmth, the gentle press of her lips, the way her body fits perfectly against mine.
When we finally pull apart, our foreheads touch, and her smile reaches deep inside, driving out any remaining doubts or questions.
This is Leah: true, raw, vulnerable.
Eyes still closed, she whispers, “That was ... this is …”
I don’t have words for it either, other than the sense that nothing stands between us any longer.
She opens her eyes, and the look in them makes my heart beat out the steadiest, surest rhythm.
Leah says, “I was wrong. I definitely want to do that again. We should do it a lot, actually.”
I laugh softly. “We certainly will.”
Brushing a hair back from her face, I trace the curve of her cheek. The ring catches the light as she moves her hand to my shoulder, and reality hits me again. She’s going to be my wife. This incredible woman chose me.
“What are you thinking?” she asks.
“That I agree. We should do that more. And hit the rink—I could use some more figure skating lessons—and play bingo, eat pasta, do life together, and that I’m the luckiest goalie in the world, and that we should do that again,” I repeat.
She beams and pulls me into another kiss. It’s slower this time as if we’re both savoring every second.
39
LEAH
I wakeup on my wedding day morning in my sister’s spare bedroom. Instantly wide awake, my first thought is that I think I’m in love with my almost-husband.
No other thoughts compete. I’m not even interested in browsing my phone like I usually do when I first open my eyes.
I whisper, “I think I’m in love with my almost-husband.”
Shaking my head, that’s not true. Not quite.
IknowI’m in love with Hudson.
At the first sound of me rustling, my sisters, Mami, aunties, and cousins mob me. Abuela pulls up the rear with a tray topped with coffee, buttered toast, and melon.
The next several hours are familiar with everyone getting ready—doing hair and makeup, reminiscing, and gossiping about each other in good fun and full of love.
One thing is different.
My story is woven in as the past merges with the present. Now, I’m the one in the bridal chair as Valentina does my hair, Dani applies my eyelashes, and Mami and Abuela beam with pride.
I want to tell them all to quit fussing over me, but this is what they do. I’m the star for today and at some point soon, it’ll besomeone else’s turn, perhaps Marisol. Though I think my cousin Bridget will be next, if only to stop her from eloping.
We drive in a big caravan to the church and each car is decked out in wedding décor, including streamers, flags, and ribbons. It’s like a veritable parade. Then again, my family has never been one for subtlety. Ordinarily, I’d be thinking about how crazy this is. However, the gown fits like a glove, the false eyelashes aren’t at risk of crawling across my cheeks, and I can’t stop smiling.
