Page 300 of Cross Check

It’s not my fault if someone has a problem with that.

“The rest was nice.” I curl into his hold and sigh against his chest when he rubs his hands down my spine. He’s the sturdiest rock in the crashing sea who never gave up on us, even in our darkest hour. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” he asks.

“For letting me sleep. For everything else.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific about the everything else part, Lia. The lasagna I made last night was terrible. Way too much sauce. Not enough cheese.”

“It was perfect.” I tuck my smile in the curve of his shoulder. How lucky am I that I get to keep it there forever? “Just like you.”

“I love you very much.” Grant tilts my chin so our eyes meet. “And I’m so glad I get to finally have you like this.”

“Naked in bed?” I giggle and throw my calf over his thigh. “You’ve had me like this plenty of times.”

“It’s different now.” He rolls on top of me and braces a hand on either side of my head. “We get to be in this house—our house—without being afraid of getting caught. I don’t have to hide how I feel about you.” He brings his mouth close to mine, biting my bottom lip until I whine. “It’s a relief.”

“I know what you mean.” My arms drape around his neck. “I’m lighter. A weight has literally been lifted off of me, and I’ve waited a long time to feel like this.”

“How does it feel, baby? Tell me.”

“Safe. I’ve always felt safe with you, but today it’s like I’m finally home after being away for so many years. I never want to leave.”

“So don’t.” He kisses me. It’s short and sweet. Enough to leave me wanting more. “Stay here forever. I’ll make you a million more bad lasagnas.”

“When you put it like that, how could a girl say no?” I grin up at him. “Speaking of staying here forever, I can’t believe the league scheduled us to play against each other tonight. Pretty fitting, huh?”

“Poetic. A cosmic joke from the universe, actually.” Grant bends, kissing my neck. “Which means I have the perfect way for us to spend the day.”

“I have a game day routine I haven’t deviated from all season. Coffee, then a⁠—”

“Long walk until you head to the arena for morning skate and a team meeting. Then it’s home to shower and review any last-minute game film, and you’re back to work a couple hours before the puck drops.” He lifts an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know you?”

“You do know me, and it’s scary.” I hesitate, tracing the line of his jaw. “What if one day you get tired of me?”

“Never going to happen. Is there a chance that things get hard because we’re dealt tough cards professionally and personally? Sure. We might have to figure out how to make long distance work if one of us takes a job somewhere new. We might go a month without seeing each other because of conflicting schedules, but I promise I’ll never get tired of you.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Because I am.” Grant kisses my forehead. “Hang on. I want to show you something.”

He jumps off the bed and heads for the walk-in closet. I listen to him shuffle through clothes and hangers, and when he reappears, he’s holding a shoebox. Its top is halfway off, and I sit up.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Proof that you’re my greatest joy.” He shifts on his feet and scratches his bare chest. “I debated ever showing these to you, but I think it’s time I told you what I’ve been writing in my notebook—notebooks—all these years.”

Grant turns the box upside down and five notebooks land on the comforter. They’re all the exact same size, the exact same shape. He scoots them my way and sits on the edge of the bed.

“There are so many.” I touch the corner of one, the leather well-loved and heavily worn. “What’s inside?”

“You,” he says, and I rush to look at him. “Your favorite food. Your least favorite day of the week—Tuesday, in case you ever forget. The things that make you smile and your pet peeves. I’ve kept track of everything you’ve ever told me about yourself because I didn’t want to forget a detail that might be important down the road.”

I grab the closest one and see the number 4 marked in the bottom corner. I flip through the pages, finding note after note in his handwriting. There are bullet points and lists that take up multiple lines. A tiny Polaroid from the photobooth at the Halloween party we squeezed into last year.

Throwaway comments I’ve made are jotted in the margins and underlined three times like they’re the key to world peace. There are mentions of the cities I like, of the dreams I have, and my hands shake as I pick up another one.

This one is more hockey oriented with my favorite plays and statistics from when I was in college. The pages contain schedules and a win/loss column that notates every game I’ve coached in the NHL. It’s meticulous, and Grant hasn’t missed anything.