“YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE come,” Blake said again, holding my hand so tightly it was a wonder I had any circulation. But he couldn’t let go, and I didn’t have it in me to complain. His muscles all seemed to be in a permanent state of contraction, as if they’d never relax again.
“I wasn’t about to let you do this alone,” I said. “What kind of girlfriend would I be if I did that?”
“But this isn’t— You didn’t sign up for this. To hold my hand and watch me blubber and shit.”
“That’s exactly what I signed up for.” I stretched up onto my toes and kissed his cheek. It was a soft kiss, no heat at all. Just tenderness. The scrape of the facial hair he’d been growing—getting an early start on his playoff beard, he said, even though that didn’t sit well with some of his more superstitious teammates—scratched my lips. “Just like you signed up for dealing with all my body image issues.”
“That’s different.”
“Hardly.”
A small stream of people gradually joined us. Some brought flowers. Others merely shook Blake’s hand or wrapped him up in a tearful hug. I did my best to thank them all for coming, because Blake couldn’t seem to find the words. He wasn’t being rude—just grief-stricken.
I recognized Brett, Lil’s favorite nurse, as he made his way toward us. He looked different wearing a jacket and tie instead of his traditional blue-green scrubs, but there was no doubt it was him. When he reached us, Brett handed us each a card.
“They’re from Lil,” he said solemnly. “She asked me to give them to you both when it was time.”
I was so taken aback that I had to blink away a fresh wave of tears, so I couldn’t imagine how the latest turn of events must be affecting Blake. Mutely, he nodded and accepted his card, then shook Brett’s hand.
I wrapped the nurse up in a brief hug. “Thank you for all you did for her.”
“She did more for me,” he said with complete sincerity, and he moved on down the line, making way for the next mourner to offer Blake their condolences.
The service was small and brief.
A few of her friends and neighbors offered their memories in eulogy. Lil’s longtime mailman stopped in with an arrangement of gorgeous white lilies.
Mitch and Mia Quincey brought a casserole and a six-pack of beers for Blake, and Mia pulled me aside when there was a brief lull.
“I’ve had my lawyer working with the Storm’s legal team. They’re trying to find out who initially leaked the photos. They’ve been doing all sorts of IP searches and whatnot, and they’ve found the guy. We’re suing for copyright infringement. It won’t undo what was done, but it’s better than nothing. And if we win, I’m sending it all to you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I argued.
“I want to,” she insisted. “It’s the principle of the thing. And you’re the one who’s been fighting to keep your job over it. My business has skyrocketed. You inadvertently made me into a highly sought-after photographer for these sorts of intimate shoots.”
“Really? I mean, I don’t doubt it, but…”
“Really.” She hugged me.
“Well, at least some good came from it, then.”
“I hope more good came from it than just for me.” She arched a brow. “You doing any better?”
I blushed and scanned the room to be sure no one was looking, because it felt inappropriate at a time like this. “Much,” I admitted, heat scorching my cheeks. “Better than I ever imagined.” Partially due to what we’d done in that shoot, sure…but mostly due to the way Blake loved me. It was impossible to hate my body when he loved it as much as he did.
And it was even more impossible to hate myself because of his love.
Even Dani was starting to come around to him, although she still threatened him with a rusty spork every now and then out of habit. But she couldn’t hate him when I loved him. She’d tried and failed. “Seeing you light up like this makes it impossible, since I know he’s the one behind it,” she kept telling me.
“I still can’t believe all that drama with the school district,” Mia said. “It was all over the news here, too.”
“But it’s all sorted out now.”
In the end, I hadn’t lost my job. I’d had to sit through a lengthy suspension while it was investigated and decided, but in the end, my students’ parents had petitioned the school board for me to be reinstated. They’d argued that the pictures had allowed them an opportunity to help their children learn about having healthy body images. Plus, apparently, their kids had complained vociferously about my replacement, who didn’t bring famous hockey players to school to read to them.
“Well, I’m glad,” Mia said. She pulled me in for another hug. “And I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
“You will?”
“Storm WAGs charity calendar,” she said. “Brie and I’ve been making plans. We’re going to wait for the weather to warm up a bit. I’ll be there when the kids have spring break.”
We talked for a few more minutes, but then she gathered up her husband and kids, and they said their good-byes as most of the other mourners were starting to trickle out.
I glanced over at Blake from across the room. His eyes were red from all the tears he’d cried over the last few days, but he had a huge smile on his face as he spoke with an older gentleman. Since he was busy, I started organizing the flowers, finding people to send them home with. We couldn’t take them on the plane with us, and there was no reason for them to all go to waste.
Around the time I found a new home for the last of the arrangements, Blake inched up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, dragging me back against his chest.
“You doing okay?” I asked.
He shook his head, his chin resting atop my scalp. “Better now.”
“How come?”
“Because I’m with you.” He kissed the top of my head. “You read your card from Grandma yet?”
“To be honest, I’ve been putting it off.”
“Me, too.”
“Think we should slip off somewhere and read them?”
In answer, Blake threaded his fingers through mine and led me to a quiet room off the main hallway. There was a couch near the window, a picturesque, snowy winter scene outside, and we dropped onto it, practically falling on top of one another because the cushions were broken down.
“Oops,” I said, and we both laughed.
It felt good to laugh.
After planting a kiss on the end of my nose, he removed his card from his jacket pocket, and I dug mine out of the inside zipper in my purse. With one more look at him for reassurance, I slid my finger under the seal and retrieved my card while he did the same.
Dear Bea,
I’m sure you know that you’re not perfect. No one is. But you are perfect for my grandson.
Life won’t always be easy, but you know that. You expect the hard times, which is good. It means you’re strong enough to withstand them when they come knocking at your door. But don’t forget to enjoy the good times, too.
It’s not a bad thing to be soft around the middle sometimes. It’ll give him a soft place to fall—and we both know Blake will fall. You two can get back up again together.
And don’t forget to laugh. Laughing together is one of the best things you can do. You’ll have a longer, happier life if you always remember to laugh.
Thank you for loving my boy. It’s time for me to pass the baton.
Lil
I had to reach for a tissue and blow my nose loudly.
Blake was in much the same condition.
“What’d she say to you?” he asked once he’d pulled himself together.
“Made a crack about being soft around the middle,” I said, trying to laugh it off.
“I like you being soft around the middle,” Blake said, sniffling again. “Makes it easier to get a grip on you.”
“What’d she say to you?” I asked.
“Drew a picture of her tattoo.”
“The one where she’s flipping off cancer?”
“One and the same. And she said she loved me.”
“She did. She loved you better than anyone else ever has.” Fresh tears filled my eyes.
“Not better than anyone else,” Blake said. “She didn’t love me better than you.”
“Time to pass the baton,” I said, repeating Lil’s final words to me.
“You ready for this?”
“Yes. I’m ready.”