Chapter 28

Desperate for a change of subjects, I switched gears to talking about hockey. It was a reflex around Barnett, really, but it was a comfortable subject with him. After all these years, we both still seemed to love the sport, even if it was only from the sidelines.

“You were such a great coach,” I gushed, “probably the best I ever had.”

I might have had one too many glasses of wine by that point.

“You were a great student,” Barnett countered, “and an excellent player. I really could have seen you going to the Olympics, if you had just returned to the ice after your injury.”

I tucked a strand of stray hair behind my ear. There was no way I was going to mention the kiss I had stolen from him in the lounge that had led up to that injury. Not when it had happened so long ago.

“Things happen. Speaking of which, why did you quit coaching in the first place? I heard that everyone was devastated to see you go.”

Barnett cringed. His stoney, unreadable expression melted into one of hidden pain. My heart broke at the sight.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he muttered.

I didn’t press any further. Whatever it was, he would tell me about it in his own time, if he wanted to.

“What about you?” he asked. “Why did you switch schools?”

My eyes dropped to my now empty plate. I prayed for dessert to come soon.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t—”

“No, no, it’s okay. You know how I lost my brother Charlie to childbirth?”

He nodded.

“Well, my other brother, Michael, he died in a motorcycle accident just before my senior year. My parents couldn’t take the shock, so we moved.”

Barnett mouthed a silent “oh” before staring at his own plate. For a minute, we sat there silently, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Then Barnett reached out and grabbed my hand in his.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. You don’t need to say any more if you don’t want to, but if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

I smiled and squeezed his hand gently.

“Thank you.”

He slowly retracted his hand and looked around the restaurant.

“I wonder what’s taking our dessert so long?”

• * *

Dessert and the drive home continued wonderfully. We did not mention anything else about our tragic pasts, and even the silences felt as comfortable as a winter glove. By the time we had pulled into my parking space at the apartment complex, Barnett was teasing me about how much I liked the car he had given me, even though he had been the designated driver.

I guessed the night had loosened him up a bit, too.

It was 10 o’clock by the time we got up to the apartments, so Barnett decided to stay overnight at his.

“Goodnight, Barnett,” I said as I stepped into my apartment.

“Goodnight, Anna,” I heard him say from immediately behind me. I turned around to see him standing in the doorway. “Or should I say FitnessBabe?”

My mouth dropped open, but no words came out.

“Do you want to spend—” he looked down at his phone, but it was clearly an act— “an unforgettable night with me?”

Color flooded my face as embarrassment washed over me.

My God, I thought, he DID recognize me.

Barnett kissed the corner of my forehead and left.

• * *

That night, I dreamt of Barnett again.

He brought me into the dream with a gentle kiss on the lips. Then he pressed one on my cheek. Then my neck.

There, he stopped and sucked—hard. I moaned in pleasure. My fingers clawed at his back, certain to leave marks to complement the ones he was pressing into my neck.

His mouth trailed down to my breast. His hands traced a path over my thighs, barely touching. He brushed my inner thighs, moving farther and farther up.

It was then, in my desire-driven delirium, that I realized that neither of us wore anything at all. I groaned at the thought of waking up naked with Barnett, this stud ravaging me from the moment that I came to.

Barnett moved his attention from one breast to another. He slid his hands beneath my back and pulled me as close to him as he possibly could, devouring me.

He removed his lips. I whimpered. He crawled back up to my head and nibbled on my ear.

“I want you to ride me,” he husked. His voice dropped an octave. “Now.”

I trembled at the command.

Barnett rolled off of me and onto his back. He lay there, expectantly, his eyes alight with a lustful fire. Inside me, a tigress roared.

I climbed on top of him and positioned myself to take his member. I grabbed onto his shoulders to steady myself. Just as I was about to come down…

The dream changed.

I was now dressed in a hospital gown but still laying in my bed. Instead of a hospital, I was inside the master bedroom of a grand Victorian mansion. Cramps ran through me with the burning intensity of a thousand suns.

Somehow, I didn’t scream. Instead, I clenched onto the hand of the person lying in bed next to me: Barnett.

Despite the homely surroundings, he also wore hospital scrubs. He held my hand—well, his hands were wrapped around one of mine while it trapped one of his in a vice-like grip. His expression was firm, but not grim, as though he were determined to see something through.

“Come on, Anna,” Barnett said encouragingly, “you can do it. The shoulders are already out.”

The shoulders were out?

That’s when I realized that a doctor was at the end of the bed, and my legs were spread wide, as though placed in stirrups. The pain suddenly made sense. I was giving birth.

As though this realization turned on a switch, I felt a big push surge through me. This was followed by a heart-wrenching cry.

“It’s a boy!” the doctor said.

“That’s wonderful, Anna! We have another boy!” Barnett exclaimed.

Wait, I thought, ANOTHER boy?

The house broke out in a chorus of babies’ cries.

I looked around and saw that the room had somehow filled with newborn babies. Barnett held one in each arm, another couple lay on the bed between us, and bassinets and cribs poured out the bedroom and into the hallway.

“Where…where did all these babies come from?” I asked.

“They’re ours, of course,” Barnett said, as though I were the crazy one for not knowing that.

The doctor appeared at my side in an instant.

“Do you want to hold your son?”

The word “son” echoed in my head, slowly transforming into the sound of a belltower chiming—the alarm I had set on my cell phone.

I scrambled to turn the annoying thing off. Then I lay in bed for a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling. The image of my and Barnett’s many children had been seared into my brain.

What the hell could that dream have meant?