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He runs with a long stride, all cocky confidence and athleticism. He looks every bit the hockey jock that he is. A few of his teammates stare after him longingly, and I almost expect them to trail after him like a herd of baby ducks following their hockey god.
His eyes flick around my face—I can’t see their color, just the whites—and I wish he could actually read my thoughts. That he could sift through them, sort them out, and categorize them into some kind of order. Because I sure as hell can’t.
truly caring about someone is never uncomplicated.”
look over at him, and my heart damn near oragamis in my chest.
“I could explain to you all the years of our history.” His voice is soft and warm and full of so much emotion that it hits me low in the gut. “I could tell you about the treehouse and the telescope, the way that this man lives in my soul, that first moment I saw him on the Quad five years ago, how he’s my constant, how he fills me up. But you can see all that because it’s spread out on the table before you. It speaks for itself. So, ‘how long has it been going on?’ I’ll just distill it down to one word.” His eyes warm to a light gray. “Always.”
“I love you to the depth of my ability to love.”
