Page 20 of Mountain Man's Naughty List
“I panicked because I’m falling for him,” I admit. The words feel too big, but true. “And it’s a disaster. He loves the game. He’s finally getting a second chance. I can’t be the reason he blows it.”
“You’re not making him do anything he doesn’t want to do.”
“I’m making himthinkhe wants something else.” I press a hand to my chest. “It’s not right. If I love him—and I do—I have to let him go back.”
Stevie studies me, eyes soft. “For what it’s worth, you’re the first thing that’s made him look alive in months.”
That doesn’t make it easier. It makes it worse.
The world outside the airport glitters. Our breaths cloud in the air as we stand by the curb. Thatcher’s duffel hangs from oneshoulder. The phone carrying his one-way ticket away from here—and out of my life— is clutched in his hand.
“I’m glad they eased up on the suspension,” Grady says. “And that the owners let Coach invite you back for warm-ups tomorrow.”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Yeah, it’s great.”
“Yeah,” Thatcher says, but his voice is quiet. He turns to me. “I guess this is it.”
I step closer, close enough to smell his aftershave, to see the tiny scar near his temple. My throat tightens. “I’m proud of you.”
He laughs under his breath. “Don’t be. You’re the one who reminded me who I am.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Sure it was.” He shifts the bag higher. “You gave me the best Christmas I’ve ever had, Liz. I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favor.”
My eyes sting. “You did.”
He leans in, kisses me once—soft, slow, full of things we don’t have time to say. When he pulls back, his smile is small but real.
“Maybe I’ll see you later,” he says.
I nod because it’s easier than words. “Maybe.”
Then he’s walking toward the gate, broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd until he’s gone. Taking my breaking heart with him.
The cabin feels emptier than it should with three people still inside. Stevie and Grady bustle around the kitchen making cocoa, filling the space with chatter that’s meant to help but only reminds me of the silence where Thatcher’s laugh should be.
When I finally sit, Stevie plops beside me. “Okay, you look like someone stole your Christmas cookies. Talk.”
“I let him go.”
“You did the noble thing.”
“It doesn’t feel noble. It feels stupid.”
Grady leans against the counter. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t leave the same guy who got suspended. You did that. He’s calmer. Focused. He kept saying he didn’t want to screw up what he found here.”
Stevie nudges me with her shoulder. “Maybe what he found was you.”
I shake my head, though my chest aches with hope I can’t quite kill. “He’ll go back to his world. Big games, big lights. People like me don’t fit there.”
“People who love him fit anywhere he is,” Stevie says softly. “Trust me. I’ve watched that man my whole life. He finally looks like he has a reason to come home after the buzzer.”
I stare into the fire until the ornaments on the tree blur. All I can see is his grin, the way he looked at me like I was worth staying for.
Maybe love isn’t about letting someone chase glory alone. Maybe it’s about standing next to them when they do.
I exhale, shaky but sure. “Maybe I should see when the next flight home is.”
