But what if falling in love is when being with that person is better than the comfort of the solitude? What if love is when you embrace it together, the chaos of your mind, and make it better than you ever thought it could be?
Because in the middle of my storm, the center of all my chaos, Garrett waits with open arms, ready to shatter me with a love so unconditional, one I didn’t know existed before him.
And suddenly it clicks.
I can stand on my own, but I don’t have to. I’m allowed to be one part of a whole.
I’m allowed to choose love.
CHAPTER 42
POUND TOWN
GARRETT
“Should I call her? I should call her, right? Yeah, I’ll call.”
I pick up my phone, thumb hovering over that sunshine.
“No,” I groan, chucking my phone on my bed. “I shouldn’t call.”
“I’m scared,” Jaxon whispers from the doorway.
“Me too,” Adam whispers back. “I’ve never seen him talk to himself before.”
“I’m not talking to myself, you fucking turkeys.” I stuff my sweatpants and hoodie inside my carry-on bag. “I’m talking to you two donkeys.”
“It’s one or the other, Andersen,” Jaxon says, an irritating smirk on his face as he watches me pack for our flight later tonight. “Turkeys or donkeys. We can’t be both.”
“You’ll be whatever the fuck I tell you to be.”
Adam’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Gare-Bear’s a prickly bear this morning.”
“Thanks,” I grumble, snatching the granola bar he hands me as I strut by.
“For fuck’s sake, Garrett, just call her.”
“I can’t. She needed space to do this on her own.” Yanking open the fridge, I pull out the orange juice, guzzling straight from the jug. “I don’t wanna bug her.”
“I don’t think checking in and saying hi would be bugging her. You’d be letting her know you’re thinking of her.”
I can’t stop thinking of her. My mind hasn’t shut off since Jennie walked out of here twenty-four hours ago. The problem is not one single thought is coherent. Everything is a jumbled mess of what if’s, one fear that leads to another, until I’m wandering down a dark road wondering what life looks like with her in Toronto. I can’t see much, other than it being a cold, bleak future I don’t want.
“What if she leaves?” I blurt. “What if she takes the job and moves to Toronto?”
Adam and Jaxon watch me carefully.
“What if she does?” Adam finally tosses back. “You can’t follow her. Not right now, at least. And your family is moving here.”
My throat squeezes. “I don’t want to say good-bye to her.”
“Long distance is hard,” Jaxon says. “It’s hard on any normal relationship, and yours isn’t normal. You play professional hockey. When you’re not traveling, you’re bound to Vancouver. You’d see her in the off-season. Is that what you want?”
What I want is Jennie, any way I can have her. If I have to jizz on my hotel room carpet to her on FaceTime for eight-to-ten months of the year, I’ll do it.
“Maybe you could ask her to stay,” Jaxon suggests.
“I can’t.”
I want to. I want to be selfish. But I can’t. Jennie deserves this opportunity. More than wanting her to stay, I want her to follow her dreams.
And I’d never ask her to pick me over her dreams.
“Are you worried it’s not enough of a reason for her to stay?”
I’m not worried about not being enough for Jennie. Never has that woman asked me to be anything other than myself. Everything I’ve had to give has always been just right, exactly what she’s needed. The same can be said for what she gives to me. I don’t know how many ways exist to explain how two people fit together so perfectly, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life stringing together sentences if that’s what it takes to get her to believe that this right here is enough. That she’s so goddamn enough.
“I think love is a good enough reason to do most things, but I don’t need her to stay in Vancouver for me to love her. I’m going to love her wherever she is, and I’m going to make sure she feels it.”
Because that, I think, is Jennie’s greatest struggle: not understanding that she doesn’t have to sacrifice a single piece of herself to have all the love she deserves.
Real love isn’t conditional. It’s seeing somebody for everything they are and accepting all of them. It’s knowing you’re friends first and lovers second, understanding that arguments are opportunities to know each other deeper. It’s dinner waiting in the microwave, lights left on to welcome you home safely. It’s showering together so you can kiss a little longer. It’s two a.m. secrets spilled while you’re wrapped up in each other, dancing in the kitchen, Disney movies on the couch while crying your heart out. It’s supporting dreams, growing together, and growing separately. Because when you can stand strong on your own, you can stand strong together.
If I have to love Jennie from across the country, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And if distance isn’t going to stop me, Carter Beckett sure as hell isn’t.
He’s not going to stop me, but he’s sure as shit trying to, and he’s pissing me the fuck off while he does it.
“Andersen, you’re looking pretty good on the second line.” He circles me on his skates, stick across his hips.
“Then I should move back to first. Since, you know, that’s my spot.”
“But then where would Kyle play?”
“In his spot,” I reply through gritted teeth. “On the second line.”
“I agree,” Coach interjects. “We need Andersen back up on first with you and Emmett. You three are our star lineup for a reason.” He cuts Carter off as soon as he opens his mouth. “Beckett, look me in the eyes and tell me where Andersen belongs on this team.”
Carter’s jaw tightens. “On the first line.”
“And why?”
His gaze flicks to me, and beyond all the anger, I see something else. Something vulnerable and soft. For a moment, despite his shit attitude this past week, I feel for him. “Because he’s a valuable player and an irreplaceable leader.”
“Exactly. So sort your shit and let’s play some real hockey tonight. Andersen, you’re back on first.”
“Atta boy!” Emmett claps his gloved hand to my ass. “Welcome back, baby. We missed ya.”
“Speak for yourself,” Carter grumbles, and that empathy I was hanging onto a moment ago vanishes. Jennie’s tear-streaked face floats through my mind, and something inside me snaps.
“Grow the fuck up, Beckett.”
Carter glides closer. “You got a problem, Andersen?”
“Yeah, I got a fucking problem.” I skate forward until my chest touches his. “My problem is you’re twenty-nine years old, but you’re acting like a fucking toddler who got his goddamn birthday candles blown out.”
I don’t know which one of us drops our stick and throws our gloves to the ice first.
Carter grips a fistful of my jersey, missing my face and getting my shoulder when he swings. “You’re fucking my sister!”