Page 78 of Perfectly Complicated
“All of them. And for the record, I already knew you watched my games. Brendan let it slip. I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “So you knew I was keeping this from you? And you didn’t say anything?”
“I knew you were protecting your heart,” he corrects, brushing a strand of my hair back. “There’s a difference.”
I study his face in the soft glow, taking in the mess of his hair, the dark circles, the fresh cut from tonight’s game. His past is a different kind of broken than mine, but we’re still figuring out how to love again, still learning what it means to trust someone enough to let them see all of you—even the damaged parts.
He shifts in his chair to make room for me, tugging an arm around my waist and pulling me onto his lap. “Come here, angel,” he says. “I want you closer.”
I curl against him, fitting perfectly in the space between his arm and Aria, my cheek resting against his chest.
“I should move,” I mumble. “Let you get some real sleep after your game.”
“Don’t,” he says, his arm tightening around me.
“But we’re like sardines.”
“I happen to like sardines,” he says. “Being close to you is a privilege I’d gladly suffer for.”
I can’t help the smile on my lips. “You say that now, but in the morning…”
“I’d do it every night if you asked me to,” he finishes.
As I tilt my face toward him, I can’t believe this is really happening, that love can feel this safe after everything I’ve been through.
I never thought I could ever give my heart to anyone again after Nick. But then I met this hockey player who’s stitching my heart back together with patient hands and all the time in the world. And I think I love him in a way I never have before—because he’s holding my heart the same wayhe holds my daughter against his chest, her vulnerability against his strength, her softness against his rough edges.
This is the kind of man who’ll win my heart forever.
“Do you want me to take Aria?” I ask.
He sweeps a hand across her hair. “She seems content where she is. If my favorite people are happy, then my whole world is right.” He gives me a grin and my heart melts.
His favorite people.
I don’t miss the casual way he said it, as if there was never any question.
As if we’d always been his.
TWENTY-TWO
Rourke
I wake up to two of the best smells in the world: fresh-brewed coffee and bacon on the stove.
When I lean against the kitchen doorway, I take a few moments to soak in the sight of her: Janie is cracking eggs into a bowl next to the stove, her hair still damp from the shower, teasing me in an oversized sweatshirt with a pair of shorts barely peeking out from under the hem. A smile plays on her lips like all is right in her world—not like a woman who was nearly sick with worry last night. She’s humming a Christmas song softly under her breath.
I clear my throat, and she whirls around with a smile that makes her whole face glow.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “How did you sleep?”
“Like I slept in a chair holding a baby,” I admit, stretching my neck. “But it was worth it. How’s our little patient?”
I walk over to Aria, who’s in her highchair cheerfully tossing Cheerios off the tray. When she sees me, she gives me a bright smile.
“Much better. Back to her usual destructive self.” As if to prove her point, Aria launches a handful of cereal at me with near-perfect aim.
“Good girl,” I tell her, catching one and tossing it into my mouth. “Keep practicing that shot. You’ll make a great hockey player someday.”
