Bryan agreed to a plea deal that guarantees he’ll be in prison for at least the next twenty years. An investigation found more victims. He’s a sick bastard. Victor will be speaking against him getting parole at every future hearing.
That’s a very long way off, though. For now, Victor is going to a support group for male survivors of childhood sexual abuse. He doesn’t talk about it much, and I don’t ask him to. The sad bond he shares with those men is something I can’t truly understand.
He grins at me as he walks past, a big box in his arms. “Babe, you never told me you had braces.”
I grimace and look inside the box. It’s filled with photographic evidence of my incredibly awkward adolescent years—shiny silver braces, a bad perm and worse bangs.
“No, don’t look at those.” I groan.
“Too late.”
Ari comes over and pulls a photo out. “You were cute!”
“Not even a little.”
She squints to get a closer look. “Aw, look at your little boobies. You were just a late bloomer, girl.”
I close the lid to the box. “Enough of that, there’s lots of work to do.”
Victor winks and kisses me before taking the box over to the pile of stuff we’ve unloaded from the garage. Fortunately, he already knows his future wife never completely outgrew her awkward phase.
“Found my old racing trophies,” Dad says, carrying an old, falling apart box out of the garage.
“You used to race cars?” Victor asks him.
“Oh, yeah. Had the time of my life.”
They start talking racing, my dad reaching into the cooler for a couple beers as he tells Victor about the good ole days. I knew going in that this would be a slow process. My dad says if he’s not on the clock, he’s not in a hurry.
Douglas and Ari are teasing each other about something, and I smile at them. Victor and I have gone on several double dates with them, and Douglas seems like a truly nice guy. He adores Ari. I think she feels the same way, though she doesn’t want to admit it.
I walk in the house to mix up a pitcher of lemonade and put up my hair. It’s a sunny, gorgeous Chicago day, but I’m sweating from moving boxes.
As soon as I come outside with the lemonade, I hear male laughter inside the garage. I pour some lemonade, set the pitcher down on the patio table and have a few quick sips from my cup before I get back to work.
Victor looks over at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “This may be the best day of my life.”
I knit my brows together, skeptical. “Why?”
He picks something out of a box and unrolls it, holding it up for me to see.
“Oh God. No!”
My face bursts into flame. It’s my old Victor Lane poster, his smiling mouth worn away to almost nothing from all the kisses I once gave it.
“Should we put this up in our bedroom?” he teases. “Maybe above our bed?”
I swipe my arm out, trying to grab the poster from him. He dodges me easily.
“Someone had a crush on me before we even met.” He arches his brows playfully.
“Is that…?” Ari laughs heartily. “I didn’t know you had a poster of him.”
“It was a phase.” I look away. “Are any of you actually going to get any work done today?”
Victor rolls the poster back up, still smiling. “You want me to autograph that for you, babe?”
I try to stay grouchy, but he comes up and tickles my side, making me laugh.
“Don’t…you’re so arrogant,” I say through my laughter.
He pulls me into his arms, saying. “Am not. And you know, you can kiss me anytime you want now.”
“It might be a while, if you keep teasing me.”
Feigning a frown, he looks down at me. “Really? My badass South Side girl can’t take a little teasing?”
“My badass hockey player can’t admit he’s completely full of himself?”
He gives me a sexy smirk, and leans down to whisper in my ear, “I like it better when you’re full of myself.”
I snuggle close to him in agreement. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got tonight, poster boy.”