“How about a bath first, Sunshine?” I call out from our ensuite.
“Mmm, I’d love that,” Kenna responds from where she’s perched on the end of the bed.
I fill the soaking tub with the bath salts, oils, and bubbles that are sitting on the ledge next to the two glasses of red wine I set there. The tub is big enough to comfortably fit the two of us. We’ve taken enough showers together by now that I know Kenna prefers to melt her skin off, so I fill the bath with scalding hot water.
Steam rises from the tub as Kenna enters the bathroom completely naked. Thankfully, the floor-to-ceiling windows have reflective film on the outside, so nobody else gets to see Kenna like this. I can’t believe she’s mine.
I strip down and sink into the hot water. Kenna follows me in, sitting in between my legs with her back against my chest. She rests her head against my chest, closes her eyes, and sighs in contentment.
“What would you do if you couldn’t play hockey professionally?”
The question catches me off guard. Not many people are interested in asking me questions that aren’t related to hockey.
“At first I majored in sports management as kind of a way to coast academically while still getting my degree. But I think if I wasn’t able to play anymore, whether it be because of injury or retirement, I want to be an agent. I like working with Jared, and his story is what made me decide to sign with him. Did you know he used to play hockeyprofessionally? He was drafted second overall in 2015, but he had to quit after only three seasons due to having too many concussions.”
“I think you’d make a really good agent. You’re smart, charismatic, and you can bullshit with the best of them, which means you could schmooze any young gun to sign you as their agent.”
“What about you, Sunshine? What do you want to do after college?”
“I know it’s a farfetched dream considering I’m only eighteen and the average age of the Women’s US National team is somewhere in the mid-twenties. But I want to be a part of that team someday. I’d love to play professionally for a few seasons. But if those dreams don’t work out, I want to coach and teach. I’ve always loved working with kids, especially young athletes.”
“Dreams are meant to be just out of reach. If they aren’t somewhat farfetched, how are you supposed to push yourself and work for them? Kenna, I’ve never met someone as determined and as passionate as you. This dream of yours is within reach, and I can’t wait to cheer you on when it comes true. But, if for some reason it doesn’t work out, I have to tell you that you’d be the hottest teacher and coach that ever existed. You should probably consider teaching at an all-girls academy, though.”
She playfully nudges her elbow into my ribs in response to my antics.
I love getting to see these different sides of Kenna. She’s not just confident; she lets me see her shy side when she’s being bashful; she lets me see her playful, competitive side; she lets down all her walls, free from inhibitions around me. How fucking lucky does that make me?
“Do you ever think about the future? I mean, aside from hockey, do you ever picture what kind of life you want?”
Again, her question takes me by surprise.
Note to self: Kenna not only gets horny, but she gets philosophical after two glasses of wine.
“Of course. Honestly, at times, thinking of the future makes me angry because I know I’ll be experiencing more firsts without my mom there to see. She won’t see me sign my first NHL deal or play my first NHL game. She won’t be at my wedding or meet any of her grandkids. It’s hard to accept that. But, yeah, I picture my future.”
“What do you see when you picture it?” This question comes from her as more of an unsteady whisper.
I intertwine our fingers together and pull her tighter against my chest. Then I nuzzle my head against hers while telling her, “I picture nights like these. You’ll be wearing my ring on your finger—yourleftring finger. You’ll be a little tipsy from the wine we had at dinner with our friends. You’ll still be asking me about our future, and I’ll tell you I want to start making babies—lots and lots of babies. Then we’ll start making those babies, or practice making them, at the very least. And I’ll pull you against my chest and fall asleep with you in my arms every night, just like I will for the rest of our lives.” I can so easily picture it—Ihavepictured it several times.
She closes her eyes and smiles. “I can see it too. Sometimes, I just wish we could skip to the good part, you know? But I love making memories like this weekend to look back on.”
I hum in response, rubbing slow circles across her stomach and hip bones. The sheer fulfillment I feel in this moment is unmatched by anything else I’ve ever experienced.
“Are we crazy for taking on a long-distance relationship that will likely span like four years after only being together one summer?”
I tense at her question. I understand why she asked it, but I won’t lie, it makes me nervous to think she’s apprehensive.
“Sure, we’re crazy. But think of how badass our story will be when Katie and Carson are recounting it at our wedding someday?”
“You’re certifiable. And again, you’re getting a little ahead of yourself. You’re supposed to wait at least six months before you start showing all your cards.”
I reprimand her by tickling her ribs. “Well, get used to it. You’re stuck with me now, Sunshine.”
Doesn’t she see it? Realize it yet? She owns me. Every last piece of me.
10
August
