Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“All right, Mrs. Callahan. Let’s be the loudest,” Josie says, and as the lights dim and the guys take to the ice, we are.
It’s a tight, tense, scoreless game that’s killing me. Josie and I are on the edge of our seats, ready to cheer any time the guys get closer, but mostly sitting with our butts down, holding our breath.
No one gets the puck past any net, but the Sea Dogs are relentless, and they keep trying, with Asher creating more scoring opportunities than I’ve ever seen him do.
To no avail.
With the game still tied as the third period begins, he battles for the puck, then snags it, charging down the ice. Defenders swarm him, but he passes it to Wesley, who flies around them, then slips it back to Asher. I swear I’ve never seen Asher more focused—he’s a man on a mission. He lifts his stick and sends the puck flying into the net. His arms shoot up in victory.
He turns to his teammates, triumphant, then points to me.
I’m giddy, cheering the loudest I ever have, and the funny thing is—it feels like everyone around me is cheering just as wildly. The crowd is noisier than ever. I let their cheers carry me as I shriek and shout and holler.
When the game ends a little later with “Tick Tick Boom” playing, the crowd is elated. I jump up, ready to make my way to the locker room to wait for Asher outside it, but Josie sets a hand on my arm.
“Hold on a second,” she says, rifling through her bag.
I pause, waiting, looking around, but the team isn’t leaving the rink. Most of the players are hanging out at the bench, including Asher, who’s casually grabbing his water bottle.
That’s odd. They usually take off through the tunnel immediately.
The emcee steps onto the ice as well, microphone in hand. That’s unusual too. She’s usually gone by now.
Then the music shifts from “Tick Tick Boom” to…I gasp.
Asher hops over the boards as “The Way You Look Tonight” plays loudly through the entire arena.
Our wedding song. My heart climbs up my throat.
And then, across the rink, fans lift up signs that spell out Marry Him Again.
The emcee hands Asher the mic and then leaves him alone on the ice.
I’m giddy as my husband, the man I’m already married to, my best friend, my big love, gets down on one knee, looks up at me, a few rows above him, and says into the mic, his voice filling the arena, “Maeve Hartley, you’re the love of my life and my best friend. Will you marry me again and continue being Maeve Callahan as well?”
“Yes,” I shout. Then I shout it again as I race down to the players’ bench, and the guys help me so I can join them. I rush to where my husband stands on the other side of the boards, and he kisses me over them as I say yes to his second proposal play.
EPILOGUE: TAKE TWO
Asher
One thing I will say about Maeve’s aunt Vivian is that she sure knows how to throw a party. And the food is absolutely fantastic at our wedding celebration at the end of the summer. Since, well, Maeve and I got married again last week. It was a low-key affair, just friends and close family at my dads’ home in Sausalito, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Beckett served as the best man.
Now, we’re at a coffee shop in Hayes Valley for the party. The shop is perfect since it just started carrying Maeve’s artwork. It’s called MainLine, and Vivian rented it out for the night. Servers swing by with figs stuffed with goat cheese, mini mango tacos with Carlos’s cilantro, and a trio of bruschetta options among other bites. And of course there are warm nuts.
It’s the perfect setting—casual but fun—and somehow Vivian has managed to get the whole team, all our families, and all our friends into this space. Even Coach is here.
Vivian’s busy chatting with Carlos in the corner by the front of the shop, and she looks relaxed and happy. When Vivian finally accepted that Maeve wasn’t going to take over the catering business, she gave us her blessing, so to speak. And then I introduced her to Carlos, since he works in restaurant finance. He’s helping her look for a buyer so she can retire, and judging from the smiles and laughter, everything is going to work out just fine for Maeve’s aunt.
My gaze drifts to my wife, who’s wearing my vest—fine, it’s now hers—and a pair of jeans, and the whole look makes me want to do bad things to her. But I did those before, and I’ll do them after. That won’t ever change, I know it. What has changed in a handful of months is this—I’ve started to chill the fuck out. Maeve still does her wrists exercises, but thanks to my work in therapy I’m seeing them now as proactive rather than a harbinger of doom. I also stopped sending J-dad articles on the side effects of his medication. He knows them already.