Page 227 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Me: I found your surprise. Tennis balls. Lots and lots of tennis balls.

Hunter: LOL. I meant what I wrote.

Me: I know.

I squeal into my apartment in elation. I probably scare the neighbors, but I don’t care.

Hunter Maddox loves me.

Hunter

The charter coach is spacious. The Cyclone’s arena is too close to fly and too far to get there ourselves, so we’re all spread out among the seats of the bus, each of us in our own row as we make our way to what could be the final game of the series if we can pull it off.

I stare at the manila envelope for a moment, before curiosity gets the better of me and I open it. I spill the contents out onto the tray table in front of me and it takes me a second to realize what I’m seeing.

And when I do, I’m speechless. One of my dreams is coming to life before my eyes.

The renditions are in different colors with varying logos, but they’re all the same thing—or rather the same place. Dekker had a graphic designer create mock-ups of looks and logos for the arena I told her I wanted to buy. The Jonah Maddox Hockey Facility.

I thumb through the fifteen or so versions, over and over, as chills chase over my skin at the sight of them. At the knowledge that she heard my dream and is trying to help me see it brought to life. Seeing the logos makes my idea seem that much more real, and I know come hell or high water, I will make this happen.

I grab my phone to text her, glad she understands that Coach has a no talking on cell phones rule on the bus.

Me: I’m speechless. They’re incredible. I can’t wait for you to help me pick one.

Dekker: See? Dreams do come true. Now, go out and achieve your other dream tomorrow.

Me: I love you.

Dekker: I love you too.

I stare at the text. At the three words and the weight they hold when I never thought I deserved them, and know I truly do mean them. Fuck, how can I not when it comes to a woman like Dekker?

She’s everything I need and nothing I deserve.

She’s strong, passionate, driven . . . and I love that she doesn’t take shit from anybody, least of all me.

She’s seen me at my worst and still loves me.

She champions my dreams when I doubt them, and she fights for me when I’ve stopped wanting to fight for myself.

How did I get to be such a lucky bastard?

Hunter

“Good meeting you, man,” Katz says to Jonah before heading out of the meet and greet room where we’ve been hanging out in the underbelly of the arena.

“See you in a few,” I say.

“My, he’s handsome,” my mother says with a smile and a fluff of her hair.

“I like to think more of his hockey skills than his looks, but that’s just me,” I tease, the strain a little less with each minute we visit. “You too, right, J?”

My brother looks so very weak—the pallor of his skin, the hollow lines of his face, his size—but it’s his eyes when he looks at me that get me. He’s proud. So very proud of me, and I refuse to let him down tonight.

I lean over to his ear and whisper what feels like I’ve waited a lifetime to say to him. “Tonight’s the night, Jonah. We’re going to win that Cup we promised each other when we were kids. You pushed me to be better and fuck . . . I’d give anything for it to be you out there, for me to be rooting for you. I would.” I close my eyes to fight the tears so I can finish what I need to say. “I promised you I’d get here someday and that when I did, we’d do this together . . . so this game is for you, brother. Every shot, every juke, every block. I needed you here to win, because I couldn’t do this without you.”

I rest my forehead against his as my shoulders shudder with the weight of my words and the chance at my fingertips. When I lean back to meet his eyes, there are tears on his cheeks. He understands. He hears me. He forgives me.