Page 98 of From Ice to Grace
Aunt Kat: You’ve been married for a week now, Sweetheart. I’m patiently waiting for a photo…and maybe a visit. I’m praying that tomorrow’s game goes smoothly.
I can’t help but smile. “Who’s Aunt Kat?” I ask, immediately curious. If she’s a woman who prays for Declan, I want to get to know her.
“My dad’s sister,” he says simply. “She stepped in when neither of my parents could muster up enough responsibility between the two of them.”
He lifts the phone to take a selfie of the two of us.
“Serious?” I ask, leaning into him even more, smiling. “My hair is a mess.”
He turns to look at me, his gaze sliding over me in a way that makes me still. “You’re beautiful,” he says softly. “Now smile, and let’s show Aunt Kat we’re really married.”
Leaning into him, I smile at the camera. The photo looks normal and perfect. Both of us wearing sweats, his hair still wet, mine tied in a messy bun on top of my head.
“When can I meet her?” I ask, as he sends the photo off to her.
He looks at me, his gaze narrowing slightly. “You want to meet my family?”
Realizing what I just said, I wait for a moment, letting his question settle. Meeting his family would make this more than it is. But on the other hand, it feels like this has always been more.
“Yes, I want to meet your family,” I say quietly. “Well, I guess I already met Brady. I wasn’t too impressed, which means we can only go up from here,” I say teasingly.
He smiles, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance and my stomach dips. “Yeah, it takes a while to warm up to him,” he says. “But you’ll like Maddie, my sister. And I’m sure Aunt Kat would love it if we met up with her in Boston. We should go when we play the Bruins.”
I don’t miss the fact that he didn’t include either his mom or dad in his list of family members to meet. The moment lingers, but before I can ask, the crowd on the TV roars. The Tampa Bay Lighting scores against the Habs, the replay flashing on the screen. Declan’s eyes flicks toward it, narrowing before he looks at me again.
“Wait,” he says slowly. “Does this mean you want me to meet your parents too?”
“That would be the ideal, yes.” I wince. “I’m afraid my mother kind of insisted on it already.”
He smiles, unbothered. “I can charm your mother.”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” I say, shoving my elbow into his ribs. “Dawson. Or wait, was he the whiny one? Should I call you Pacey instead?”
He tosses his head back with a groan. “Noo, I thought I told you to never call me that.”
I can’t help but laugh, warmth bubbling up in my chest. “So it’s true? You really did get your name from Dawson’s Creek?”
He shoots me a look from the side, both annoyed and amused.
“No wonder you’re so charming,” I tease. “You were named after an iconic nineties heartthrob.”
He runs his hand over his face, snorting. But there’s a curve around his mouth he can’t quite hide.
“Yeah, my mom was real into fantasies,” he says, softly. “Still is if you look at the guy she married this time around.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “Fourth time’s the charm?” I ask carefully.
His gaze is fixed on the television and I don’t want to push. He sighs, his fingers tracing soft circles on my arm, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
“With her you never know,” he murmurs. “I’ve given up on trying to figure out her reasoning. My dad couldn’t figure it out, and that’s why he’s been stuck at the bottom of a bottle since she left us.”
I turn in his arms, leaning away from him. His expression doesn’t betray his feelings, instead he looks resolved to the life he’s been given. Something inside of me cracks. Not everyone grows up with parents who love them, who support them. Some have to face darkness in a different way. It’s the broken way of the world. If anything it just shows how much we need a Savior.
“I wish you didn’t have to go through any of that.” I take his hand in mine, weaving our fingers together. “I can’t change your life, nobody can. It’s difficult when the decisions of others influence you in a way…that leaves you paralyzed.”
He looks at me, his gaze searching mine for a minute. He opens his mouth and closes it again. The tension between us grows with unspoken words, past wounds and the need to find someone who’ll understand.
“What do you need, Declan?” I ask the question we’ve been asking each other every day since we got married.
