The Game Plan (Game On 3)

He lets out a raspy laugh, tucking the umbrella back into the basket-cart at his side. “Ain’t that the truth.” He nods toward the night sky. “Bad weather will blow past. Always does.”

I want to laugh until I cry, but I nod and reach into my pocket for my wallet. He sees me and holds up a hand. “No need for that. No need at all. I’m getting on home now.”

I’ve seen him around and know this is a lie. But pride is a powerful thing, and so I push my wallet back. “Have a good evening, mister.”

He leaves me to silence and the sound of the rain pattering against the pavement. And I sit back, my head thumping against my front door and close my eyes.

Pride. I thought I was so fucking humble, above it all. But my pride kept me from going after Fi when I first saw her. It’s kept me from demanding the things I want in life until it was easy. And it had me lashing out when I should have listened.

Fucking pride.

“Ethan?”

My eyes spring open. Fi stands a few feet away, holding a grocery bag in her hands. Illuminated by the gas lantern hanging over our door, her little frame is dwarfed by her big yellow raincoat. I scramble to my feet, my sneakers squeaking on the pavers.

“Fi.” I take a step forward, my chest heaving. “Cherry, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know.”

“All that stupid shit I said, I was just—”

She takes a step too. “You don’t have to explain. Everyone deserves to howl at the moon at some point. And you’ve had a shitty day. A shitty month, really.”

We’ve both had a shitty time of it, yet she wasn’t the one who went into Hulk-Smash mode. “I shouldn’t have trashed the room. I scared you.”

She frowns, and rainwater trickles down her cheeks like tears. “What scares me more is that you believe you need to hide your emotions.”

My throat works on a noisy swallow, and I have to blink away the rain drops that blind me.

“What’s really bothering you?” she asks when I don’t speak.

“I liked it,” I confess in a tight voice, my eyes finding hers. “Allowing myself to let go.” It had relieved a pressure I’d felt building for what seems like forever.

She gives me a small smile. “It’s okay to get angry or upset, you know. If all this has taught me anything, it’s that we can’t plan life. It just happens. If you hold on too tight, you might break. And I don’t ever want to see you broken, Ethan.”

I don’t have it in me to explain the stark, gray terror I felt when I realized she was gone. If losing my temper meant losing her, I’d hold onto it as tight as I could. Because without her, I’d be broken anyway. “Being with you. Loving you—You make me feel everything.”

Another step and she’s within touching distance. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“No. I was numb before you. I want to feel. I just… I don’t want to scare you. I got angry, and you left. I thought….” My breath hitches. “You left.”

Green eyes stare up at me through clumped, wet lashes. “I needed air. You needed to cool down.”

“You didn’t let me finish back there. If you leave, I’ll follow. I’ll always follow.”

“I know that. In fact, I’m counting on it. But I’m done running. You’re stuck with me, Big Guy.” She raises her hand a little, showing me the bag she’s holding. “I just thought I’d get you some gumbo. It’s cold and raining, and you love it—”

I grab hold of her and haul her close, wrapping her up in my arms. My lips find hers, cold and wet but perfect. I slip my tongue into her warm mouth where she tastes of rain and Fi. I cup her cheeks, try to warm her skin, and kiss her until I can’t breathe.

She leans into me, her raincoat squeaking, her soft breasts plump against my chest. Somehow we’re both apologizing in the kiss, breaking apart and coming back together again and again, soft, deep, finding new angles.

With every touch of her mouth to mine, the tight knot inside my chest eases. I’ve made a habit of locking up my emotions and hiding them from the world. But this girl—the one who inspired me to sing my ass off on a stage, who brings me gumbo when I’ve shown her my worst—she makes me whole. She helped me find myself.

Fi is done running, and I am over hiding. It’s as simple as that.

Our lips drift apart. Rain turns the world into a blur, but my mind is clear. “I love you. I don’t say that enough. Just know that whatever I do, wherever I am, it is a constant refrain in my heart. You color my world, Fi.”

She smiles up at me, her skin glistening and her eyes bright. Gently she touches my cheek with her free hand. “Ethan, I might not be perfect, but no one will ever love you more than I do.”

I don’t think I knew how much I needed to hear those words until she says them. I rest my forehead against hers. I’m freezing, but my heart is finally warm again. I snuggle her closer.

“You are perfect, Cherry. You’re my kind of perfect.”

“You’re my kind of perfect too, Ethan Dexter.”

That’s all I’ve ever needed.

Epilogue

One year later…

Fiona

The house looks perfect. Garlands of evergreen—entwined with twinkling white lights—grace the doorways, window frames, and the big fireplace mantel. Ivory pillar candles are set up in clusters, paired with clove-dotted oranges and sprigs of holly. In the corner by one of the big windows that overlooks the street stands a twelve-foot tree. I kind of love the fact that even Ethan has to pull out the stepladder to decorate the top of it.