“In a good way?” she inquires hesitantly.

  “In the best ways,” I assure her. “You’ve changed my life, Tillie, and you alone gave me the strength to consider giving my old life a chance. The only problem is, my old life doesn’t include you.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she murmurs, her gaze drifting from mine.

  “But I want it to.”

  Her eyes slide back, mouth slightly parted. I want to kiss her again, but I refrain. “It’s going to be hard to figure out. I’m hoping you can come stay in Pittsburgh with me some, but I understand you have a life here too. Especially after you open the studio. But I’ll come here when I can. I have the summer, a full bye week, and Christmas I’ll spend here with you. And once in a blue moon, we have three- to four-day stretches with no games, so you can time visits then. I’ll have practice, of course, but lots of time to spend with you. You could come to some away games. We can make it work. I know we can. I’ll get a bigger place in Pittsburgh, and we’ll set up an art studio for you in one of the rooms. I’ll make sure it has good lighting and… whoa… fuck… Tillie… are you crying?”

  Yes, tears are brimming in her eyes, and when she blinks, they stream down her cheeks and wet her golden eyelashes.

  I brush them away with my thumbs and dip my head to kiss her softly. “Is my idea so repugnant? Is that why you’re crying?”

  She shakes her head and laughs. “No… it’s just… I thought yesterday when you told me you were going back to Pittsburgh that it was the definite end for us.”

  “No,” I say emphatically. “When I decided to go back, I’d done so only after considering how I could keep you, how I could make us work. I just wasn’t sure how to approach you about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” And here my words fail me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt deep emotion, and after closing myself off for so long, it’s not easy to talk about my feelings.

  Tillie’s hand comes to my cheek, her expressive eyes affirming I can trust her with anything, and my tongue loosens.

  “Because I’ve spent months walled off from everyone, and this is hard. But mostly, because I didn’t know if you’d even want to continue to see me. I’ve been such a dick to you—I sued you and tried to take away your dreams, I’ve not offered much of myself, other than pleasure in bed. I was having a hard time believing you would want anything to do with me if I went back to Pittsburgh.”

  “You’ve offered plenty,” she says, her fingers playing with the collar of my T-shirt. “You trusted me enough to share the source of your pain. You gave me something you’ve never given anyone else, and that means a lot.”

  “So my idea isn’t that crazy?” I prod.

  She grabs hold of her lower lip with her teeth, which means she’s pondering. She doesn’t do it to be sexy—although she is—but it’s her tell that she’s thinking deeply.

  “This is overwhelming. You’re asking me to be part of a life that’s foreign to me.”

  “You’ll get used to Pittsburgh,” I assure her. “It’s like a big small town, and the people are great.”

  She shakes her head, eyes heavy with apology. “I’m not talking about the city. I’m talking about your life. You’re famous, Coen. I don’t know much about hockey, but I’ve read enough to know you’re a big deal in not just Pittsburgh but in the league. Here in Coudersport, you’re just Coen… my grumpy but hot neighbor. Here, you’re mine. In Pittsburgh, you belong to everyone else.”

  My heart sinks because it sounds like she’s not interested. I know she feels the same connection that I do, but fuck if she doesn’t make some good points. Our life together in Pittsburgh would be very, very different. She would have to share me with the team and with fans. She’d be committing to a man who wouldn’t be there for her all the time.

  At least not physically, anyway.

  “I won’t go back,” I say, surprised at how easily that popped out of my mouth, and then downright stunned that I don’t want to recant. I’d been excited by my commitment to return to my career, and in the blink of an eye, I’m ready to give it all up again.

  For Tillie.

  “What?” she exclaims, pushing out of my hold. She glares at me, hands on her hips. “Like hell you’ll give up your career just because I might have a little anxiety about how life with you would work.”

  I snag her wrist and I reel her into me. My other hand goes to the back of her neck and I squeeze, forcing her eyes to me. “I’ve obviously given a lot of thought about my life and where it’s going, Tillie. And the one thing I know, without a doubt, is that I don’t want to do life without you. I want hockey back, but I want you more. I will follow you.”

  Tears form again. “You’d give up hockey for me?”

  “I love you.” Fuck if those words don’t sound more right than anything that’s ever come out of my mouth. “I love you, and I want to be with you, so if you want to stay here in Coudersport, so will I. If you want to give Pittsburgh a try, we’ll do it together. But always together.”

  Tillie flings herself at me, buries her face in my chest, and mumbles, “Ah luf u tooh.”

  Chuckling, I wrap her hair in my hand and tug her head back. “What was that?”

  “I love you too.” She smiles up at me, tears still twinkling in her eyes.

  “So, where do you want to live, Ms. Marshall?” I ask.

  “With you,” she replies, and that’s the exact answer I need to hear.

  CHAPTER 27

  Tillie

  We pull past a house so beautiful, I can’t wrap my head around it. It’s aglow with light, done in red brick with black shutters and cream trim. It has gabled roofs and sits in an L-shape with a round turret tucked into the corner that rises three stories and is mostly paned glass. A massive chandelier illuminates a curved staircase that winds up the turret made of gleaming white marble.

  Cars line the street on both sides, and it’s a block down before we find a place to park.

  I wipe my hands on my dress. “My palms are sweating.”

  “Mine too, babe.” He turns off the truck. “This is the first team social event I’ve been to since the crash.”

  “At least you know these people,” I grouse playfully. “I’m just a small-town girl who thinks Vienna sausages are an appropriate canapé to serve at a party.”

  Coen snorts and leans in for one of his fast kisses. “You most certainly don’t think that about Vienna sausages, as I happen to know you’re a foodie. Yes, you may be a small-town girl, but you’re going to charm the socks off everyone here.”

  Brienne Norcross’s house sits in a gated community just north of the Pittsburgh city limits. Tonight is a welcome-back party—not for Coen—but for the team as a whole.

  Training camp starts tomorrow and I’m spending the week in Pittsburgh with him. Once the season starts, we’ll have to face the struggles of on and off long-distance dating.

  “Let’s do this,” he says, leaning in for another kiss, and it settles me.

  Everything about this man steadies me in all ways, and he considers it his job. He took that responsibility on the minute I agreed to live my life with him.

  We had six weeks together in Coudersport before it was time for him to come to Pittsburgh and walk back into the hockey world. Tonight, the team parties at the owner’s house, and tomorrow they step onto the ice.

  I’d be lying if I didn’t say the past several weeks have been idyllic. The first order of business after Coen flipped my world upside down was to move my stuff into his cabin.

  Well, our cabin now.

  We then began construction to convert my house into a studio. Coen and I did the demolition together and we decided to keep the trees. It keeps us private although he laid a stone path through the woods that separate the two properties and then moved some of my mom’s sculptures to help guide the way when I make the walk. It took almost the entire remainder of summer for us to transform the interior of my place into an artists’ haven with rooms for painting and pottery.

  I hope to add a covered area in the back for welding, as I have all my mother’s equipment. I’m not qualified to teach it, nor pottery, for that matter, but I will invite guest teachers to come in, and the studio is for those who already have the skill and knowledge but not the means to produce their art.

  When we weren’t working on the studio, we were still together. We’d grab lunch or dinner in town, take long drives, have game night with Ann Marie and Xander, or he’d take me fishing. I like to sit on the bank and watch. Fishing’s not my favorite, but Coen most certainly is.

  Among the more humorous things that happened over the remainder of the summer was when Cici and her group tried to ingratiate themselves with Coen. Word spread around town that he owns a place and is becoming a fixture in some local establishments, Masha’s being one of our regular hangouts.

  Cici and her gang don’t know how to give up. They want to hang with the famous hockey player, which is probably the most interesting thing that’s ever happened in their lives. It’s pitiful, if not amusing, that they’re trying to get to Coen through me. On more than one occasion, Cici has approached me like we’re long-lost friends, and I’ve ignored her the same way I do when she slings insults.

  Coen isn’t so nice. He finally told Cici and her groupies to leave us alone, that we have no interest in being friends with them, and that they’re being pathetic in their attempts.

  “Guess all that practice at being an asshole for so long really paid off,” Coen said with a grin as they stomped away in humiliation.

  I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him, which made him happy since he loves kissing so much. “I love you more and more each day.”

  And it’s true.

  Just keeps getting better.

  We exit Coen’s truck and walk hand in hand down the sidewalk toward the Norcross mansion. A few other guests are arriving at the same time, and they nod and call out greetings to Coen.

  Inside, I look around with wide eyes at the massive, vaulted ceilings, gleaming wood floors with inlaid designs, and art that I know cost a fortune.

  Coen’s hand tightens on mine as we wind through guests in various rooms. Seems everyone already has a drink or hors d’oeuvres plate, or both.

  “I want to introduce you first to Brienne. Then we’ll walk around and you can meet everyone else,” Coen says. “There will be a name quiz at the end.”

  “Funny,” I grouse, squeezing his hand back.

  There are no words for how beautiful Brienne Norcross is. She’s like a Nordic princess with her pale blond hair that falls just to her shoulders in a slightly asymmetrical cut and eyes the color of cobalt. Tall and statuesque, she’s wearing a cream-colored blouse, black wide-leg pants that offer only a peek of a stiletto heel, and a simple gold necklace with matching small hoops in her ears. She is understated elegance, and there’s no doubt her outfit is worth more than all my clothes combined.

  As she sees us approaching, her eyes transform from welcoming hostess to deep warmth as she takes in Coen. Her lips curve into a smile, and she says something to the very handsome man standing next to her who looks our way.

  “Coen,” she says, her voice so affectionate, I think she might hug him, but instead, she reaches out a hand for him to shake. I suspect this is done in deference to him more than anything, as I’m well aware how contentious and standoffish he’s been. “I am so glad you came. Welcome back.”

  They clasp hands briefly as Coen says, “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

  “You deserve it,” she says.

  Coen first notified the general manager, Callum Derringer, of his return, and then he had a long telephone conversation with Brienne. It was done while I was out grocery shopping, so I didn’t hear what was said, but Coen filled me in. He told Brienne the whys behind his attitude, mentioning without details that he’d broken trust with a teammate. He revealed to her the demons that sprang forth from that incident, including the biggest—his feeling that he didn’t deserve to be on the team.

  She easily forgave him, and now, here we are.

  “Have you met Cannon West?” Brienne asks, turning slightly to the man beside her.

  I don’t know much about hockey, but Coen has been teaching me. I know Cannon is the new Titans’ head coach, and he’s shockingly young for what I envisioned a coach should look like. I happen to know he’s only thirty-six and went from playing in the league to coaching after his wife died of cancer.

  “We’ve not met,” Coen says as he shakes Cannon’s hand. When he releases, he pulls me in close. “Let me introduce you both to my girlfriend, Tillie.”

  It never gets old hearing him call me that, and in fact, it sends a thrill through me.

  “Tillie,” Brienne croons as she takes my hand. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s lovely to meet you. Welcome to the team.”

  I hadn’t realized Coen had told her about me, but the thudding in my heart turns into a warm pulse. “I’m really happy to meet you as well.”

  We talk a few more minutes with Brienne and Cannon. It’s disconcerting how gorgeous the man is with his dark hair and hazel eyes, and I wonder if he has something going on with Brienne.

  Not that they gave any indication of such, and it’s probably nothing more than an owner talking to her coach, but I guess the romantic in me wants to see love everywhere.

  Next, we find drinks and decide to hit the food later. Me with a white wine in hand and Coen with a beer, we walk around the house, moving from group to group. Coen admitted to me a few days ago he was nervous how receptive the team would be. He’s told me pretty much everything about the last few months he played with the Titans, and the numerous ways he offended his teammates. It relieves me that everyone is open and accepting of his return, if not downright happy about it. He’s the best player on the team, and they really need him.

  “There he is,” a booming voice sounds from behind us, and I turn to see a man walking our way with two small plates in hand.

  Coen grins and leans toward me. “That’s Gage.”

  My memory cycles through the stories Coen’s shared over the summer, and I know this man is one of the main influences on Coen returning. Gage is a veteran player who is moving to the coaching staff this year.

  “You must be Tillie,” he says when he reaches us.

  “That I am,” I reply.

  He holds up the plates. “I’d hug you for turning this asshole into a puppy dog, but my hands are full.”

  Coen snorts, and if that’s not a true testament that he’s back to his old self, I don’t know what is.

  “Come on,” Gage says with a toss of his head. “We’re in the game room.”

  We follow Gage downstairs into a massive open area set up to fulfill any gaming or entertainment wishes. Big screen TVs, three pool tables, a foosball table, cork and electronic dart boards, a Skee-Ball machine, a shuffleboard deck, and a row of slot machines. A sprawling circular bar sits in the middle with a freestanding island inside, which contains a stone water feature with water falling down its slab face. Mesh shelves extend outward, stacked with top-shelf liquors. Behind the bar, two tuxedoed bartenders serve guests.

  “In all my life, I don’t know that I’ll ever see anything as grand as this again,” I murmur to Coen.

  He bends toward me as we continue following Gage. “You know I can build us a house like this.”

  I come a screeching halt, my jaw hanging open. “You could?”

  “I mean… yeah. If that’s what you want.”

  I shake my head vehemently. “No, that’s not what I want. I’m just stunned you could afford to.”

  Coen frowns. “What kind of money do you think I make?”

  “I have no clue what hockey players earn.”

  “You didn’t google that?” he teases.

  “No, but I’m thinking I should now,” I grumble that he’s making fun of my ignorance and taking pleasure that I’m shocked.

  He takes my hand and we’re off again, heading toward open French doors that lead outside. “I’ll fill you in on my bank balance later, but suffice it to say, I’m pretty fucking rich.”

  “Well,” I drawl snobbishly, “if I didn’t love you before, I certainly do now.”

  He laughs before kissing my cheek. “Brat.”

  Outside, Gage pauses at a group near the edge of a beautifully lit swimming pool that has rocks stacked on one end at least fifteen feet high, creating a waterfall.

  They all watch as Coen and I approach, and it feels like there’s a spotlight on me. I can’t imagine how Coen feels since this is a homecoming of sorts.

  A really awkward homecoming.

  “Look who I found lurking upstairs,” Gage announces.

  “Knew it wasn’t a party until I joined,” Coen replies smoothly, and everyone laughs.

  It’s an easy laughter, obvious his return is beyond welcome.

  Coen becomes Mr. Sociable and introduces me to everyone, starting with Gage’s girlfriend, Jenna, with sunny blond hair and a sunnier smile. She looks like she’d be at home with a surfboard tucked under her arm on some beach.

  Next is Baden, and I recognize him from the articles about his fascinating journey from goalie with the Arizona Vengeance to goalie coach on this rebuilt team. That journey included learning to walk again after he was paralyzed in a violent encounter with some men who were attacking a woman. That woman is now his girlfriend, Sophie, and her first words to me are, “Hey… we actually kind of look alike.”

  It’s true. She has blond hair like me, although it’s darker, but we’re both rocking the curls.

  Last, I’m introduced to Stone and his girlfriend, Harlow, who looks like a movie star just stepping off the red carpet with her lustrous auburn hair that falls in waves down her back. Of course, Stone is as gorgeous as she is, so he makes a good leading man.

  Hell, they’re all super beautiful people, just like Coen, and yet I don’t feel an ounce of discomfort. None of that matters because I have someone who loves me exactly the way I am.