Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
"He’s much more handsome than the boys on the television," Marian says, patting my arm. "And he doesn't have thin lips like Edward Vernati. I never trusted a man with thin lips, Rory. They hide things."
"Mom," Rory groans, her face flushing a beautiful shade of pink.
The next hour is a blur of introductions and sensory overload. There’s Nonna, who grabs my face with both hands and declares I have 'good bones' before pressing a cold bottle of beer into my hand. There’s a gaggle of cousins and aunts who all seem to speak at once, their voices a symphony of overlapping stories and sharp wit.
I find myself sitting on a lawn chair, trapped between Tony and Tony Jr. It’s the literal and figurative grilling. The smoke from the ribs drifts over us, and the elder Tony leans back, his eyes fixed on me.
"So, Coleman," Tony says, flipping a burger with practiced ease. “When do you plan to stop acting like an asshole on and off the ice?”
"I’m working on it right now," I say, keeping it neutral. "Seattle is a great city. I’m just trying to find my rhythm on the ice."
"And off the ice?" Tony Jr. asks, leaning against the brickwork of the outdoor kitchen. "Are you going to clean your act up off the ice, too?"
The protective wall they’ve built around her is visible, tangible. It’s not just a family barbecue; it’s an interrogation. I look across the yard and see Rory talking to her mother. She glances over at us, her eyebrows pulled together in concern. She looks like she’s about to stage a rescue mission.
"I’m not the guy you see in the tabloids," I say, looking Tony straight in the eye. "I was searching for something when I got here. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so off my game until I met your daughter."
It isn’t a line. It’s the goddamn truth. Meeting Rory fixed something inside of me that I didn’t even know was broken.
The elder Tony studies me for a long time. Then, he nods once. "Good answer. Don't make me regret allowing you to date my daughter. If you fuck this up, I have a shovel in the garage and a very large garden."
“Duly noted.” I hold up my beer to him, and the older Tony laughs, a deep, booming sound that breaks the tension, and slaps me on the back so hard I nearly spill my beer. Tony Jr. offers a small, begrudging smirk. It’s not a full acceptance, but I’ve been cleared for the next play.
Rory makes her way over, slipping her hand into mine. Her palm is warm, and the way she squeezes my fingers tells me she heard the exchange. "Was it bad?" she whispers.
"I’m still in one piece," I murmur back. "Your dad got his point across."
The afternoon fades into a golden evening. We eat until I can barely move, the table a wreckage of empty plates and discarded napkins. I watch Rory interact with her family—the way she teases her brother, the way she listens to her Nonna’s stories with rapt attention. She’s the heart of this group, the bright center they all revolve around.
As the sun dips below the tree line, casting long, purple shadows across the grass, Rory leads me to a quiet corner of the porch. The noise from the yard is muffled here, a low hum of contentment.
"They like you," she says, leaning her back against the railing. "Even Tony Jr. He told me you weren't as 'meathead-ish' as he expected. Which is high praise from him."
"I like them, too," I say, stepping closer. The air between us is charged, the familiar pull of attraction tugging at me. "Thank you for bringing me here to meet them."
"We should probably get going," she whispers, though she doesn't move. "Before my dad decides to show you his lawn tools."
I reach out and tuck a stray hair behind her ear, my thumb grazing her cheek. “Sounds like a plan to me. I can’t wait to get you alone.” I lean over and whisper in her ear, “I have plans for this gorgeous body.”
“Then let’s go.” She breathes out a shaky laugh, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. I can feel her heart beating through the fabric of her dress, a fast, rhythmic fluttering.
We say our goodbyes, a process that takes another twenty minutes as Marian tries to foist plastic containers of leftovers on us and Tony gives me one last, warning look. But as I walk Rory to my car, I feel like a man who’s finally found his home ice. And for the first time since the trade, the silence in my head isn't empty. It’s full of her.
CHAPTER TEN
RORY
The hum of Ryan’s SUV is the only thing filling the silence as we pull away from my parents’ house. The streetlights of Queen Anne flicker past, casting long, rhythmic shadows across the dashboard. I can still smell the lingering scent of my mother’s pasta sauce and the faint, sugary ghost of the cannoli Ryan brought. My skin feels tight, humming with the desire to jump his bones.