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He bit his lower lip and scowled. “Full of surprises.”
“Mac?”
His eyes flicked to Em’s. “I know. I was throwing a fit at the start of the game. I got a glimpse of the two of you and lost it when neither of you were wearing my jersey.”
“The jersey you fuck us in? The one you know we’d happily wear if it didn’t cause problems for you?”
He smirked. “Yeah, that one.”
“You’re impossible,” Em said, but she was laughing.
Mac’s eyes darkened. “It’s hard for me to trust that the two of you will love me unconditionally. I’ve never had that—”
“Even from your parents?” Em asked, sobering quickly.
“Even them.”
I rubbed his arm and kissed his hand. “We do, Michael. Trust us, okay? I know Em. She doesn’t say something unless she means it. And I see every single day how much she loves you.”
“And Bash is a new person in your presence. He’s actually living for the first time in a long time.” Em smiled at me. “Rob would be really proud.”
“Em,” I choked out.
“He really would, Bash. You didn’t do anything wrong. You deserve to be happy.”
Mac reached out and grunted. “Hand me my phone, please.”
I gave it to him and studied his face as he typed frantically.
“Everything okay?”
“More than okay. After tonight, I know I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m not going to hide our love away. If you two are okay with me announcing our relationship, I think we should.”
“Yes,” Em breathed. “It’s been miserable trying to act like the two of you are just these people I know and not my entire world.”
“Your entire world?” I repeated, my pulse drowning out everything else.
She nodded, and I pressed my lips to hers.
Turning to Mac, I grinned. “Tell the world before I shout it from the rooftops. I’m tired of hiding, too.”
Epilogue
Emily
We announced our relationship, and the world didn’t burn.
In fact, Mac got a new sponsorship—this electrolyte drink that was even better than the one McClanahan had. Which was a good thing because our house was overflowing with the stuff.
The Evergreens handled everything in stride. It helped that I was running the social media accounts. I was able to field the endless comments streaming in—some supportive, some downright inappropriate—with no need to rely on anyone else.
Mac had been benched for a month so far and was still out for another two weeks, but he was handling it like a champ, sitting on the sidelines at each game, wishing he was on the ice.
He was cleared for less strenuous activity, and I was anxiously waiting for Bash to bring him home. The plans I had for him weren’t exactly non-strenuous, but they were a lot less taxing than hockey.
I was wearing a thin pink nightie that hugged my curves and I wanted everything to be perfect for our first night together in a month.
He had slept in his own bed since the injury. Despite his insistence on having us in bed with him, neither Bash nor I wanted to hurt him in our sleep. We had pulled Bash’s bed into the room and slept near him. But it wasn’t enough.
