The Secret Hook-Up

I sit in Duncan’s guest room, watching over Paisley until she falls asleep.

You’d think it’s odd for an eighteen-year-old girl to want someone to protect her from the monsters, but this is so far from the first time in my life I’ve done something like this.

And that makes me sad.

Sad, and angry, and fucking determined.

“You get to make mistakes and take up space and have needs and not be sorry for it,” I whisper to her, hoping her brain hears it and absorbs it subconsciously.

I see so much of myself in Duncan’s niece.

The independence. The drive. The hatred of asking for help.

Hers doesn’t come from the same place mine does, but she has it. And so many of the young women and girl athletes that I volunteer with around town have it too.

Working with them, talking to their coaches, has made me recognize the link between the expectation of perfectionism for girls and their unwillingness to ask for help.

My hope in Paisley’s case is that I can be a good enough influence on her in the next few years that she learns it’s okay to ask for help so much sooner than I did. It’ll be a journey, but I’m here for it, and I believe in both of us.

And I’m definitely still on my own journey.

If I’d worked through it all, I wouldn’t have kept Duncan at arm’s length. I wouldn’t have withdrawn my name for consideration for Santiago’s job. I’d probably spend more time with my brothers and their wives too.

There’s still work to do for me to fully embrace the joy of being who I am without apology in all parts of my life. But it’ll be worth it. And I won’t have to do it alone.

Duncan will be there.

The Fireballs will get a front-row seat.

Waverly and Paisley will cheer me on every bit as much as I’ll cheer them on.

It’s three a.m.

Duncan has practice in a few hours, and tomorrow, he leaves for his first road trip.

But he’s sitting at the top of the stairs, not sleeping.

Waiting.

Watching me with the wariest of wary expressions in the dim light coming off of the hallway nightlight. His hair’s disheveled. His jaw is tight. And his shirt is bunched at the neck like he’s been tugging on it.

“She’s asleep,” I whisper to him.

“She wanted you.”

I settle on the top step next to him. Something’s off. Is this ego? Or hurt uncle? Or something else?

I’d say I was surprised Paisley wanted me instead of him, except I wasn’t. Not entirely. “There are some things girls understand better than boys. Even when they have the best uncle in the world. It’s not you. I promise there’s nothing wrong with you.”

He’s still watching me like he’s waiting for something awful to happen.

Or like there are things girls understand wasn’t a good enough reason for me to take charge of handling his niece.

My pulse skitters sporadically.

Are we going to fight about this?This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

I don’t want to fight about this. I didn’t do anything wrong.

“I texted Santiago and let him know I had a personal matter I need to handle and might miss the game today.” I speak softly in case Paisley isn’t as asleep as she seemed to be, and also in the hopes that my sudden nerves don’t come through my voice. “I’ll get a meeting with the athletic director at CVU about inappropriate behavior from some of their players. It’s never a bad idea for coaches to remind their players where the lines are and what the consequences are for crossing them. Or to remind the coaches and athletic director that the pro sports teams are watching how they handle problems.”

“I’ll come with you.”

I don’t ask if he’ll get in trouble for missing practice.

He’ll deal with that if he has to, but if I were his coach and heard the situation, I’d give him the day off to do what he needs to do.

So I nod like my heart isn’t hammering harder and harder with every second. “We should get to bed. It’s late, and tomorrow—today will be rough.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, he sits there, head cocked to one side, continuing to study me.

And I don’t want this to be what I’m terrified it is.

Him, deciding I’m too much again. Too independent. Too something.

I wipe my mouth, then my nose, desperately hoping for any distraction so we don’t have to do this. So we don’t have to fight about any part of tonight.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“You’re not freaking out,” he says slowly.

It’s my turn to stare blankly at him. “I’m pretty good in a crisis. I’m pissed and I’d like to put my fist through something, but no, I’m not freaking out.”

“About us,” he says.

My heart lurches.

While I’m sitting here thinking he’s stifling anger over how I handled Paisley’s problems, he’s sitting here worried about us.

Just like I’m worried about us.

We’re both worried about us. “Am I supposed to be?” I whisper.

He opens his mouth, blinks a few times, then shakes his head. “No. But I thought—fuck. I was afraid you’d say we shouldn’t keep seeing each other if it means we miss important calls like this one. And I wasn’t going to say anything, except it’s not fair to you to not tell you when I’m afraid too.”

Oh. Oh, my heart.

He’s not preparing to drop a breakup on me. He’s waiting for me to find the next excuse to drop a breakup on him.

I scoot closer to him and slip my arm through his, then lay my head on his shoulder, my heart settling into a calmer rhythm. “I can see where you’re coming from.”

“I just—I like what we have, and I—I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“You’re not fucking anything up. And all of that fear? That was the old Addie. This Addie’s trying very, very hard to enjoy things like having a hot hockey player boyfriend with the patience of a monk.”

He covers my hand with his and squeezes, then presses a kiss to my temple. “I love being with you.”

I love you.

He’s been telling me for weeks.

I love you.

It’s what he’s saying in so many different ways while intentionally not saying those three little words.

So he doesn’t scare me.

Keeping his promise to go as slow as I need.

Proving he means it.

My pulse inches higher. My mouth goes dry. A shiver rips through my body.

He loves me.

He loves me.

And he deserves to know why it’s always scared me.

“I was eighteen the last time I told a man I loved him,” I whisper. “Barely started my freshman year. Just like Paisley. I thought he was everything, mostly because he told me he was everything, and I was dumb enough to believe him. But I told him I loved him, and the next day, it was all over campus that I’d gotten my spot on the softball team by giving the coach a blow job. The boy I said those three words to went home laughing that he had the power over me to make me fall in love with him, and he set up a rumor to destroy me just because he could.”

Duncan’s Adam’s apple bobs. His hands have tightened into fists. “The only reason I’m not asking for a name is because I know you won’t give it to me.”

“I handled it.” I squeeze his tight bicep harder. “You and your teammates and all of my players would’ve been proud. I pulled off the prank of the century and made it look like he did it, and he got expelled.”

“That’s my girl, and it’s still not enough.”

“Between watching the way my mom let everyone else rule her life, and then dating boys like that, I swore I wouldn’t ever, ever let another man have any power over me. That I wouldn’t love another man because loving is giving up your power. But when I’m with you—when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I’m sacrificing my power. You make me feel stronger. You make me feel more confident. You keep showing me what real love is supposed to be, every day, and I want that. I want to love you. I do love you. And it’s scary, but you’re worth being scared for. I’m not afraid of you. I’m only afraid of me, and I’m working on that.”

“Addie.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible, and I hear so much in the way he says my name. I love you. I will be your defender and protector and champion until the end of time. You are everything that’s been missing in my life.

He’s said it in so many ways the past couple months. He says it when he brings me coffee. He says it when he gifts me the best weapons in Croaking Creatures. He says it when he does my dishes, when he watches a movie with me, when he helps me with physical therapy exercises, when he listens to me as I talk about my day.

And I hope I’m doing enough to show him that I love having him in my life too.

“I love you,” I whisper again.

He shifts and pulls me onto his lap, burying his head in my neck while a shiver ripples through his body strong enough for me to feel it. “Addie, I love you so much that I can’t hold it all in. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone as much as I love you. I don’t care what I do when I retire. Whatever it is, I want to do it with you.”

I wrap my arms around him and run my fingers through his hair. “I’m still a work in progress.”

“We all are.”

“And I still worry we’ll find out we want different things⁠—”

“I always said I wanted kids. I wanted to coach hockey after my career ended and dote on my wife and family when I was home and get a dog and a cat and a few fish. And I don’t care about any of that anymore. I don’t want the labels. I don’t want what’s expected. I want a life with you. With or without kids. With or without a dog and a cat and a fish and a wedding. You are the basis of where the next part of my life begins. You’re the sun that everything else revolves around. You are where I want to be, what I want to do, and how I want to live.”

My eyes are getting wet again. I bury my face in his hair and breathe him in.

I believe him.

And it’s not scary.

He knows my flaws. He knows my faults. He knows my imperfections.

And he loves me.

But more?

I know his flaws. I know his faults. I know his imperfections.

And I love him.

I choose love. I choose joy. I choose adventure and laughter and him.

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” I whisper.

“It’s what you do for the people you love. And Addie Bloom, I love you more than I ever have or ever will love anyone or anything else.”

If you’d told me six months ago that I’d be madly in love with Duncan Lavoie and happy about it, I would’ve laughed until I cried.

But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, with him, peppering his face with kisses and whispering I love you until he straightens, carrying me into his bedroom and making me feel like a dainty, delicate flower.

We still have things to deal with and issues to overcome, but for the first time in my life, I believe in love.

I believe we’re supposed to be together.

And I finally believe in happy endings.