Rewind It Back (Windy City, #5)

by Liz Tomforde

I’m a slow burner. Always have been. Shit, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was nineteen and even then, it was to a girl who I had known since I was twelve.

“I pick a song when something cool or important happens so I can remember it. Then when I want to relive a moment, I rewind it back and start the song from the beginning.” That’s

She used to steal all my thoughts. She used to occupy my entire existence. I almost forgot what that felt like. I’ve spent six years subconsciously comparing every date to her. Comparing their laugh to hers. Their kindness to hers. Their confidence to hers. Their taste in music to hers.

“Yeah, well you’re not his, so tell him to keep his hands to himself too.” Her eyes drop to my mouth. “I’m not yours either.” We’ll see.

“You sure look good in my shirt for not being mine.” “Get fucked, DeLuca.” I smile as I open the door. “Would love to. You just let me know when and where, Hart.”

“It was real,” I quickly admit. “For me at least. It was real. That’s how I know it exists.” I watch as the words settle into him. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It was real for me too, Hal.” We don’t break eye contact, and there are no more spoken words, only the unspoken ones.

“Why do I need to pick a song?” she asks. It starts playing through the boombox speakers and I can’t help but laugh at the lack of subtlety in her song choice. “Because I’m going to kiss you and when we listen to next year’s playlist, I want this song to be on there so we can rewind it back however many times we want to and remember this.” Her smile blooms, and her arms wrap around my neck. “I was hoping you were going to say that.”

“You single, Hal?” I finally give him the long-awaited answer, nodding to tell him yes. “Good.” He takes a slow predatorial step towards me, tone sharp and leaving no room for question. “Because we aren’t fucking friends.” With

“When we were in New York, you asked me why I never upgraded that old boombox. Do you remember that?” I nod. “This is why,” he says. “I didn’t have any other way to play the tapes and CDs, and not playing them wasn’t an option for me. For years, I’ve taken this fucking boombox everywhere with me. Held on to it, like if I could keep rewinding and replaying these moments we had, then maybe it wasn’t over.” He pulls a random cassette tape out of the box, running his thumb over the inked heart. “I don’t want it to be over, Hallie.” Using the tip of his finger, he covers the tail of that overdrawn heart, and it makes me want to cry. Not from sadness or painful nostalgia. But from hope.

Hallie, you’re in here.” I tap my chest. “Regardless of the years we spent apart, you’re still in here.” She’s trying to hold back her smile, which seems like a good sign. “Are you sure that’s not just a first-love thing?” “No, baby. It’s a last-love thing.”

“The other night when I said I hoped that one day you’d let me fall in love with you again, what I meant to say was that I hope to earn the chance to fall in love with you again. And that’s not going to happen if I’m too busy regretting the past. So, yes. I made the biggest mistake of my life, and it’s probably going to take some time to fully forgive myself for it, but I don’t want to waste that time without you.” With both hands, I cup her jaw, sliding my fingers into her hair. “It’s always been you, Hallie, and I think we both know it.”

“Hallie,” Rio says tentatively. “Say something.” I can’t. I’m speechless. Because how am I supposed to speak when my eyes are glued to what is essentially my last name, tattooed as a heart, inked over his actual heart? Hesitantly, I reach out, gently running my fingers over the black ink, following the curves and the dip until I stop to cover the overdrawn portion where it was supposed to stop, but never did. My heart. His heart, really, when I think about how many times he fixated on my signatures from the mixtapes and CDs I gave him. It’s my favorite part.

I can’t stop running my fingers over it, pausing at the same point where he used to stop. It’s an exact replica of my handwriting and everything, clearly taken from one of those tapes or CDs. “Because it’s always been us.” With his knuckle, he tilts my chin up so I look at him. “Even when I thought I didn’t want it to be, I knew it was us. I sat there getting this permanently inked onto my skin, trying to convince myself I was only getting it as a reminder that love existed when the whole fucking time, I knew it only existed with you.” Well…

“I’m assuming you want something colorful and pretty that fits your vibe.” She shakes her head no. “White walls. Boring. Like a big plain box, so when we get there, I can start renovating it to be ours. I’ll paint every wall exactly how we want them, and I can add all the finishes we decide on together. It’ll be my very first design project, and I’ll make it into our dream home.” I’m having a hard time holding back my smile as I listen. “Is this house in the city or in the suburbs?” “It depends on where we end up, I suppose. But ideally, we’d live a short drive from downtown so you can get to work, but in a family area that’s a bit quieter. Like the neighborhood we grew up in back home.” I make a mental note of those items because if there’s one thing I’m going to do, it’s make sure this girl gets everything she wants in life.

She freezes, her lips still on mine, before she pulls back to look at me. “Rio!” “Hallie!” Her eyes narrow. “Stop trying to be cute right now.” “I’m not trying. It just comes naturally to me.”

“Thank you for giving me the chance to do this,” she says quietly. “You basically let me design my dream home.” This is her dream home, and that’s the whole fucking point. I don’t know how she hasn’t put the pieces together yet, but that’s the final and most important reason why I won’t sell. Six years ago, even after things fell apart between us, I bought this house for her. It’s everything she told me she wanted, and there was a part of me that hoped if both it and I were here waiting for her, she’d somehow find her way home.

“Well,” he begins slowly. “I was always number eighty-three growing up.” “So, you flipped the numbers?” Miller guesses. “Not exactly. I didn’t know what number to choose when I was a kid, so I picked the number of my favorite day, which was, of course, my birthday. August third. Eighty-three.” Realization finally dawns on me. I forgot that his old number was his birthdate. Which means his new number is… “When I got to training camp in Chicago, they asked me if I wanted to keep eighty-three, but I decided it was time to change it to my actual favorite day.” My birthday. March eighth. Thirty-eight. He’s been wearing my birthdate on his jersey for six years and I had no idea. He slowly turns over his shoulder to look at me. I lean my chin on my arm that’s resting on him, a painfully big smile on my mouth. “So, you like really like me, huh?” I tease quietly for only him to hear. “I think we both know it’s a little deeper than that, even if we’re still pretending it’s one of those unspoken things.” He turns to press a quick kiss to my lips. “And I have for fifteen years, Hal. You’ve had me hooked since the day you became the girl next door.”

“Rio, playing for Boston is your childhood dream.” I shake my head. “You’re my childhood dream.”

Before, when we were kids, I felt lucky. Love fell into our hands. We were neighbors turned friends who eventually fell in love. But this time, it feels like we earned it. We get to be in love because we worked for it. We decided to forgive and understand one another. This second chance doesn’t feel like luck. It feels like a reward.

I just sit back and watch nine of the most important people in my life. I’m the luckiest man alive, I swear. When I was younger, I remember how much I wished I had a sibling. Someone to play hockey with. Someone to talk to. Someone who understood me. Little did I know, as a grown man, I’d end up with eight of them. These girls are practically my sisters, and there’s no question that these guys have become my brothers. I spent years complaining about being the single one of the group, the odd man out. But even though I was the last one, how lucky am I that I got a front-row seat to watch each of my best friends fall in love?

I watched Zanders strip the façade he wore for so long to allow the flight attendant on his team’s plane to see the real him. I watched Stevie learn to love herself the way the arrogant hockey player who followed her everywhere loves her. The way we all do. I watched Indy come out of a relationship she wasn’t meant for and learn to be loved in a new, quieter way. I watched Ryan allow someone into his home and his heart after shutting everyone else out for so long, only for the brightest ray of sunshine to move in and light every dark space she could touch. I watched Kai learn to ask for help, only for that help to come in the form of a firecracker pastry chef who taught him how to have fun again. I watched Miller stop running and grow deeper roots than she ever thought she could by falling in love with a single dad and his little boy. I watched Kennedy learn how to love and be loved thanks to her husband who refused to go a day without showering her with it. I watched Isaiah persist in showing his wife exactly who he was behind the smile, all while keeping his heart open for the only woman he wanted to have it. I watched Hallie, with so much goddamn pride, as her heart softened again. She forgave me while also continuing to stand up for herself along the way. And I…well, I found love because it was always out there, waiting for me, even when I questioned its existence. In fact, I found it right next door—where it had always been. I feel so incredibly blessed that I ...