chapter 182

chapter 182
Grace's POV:
The question caught me so off-guard that I actually laughed. "Mom!"
"I'm serious!" But she was smiling, even as her eyes held that familiar worry only mothers seemed capable of. "You've been through so much together, and he clearly adores you. I just want to make sure he's not going to—"
"Run away?" I supplied, still grinning. "Trust me, he's not going anywhere."
I followed her gaze to the kitchen doorway, where Maverick had appeared, drying his hands on a towel.
He caught my eye and smiled, and something warm unfurled in my chest at the casual domesticity of it all.
"I'm certain," I told her quietly. "We're bound together for life now. Neither of us are going anywhere."
Mom patted my hand, seemingly satisfied. "Good. Because I quite like having him around."
"Me too," I admitted, and it felt like the understatement of the century.
---
Later that night, after the dishes were done and the leftover decorations put away, Maverick and I retreated to our room.
The house had settled into quiet contentment, the kind that only came after a day well spent with people you loved.
I was brushing my teeth when he came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. Our eyes met in the mirror, and I saw the same bone-deep satisfaction I felt reflected in his gaze.
"Good day?" he asked, his voice low and intimate in the small bathroom.
I nodded, unable to speak around my toothbrush. He pressed a kiss to my neck, just below my ear, and I shivered despite the warmth.
"Best Christmas Eve I've ever had," he murmured against my skin. "Thank you for letting me be part of it."
I finished rinsing and turned in his arms, cupping his face between my hands. "You don't have to thank me for that. You belong here. With us. With me."
His eyes darkened with emotion, and he kissed me—soft and sweet and full of promises. When we finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, his breathing slightly uneven.
"Come to bed," he said quietly. "I want to hold you."
We climbed under the covers together, the room lit only by the glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. Maverick pulled me against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, and I felt the tension of the day begin to melt away.
"Mom asked me something tonight," I said into the comfortable silence.
"Oh?" His hand traced lazy patterns up and down my spine. "Should I be worried?"
"She wanted to know when we're getting married."
His hand stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming its gentle motion. "And what did you tell her?"
"That you're not going anywhere." I tilted my head back to look at him. "She seemed worried you might... I don't know, change your mind or something."
"Never." The word came out fierce, almost angry, and he tightened his arms around me. "Grace, I would marry you tomorrow if you'd let me. Tonight, even. Right now."
The intensity in his voice made my heart race. "Maverick—"
"I'm serious." He shifted so we were face to face, his eyes burning with something that made my breath catch. "We should go to the courthouse tomorrow. Get the license, sign the papers, make it official. I don't want to wait anymore."
"Tomorrow is Christmas," I pointed out, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach at his eagerness.
"Then the day after. Grace, I've already lost two years with you. I don't want to waste another second not being your husband."
The raw vulnerability in his expression made my chest ache.
This wasn't about possessiveness or control—it was about the fear that still lingered from our forced separation, the terror that something might tear us apart again if we didn't hold tight enough.
"We don't have to rush," I said gently, running my fingers through his hair. "I'm not going anywhere either."
"I know, but—" He broke off, frustration and longing warring in his features. "I want everyone to know you're mine. I want the legal paperwork and the rings and the ability to introduce you as my wife. I want—" His voice cracked slightly. "I want to make up for the wedding we should have had two years ago."
My throat tightened with emotion. We'd been engaged then, in that breathtaking moment after his final championship game when he'd dropped to one knee on the ice, still in his gear, and asked me to marry him in front of thousands of screaming fans. And then it had all been ripped away.
I kissed him then, pouring everything I felt into it—love and certainty and the promise that I wasn't going anywhere.
When we broke apart, his eyes were suspiciously bright.
"How about this," I said, keeping my tone light even as my heart pounded. "Let me think about the timeline. "
My mind flickered briefly to the dance studio—we had the winter showcase coming up, and I'd promised to choreograph two new pieces.
He studied my face for a long moment, and I could practically see him wrestling with his impatience. Finally, he sighed, capturing my hand and pressing a kiss to my palm.
"Fine," he conceded, though his tone suggested it was anything but. "But I'm going to be very persuasive about speeding up your consideration process."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "And how exactly do you plan to—"
He kissed me again, cutting off my question with the kind of thoroughness that made my toes curl, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a possessive rhythm that left no room for coherent thought, while his hands slid beneath my sleep shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of my back and pulling me flush against the hard planes of his body.
"Like that," he murmured against my lips, trailing open-mouthed kisses down my jaw to my neck, nipping at the pulse point that always made my knees weak, "and this—"