CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

COLTON

It’s strange being back on a field instead of ice, but I’m enjoying it—the smell of dirt, of freshly cut grass, of fear…

I spin and pivot around a defender, the ball safely tucked away in my crosse. I sprint like my life depends on it. Who needs skates when you’ve got legs like this?

There’s always one smartass on the field, one player who knows you’ve got to get dirty to get the job done. I spotted him before this even started, kept one eyed firmly fastened to his position as I hustled downfield.

He appears now from the right, hammering towards me like a bull with its balls cut off. The referees are blocked by his teammates. They can’t see what’s happening. We used to call this ‘the shutter’ back at Abbotsleigh. You put up a blind screen and you take out the opposing team’s best asset any way you can.

But not today.

Raging Bull goes for my legs, sweeping his crosse low and fast, but I’m prepared. I dance over it easily and whip the end of my stick into his jaw, blood, what could well be a tooth, spraying from his mouth, as he goes down.

I press on, firing off a shot in the dirt. It strikes the back of the net.

Easy. Fucking. Peasy.

The wind’s knocked out of me as I’m tackled from behind.

“You motherfucker!” Raging Bull’s got me pinned down, an elbow into my back. “You think you can pull that kind of street shit and get away with it here, in my house?”

“Bro,” I tell him, eating grass, “when you’ve got a dick as big as I do, you can get away with anything.”

He’s levered off me by the officials and coach, forced back to the sidelines to seethe.

I stand trying to get back my breath. The coach stalks towards me. “Bring your ass over here—now!”

He walks until we’re well away from the field.

I wave to Harper in the stands. I told her she didn’t have to come to this tryout, but she insisted even though this is still the middle of nowhere, even though it’s still not the Ivy League. It’s just another shitty state university, but at least this one’s in the good ol’ US of A with a temperature that won’t put you into hyperthermia when you step out of bed.

The coach stands in front of me. They’re starting to look the same. I wonder if there’s some kind of human 3D printer that spits out guys like this with their chewing and constant look of constipation.

This one plays to the script, shaking his head and scratching his hair. “I’m going to bet you’ve got a habit of getting into trouble, don’t you, son?”

“Yes, sir,” I smile, leaning on my crosse.

He continues to shake his head, looking into the distance. “You going to fuck me if I put you on that field again?”

“You’re not my type, sorry.”

He smiles back at that, turning to look up at the stands and the lone individual waiting there. “No, I don’t suppose I am.” He exhales. “So…”

“So.”

“You’re going to have to watch yourself. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“Rein that shit in… or make sure no one sees it. Are you following me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He shakes his head again, trying to reconcile this decision with himself. “You’re trouble, but you’re fast, and your dodges… Well, damn it if you ain’t Gary Gait. You’re in, for now.”

I can’t keep the smile off my face. “Thank you, Coach.”

He starts to walk off. “We’ll see.” He stops, pointing up to the stands. “And don’t bring your girlfriend to practice next time, okay? This isn’t fucking High School Musical.”

I look back to the field, at the fruity, pillow-soft players this place has got and I’m not so sure. “Yes, Coach. Thank you, Coach.”

I leave the field, Harper meeting me at the bottom of the stands. I lean over the barrier and draw her into a kiss, her lips always warm, always welcome. We break apart, but I’m still lost in her eyes, in the hope they hold.

“I thought I told you not to come,” I tell her, brushing her lower lip with the pad of my thumb.

“I had some spare time after my final interview, thought I’d pop down to see you in action. She reaches down to play with the hem of my jersey. “I must say, I much prefer this uniform. Ice hockey players have too much padding for my liking.”

I pull her into me, the barrier hard and cold between us. “Is that so?”

“It is.” I notice the smile playing on her face. “You got the job, didn’t you?”

Her smile widens, her entire face aglow. “You’re looking at the new Cultural Studies teacher at Gladesville College.”

I kiss her again. “Congratulations, but tell me. How are you going to handle all that wood when you walk into the lecture hall?”

“Wood? What are you—” She gets it, pushing me away. “Does your mind always go directly to the gutter?”

“I’m a Beckett.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s your excuse for everything.”

“But it’s a good one.”

“Anyhow,” she continues. “The college is sixty miles away. I figure our place is in-between, so it works. That is, if you got onto the team?” Her eyebrow remains raised in question.

“Of course I did.”

The smile fades. She continues to play with my jersey, eyes downcast. “Are you really sure about all of this? About moving in together? I can imagine how much you Becketts like your bach pads.”

“I’m never been so sure about anything in my life.”

“Good, because I’m late.”

“For what?”

Her head dips and it hits me. “You’re late late?”

She nods, suddenly sheepish.

I vault over the barrier and sweep her up into my arms. “Holy shit. We’re having a baby.”

She laughs. “Well, I imagine I’ll be one pushing a cantaloupe through a keyhole, but yeah, I guess we are.”

I always thought I’d be terrified of news like this, always made sure I was careful to avoid this very thing, but now, with Harper, I’m elated. “You do realize that lease we just signed is for a one-bedroom, right?”

“And…”

“And, we’re going to need a bigger place.”

“I don’t think a baby takes up much room.”

“Come on, the little guy needs his own space.”

“Who said it was a boy?”

I place my hand on her stomach, swear I can feel the tiny life already growing inside. “Come on. He’s a Beckett. We don’t do girls.”

“You wouldn’t like a daddy’s girl, to braid her hair and have tea parties with?”

I smile at the thought. Honestly, I don’t care what sex it is. Mason and Cayden seem to be doing fine with their penis-challenged offspring. “I don’t care if it has three eyes and twelve toes. I’ll love it all the same.”

I step away and reach down undo the zipper on my shorts pocket. I kneel on the concrete, the field lights creating a halo around Harper’s head—hardly required considering how much she’s glowing already.

The box I hold in my hands is slim-line. I don’t know why I’ve been carrying it around for a week everywhere I go, but now seems like the moment—the perfect time.

Harper freezes, looking around anxiously, but it’s only us. “My god, is that what I think it is?”

“A small white box. Just what you’ve always wanted,” I tease.

“Colt…”

I open it to reveal the simple engagement ring inside. It has a single diamond at its center—no fancy cuts or frilly trim. It’s timeless and elegant, no fuss. It’s Harper.

Her hands go to her mouth, a sharp intake of breath following.

I extend my hand and she reaches out for it. I take the ring, pinching it between my fingers. “I’m not perfect, baby. Hell, like Coach just said, I’m trouble, but I want to be your trouble, your pain in the ass.”

She laughs, tears of joy streaming down her face. “You’re an idiot.”

“I don’t deny it, but I promise you no one will work harder to make you as happy or cherish you more than me. Harper Dunham, will you marry me?”

She nods, unable to speak, one hand still over her mouth as I slide the ring into place. It’s a perfect fit, all that sneaking around with a tape measure while she was sleeping having paid off.

I stand and pull her into me, her warmth and joy.

And this is love—once a concept as alien to me as Mars. I feel it, blooming in my chest, knowing this is right.

Knowing this is happiness.