Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(69)

Tank strokes my hair as the light fades from my apartment. It feels so good to lean against this man that I love. I don’t want to let him go. I don’t know if I even can.

“How did it end?” I ask suddenly. “How did you know it was time to give up?”

He lets out a sigh, and I feel a little guilty for asking. “After Jordanna’s last failed IVF, we agreed that we weren’t going to try that again. I should have felt better, but I just didn’t. And then right after my season ended, Coach had a lavish party for his fortieth wedding anniversary. Right in the middle of it, he and his wife held a recommitment ceremony. We all stood around with our glasses of champagne, and they read these vows to each other…”

Tank swallows, and I can feel myself holding my breath.

“And Coach says to his wife—‘Honey, we’ve been through some really big fights, and some really bad times, but I always knew that you were the one for me. I always knew we were bigger than our troubles.’ Afterward, I realized there was no way I could give that kind of speech to my wife. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. On the way home from that party, Jordanna asked me to move out.”

“Oh, ouch,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m all right,” he says gently. “I know I should have told you all of this before and saved you the grief. But things were so good. And I just didn’t want to relive the whole thing, and let you know how badly I’d failed. It’s embarrassing to me.”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. He’s right—things had been good between us. “We had so much fun.”

“We did. I felt like a new man. I was a new man. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was enough for somebody.”

“You are enough. Jesus.” I take a deep, shuddery breath, because I realize it’s really true. “Tank, I need you more than I need to have kids. What if it was just the two of us?”

“Whoa, now.” He lets out a whoosh of air. “That’s not an easy decision. You’re not allowed to make that decision right after I tell you my horror story. Because your luck is not my luck. And what about your five-year plan?”

I make a grumpy noise. “I’ve spent my whole career telling athletes they need to have a five-year plan. And I spent the last year telling myself that I needed one. And it’s all bullshit.”

“Nah,” he says. “You don’t really believe that. How can you get what you want if you can’t articulate it?”

“But there’s such a thing as too much planning. I didn’t count on falling in love with you. I’m ready to tear the whole thing in half right now, and make a new one. With you. Because I do not want you to walk out my door and say, ‘Let’s be just friends.’”

His hand freezes on my head. “Bess. Careful. I will not let you change your whole vision for the future just because I can’t have kids.”

“Maybe I won’t be able to conceive a child, either. We have no idea. And I care about you too much to let that be an obstacle.”

“You say that now. But let’s just say that a year goes by and you’re holding your brother’s new little red-headed baby. What’s going to be going through your mind?”

Well, hell. That exact scenario is headed my way, and the truth is that I’ll be insanely jealous. I know I will. And Tank knows it, too, because he’s probably been in exactly that same situation more times than I can count.

“There’s lots of ways of having a baby,” I say softly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “But I can’t say for sure that I’ll ever be ready to try any of them. I need to stay off that carnival ride. You don’t want that man, Bess—the one who gets depressed every time you get your period.”

My stomach hurts as I realize he’s right. My gaze falls on the book that’s sitting on my coffee table. It’s called Safeguarding Your Fertility. I stand up and pluck it off the table.

“Don’t move that on my account,” he says. “I’ve read that thing cover to cover.”

But I am moving it on his account. I cross the room and chuck it into the recycling bin.

“Bess,” he warns. “You might decide you want that after all.”

“Then I’ll buy another copy,” I insist. Tank is more important to me than that book. My gut made the decision the moment I opened my door and saw him standing there. He’s not ready to hear it, but it’s true.

Tank’s not the only one with a shitty story. I have a lifetime’s practice at overcoming bad situations and appreciating the good things in life. Cinderella doesn’t get her prince and then immediately set her sights on a nursery full of princelings. That bitch knows to be grateful.

“What if we just put a moratorium on big decisions?” I ask him. “What if we order takeout food and watch hockey and go back to where we were before I made everything complicated?”

Tank puts an arm around me as I sit down on the couch. “Is that fair to you? You’re the one who said that every time we’re alone together the result is always the same.”

“I left out the part about how good it is, though. Every time we’re alone together I’m happy.”

“Me too.” Tank takes a shaky breath. “I’ve missed you like crazy, honey. So much that it hurts.”