Chapter 33

33

Lila

I missed Christmas in the Caribbean, but spending it upstate feels right this year. No, make that necessary .

For the first time in my adult life, I don't want to be alone over the holidays. Staying in New York means I'm close enough that Parker and Knox can come visit me in the small manor house I've rented through the New Year once they're done with their own family obligations.

They're not my first choice, and I'm pretty sure they know it, but seeing as my peace offering to Tripp has been met with complete and total silence, I have to face reality.

And the reality is that he was my transition relationship.

The man who taught me that it's okay to trust people. It's okay to leap.

I don't blame him for leaving me.

But I wish he'd trust me as much as I trust him. That's what hurts.

And hurts might be an understatement.

Aches like someone shot a thousand rusty nails into my heart and then swirled it in boiling lava might be a little closer.

My friends arrive late Christmas evening, not long before a snowstorm is due to trap us all here for a couple days. They distract me with stories about Knox's nieces and Parker's brothers, they give me utterly ridiculous gifts like a screaming goat and a blanket with Knox's nana's face on it.

The blanket actually makes me laugh until I cry, it's so insane.

But crying makes me cry again, even though I've sworn I'm going to stop shedding tears for a man who doesn't want me.

If he'd left because I'd been an idiot, or because he'd been less than the man I thought he was, I could logic my way out of my feelings.

But he left because he's broken. And not in a way I can fix, because I can't go back in time and make his wife not die of the flu, and if I could, he still wouldn't be mine, because he'd go back to her.

He never made me feel like I was second-best, since he can't have her anymore. But the shadow of what happened to her is something he'll carry with him forever, and I can't fix it .

After I've gotten a hold of myself, Parker and Knox and I sit around the fireplace in the cozy parlor, eating cheesecake and talking.

Real talk. Not hiding behind what Dalton Wellington wants me to do next for work, or who I'm going to apply with next.

"I think I'm going to write a memoir," I tell them as I tuck my legs under me on the couch.

"Seriously?"

"Just for self-therapy, but yeah. Get it all out. Let go of all the hiding."

"Have you mentioned that to your Uncle Guido?"

I shake my head. "I talked to him this morning for the first time since…you know." They do. They know everything now. They both nod, and I continue. "He apologized. Sincerely. And I asked him to please let go, because I don't want to live the rest of my life afraid that someone's going to kidnap me over something my parents might've said to me twenty-plus years ago. That's…well, it's crazy. You know?"

"It's not when it's all you've ever known," Knox points out. "If you'd grown up with parents who taught you that the earth is flat, then you believe the earth is flat, because your parents wouldn't lie to you. Same thing. You grew up being told the world isn't safe and bad guys are out to get you."

"Perspective is everything," Parker agrees. "Like I'd buy this house in a heartbeat, because it's adorable and charming and I'm kind of in love with the stained glass windows in the stairwell, but there's somebody else out there who'd think it smells like old lady and only hears the creaky floorboards."

Mental note: Buy Parker this house for her birthday.

"Do not buy me this house," she orders.

"We like the city," Knox agrees.

Uh-huh. "Even with a baby on the way?"

They both grin as they share a look. That's right. I know their secrets too.

"And don't Sia and Chase have a weekend house near here? And what about Willow's boyfriend too? You'd be able to do shows in this part of the state too."

" Do not buy us this house ," she repeats.

I smile. "It would be a good house to write a memoir in."

"Ooh, it would!" Parker snuggles deeper into the couch next to Knox. "Like right here, in front of the fireplace, with a pot of tea and a fancy paper notebook. I'll bet the view out that window is amazing during the day."

"Gorgeous rolling hills," I confirm.

She sighs happily. "So romantic and perfect. Would you get an old-fashioned typewriter too?"

"I might. I'm addicted to the backspace key on my laptop, which doesn't work so well on a typewriter, but a memoir just for me isn't about perfection."

"Are you going to miss the Fireballs?"

And now my eyes are blurring again.

The team is one more thing I'm trying to make myself consciously not think about, even though I know I need to mourn them.

Funny.

I didn't really mourn my Uncle Al, but I'm mourning his baseball team.

Pretty sure that says something about the family I grew up with.

"I really wanted the meatball to win the mascot contest," I confess. "Except then I think the duck would be better, since those damn ducks are still living in the dugout…"

"I know someone who can hack the voting. Just say the word…"

There's a knock at the door, and we all jump like we've been caught by the baseball police. I reach for my phone to check the video doorbell—yes, I had security installed in the rental house, because the world still thinks I own a baseball team—and my heart does a backflip but fails to nail the landing.

It hits bottom and sprains its knee.

I trip unwrapping myself from the blankets as I dart up, decline help from my friends, and make a mad dash to the door.

There's no acting suave or composed when I fling the door open, letting in a gust of chilly air as I drink in the sight of the man on my doorstep.

"You're here." His shoulders sag like he's relieved while his eyes roam all over me. He's holding a massive box like a shield between us, snow dusting his hair, his ears and the tip of his nose red like he's been standing out here debating ringing the doorbell for an hour. "They were right. You're still here."

"Hi," I whisper.

"You gave me a fucking baseball team."

I swallow hard. "You need them more than I do."

"I need you ." He takes half a step, stops, and looks down at the box. "I got you something too."

"I don't need?—"

"Yes, you do. Can I…?" He nods to the house, and I leap back, realizing my teeth are starting to chatter, and that snow is swirling thicker through the open doorway.

"Oh! Yes. Of course."

His blue eyes scan me again, and I know that look.

The fear. The hope. The regret.

But he blinks, and there's that steely determination that I've seen every time I've thrown a challenge at him these past months. I backpedal, bump into the umbrella stand in the corner, and spin to steady it while he steps inside and closes the door with his foot.

"Lila, we're exhausted and going to bed," Parker calls. "But if you need us, I'll make Knox get up. He's been lifting a lot of weights lately and can bench almost as much as the Berger twins."

"You're not alone," Tripp murmurs.

I shake my head.

And he blows out a slow breath that seems to make his shoulders drop another couple inches. "Good. No one should be alone."

"Are you alone?"

His eyes lock on me, and I swear he asks me to tell him. Instead of answering, he hefts the box. "Here. For you. It's heavy."

"You didn't have to—" I start again, but he makes a noise, and I cut myself off and lead him into the parlor.

He sets the box on the coffee table, next to what's left of the cheesecake, and steps back, arms hanging at his side, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for me but doesn't know if he can.

"Tripp—"

"I made a few phone calls. I was an idiot, Lila. I?—"

"You're human."

"I let you down. I made you promises, and I couldn't follow through. And I know this doesn't mean I'm not going to lose my shit the next time you get sick, but I thought—I thought you'd like it."

The next time . I start to smile, because he thinks we have a next time . We're okay. We're going to be okay. "Is this a concession that I'm right, and the meatballs are the best mascot idea ever?"

He blinks twice, eyes going shiny, and shakes his head, and he looks so much like James in one of his more solemn moods that my heart swells, hoping he's brought his kids and that they're somewhere nearby too.

I miss his kids so much I can't even let myself think about them without tearing up. All those sweet hugs. The intense discussions of airplanes and trucks and Wawwy . Even the temper tantrums.

I miss it all.

"You…you're not mad?" he asks.

If he wasn't tucking his hands into his pockets like he's not ready to touch me, I'd be launching myself at him right now. "I know a thing or two about being scared," I remind him. "I wouldn't deserve you if I let that moment re-define who I know you are."

He visibly swallows. "You gave me a whole fucking baseball team ."

"You quit. I didn't want to stand between you and your dream."

He steps toward me, then stops and sucks in a big breath. "I don't deserve you. But god , Lila, I want you. I miss you. And I don't want a damn baseball team if I can't have you."

I can't help myself.

I leap at him, wrapping my arms around him, pressing my body to his, shuddering in relief at the feel of his skin under my hands as I cup his cheeks. "Tripp Wilson, I love you . I will never stop loving you, because you're a part of my heart. I can't stop, and I don't want to. I would love you from halfway around the world even if I never got to see you again, because you're the best man I've ever known."

His arms go around me, tight and solid, while a shuddery breath slips through his lips, and I'm home .

It's not the house. It's not the city. It's not the job.

It's him .

My body fits. My head fits.

Most importantly, my heart fits.

My heart has never fit anywhere before. Not like this.

And it will never fit anywhere else.

My eyes are leaking while I press my face to his shoulder.

"You told me the night we met that you knew the secret to love," he says roughly in my ear. "I don't know any secrets, Lila, but I know I love you."

His words send a happy sob through my chest, and when the sob makes me cough— fucking cough —his arms tighten harder around me.

"And I'm not letting the damn germs win," he adds. "I love you. I'm here. No matter what."

"That is the secret."

"Love is…the secret to love?"

"Love and acceptance and forgiveness. If it's really love, one mistake won't ruin it. And you're here ."

His arms tighten around me, and he presses a kiss to my hair. "You forgive me?"

"Is that really a question?"

"I…thought I'd have to beg."

"I wouldn't deserve you if you did. I should've gone to you, but I thought—I hoped—I knew you needed time. And I hoped after you had time, you'd still…well, that you'd still want me. I could be alone again, Tripp. But I'd rather be with you."

He presses another kiss to my hair, then pulls away, but only to steer me to the box. "I brought an I'm sorry present."

"Tripp—"

"Open it. Please."

"If this is a dog?—"

"No, that's what James got for Christmas. This is better. I hope."

I swipe at my eyes. Everything's blurry, but he's still touching me, guiding me by the waist, tucking my hair behind my ears, pressing kisses to my face while I laugh.

"You got James a dog?"

"A big old furry mutt from the pound that he named Jupiter."

"Do I get to meet him?"

" Yes ." He clears his throat and points to the box.

I ignore his silent order, cradle his cheeks in my hands, and kiss him.

Every part of me melts against him as he pulls me close again and kisses me back. His fingers thread through my hair, and for the first time since before I got sick, my body flares to life.

It's not simple human touch, though.

It's Tripp .

He knows me. Not the me I show the world, but the me who's a little messed up. And he still wants me.

Probably because he's a little messed up too.

But aren't we all?

He pulls back from the kiss, and this time, when he points to the box and growls, "Present first," I smile and oblige.

He drops to his knees beside me, one arm hooked around my waist while I tug at the folded flaps.

And when I catch sight of what's on top, I gasp so hard I almost launch myself into another coughing fit.

But I'm bigger than the cough, and I'm suddenly so starved for everything else inside this box that I wave away the water cup Tripp grabs, force my body into submission, and I just stare at the picture.

I don't remember how old I was when it was taken, but I remember being there. "She made me wear that awful dress because she said the green brought out my eyes," I whisper as I touch my mom's face.

I'm standing between my parents at a Christmas market in Frankfurt, pouting, while they smile for whoever's taking the photo.

The image blurs, because I can't see through the tears. "How? How did you get this?"

"Got a little help from a guy I used to know. Also from your Uncle Guido, who's agreed that we can tolerate each other."

I dig deeper into the box, carefully, and there they are.

More memories.

More pictures I thought I'd never see again of the two people I didn't get to keep. Memories I've forgotten. The first pieces of who I was supposed to be.

This isn't a present.

It's a treasure.

I throw myself at him, knocking us both to the floor and kissing his face and his hair and his neck and everywhere I can kiss him while I pin him down.

"There's more," he adds. "But I could only carry the one box. And…"

"And?"

He pulls his phone out and flips it to show me another picture.

A dark, weirdly-lit picture, of a book in—I swipe my eyes and peer closer.

And I realize I'm staring at a book in an attic.

"It's a diary," he explains. "And when we get back to Copper Valley, you and I have some exploring to do at the baseball field."

"You found things my mom hid?"

"The renovation crew working on the clubhouse ceiling did. I told them to leave it and hold off on fixing things for a few more weeks. So we can look for ourselves to see if there's anything else."

This man.

He has my heart. He's everything I need to soothe every trouble I've ever had in my soul. And he's the hero I never knew I needed.

"I love you," I tell him as the tears flood my eyes again.

And I do. I love every part of him. His soft parts and his hard parts. His stubborn parts and his easy parts. But mostly, I love all of him.

His arms tighten around me again. "Thank you for not giving up on me."

"I wouldn't deserve you if I had."

He shifts us on the ground so that we're nose-to-nose. "Will you come back to the Fireballs?"

"So we can fight at work every day?"

Oh, that smile. "Yes."

And now I'm laughing through my tears. "Are you seducing me with my childhood memories purely for the good of a baseball team?"

He strokes my hair again, drops a kiss on my nose, and then goes serious once more. "I don't care if you come back to the team so long as you come back to me. And James. And Emma. You go work whatever job makes you happy, Lila. But please, whatever it is, promise you'll come home to us every night?"

This . This is everything I've ever wanted. And so much more.

"Mr. Wilson, I do believe we have a deal."