“Oh my God,” a female voice squeals, and I shift to see three women hurrying our way. “It’s Steele!”
Groaning, I peek at Ella to see frustration on her face that her rant has been interrupted, then turn to face the women. Clearly drunk fans. They’re all tottering my way.
“Can we get a picture, Steele?” one asks.
“And can you sign my boob?” another inquires.
Ella rolls her eyes and takes a few steps back to lean against the building, having that patient quiet about her whenever fans accost me. Over the years, she has accepted this was part of the job, although I know she’s adamantly opposed to me signing boobs, and I’ve never done that once in my career.
“Actually, ladies, I’m having a private talk with my wife, so—”
“It’s fine, Jim,” Ella says softly. “Let them take some pictures.”
With no enthusiasm whatsoever, I manage to get between them, bend to their level, and let one of the ladies snap some selfies.
I draw back, and the one who asked for her breast signed grins sheepishly at Ella. “Sorry about the boob thing.”
“No worries,” Ella replies easily, and I realize… it’s just one of a million reasons I love her. Because she doesn’t get bothered by those things as they don’t impact me, her, or our bond. “Hope you ladies aren’t driving.”
“We’re waiting on Lyft,” one says before they sway across the parking lot.
I watch them before turning back to my wife. “You were saying?”
“Right,” she says, pushing off the wall. “As I said, we can’t turn a deaf ear to the legitimacy of those negative emotions that rise, because to do so would invalidate—”
“For fucks’ sake, Ella,” I growl, completely frustrated by everything. “Will you just get to the point? I assume you want to talk because you’ve decided on what you want. So do you want me to quit hockey?”
She appears genuinely surprised by my question. “God, no! Never. It’s your passion and what makes you happy. I’d never take that away from you.”
My heart sinks a little because, in my mind, it would guarantee I’d get my wife and family back.
“Then you want to get divorced?” I ask in a low, rough voice, my gaze moving away from her but staring at nothing in particular.
“Most definitely not that,” she replies. That has my head turning back so fast that I about get whiplash.
“Then what do you want?” I ask hesitantly, a spark of hope taking root deep within me.
Ella takes a step forward, close enough for her to put a hand on my chest. Her head tips back, expression contrite, and she says, “I want to apologize to you. I was completely out of line with what I said today. I let a bunch of ugly feelings well up, and I took it out on you when I knew rationally that you canceling our date was beyond your control.”
It’s everything I wanted to hear, but I think there’s more. “Okay.”
She takes another deep breath. “The reason I was so upset was the night was supposed to be special.”
“I remember,” I reply with a smirk. “You said you’d have me howling.”
A slight grin plays at her mouth, but she shakes her head. “Not that. I was going to ask you to officially come home. For good. So let’s put this marriage back together and recommit to one another.”
I go dizzy because I was not expecting that. My hand closes over the one she still has on my chest, and I bend closer. “Are you serious?”
“I sat on your hard porch for two hours to tell you this,” she says tartly. “I stalked you here. Of course, I’m serious.”
I frown. “That’s not what I was expecting.”
“I know, and that makes me feel even more awful. I had hoped that maybe you’d understand I was just overly emotional. And I hope you realize I love you now more than ever. I’m worried that because you didn’t know those things that perhaps you might not be in a position to accept my offer to come home. I mean, I thought it was all about me opening up to trust you again, but maybe now you need to decide if you trust me. Because when I say I want you to move back, Jim, it’s forever. This is it for us. There’s no separating again and we’ll be committing to each other—new vows so to speak—that we’re not ever going to let ourselves get lost again. But if you need time—”
My mouth slams down on hers, cutting off any further suggestions she might make that more time is needed to decide.
I’m decided.
I’m fucking going back home tonight, and I’m not leaving again.
Ella groans with relief, her arms wrapping tight around me. I walk her back into the side of the building, then kiss her even harder.