My eyes bounce between his handsome face and the orange flowers held out to me before accepting the offering. The jar is heavier than I thought it would be, and I almost drop it. Bringing them to my nose to sniff, my brow furrows. Upon closer inspection, I see these aren’t actually roses. They’re—
“Sweet potatoes,” Jase says, completing my thought. “Gemma made them, and Skye did all the crafty shit to make it pretty.”
In the audience, I can see Gemma and Skye holding hands, watching us like we’re a part of the musical.
His large hands cup my elbows, his calloused fingers setting off their usual tingles. My body, having been starved for his touch for months, practically liquefies as he trails his fingers up the backs of my arms to my upper back, spanning it completely and tugging me a step closer.
Warm from the wall of heat in front of me, my eyes flutter closed as his thumbs trace circles on my bare skin.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He bends, whispering in my ear. “I should have never said what I did. I regretted it the second the words left my mouth.”
“I know,” I whisper. Jase is an inherently good person.
He inhales against my skin, the air brushing my neck, the stubble of his beard following in the wake. It’s like I’m an exposed nerve, my fingers doing their best to dig into the glass jar in my hands.
“I’m also sorry I walked away.”
“Why did you?” I turn to bury my nose in the open collar of his shirt, taking in the familiar scent of soap and ice.
“Because I’m an idiot.”
I giggle. Can’t really argue with that. Then again, I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box either.
“I let my own shit get in the way, and…I found you guilty by association. But I realized none of it matters anymore.” His nose runs along the vein I’m sure is pulsing visibly.
“No?” I sway forward.
“No.” The word rings with conviction.
“Then what does?”
On stage, with the musical’s full company surrounding us and a literal audience in front of us isn’t necessarily the best place for this conversation, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“You.” He kisses the soft spot behind my ear. “You are what matters.”
I roll my lips in to hold back a sob. Only three words could sound better than that.
He pulls back, staying bent to rest his forehead to mine. His hands are on the move again, rising to cup the back of my neck, his fingers threading together while his thumbs stroke the underside of my jaw. Eyes locked on mine, unblinking, he tells me, “I love you, baby.”
All the hurt, every tear that fell, all the unanswered texts dissolve from existence with those words. Yes, we will need to talk about what happened, but not here.
I get why he told me now, but I’m not returning the sentiment yet. Those words are meant for him and no one else. “Come with me.” I jerk my head back, and he nods in understanding.
Adjusting my “flowers,” I link my hand with his, luxuriating in the simple intimacy I missed more than I realized, weaving through the crowd, not stopping until we’re inside my dressing room. The moment Jase’s large frame steps over the threshold, I collapse against the door, shutting out the rest of the world.
The room isn’t all that large, only made smaller by the new piece of furniture I added to it, AKA Jase Donnelly. Seriously, the man is huge. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if his wingspan reaches wall to wall.
He’s standing between the small loveseat crammed in the corner and the makeup vanity, and the glow from the large bulb lights surrounding the mirror bounces off his golden hair as he takes in my new home away from home.
A rack holding my costumes from earlier in the show is tucked against the only free wall to the right of the door. There’s a shelf above the couch that’s home to a Marilyn Monroe Funko Pop! doll and a couple of frames from past shows. I see his eyes widen when he spots Mr. Potato Head tucked into the back corner.
Of course he’s here. Is he really surprised?
At least I refrained from having a picture of us in the room. I would have, but it was too hard to see his face. Creeping on his social media was enough torture.
“You…” He trails off, reaching for the famous potato.
“I wanted to keep you close, even if you didn’t want me.”
The toy looks barely bigger than the spud it portrays inside his bear paws. His thumbs smooth over the smiling face reverently.
The rough wood of the door scrapes my back as I push off of it and add the jar to the shelf.
“It was never a question of wanting you.” His eyes remain locked on the toy as he speaks. “Was I blindsided by the information? Yes. Could I have handled how I reacted better? Absolutely.”
There’s so much sorrow in his voice, and I automatically step into him, anchoring myself with my hands on his hips. Finally, he lifts his gaze to mine, returning Mr. Potato Head to his place of honor and mirroring my stance.
“You didn’t hold my family against me. It’s not fair for me to hold yours against you.”
“Um…your family is awesome.”
“They’re fucking crazy.” His chest expands with a deep breath. “But they’re mine and I wouldn’t trade them in for the world.” His grip on me tightens. “Just like you.”
I swallow, wishing the words would come. Why the hell am I so nervous?
Chickening out, I ask, “Why do you and my brother hate each other?”
His eyes flare, flashing gold. “He didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head. “He’s barely spoken to me since Fallon told him we were a couple.”
“Oh, baby.” The corners of his eyes soften and his lips tip down. He pulls me in more, the sequins of my gown catching on the buttons of his shirt.
“I know part of it was about the Olympics, but I know there’s more. Will you tell me?” I plead.
He nods. “So much has played into it. You’re right—the whole debacle over me getting the spot on the Olympic team over him is only the most recent one. There was also when BTU beat his team in the Frozen Four, and you heard the gist of the Lake Placid stuff.”
“That doesn’t seem like enough to fuel the rivalry you have, though.”
“It is when you combine it with how his attacks”—he puts air quotes around the word—“hit too close to home.”
“Explain?” My arms loop all the way around his waist.
“All my life I’ve struggled with being Ryan Donnelly’s brother and being compared to him. I’ve had moments where I didn’t feel like I truly earned my place in hockey.”
“That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard. I love Nate, and yes, he’s a great hockey player”—I squeeze Jase—“but I knew your stats long before we met.”
That cocky grin makes a reappearance. “Are you saying you were my puck bunny?”
I pinch his ass and he yelps. “Keep saying stupid shit like that and see what happens.”
“Sorry, baby. Please continue telling me all about how you pined for me from afar.”
I roll my eyes and he laughs.
Dipping my head to make eye contact, I wait until he’s focused on me, needing him to see as well as hear the sincerity of my words. “You are one of the best defenders in the league. Comparing you to Ryan is like comparing apples to oranges.”