As we lie here together wrapped in each other, I’m not gonna say I’m glad I was a dumbass, but I will say that I love making up with my wife.
28
Fallon
Maggie and the rest of the girls invited me over to watch a livestream of the guys’ game at Coleridge, and though I love hanging out with them, I decided to stay in and watch from the comfort of my own couch. Since Liza travels with the team and the guys are all obviously at the game, I’m home alone. Blessedly alone. Don’t misunderstand me—living here has actually turned out better than I ever expected, and not just because there’s a ring on my finger and a man in my bed.
Living with half a hockey team is highly entertaining, as is watching Liza keep them all in line. She’s got her hands full with this crew. The freshmen are as in awe of her as they are terrified of her, Mickey and Dean worship the ground she walks on because she remembers everything they forget, and Wagner respects the hell out of her because she’s damn good at her job. Blue is the bane of her existence.
But since I’m on my own until everyone gets back tomorrow, I don’t have to deal with their bickering.
It’s nice having the place all to myself, but I have to admit, I miss Ollie.
As if he can read my thoughts, my phone flashes with an incoming text.
Ollie: So…
Ollie: Did you catch the game?
Fallon: Sorry. I didn’t watch the hockey game. I watched a horror show. The stuff of literal nightmares. Truly frightening.
Ollie: Oh, yeah? Tell me more.
Fallon: It was an absolute bloodbath disguised as a college hockey game. BU shut out Coleridge five to nothing.
Ollie: Ouch. Bet the Coleridge boys are crying now.
Fallon: And questioning all their life choices.
Ollie: What about you? Questioning any life choices?
Fallon: I mean…there was this really hot guy on the Bainbridge team. Number sixty-nine.
Ollie: Sounds like a good time. (And I mean that literally.)
Fallon: Oh, he’s guaranteed a good time. Do you think he’d mind the fact that there’s a ring on my left hand?
Ollie: I think he’d fucking love it.
The phone rings in my hand and I accept the video call. Ollie’s face comes into view and I watch as he quicklychecks to see if my hearing aids are in. They are. I prefer signing when it’s just the two of us, but if all goes according to plan, I need my hands free for this call.
His hair is still damp from his post-game shower, but he’s back in his hotel room, shirtless, of course, and lying on the bed.
“I miss you,” he says, and I feel the weight of his words.
We haven’t made any declarations of love yet, which might seem strange, considering the fact that we’re married, but I get the impression that Ollie’s feelings run as deep as mine do. I see it in all the ways he cares for me. He pays attention to things that no one else notices. Ollie is the kind of man who expresses his affection in a million little ways.
I walk into the bedroom, hop onto the bed, and prop my phone on a throw pillow, putting myself on full display for the camera. “I miss you, too, but you’ll be home tomorrow night, after you finish crushing the dreams of the Coleridge hockey team.”
“What are you wearing?” His voice is low and gravelly, and I feel like the conversation has taken a turn.
“I was cheering on the Wolves. I had to show my Bainbridge pride,” I say, gesturing to the soft, worn cotton tee I’ve got on.
Ollie’s eyes are so blue they’re almost navy. He’s lying on a hotel bed, with his phone propped on a pillow, the same as I am. But his posture is not relaxed. I can see the tension in his muscles, feel the heat rolling off him. “You have no Bainbridge merch of your own? I mean, your brother played here for four years and your great-great-great-grandaddy founded the place, but you don’t have a stitch of Bainbridge gear, so you had to borrow mine?”
“Oh, I’m not borrowing it,” I clarify. “This t-shirt ismine now. Besides, you probably don’t want it back anyway,” I tell him, gesturing to the front of the shirt that barely contains my boobs. “I’m pretty sure I’ve stretched it out.”
My husband growls. That’s the only word I can use to describe the sound emanating from his throat. “Lift up your shirt, Fallon,” he commands. “Show me what you’ve got on underneath.”
