“Tu exagères,” I say, immediately wishing I could take back these stupid words. “You’re overreacting.”
“Am I? Really? Maybe I should hit up Malcolm and become his roommate?”
Anger flares hot and immediate. Malcolm, the boyfriend she left to be with me ten years ago. The man still likes and comments under all her pictures on social media.
“Ben voyons donc! You better not—”
“See?” she cuts in, a look of winning crossing her face. “You don’t like even the thought of it.”
“That’s different,” I insist, though I see the picture she paints.
“How so?” she challenges.
“Because every cell in my body belongs to you. Fréd is nothing to me.” I grip her wrist. “Malcolm still hungers for what’s mine. What has always been mine. What will always be mine.”
What Meesha doesn’t understand is my relationship with Fréd was nothing like the burning fire I feel for her. From the first moment I saw Meesha, I knew she was my soulmate.
I chose the Winter Bay Bolts over bigger teams in North America because of her. Even when that cross-check in the back ended my career, I never regretted that choice.
Meesha shakes her head, looking suddenly tired. “I can’t believe this. This can’t be my life.”
I step closer, my anger melting. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should have. This isn’t just about your mother or Frédérique. It’s about us, Connor. About how we make decisions. About trust.”
Something moves across her face when she says “trust”. For a moment, she looks almost... guilty? But before I can think more, the expression is gone.
“I messed up. But it’s temporary, and doesn’t change anything between us,” I say, wanting it to be true.
“Doesn’t it? Your mother gets two months of you living with the woman she wants you to marry.”
“Meesha...” I reach for her hands, and breathe easier when she lets me take them. “You’re the one I’m marrying. Not Fréd. You.”
I want to tell her how there’s no comparison, how Frédérique is a small paragraph from my past while Meesha is the whole story. That back injury three years ago could have broken me, but instead, her love and support grounded me.
I’d taken my settlement from hockey and invested every dollar into JAK Innovations, the gaming startup launched by Meesha’s stepbrother Antonio and his best friends Jaxon and Kamal. It was a risk, trusting three men with no business experience with my future after hockey, but that gamble had paid off beyond anyone’s expectations.
To keep myself useful during the day, I opened a small real estate company, leveraging my investment dividends to purchase several rental properties around Winter Bay. The business had grown steadily over the last few years, giving me a sense of purpose and the means to fund Meesha’s designer shoe addiction.
I wasn’t the hockey star anymore, but I’d found a different kind of success. All because I’d chosen to stay here, with Meesha.No matter what Maman wanted, I’ve only ever wanted to build my life here, with Meesha.
From the living room, Maman calls out, “Connor? Why you take so long? Come, we need help with the bags, là!”
Her timing, as always, is perfect. And terrible.
Meesha pulls her hands from mine, stepping back. “You have a choice to make here, Connor. I’m not saying your mother can’t stay with you during her recovery. But Frédérique? That’s asking for too much.”
Before I can respond, Meesha’s phone rings. She glances at the screen, frowning.
“It’s Asia,” she says, stepping away and answering. “Hello?”
I watch as her expression shifts from annoyance to shock. Her free hand comes up to her forehead, pushing back her braids.
“What do you mean you can’t do it anymore? We’ve already paid you.” Her voice rises. “Two months before the wedding? Are you serious?”
I move closer, concerned by the panic creeping into her voice. Asia is our wedding planner.
“No, I understand personal emergencies, but—” She pauses, listening. “Yes. Fine. Can you at least email me the vendor contacts? Thank you.”
