Charging (Gold Hockey Book 10)

by Elise Faber

  Through the rest of the day, even when Log had gone out to search for him.

  Gone.

  The fishing poles stowed away and his truck not on the property.

  Now Logan was on the porch, his mom having retired to her bedroom and a long bath, and him trying to figure out what to do.

  He had no details, wasn’t sure he wanted any more, frankly.

  In fact, he just wanted to GTFO and lock himself up in his cabin, or maybe track down Char’s parents’ address in Baltimore and pretend this whole damned thing hadn’t happened.

  He’d thought he had it all figured out.

  His mom was upset about her job, resentful of years spent living her life for everyone else. She could be encouraged to speak up and advocate for her needs and things would improve. On the flip side, his dad was being an ass for the most part but could be forced to see that he needed to change and treat her differently. They both just needed to sit down and hash it out, to figure out their differences and stay together, or to decide the chasm between them was too large and to divorce.

  But now . . . what?

  This revelation about his mom had changed everything.

  Or had it?

  Fuck. He didn’t know.

  What he did know was that he wanted to talk to Char. He missed her, fuck he missed her. But did he want to lay this burden on her shoulders?

  I need you to need me.

  The memory of her words sat heavy on his heart.

  He didn’t want to burden her, and yet, how could he not?

  He wasn’t that solitary mountain in the middle of nowhere. He was a man who missed the woman he loved and had all he’d thought he knew shredded to pieces.

  His mom a cheater?

  What in the actual fuck?

  His finger lifted, readying to press the button to call her—

  The door creaked open, drawing his gaze to the front of the house, to his mom wrapped snuggly in a robe. “Hey,” she croaked. “Come inside, I made dinner.”

  And because he loved her, he pushed off the railing and went into the house, waiting patiently while she served up bowls of a hearty soup, all the while noticing that the table had been set for three, even though his dad wasn’t there.

  How long had it been like this?

  How long had he missed what was really going on?

  “Middle school,” she murmured.

  His eyes flew from the bowl of soup up to hers.

  “You were in middle school when it happened. I was . . . stupid. I was feeling unappreciated and lonely, and what I did was unforgivable.” She set the spoon down. “I—I probably shouldn’t have told your father, should have just ended things and moved on, but as time went on, I couldn’t hide it any longer.”

  “Mom.”

  “I’ll not tell you anything further, as that is something between your father and I, but you need to know I was in the wrong. He was nothing but faithful, and I’m the one wh-who betrayed—” A deep breath. “I betrayed our vows.”

  Her gaze drifted to the table.

  “Why stay, Mom?”

  “I love your father,” she said. “It’s a twisted, wrong love now, but I-I keep hoping that I can make it up to him, that if I just keep moving forward, we’ll be able to make each other happy again.”

  “That’s a lot of years, Mom.”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think recently I’ve realized that probably won’t happen.”

  “That’s why you’re working?”

  “I do love being there, but yes, I need to be able to support myself.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t you dare, Logan,” she said. “I’ve relied on you in a way that I shouldn’t have for too many years, and I am so sorry for that.” Her chin came up. “But damn if I’ll keep doing it.”

  “Mom,” he began.

  “Eat your stew, Logie Bear,” she murmured. “Then we’ll give you some cooking lessons. You only need a few solid recipes, and pretty soon you’ll have swept your Charlotte off her feet.”

  Her tone was familiar, one that told him he wouldn’t get any further by pushing her.

  He reached across the table, squeezed her hand.

  “I love you, Mom.”

  Her eyes misted again, but she just blinked rapidly, told him she loved him too, and then they dug into the stew.

  Thirty-Four

  Char

  She’d been concerned she had the wrong place, but then she’d nearly mowed down a man who was the spitting image of Logan, only a few decades older.

  “Shit!” She slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop far too close for comfort.

  Her hand clamped over her heart, and she took a deep breath, making sure to set the rental car in park. “Go to Wisconsin, they said,” she muttered. “It will be fun, they said.”

  Okay, no one had promised her fun.

  But she also hadn’t planned on running over Logan’s father.

  Knock. Knock.

  Char jumped, gaze flying to the window.

  The man indicated she should roll down the pane of glass. It was nearly one in the morning, the area surrounding Logan’s parents’ house was pitch black—though light blazed from the windows of the home itself—and she suddenly wondered if coming here was a really bad idea.

  “Are you lost?” the voice echoed through the glass.

  He even sounded like Logan. She hadn’t recognized that when she’d met them at Parents’ Day, probably because she’d been too closed down at that point to process anything about Logan, least of which were the similarities between him and his father.

  Taking a breath, she shut off the ignition, grabbed her purse, and opened the door.

  “John,” she said, forcing her voice to be steady as she extended her hand.

  He was silent, and from the little she could see of his face, there was no recognition there.

  “It’s Charlotte Harris,” she said. “From the Gold.”

  A flash of white as his eyes widened. “You’re here for Logan.”

  In more ways than he could probably anticipate, but all she said was, “Yes.”

  “Come on, then.”

  He led her toward the house, extracting a set of keys as he jogged up the steps and then unlocked the door.

  What they walked into was . . .

  Unexpected.

  Logan and his mom were in the kitchen, the radio blasting with oldies, both wearing aprons, both . . . covered head-to-toe with flour and collapsed on the floor laughing hysterically.

  Her heart pulsed with equal parts relief and worry.

  She’d flown up here expecting something tragic had happened.

  Instead, he was having the time of his life.

  Anger bubbled up, furious words filling the back of her throat, threatening to explode into the space.

  But Logan’s dad beat her to it.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” he bellowed.

  Two sets of eyes flew up in shock, going first to John then to Charlotte.

  Logan scrambled to his feet, closed the distance between them. “Starlight, I—are you all right?” he asked, gripping her arms lightly. “Why are you here?”

  The radio switched off.

  She glanced between him and his parents. “I thought something was wrong,” she whispered. “I thought . . .” Her voice went even quieter. “I thought you needed me.”

  His hands convulsed. “Starlight,” he rasped, and she saw the pain now. It clouded at the edges of his vision, hung to his frame.

  “What happened?” she asked, cupping his jaw.

  “It’s—”

  “You have to be fucking kidding me,” his dad yelled, and they both jumped, stares darting in his direction. “Your son finds out that you fucked around on me, and you two are baking?”

  Char’s lungs froze.

  Logan went stiff, spun to face him fully. “Don’t, Dad,” he said. “Don’t say something you’re going to regret.”

  Hostile green eyes in their d
irection. “You heard me when I said she fucked my best friend, right? And yet, here you are, taking her side.” Furious words. “Did she lie? Did she tell you she didn’t—”

  Logan opened his mouth.

  “No.”

  The word was fierce enough to have all of them looking at Logan’s mom, Hallie. “I didn’t lie, John. I cheated on you. It was a horrible mistake. I promised to never do it again.” She shook her head. “I’ve spent a long time trying to make up for it, but I see now nothing I do will ever make it right.”

  Char’s eyes darted to Logan, and she saw the pain intensify there, knew this wasn’t an old hurt. This was new and fresh and why he’d been out of touch.

  She leaned against his side, wrapped one arm around his, and held him tight.

  “So,” Hallie continued. “I can only offer two choices. One, we go to therapy. We stop ignoring this giant elephant in the room and try to work through it. Two, we divorce. I’ll move out, leave you to your life. I’ll explain to Cecily and Josh that it’s my fault, and we both do our best to repair the damage our unhappiness over the years has done to our kids.” She sucked in a breath. “I was too scared to leave before. Too worried about ruining what we once had, terrified to hurt our kids.” She looked at Logan. “But I see now by not doing anything, by not taking ownership of what I’ve done, that I’ve hurt them more than divorce ever could.”

  Char wanted to retreat, realizing too late that she shouldn’t be hearing this, but when she actually went to step back and out of this conversation, Logan wrapped his arms around her shoulder and whispered, “Please, Starlight.”

  As if she could deny him anything.

  She stayed.

  Stayed still and silent and on tenterhooks.

  Until she saw the fury replace the shock on John’s face.

  “Don’t,” Char blurted before she could stop herself. “Don’t say it. Go to therapy.”

  That fury turned in her direction, but Char had always had courage. She didn’t let it fail her now. “You obviously love her, even though part of you hates what’s she did. Otherwise you wouldn’t have stayed. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so mad now.” She swallowed. “Don’t give up on that love. Just . . . try. For yourself, for the woman you love, and if for nothing else, then try for your kids. They deserve to have parents who are happy.”

  A long moment of taut silence.

  “I think you should be careful who you give advice to, little girl,” he said coldly.

  “John!” Hallie exclaimed.

  “Dad,” Logan warned.

  Char didn’t flinch. She was well-used to dealing with big personalities, didn’t shy away from cranky men.

  She could handle Logan’s dad.

  Of that she was sure.

  “You either find the balls to do this,” she said. “Or you’ll regret it for the rest of your miserable life. And it will be a miserable life. If Hallie is half the person Logan is, you’ll hate being without her, even though she did something terrible.”

  Green eyes narrowed. “You—”

  “Not a word, Dad,” Logan growled. He shifted, snagged Char’s hand and tugged her down the hall, not stopping until they were at the end of it and through a door.

  It slammed shut, and she found herself spun and pressed to the plank of wood a moment letter.

  Another set of furious green eyes met hers.

  And suddenly, she had the feeling that she might have seriously fucked up.

  Thirty-Five

  Logan

  His heart was pounding.

  Fury was in every cell.

  He bent close.

  “You were magnificent.”

  Char’s mouth fell open, breath shuddering out to coat his lips, and Logan gave in to the urge that had gripped him from the moment she’d stepped into the situation. He pressed his body to hers and kissed her with every bit of love he felt for her.

  Only when his lungs were screaming did he pull away.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, so fucking touched that she’d stood up for him. “Thank you for saying that—”

  Fuck, his voice cracked, and his eyes were burning.

  But, damn, he could barely comprehend how much that had meant to him. First, she’d come to him, even though he hadn’t asked. Then she’d stayed by his side. Then she’d intervened . . . for him.

  With barely any context, wading into an emotional minefield of a situation.

  “I love you,” he said. “Starlight—”

  His voice broke again, but it was okay. Because this time, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. This time, she held him close and grounded until he felt steadiness return.

  This time . . . he wasn’t alone.

  The rock sitting on his heart was gone. He wasn’t facing the world by himself.

  He had Char.

  And that made all the difference in the world.

  “I think I didn’t make a very good impression on your parents,” she murmured when they broke apart a second time.

  He’d just reached up to cup her cheek, and her words had him bursting into laughter. “I don’t give a shit what my parents think of you,” he told her. “You made a fucking incredible impression on me, sweetheart. You’re here. You had my back. That means everything.”

  He froze.

  “Wait. Why are you here? Your family—”

  “Reminded me that sometimes the most important person in your life is the one who keeps your heart safe.”

  “Char.”

  “I love you, baby.”

  He tugged her close, held her tight, and for a long time they just stayed in place, arms around each other. Then Char nodded, and he remembered exactly how late it was. One smooth move had her in his arms. The next had him walking toward the bed, sitting her on the edge, and tugging off her shoes.

  “Log—”

  “Let me take care of you now, okay?” The need was strong.

  She frowned. “This isn’t some tit-for-tat I take care of you, you take care of me thing.”

  “I know,” he said. “But you’re here, and I’ve missed you, and you’ve just pulled some superwoman wonderfulness that has taken me almost thirty years to get the guts up to consider saying.” He ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “And twenty-nine years in, I hadn’t even gotten my head wrapped around verbalizing it. But you . . . you swept in there and took that weight off my shoulders.”

  “Log.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It was probably overstepping.”

  “Then consider yourself warned that I might overstep one day for you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Not for breaking up.”

  A grin curved the corners of his mouth. “No, Starlight, not for breaking up. Not ever again.”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding regally. “Then I’ll allow you to take care of me.” He started to straighten, but she laced her fingers into his hair and held him close. “But you be forewarned that I’ll be taking care of you right back, Log.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” he repeated, pressing a firm kiss to her mouth before standing up and heading to his luggage. She probably had things in her car, but honestly, he wasn’t up for traversing the gauntlet of his parents anymore that night—or morning, anyway.

  He just wanted to be with Char.

  After tugging out a T-shirt and one of the spare scarfs he’d tossed in when his imagination had taken him to Baltimore instead of Wisconsin, he crossed back over to find her glancing down at her clothes.

  Logan winced at the state of her shirt and pants.

  Streaks of flour marred the black slacks and a dribble of chocolate was streaked across her right breast—well, the turquoise fabric covering that glorious right breast. Because if it had been on her skin, he might have been tempted to clean it off with his tongue. Cliché, yes, but this woman did it for him. He wasn’t ashamed, but he was also completely aware that she was tired, had traveled to him,
and then waded through some emotion B.S.

  Which was why he kept his tongue to himself and helped her undress . . . and then redress.

  Or at least, helped her tug on his T-shirt, handed over the scarf for her to tie up her hair, and resisted the urge to trace every inch of her beautiful skin with said tongue.

  A minute later, he’d stripped out of everything except his boxer briefs.

  A moment after that, the light overhead was off, and he was in bed next to her, pulling her into his arms, tugging the covers up and over them both.

  “How did your family visit go?” he asked lightly.

  Tinkling laughter coated his skin.

  Then she told him about the Chubby Bunny contest and her sister gaining a position on a committee she was excited about. She told him about her brother’s paper getting published and her dad’s peach pie.

  She told him about her mom’s advice to follow her heart.

  “For the record,” she said, cuddling into his chest. “She’s summoned you to Baltimore at the earliest convenience, and if that convenience doesn’t meet her convenience, expect a visit to San Francisco.”

  He grinned. That wasn’t an order he had the least bit of issue following. “I guess I’d better brush up on my Chubby Bunny skills.”

  A kiss to his throat. “I won’t give up my Chubby Bunny title easily.”

  “Prepare to go down,” he teased, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Movement on his chest that had him glancing down in question. The room was dark, though his eyes had adjusted enough to see the outline of her body. “What are you doing?” he asked when the movement continued.

  “I’m waggling my brows,” she said. “You said prepare to go down”—a nip to his pectoral—“don’t give me that look.”

  “It’s pitch black, what look could I possibly be giving you?”

  “The Char-is-cray-cray look,” she said, snuggling closer. “I was making a joke.” A beat. “And don’t tell me it’s a bad joke, I know that already.”

  He snorted. “I love you, Starlight.”

  “Well, I love you, Moonlight.”

  His chest vibrated with laughter. “What is that?”

  “My attempt at a nickname. I have to up my game beyond baby and honey.”