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To the Appies fans who made this possible… Thanks for loving this team of imperfectly lovable hockey players
They encouraged independent study, independent thinking, and just, well, being independent. The sad part is that I’ve always been drawn to people.
Fact: Bailey is pretty. But the other day, I noticed her with a whole different set of senses.
Feeling: Bailey is pretty. It was … disconcerting. Especially considering the way I was already falling all over myself with words. Add in the sudden visceral awareness of her, and it’s a wonder I could form any coherent syllables at all.
“We’re in it together,” Felix says, his voice subdued but firm as he repeats what Alec always has us say before a game. “Family.” “Family,” the guys repeat.
I take Bailey in for the first time, and my brain goes on a brief hiatus from working. Until now, I haven’t even noticed that she’s not in scrubs. She’s always in scrubs. But not tonight.
I have a brief argument with myself about being shallow for noticing Bailey now that she’s wearing something other than scrubs. But my awareness started the other day. When she was in normal work clothes and had her hair in a messy ponytail. And I’ve always liked Bailey. Even if it’s only lately that I started to realize my visits to the shelter are maybe as much about her as they are the dogs.
open affection was not a thing in our household, physical or verbal. Love was just a thing we all understood to be true.
“I’ll do everything I can to make her happy,” Eli says quietly.
“Who’s taking care of you, Bailey?” Eli’s words settle over me, soft as snowfall, only warm not cold. “No one,” I murmur. “I could,” Eli says, and now I’m really not sure if I’m dreaming. Because this is the exact kind of thing I wish someone would tell me. “I would.”
“I’ll do it,” I say, a smile on my lips. Because I’m proud of myself for being brave. For wanting something and then saying so. Out loud. Unless I’m dreaming? “I’ll marry you, hockey player.”
“But … yes. If you need someone to do this so you can stay, so your mom can stay, I’ll be that person for you, Eli.”
her brown eyes are almost gold in the morning light as she offers me a soft smile. “You stayed,” Bailey says, wrapping her arms around herself. She’s drowning in a puffy coat that looks warm but too big, blue scrubs underneath. “I needed to know you were safe.”
A lot of ways Bailey hasn’t been cared for in the past. A lot of ways people have let her down, or maybe not shown up at all. Plus, without her parents or other close family besides her gran, she’s so alone. Wanting to show her the care she deserves feels like a challenge.
“Better get used to it, future Mrs. Hopkins.”
“But whose name will be on the back of my jersey?” His face darkens, and it only makes me push more. “Maybe Van? He’s a fun guy.” Eli’s heated look turns molten, and he shakes his head slowly. “Mine,” he says firmly, his low voice wrapping like a fist around my heart. “You can only wear my name.”
My throat gets a little tight when I read Van’s message: This guy would do anything for people he loves. Anything. Count yourself lucky if you fall into that category. And whatever you do, don’t hurt my boy.
“Turn around.” “What?” His smile melts away, his eyes blue flames as he stares. “I want to see you wearing my name.”
Eli makes his way out as the music shifts to “Marry You” by Bruno Mars. Definitely a proposal.
Only then do I notice the ring box taped to the puck. Breathe, Bailey. Breathe. Eli rips of his gloves, prying my fingers off the side of the chair and curling his hands around mine. “Bailey? What’s wrong?” I open my mouth, but it takes several tries before I can croak out an intelligible response. “I think I’m having an anxiety attack. Or maybe not officially? Maybe I’m just freaking out.” His arms are suddenly around me,
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m ruining your whole thing.” “No, I’m sorry,” Eli says fiercely, lips grazing my ears.
Because Bruno Mars’s never-ending song has given way to “Kiss Me.” And the crowd goes wild.
“I’m not going to force you to kiss me because of a song,” he murmurs, his lips so very close to where I actually want them. “Not because fans are yelling for it. Not when you look like you’re feeling panicked and unsafe, Bailey.”
No—I want to kiss Eli. Here. Now. Like this, with fear crouching at the door of my mind, nervousness a steady whisper in my blood. Reaching up to curl my hand around the back of Eli’s neck, I pull him toward me and press my mouth to his.
Who needs to breathe? Oxygen is definitely secondary to this kiss. And this—this feels like exactly what my mouth is made for. Bailey. Only Bailey. Forever Bailey.
I more than like Bailey as a person. More than think she’s pretty. More than like kissing her.
The thing between us isn’t supposed to be real. Or feel this good.
It’s the ring box. The one I never removed from the puck. Never gave to Bailey. Because I actually never got around to asking her to marry me. Worst. Proposal. Ever.
Bailey is the kind of perfect I could get used to. A permanent fixture. The kind I’d fight to keep.
“The problem,” I say, “is that I like her. I like Bailey. Like, really like her like her.”
“One more thing—you will never be too much for the right woman. You’ll be exactly enough.”
I’ve found one of the hardest things about losing people you care about is the guilt of remembering the things they weren’t so great at. Thinking about their flaws and disappointments makes me feel like a traitor.
“Always wear waterproof mascara,” Gran says. “You never know when someone’s going to break your heart.”
“I’m nervous too. And awkward is my natural resting state. So … maybe we can just be happily awkward together?” “Awkward together.”
“Maybe that’s what marriage is,” I suggest. “Arguing over pizza toppings.” Eli’s brow furrows, so I continue. “I mean, no two people automatically start agreeing on everything once they say ‘I do.’ So, they learn their differences and how to navigate them. What things are fine to disagree on—like pizza toppings—and where they need to come to a consensus. That’s marriage.”
“You’re not alone, Leelee. Not anymore.”
“You blush like a sunrise,” he murmurs, the rumble of his voice making my breath hitch. “First a light pink, then a deeper flush, and finally, rose red. Not just in your cheeks. Here,” he says, tapping the end of my nose, then sweeping two fingers to my jaw and trailing them slowly down my neck. “And here.”
My pretend wife was the kind of vision you’d see if you were squinting with water in your eyes. Now, that blurry vision moves into startlingly clear reality as Bailey steps out of a curtained dressing room. I don’t mean to gasp.
Forget it. I don’t care who heard me. Or who sees me stumbling to my feet as Bailey hesitantly takes a few steps toward me,
The thing is—I don’t care about the dress. I mean, this one is definitely a little odd. But when Bailey walked out, I wasn’t paying any attention to the dress. The mere idea of Bailey wearing a wedding dress to marry me, thinking of Bailey walking toward me down an aisle just like all my stuffed animal scenarios—that’s all I care about.
Someone should really name a crayon or a paint color after the exact shade of pink in her cheeks. I’m not a huge pink fan, but I could see painting whole rooms in this color.
Maybe I need a whole swatch of paint colors or a whole box of crayons inspired by Bailey’s blushes. From the first pale kiss of pink to the deep sunset red now. Pink might be my new favorite color.
“And you?” Bailey asks, looking down at our clasped hands. “Are you happy?” More than I feel ready to admit. “Yes, Leelee. I’m happy.” An understatement, really.
“I love seeing you like this.” Mom stares smugly at me over the rim of her mug. I stretch out, sliding my legs down until my feet are right next to Mom’s. Tapping her foot with mine, I raise my brows. “Seeing me like what?” “In love,” she says.
It’s what family does.” I thought it would be Eli, but Maggie is the one who will be the death of me.
And honestly? After being completely on my own for a few years now, it feels so incredibly nice to have someone taking care of me.
“He’s a lovesick puppy and would do anything for you.”
It’s all too much. Too real. Too perfect. And Eli did all this for me. The same knot that’s been in my throat tightens until I wonder how it’s possible for me to swallow. Or breathe.
You can do whatever. I just didn’t want you to not have the choice of someone standing beside you.” He starts to turn away, but I grab his arm and link mine through it, ignoring the burning in my eyes and nose and the tightness in my throat. Parker tries to hide a tiny sniffle. “I’d love to have you walk me down the aisle, Van.”
Nothing about this seems fraudulent to me. Especially not the lovesick look in your eyes.” He pauses just as there’s movement at the back of the tent, unseen people outside pulling apart the flaps. “And not the look in hers either.”
