Page 95 of Here We Go Again

“Theo?” she says, and I turn to face her. She’s propped up on both elbows, looking at me. “I’m really happy.”

She has no freaking idea. “Yeah. Me too.”

25

BECCA

Once Theo finds me, we only spend another hour or so at the beach. Mostly because I’m starving and my stomach won’t stop grumbling.

“Okay, that’s it,” Theo says after a particularly loud rumble. “I have to feed you.”

As we’re gathering up our gear, several men walking down the beach stop a few feet away. “Hey, you play hockey, right?” one of them calls. “You’re one of the Williamsons?”

I find myself wondering if that ever gets old. That when Theo is recognized, he’s only recognized as one half of a set. I mean, they really are identical. If they aren’t in uniform, I wouldn’t expect any fan to tell them apart, unless they’re wearing different facial hair. But I still wonder if it annoys him.

Theo turns and lifts a hand. “Hey, man. How are you?”

“We’re huge Jaguars fans,” he says, motioning to the other guys. “These are my brothers. We live in Atlanta.”

“Oh awesome,” Theo says. “Thanks for your support.”

“Do you think we could get a picture?”

Theo obliges, stepping forward and posing for a selfie with the group of men, then he very politely sends them on their way. That’s four different times he’s been recognized in the past three days. Once on the airplane, once by the pickleball bartender, once at dinner last night, and once today.

“What are you thinking about over there?” Theo asks as we haul our gear back to the house.

“Nothing,” I say a little too quickly. “Or, I don’t know. I was just thinking about all the people who’ve recognized you this week. Does that happen a lot?”

“Actually, it’s happened more this week than usual. Which is a little weird. Most of the time, nobody knows or cares.”

“Unless you and Carter are together,” I say.

“Together and in Atlanta,” he says. “But that’s just because of the team’s marketing.”

“Oh, I bet. I saw the new billboard right down the street from my condo,” I say.

He huffs out a laugh. “I hate that I have to drive past that billboard every time I go to work.”

We drop our gear and head around to the outdoor shower to wash off the sand and salt from the beach. Theo steps to the side while I rinse off my hair, the water cool and refreshing against my sun-warmed skin.

“It’s still a little wild for me to think that this is your life,” I say. “I know I’ve said it before, but sometimes when it’s just the two of us, I forget. And then someone recognizes you, and I’m reminded that you’ve got this whole big job.”

“But stuff like that doesn’t happen very often,” he says.

“No, I know. But it’s more than that too. You have a team and an agent and a front office all invested in your career. You have to think about travel and contract negotiations and national media. Then there’s your health and keeping yourself in peak physical condition. Not to mention the fans. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t think about it before. But when we were in high school, we were ranking NHL cities based on who had the best french fries. I wasn’t thinking about everything else.”

I move to the side and make room for Theo. He steps into the spray while I work on squeezing the water out of my hair. We’re outside, still wearing our swimsuits, clearly visible to anyone who happens to be hanging out in the neighbor’s backyard, but there’s still something intimate about watching him run his hands through his hair, to see the water cascading over him like he’s in some sort of shampoo commercial.

“For the record,” he says, rubbing his hands over his face. “Atlanta has some amazing fries. And I get what you’re saying, but I would argue my life isn’t as big as you think. A lot of guys on the team have pretty normal home lives. Wives. Kids. Hockey is just their job.”

An intensely vivid visual pops into my brain. Theo holding a baby. Theo holding our baby. Theo walking out of the locker room toward the ice, all geared up, fist bumping a tiny boy in a Jaguars jersey with Williamson printed across the back.

I give my head a little shake to dislodge the image. It’s way too early for that particular brand of yearning.

“I get that,” I say. “And probably I’ll get used to it. I guess you did.”

He reaches over and turns off the water, then hooks a hand around my hip, tugging me against him. “I like that you’re even thinking about it.”