GOOD HANDS

Bonus Epilogue

Lola

 “We need to talk.”

Gulp. My face tightens as I turn to Brandon in his apartment where I’ve just arrived after a long last day at the office at Synoptic. “Okay.”

“Let’s sit down.”

“No.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I’m not sitting down. Conversations where you have to sit never turn out well. In fact, I don’t want to talk.”

He squints at me. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to pretend you never said that. What kind of pizza do you want for dinner?”

“Lola.” He shakes his head. “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m terrified.”

“What? Why?”

“Because that’s how breakup conversations start.”

“Jesus. I’m not breaking up with you.”

I pause, my heart ticking in an irregular rhythm. “You’re not?”

“No!”

I suck on my bottom lip for a few seconds. “I’m not paranoid.”

“Not at all.” His lips twitch.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why would you think that?” He moves toward me and sets his hands on my hips. His touch, as always, soothes me. I swear my blood pressure literally drops when he touches me.

Things have been stressful lately. I’ve been working with Wendy and Deja on our business plan. I gave my notice at Synoptic and today was my last day. I’m not the type of person who can just leave things, so I’ve been busting my butt trying to get as much done as I can before I left. They haven’t hired anyone to replace me yet, and normally I would have been in Keith’s office raising hell about that, but I kept reminding myself that it wasn’t my circus anymore. Even though I felt disappointed and disillusioned that they hadn’t given me that promotion, I still had some loyalty to the company. Especially to the people—the ones still working there who’ll be impacted by the lack of a manager and have to pick up the slack. It’s not fair to them.

Brandon’s listened to my whining for weeks now. He’s a rock star. A legend.

He’s mine.

I need to get over this fear that this isn’t really happening. That he really loves me. He shows me all the time.

And I try to show him.

“I want pizza from Tre Visi,” he says. “But let’s go out. We can talk over dinner.”

“Aaaaah! That’s even worse!”

“What?” His eyebrows pinch together.

“If it’s a conversation you have to have in a public place, that means it’s really bad! Did you get traded?” I grab his T-shirt. “Did you?”

“No!” He unclenches my fingers and wraps his arms around me to hug me. “Jesus.”

“I’m sorry.” I press my face into his chest. “I’m stressed. I’ve been doing two jobs and all I want to do is spend time with you and shop for baby stuff and I guess I’m still kind of hormonal. And Christmas is coming. And I’m fat.”

He chuckles softly into my hair. “You’re not fat. You’re beautiful.”

I melt into him and breathe in the scent of his skin. I love how he smells. I love how his arms feel around me, the strength of his body seeping into mine. He grounds me. “Thank you.” I tip my head back. “I’ve also been stressed since Wendel got hurt. That was so scary. I know it’s your job, but it makes me worry every time you get on the ice now.”

“I get that. I can’t take that away.” He kisses my forehead, cupping my face. “It’s something we have to deal with. We’ve talked about it.”

“Yeah.” We have. Hockey is a physical sport that can be dangerous. I love Brandon and if I want to be with him, I have to accept that as a part of our relationship. I’m getting to know some of the other wives and girlfriends, and they’ve talked about it, too, which helps. They totally understand. “I’m sorry I’m being such a wuss.”

“It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

That sounds non-threatening. Then I laugh at myself. Non-threatening? That sounds like everything I ever wanted but didn’t even know. This man has changed my life. I’ve changed. I’ve learned and grown, although I do still have deep-seated insecurities and fears and a need to prove myself. We all have those things, though, right?

Brandon’s admitted the same, in our long, honest talks. He’s excited about being a dad, but still afraid he won’t be a good dad. He loves me, but his instinct is still to hide his feelings sometimes. But we’re both learning and growing.

We’ve talking about how keeping yourself crazy busy is a way of protecting ourselves (okay, me) so the truth of how we’re feeling and what we really need can’t catch up with us (again, me) and how Brandon had his own mechanisms for that. We’ve talked about how setting boundaries is having the courage to love ourselves even when we risk disappointing others. And we’ve talked about…well, talking. Communicating our true feelings.

And right now, I’ve been using denial as a protective strategy. “Okay, fine. Let’s go out for pizza.”

Martha hears me, and immediately lowers her chin to her paws and looks up at us with sad eyes.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Martha.” I move over to her and crouch down to give her rubs. “We won’t be gone long.”

“I already took her for a walk. She’s just trying to make us feel guilty.”

“It’s working.” I smooth a hand over her short-haired coat. “I love you, Martha.”

Brandon makes a rough noise. “I fucking love that you love my dog.”

I smile up at him, the straighten. “How could I not?”

BRANDON

 We’re shown to a table for two near the fireplace at Tre Visi. With lots of old brick and wood and low lighting, the atmosphere is warm and rustic. A candle flickers on our table, reflecting in the wine glasses sitting there. Which we won’t be needing.

We order warm marinated olives to share and decide on a white pizza with artichoke pesto cream sauce, artichoke hearts, cherry tomatoes, and a bunch of different cheeses. The pizza here is wood-fired and it’s fantastic.

“Okay what do you want to talk about?” Lola blurts out when the server is gone. “I’m dying.”

“Relax.” I reach for her hand across the table, my gut clenching. “To be honest, I’m a little nervous, too.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh no.”

“I’m not breaking up with you.”

“I know that. I’m afraid you’re going to propose.”

I choke, then clear my throat. She definitely keeps my ego in check. Not that I want to get married, but… “Glad to know that’s so terrifying.”

She tilts her head, giving me a direct look.

“I know how you feel about marriage. You know how I feel. Neither of us are big fans of it. I’m not ruling it out forever, but this is all happening fast.”

She nods slowly.

“I want to ask you to move in with me.”

She stares at me. “Ohhhhh.”

“It makes sense for a lot of reasons.”

She regards me thoughtfully. “That sounds very…practical.”

“I know!” I’m actually proud of myself. “I made a list of options, and the pros and cons of each. Like, you staying at your place, me at mine. Me moving in with you. You moving in with me.”

She blinks her long eyelashes, her face expressionless. Not quite what I was expecting.

She should be impressed with my analysis of this. It’s the kind of thing she loves. Collecting all the information, looking at the numbers—like mortgage payments and expenses, selling her place versus selling mine—evaluating the costs and benefits of the different options. I’m a genius!

“Do you want to see my analysis?” I ask, reaching for my phone. “I made lists.”

“Lists.” She stares at me. “You made lists.”

“I know there are impacts other than numbers,” I forge on. “Like how far you have to commute to work.” She and her new business partners just recently rented office space in NoHo. “The disruption of moving. We’ll have to integrate our things and might have to get rid of some stuff, which will mean compromise.”

She’s still gawking at me.

“Look.” I point at my phone screen. “One of the benefits is that I have a lot of windows so you’ll be able to grow your plants.”

She doesn’t look at it, but her eyes flicker. “Wow. You’ve really thought this all through.”

“I have!” I say eagerly. “Aren’t you impressed?”

She swallows and blinks. Then she pushes her chair away from the table. “I need to use the bathroom. Excuse me.”

She toddles away—no, no, not toddling. She just moves a little differently with her baby bump getting bigger. I need to be careful about what I say.

She doesn’t seem particularly happy with my suggestion.

I eye the wineglasses on the table next to us enviously. I could use a drink right now.

I scroll through the notes I’ve saved in my phone to refresh my memory. Maybe I’m going to have to lay out more of the pros to convince her. Then I tap my fingers on the table waiting. My chest tightens and I feel my body temperature rising the longer I wait.

The dish of olives arrives, along with a plate of warm, crusty bread. I ignore them, biding my time until Lola returns.

She’s taking forever.

Finally, she shows up.

Fuck me. She looks upset. “What’s wrong?” I demand, leaning forward.

Her eyes and nose are pink, her lips pouty. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, not meeting my eyes. “Okay,” she finally says. “I have to be honest.”

“Of course.” Alarm heats my veins. What’s going on? “I want you to be honest. We agreed on that.”

She swallows. “Your…invitation is very… thoughtful. Very…businesslike.”

I frown. Businesslike? “This isn’t a business.”

“I know.” She presses her hands into the edge of the wood table and leans forward, too. “We’re not a business. So why are you being like this? It’s so…”

“Practical?” I suggest hopefully. “Level-headed? Rational! Yeah, that’s it. I’m trying to be rational.”

She gives me a long, pained look across the table, her eyes glossy. “It’s so…unromantic.”

My draw drops. I give a slow blink. My stomach clenches. Ohhhhh. Fuck me. I fucked up.

Closing my eyes, I slump back in my chair. “Sweet buttery Jesus on a breadstick.”

I hear a muffled laugh and open one eye to peer at her. She covers her smile with her hand, but still looks distressed.

Shaking my head, I sit up. “I’m sorry, Lola. You’re right. That wasn’t romantic. I was trying to impress you with my analytical skills. I was trying to be rational and figure out all the pros and cons of you moving in with me, compared to staying at your place. Like, how we’d look after the baby. And…how we’d look after each other.” I hold her gaze steadily. “But this is what it all comes down to—I love you and I want you to live with me. I want to make a home with you. I want us to be a family. I want you in my bed every night. Even the nights I’m not there. But especially the nights I am.”

Her eyes get even shinier. “Oh,” she whispers. “You were trying to impress me?”

“Yeah. Shit.” I shake my head. “I screwed up. I’m sorry. I just thought you’d want to be practical about it.”

She sniffs. “Well, it’s good to be practical. But my heart…” She presses a hand over her left breast. “My heart wants to be wanted.”

“I do want you. So fucking much. You have to know that. Wait.” I shove my hand into my jacket pocket and pull out the small box. “I got this. To seal the deal. But it’s not a deal. Not a business deal. It’s a…a…pledge.” I open the box and show her the ring.

Her eyes pop open and her mouth does, too. “Whoa.”

“It’s not an engagement ring. It’s not a wedding ring. It’s a ring that will connect us. A symbol of our love and our pledge to each other that we are friends and partners and lovers.”

Now she presses both hands to her chest and a tear slides down her face. “You should have led with that.”

I cough on my laugh, my agitation settling. I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Damn.” I lift the ring from the box. “Will you wear it?” I meet her eyes again.

“In high school I had a ring,” she says, her voice wobbly. “We called it a promise ring. But it wasn’t like this.”

“I had it custom made. Apparently it’s traditionally called an anniversary ring, and the three diamonds symbolize past, present, and future. But I think it’s perfect for us. It signifies our pasts and what brought us here. It’s also about right now and being together. But it’s also about our future—together.”

She stares down at the wide, platinum band and three equal-sized diamonds. “I love it,” she whispers.

I take her hand and slide the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. “I love you, Lola.”

She lifts her teary gaze to mine and gives me a shaky smile. “I love you too. I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

“No, you reacted the way you did. It’s how you were feeling, and I’m so, so sorry I messed up.”

“Your heart was in the right place.” She holds out her hand to admire the ring.

“Yeah. My heart is in the right place. With you. My heart is yours.”

Her smile is quivery, but it’s beautiful. It’s real. It’s light. It’s warmth. It’s my future. “And my heart is yours.”