Page 115 of Checking It Twice
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling. “Clare?”
Mitch’s voice, gentle now. Concerned.
“Go away.”
“Clare, please. Open the door.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. I’m an asshole, and you’re crying in the bathroom. That’s not fine.”
I catch sight of myself in the mirror—mascara slightly smudged, cheeks flushed with emotion and tequila. I look exactly like what I am: a woman having a breakdown at a party because her boyfriend forgot she existed.
“Clare, baby, please. Let me in.”
The endearment does something to my resolve. I unlock the door but don’t open it, stepping back as he pushes inside and immediately closes it behind him.
The bathroom is small, barely big enough for both of us. He takes up all the available space, broad shoulders and worried gray eyes focused entirely on me.
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Are you? Because it sounded like you had everything figured out. Your perfect summer with your perfect friends at your perfect cabin.”
“It’s not perfect without you.”
“But you weren’t planning to include me.”
He’s quiet, and that silence is answer enough.
“Why?” I ask, my voice smaller than I want it to be. “Why wouldn’t you want me there?”
He leans against the door, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Because I’m an idiot and I literally didn’t think. Honestly, I love going up there in the summer. It’s the one place where I can just... be. Where I don’t have to be Mitchell Drake, NHL player. It’s where I can drink too much, fish badly, and not worry about anyone watching or judging.”
“And you think I would judge you?”
“No. But I think… maybe you’d try to take care of me,” he says quietly. “Maybe it’d be different having girlfriends or wives there.”
The honesty in his voice stops me cold. “Mitch—”
“I’ve been taking care of everyone else my whole life, Clare. My family, my teammates, my career. That cabin is the only place where I get to be selfish.” His voice cracks slightly. “I’m sorry. I really wasn’t thinking.”
I stare at him, seeing something raw and vulnerable in his expression.
The confession hangs between us, and suddenly I understand. This isn’t about the cabin or summer plans. This is about him needing something for himself. He has a high-pressure career, and he looks forward to this all year. It’s still months away—it’s possible he really hasn’t thought to bring it up to me yet. Which is…reasonable. I guess.
“Did we just have our first fight?” I whisper.
His mouth curves into a rueful smile. “I think so.”
“It was terrible.”
“The worst.” His thumbs trace my cheekbones. “Can we make up now?”
Instead of answering, I rise on my toes and kiss him. Hard, desperate, pouring all my frustration, fear, and love into the connection of our mouths. He responds immediately, backing me against the counter, his hands sliding into my hair.
“I love you,” he breathes against my lips. “I love you so much it scares the hell out of me.”
“I love you too,” I whisper against his mouth. “Even when you’re being an idiot about summer plans.”
