All the Way Page 19

  “Oh, thank God,” Mom says, bursting into easy laughter and opening her arms to embrace Becca in a warm hug. After she’s released her, I get the same treatment, while Mom whispers in my ear, “She’s stunning, Owe. Don’t mess this up.”

  I didn’t plan on it. I give her a nod and a wink that I hope is reassuring.

  “Great to meet you,” Dad says, giving Becca one of the awkward one-armed hugs he’s known for.

  “It’s so nice to meet you both. Thank you for having us,” Becca says, her face lighting up in a genuine smile.

  Mom takes a step back, ushering us inside, and we follow her through the formal entryway.

  “Are you sure I couldn’t have brought something?” Becca asks.

  Mom waves her off. “Nonsense. You’re a guest. I have pie for later, in case you guys get hungry.”

  Becca looks pointedly at me as Mom says this. In case I get hungry is an oxymoron. I’m always hungry.

  We’re led into the family room and all sit down—Becca beside me on the couch, and my parents seated across from us in wingback chairs. It’s a wonder they haven’t met before now, but it seemed like the few games my parents attended, Becca wasn’t at. We only made it in the postseason for one round before getting knocked out by Denver, which sucked—but it also meant I get a longer summer to enjoy with Becca.

  “The place looks great, Mom.” I take a look around. I bought my parents this house three years ago once I started earning some serious money.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. We love it,” Mom says as both she and my dad give me a grateful look, then she leans forward and smiles at Becca. “So, Becca, tell us a little more about yourself.”

  “Well . . .” Becca considers this. They already know about her job with the team, because I filled them in on that, and they know she lives in the city not too far from me. “I like to run,” she settles on. “I signed up for my first half marathon next month.”

  “Wow. That’s wonderful,” Mom says, grinning.

  I reach over and give Becca’s knee an encouraging squeeze.

  I know she’s been ready for a long time, at least physically, to run that distance. But I also know that her confidence has grown since we began dating, and that she now feels confident enough to tackle that challenge mentally. It’s been incredible to watch her bloom with a little time and affection.

  But, honestly, I think I’m the one who’s grown the most. I no longer care about wild nights out, or the attention I get for playing a professional sport. I care about the woman beside me. The girl I love. She’s what makes me happy.

  “Did you hear what I said, Owen?” Mom asks, giving me a curious stare.

  “Uh. No. Sorry.”

  She presses her lips together like she wants to be annoyed with me, but I can tell she’s not. I can see how happy I’ve made her by bringing Becca home. “I said we should all go to the race and cheer Becca on.”

  “Oh, definitely. That’s a great idea.” I’m already planning to be there, but I secretly love that my folks want to come along too.

  “You guys don’t have to do that. The parking situation is going to be a nightmare, and it’ll take me at least two hours to run the race, and . . .”

  I squeeze Becca’s shoulder, and she turns to look at me. “We’re coming, babe. All of us. Hell, I might even make signs, paint my chest with something like BECCA IS #1.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re so sweet.”

  “There’s a term I’ve never heard used to describe my son before.” Dad chuckles.

  I laugh right along with them. I’ve been called a lot of things over the years—a fierce competitor on the ice, a cocky asshole—I’ve heard it all, but sweet? My dad’s right. That’s a new one. This is all new for me. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.

  “What do you say we break into that pie?” I ask my mom.

  “On it,” she says happily, hopping up from her seat to go fetch it from the kitchen.

  Normally, I’d go in there and give her a hand, or just help myself, but I’ve learned that my mother loves fussing over me during the few times I come home a year. And who am I to deny her that? So I watch with a smile as she serves us slices of warm apple pie—two slices for me—and coffee for everyone.

  We eat our pie and make small talk. My dad asks all kinds of questions of Becca about the inner workings of the team’s leadership, and I’m happy to see them take a genuine interest in her. She’s a pretty incredible girl, and it’s nice to know they think so too. Plus, she’s got a lot of good stories about the team’s general manager that my dad hasn’t heard before, but is apparently interested in.

  We’ve been officially dating for three very happy months now. We spend our days texting flirty messages back and forth, and our nights burning up the sheets together. Everything between us comes naturally. Maybe it’s because we were friends first, I’m really not sure, but what we have just works.

  My travel schedule isn’t the easiest on us, but we make do. Becca loves surprising me with homecooked meals, and I love spoiling her any chance I can get. Not with extravagant vacations, or spa packages, or jewelry—those things don’t light my girl up like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. It’s usually something simple like surprising her with her favorite candy after I’ve been out of town, or downloading her favorite song to play in my car on the way to dinner, or when we lie in bed at night and talk for hours about our future.

  Sometimes she needs to be held, and I love being the one to fold her in my arms and whisper into her hair that I’ve got her. Just like I know she loves being my whole world, and that includes the times when I need to work off some excess stress relief in ways that are uniquely mine. Like when I’m pounding into her from behind, my teeth at her neck, her beautiful ass pink from my hand, her dark hair a mess of tangles around my fist. She’s so beautiful then. So giving. So perfect for me in every way.

  And that’s probably my favorite part about being in love with Becca. We didn’t change—not ourselves, not each other. We accepted each other . . . flaws, bruises, bumps, and all.

  Once we finish up at my parents’ house, which includes a visit to the den where Mom insists on showing Becca old baby photos of me, we’re back in my SUV cruising back toward the city as the sky turns a vibrant shade of orange. The sun sets later this time of year, and the colors are always incredible.

  On the way home, we stop to pick up takeout and end up eating it on the couch at my place. We hang out with Elise and Justin for a little while since my sister wants to know all about our visit back home. Becca is, of course, too modest, and I tell Elise that Mom and Dad loved her and insisted on coming to her race.

  Once it’s late, dark outside, we make our way into my bedroom. I expect that we’re going to change into pajamas and brush our teeth, busying ourselves with our bedtime routine like we usually do when Becca stays over. Instead, she sits on the edge of my bed and looks up at me with an expression I can’t quite read.

  “What is it?” I ask, sitting down beside her.

  “I’m just . . . so grateful for you.” Her eyes well with tears.

  “Don’t cry, angel.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m serious, Owen. What would I have done without you?”

  I smile and cup her face in my hands. “I didn’t do anything, and that’s the honest truth. You tore your walls down yourself.”

  She shakes her head. “You did everything. Everything. And it was perfect.” Her voice is soft, and I’m not sure what’s gotten into her, but maybe me bringing her home to meet my family meant more to her than she let on.

  “No. I should be thanking you. You’ve changed the man I am. In all the best ways.”

  Becca blinks away the tears and gives me a soft look. “That’s fake news, and you know it. People don’t change, Owen. You’ve had this inside you the whole time.”

  “Then it took you to bring it out,” I say, leaning forward to press my lips to hers.

  “Maybe,” she murmurs b
ack.

  “Definitely.”

  She rolls her eyes at me, and I’m a little in shock that she can’t see this as clearly as I can. She’s strong and brave and fearless. I was the one who was lost without her.

  “Our story isn’t about your past, it isn’t about how you fell down,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “It’s about how you stood on your own two feet and took your life back. I’m just honored that you let me be part of that. You’re the strongest person I know, Becca. I love you.”

  “I love you too . . .” She hesitates for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip and looking down at our hands.

  My stomach tenses. “But? Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”

  She looks up and meets my eyes again. “But . . . part of me is just scared that one day you’re going to wake up and realize I’m not enough for you.”

  My heart gives a little clench. “Why would you say that? I love you. You’re everything I want.”

  She swallows, looking unsure. “I’m scared that someday another girl is going to capture your heart.”

  “Honestly, babe, she will.” I interlace her fingers with mine and give her hand a gentle squeeze. “She’ll be the little girl who calls you Mommy.”

  “Owen, you can’t say things like that.” Becca sniffs and starts to cry, the tears that welled in her eyes earlier sliding down her cheeks.

  I wipe them away with my thumbs. “I love you, and I always will. You’re it for me.”

  She shifts closer on the bed, still watching me, still taking in everything I’ve said. “Show me,” she says.

  And I do.

  • • •

  I hope you enjoyed All the Way! Up next is Teddy and Sara’s story in Trying to Score.

  “Make a sex tape,” they said.

  “It’ll be fun,” they said.

  Spoiler alert: they lied.

  I’m an overworked attorney, but hey, at least my latest case is an interesting one. I’ve been hired to help my friend Teddy keep a sex tape he made years ago private. And considering Teddy is a pro hockey hunk with a huge reputation and an even bigger following, this news can’t get out.

  Plus, I have an extra interest in making sure that tape never sees the light of day. Because the other person in that video?

  Is me.

  Your favorite hot jocks are back with an all new stand-alone novel. If you like sexy, confident men who know how to handle a stick (on and off the ice), and smart women who are strong enough to keep all those big egos in check, this series of athlete romances is perfect for you!

  Get Your Copy of Trying to Score

  Acknowledgments

  This book. Gah! This little book has meant so much to me, and I’ve poured so much of myself onto its pages. Don’t ever let it be said that I don’t get into character—because going to a cheap massage parlor called Number One Foot and running a half marathon both took place over the course of writing this story. It’s true that the first three miles are the hardest, in case you were wondering. And yes, seeing your best friend naked really does change everything. Everythinggg.

  First, I would like to thank my amazing husband, John, for his unending love and nonstop encouragement. The strength of your belief in me is a little overwhelming at times, but means so much. I have never met someone so encouraging, loving, accepting, and sweet—all coupled with an incredible strength. I don’t know what I would do without you, and I hope to never find out. I’m so blessed that I get to do life with you. First you were my friend, then you were my whole world, and it was such an easy transition. My best piece of advice is to marry the guy who makes you laugh every day—marry the guy who makes you smile simply by walking in the room. And you do, babe. You really do.

  Next, I would like to thank my lovely readers for continually trusting me to deliver a satisfying read. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I hope I never let you down.

  To my wonderful assistant, Alyssa Garcia, you do so much, and I would be totally lost without you. Thank you a million billion for everything that you handle—big and small—so I can write, and edit, and ya know, sleep.

  To my editing team—the incomparable Pam Berehulke, whose editing schedule books up two years in advance (for good reason). I’m so grateful to work with you. A big hug to Rachel Brookes for your love and advice with this story. Thank you for believing in Owen to redeem himself and not be a total douche. Elaine York, I am so happy that you always make time to spend with my words and help me whip them into shape—my books are always better because you have worked on them. Sue Grimshaw, I appreciated the second look you gave this story and your advice on the changes to chapters thirteen and fourteen made them so much better.

  To author Nana Malone, thank you so much for your beta read and thoughtful advice on this story. I adore you! I would also like to thank the quick beta reads by Stacy and Zetti. You guys rock.

  And last, to my audio narration team of Jason Clarke and Erin Mallon. It was your voices I heard while writing these words. Erin, your performances are always top notch and so thoughtful. I knew it would take a combination of strength and vulnerability to portray Becca’s character, and I was sure you would nail it. And, Jason, I knew your deep, rich, rumbling masculine tone would take Owen’s character over the top and bring him to life in all the best ways. I had shivers! Thank you for getting into character so well. You are both true professionals, and such a joy to listen to.

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  About the Author

  A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over two million books, and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller list more than three dozen times. Kendall has been featured in publications such as USA TODAY, Newsweek, and In Touch Magazine. She lives in Texas with her husband and two sons.

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  Other Books by Kendall Ryan

  Unravel Me

  Filthy Beautiful Lies Series

  The Room Mate

  The Play Mate

  The House Mate

  Screwed

  The Fix Up

  Dirty Little Secret

  xo, Zach

  Baby Daddy

  Tempting Little Tease

  Bro Code

  Love Machine

  Flirting with Forever

  Dear Jane

  Finding Alexei

  Boyfriend for Hire

  The Two-Week Arrangement

  Seven Nights of Sin

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