Make It Sweet

My eyes flew open. I was hearing music, not imagining it. Lurching upward, I stumbled out of bed and flew to the balcony.

He stood at the far end of the pool, hands low on his hips in that arrogant stance of his, staring up at me in challenge. So much fucking swagger.

I should have been pissed. Yelled at him for his absence, his stubborn insistence, his silence.

Instead, a smile burst over me, tugging at my lips, lighting up my insides. For better or worse, this man would always light me up, make me feel alive. “You gonna stand there all night, Brick, or are you going to strip for me?”

His answering smile was pure and free. “I was kind of hoping you’d join me, Snoopy.”

I pushed away from the balcony and dashed down the stairs, running to him. But as soon as I got within a few feet of him, I found myself halting, my skirt swaying around my knees.

We stared at each other in silence as Édith began to sing a jaunty “Milord.”

Lucian’s expression grew strained, a mix of regret and pained tenderness. It pierced my battered heart.

“You’re here,” I croaked. Why now, and for how long?

As though he’d heard my unvoiced questions, he gave me a small tentative smile. “I got your text.”

“Funny, I didn’t get a reply.”

“Some things need answering in person.”

My lips wobbled dangerously. Afraid I’d sob, I made do with nodding once.

Lucian’s gaze softened. “I realized something, Em.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He took a step closer. “I realized I never told you . . .”

“What?” I whispered, my breath coming short.

“I love you.”

They flowed over me, those words, sweet and warm. My heart skipped a beat, then started pounding. It was my turn to respond. I knew I should. But my mouth couldn’t move.

Undaunted by my frozen state, he continued to speak, soft but insistent. “For a long time hockey was my love. Somewhere along the way, that love twisted and became more about my ego. About stats and fame. You were right; I thought it was what everyone valued about me. Even when they told me it wasn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck like it hurt. “I loved you, Em. Almost from the beginning. But I didn’t love me.”

“Lucian . . .”

“I don’t regret going back.” The corners of his wintergreen eyes creased in a pained expression. “I found clarity there. But I do regret leaving you.”

The ground felt unsteady beneath my feet. I didn’t know if he was here to stay or simply to reassure me that I was loved. Even if this was the end, he needed to understand a few things as well.

“I love you too, Lucian. So much.”

He swayed, as though absorbing the words, and his smile grew. “I had hoped for that.”

“How could you doubt it?” Even though I had doubted him too.

He took another step. “Because I’ve been pretty much a dumbass this whole time.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that . . .”

“I would.” Lucian stopped right in front of me. “Em, I was lost. I thought everything that made me who I am had been taken from me.”

“I know.” I wanted to hold him, protect him, this big strong hurting man of mine.

But he didn’t look hurt or lost right now. He looked at me with a new light in his eyes.

“I was wrong. Yes, I’d lost hockey. Yes, it fucking hurt. But I’m not that man anymore.”

“Who are you, then?”

Lucian cupped my cheek with his warm hand and tilted my face up to his. “I’m Lucian, Brick, honey pie, the man who loves Emma, Snoopy, honeybee with all his heart. And I’m not going back. I’m staying right here.”

A sob tore from me. He hauled me close and hugged me tight, his lips pressing against my hair. “I’ll always love hockey, but it isn’t what I want anymore.”

Tears blurred my eyes, and my throat was thick, garbling my words. “What do you want?”

“You.” He ducked his head and met my gaze. “I want to go to bed with you and wake up to you. To talk to you every day about everything and nothing. I want to bake in that kitchen, make you tempting treats, and watch your pretty face light up when you taste them.”

He shook now, his hands combing through my hair. “I want to be the pastry chef at Delilah’s restaurant or have a place of my own. Travel the world with you. To tell you how much I love you every fucking day of my life. I want . . . I want to come home, Em.”

Laughing and crying, I stood on my toes and kissed him. And he kissed me right back, devouring my mouth with slow strokes. I melted against him, soaking up his warmth, the sugar-and-flour scent of his skin.

“I left you, Emma, without saying that you are everything to me. And I’ll be sorry for that until my dying day—”