Better Not
Summer
Aleks
The sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains, bathing the private bungalow in golden hues. The sound of waves lapping gently at the shore filled the air, blending harmoniously with the rustle of palm trees swaying in the breeze. It was paradise, the kind of place you only see in glossy travel magazines.
But nothing compared to seeing her here, with me.
Mia stretched out on a towel by the infinity pool, her sunglasses too big for her small face and her bikini barely covering enough to keep me from losing my mind. She was glowing, her skin kissed by the sun, and even though I held a book in my hands, I hadn’t turned a page in ages. My eyes were drawn to her like a magnet, flicking over her every movement, every curve. She must have felt it because she finally looked over at me, lifting one eyebrow above the rim of her sunglasses.
“You’re staring again,” she said, her lips twitching like she was trying not to smile.
“Can you blame me?” I replied, letting the book drop to my lap. “You’re the most beautiful thing here, and that’s saying something, considering this place looks like it was plucked straight out of a dream.”
She rolled her eyes, but the blush that crept up her neck gave her away. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously in love,” I countered, leaning forward and letting my fingers drift to the tie on her hip. I tugged at it lazily, grinning when her breath hitched. “Speaking of love… have I mentioned how much I’m enjoying this honeymoon?”
“Maybe once or twice,” she said, trying and failing to sound unaffected.
For a long moment, I soaked in the feeling of just getting to touch her whenever I wanted, of knowing I had the power to make chills race across her tan skin. I reveled in the feel of the sunshine, the breeze, and the particular drug that was Mia Love.
The season had flown by in a blur after our wedding, Mia traveling the world for her tour and me chasing the Stanley Cup with the guys. We didn’t take it home this year, which was a blow to all of us. All we’d wanted was a back-to-back championship, to bring the Cup back to Tampa and have a boat parade with our friends.
We’d fought hard, grinding through each round of the playoffs and proving to the league that we were still a force to be reckoned with. But in the end, it just wasn’t our year. Vancouver outplayed us and everyone else they faced.
Strangely… I was happy for them, which wasn’t really my modus operandi. Then again, it seemed everything about my demeanor had changed since making Mia my wife. I listened more, argued less, shared the puck more, partied hardly ever. She brought out the best in me.
She also helped me bite the bullet and start going to therapy.
I’d grumbled and complained at first. It wasn’t that I didn’t know I needed it, but it was uncomfortable. It was fuckinghard. But every week, it got a little easier. My therapist helped me work through my feelings about my parents, helped me see that who they were had nothing to do with who I was. I was the onlyone who saw myself that way, who felt that I was destined to fuck up the way they did. And after a few months of sessions, I was beginning to realize that what happened to my parents hadn’t really been their choice, either.
They were impacted by a disease that wreaks havoc on everyone it touches. Even if they’d wanted to stop using, it was nearly impossible to do without a support system — which neither of them had.
My anger turned to sadness, my resentment melting into understanding.
They were just two humans doing their best.
And now I was doing the same.
I still got into more than my fair share of fights on the ice, though.
I had a reputation to uphold, after all.
And while I was battling it out with my teammates for the championship, Mia was dazzling the world with her music. Any chance I got, I flew to watch her shows, marveling each time at how her fans showed up for her. They didn’t just enjoy her music, they loved it. They lovedher. They put thought and time into their outfits for each show, made signs, screamed for her all night and long after her glittery heels left the stage.
The headlines now were all about what I’d always known to be true about my girl.
She was a star.
She was a phenomenon.
And I was just the lucky sonofabitch who got to bask in her glow.
I leaned back again, dragging my eyes over her. “So, are you going to tell me why after we split that bottle of wine at dinner last night you drunkenly kept insisting that Isabella is going to hate you?”
She laughed, shifting to sit up and face me. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone yet.”
