He’s been sober for six months now. We text or talk on the phone daily, and when he asked me to celebrate his six-months-sober milestone, I only hesitated for a second before saying yes. Instead of listening to the textbook therapist in me, I went with my heart.
I’m enormously proud of him. He’s playing second line center for the Blaze, and though his hip is more prone to exertion and soreness than before, he’s doing well. When he feels tempted to drink, he tells me and we talk it through.
Amelia walks into the apartment, laughing. I hear a deep male laugh and know Paul must be with her. They’re pretty much inseparable these days when neither of them is working. He’s a good guy, and I’m glad to see my best friend so happy.
“Let me see!” Amelia calls out as she walks toward the bathroom.
When she gets there, she squeals with excitement. “I love it, Gravy. Oh my God, you’re so beautiful.” She grabs my hand. “Come out here and show Paul!”
“That’s not nec—”
“Baby, look at Graysen’s hair!” she cries. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Paul grins and nods. “Looks good on you.”
“Thanks.”
I reach up and touch my curls, now a shade lighter and brighter. I had a couple inches trimmed off, too. Between my new hair and the pale blue blouse I bought this afternoon to wear with my jeans and heels tonight, I feel prettier than I have in a long time.
“Is he picking you up?” Amelia asks me.
“No, I wanted to meet him at the restaurant.”
“Right. Less temptation to get it on after dinner.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure Paul really wanted to know that.”
“Ah, he’s used to it.” Amelia waves a hand. “I tell him everything.”
I change the subject. “What are you guys doing tonight?”
“Watching a movie here and getting some food delivered.”
It will probably be the first night Paul and Amelia have been alone at our place since they met. I’m always around—the proverbial third wheel.
I finish getting dressed and touch up my makeup real quick before calling an Uber to take me to Magnolia, the downtown restaurant I’m meeting Alexei at. When I see him waiting for me at our table, my heart hammers with excitement.
He looks even better than he did before. Clean-shaven, with his hair cut shorter and styled on the top, he seems younger and fresher. He’s also leaner than when I last saw him, his hard work in the gym showing in his broad shoulders and the biceps filling out the sleeves of his dress shirt.
“Graysen.” He steps away from his seat to greet me before I even make it to the table, drawing me into his arms. “You look beautiful.”
I hold him tight, closing my eyes and taking in his scent—soapy, with notes of coffee and light cologne. He hugs me back, both of us refusing to let go.
The host who was leading me to our table clears his throat and says, “Enjoy your dinner,” before heading back to the front of the restaurant.
I could hug Alexei forever, though. I force myself to pull away from him, and he rounds the table to pull out my chair.
“You did something different with your hair,” he says. “I like it.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as he’s seated across from me, he holds up a shiny silver medallion—his six-month sobriety marker. His grin melts me.
“I’m really proud of you,” I tell him. “That can’t have been easy.”
“There have been times I was tempted,” he admits. “But overall, it hasn’t been that bad. I think of it like a dietary restriction for training. I’m faster and sharper than I was when I was drinking, and I like that.”
“You scored two goals in one game the other night, that was exciting to watch.”
“I feel better than ever. But my AA sponsor tells me to be vigilant anyway. He says overconfidence can lead to thinking you’re able to handle alcohol in moderation.”
“I’ve seen people fall into that trap.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “It’s so good to see you, Graysen.”
“You, too.”
We hardly even look away from each other when placing our dinner orders. Alexei tells me about the new teammates he’s closest to, and the one they all like to prank just to get a reaction out of him. He shows off photos of himself with his two baby nieces, Ella and Irina.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, sighing.
The girls’ parents, Anton and Mia, are in some of the photos, both of them looking over the moon with happiness. I can feel their joy through the phone screen.
“Do you want kids?” Alexei asks me.
I laugh, caught off guard. “Kids? I’m not sure.”
He lowers his brows, looking concerned. “Why not? I think you’d be a great mom.”
“Thank you. It’s…complicated, I guess.”
“Because of your parents,” he says. He knows me so well already.