“Maybe you could teach me?” I asked.
Her mouth twitched. “That is a feasible option. But, my mother is a coach. That would benefit you better.” She leaned back and I flicked my eyes to her feet. She wore hockey skates with the laces tied in tight bows. “Did you know Mark was drafted at the age of nineteen?” I nodded. “He’s played five hundred and forty games for the NHL and has two hundred and ten career goals.”
“He’s a great player.”
My statement earned me a nod and a small curve of her lips as she whispered, “The best.” I could hear Mark and Molly stomping down the stairs and I glanced at the doorway.
“You’re much prettier than Mia.”
I froze. My eyes wide, my greedy mouth pulling into an involuntary grin as I faced Poppy. “Thank you.”
She lifted her shoulders. “Your face is much more symmetrical, and I like your hair. It looks soft.” I unconsciously smoothed my hand over the waves I came by naturally. “Mia didn’t smile as much as you.”
The ache in my chest was a living, breathing thing as Poppy’s words absorbed. Mark had told me how Mia had never wanted to go with him to Toronto. How she’d never wanted to help out at the special needs hockey camp he donated his time and money to every year. Mark had gotten into a fight with Mia’s boyfriend this year because of the terrible name he’d called Poppy, and I wondered if Mia had been cold to Poppy when she’d visited.
I didn’t like the frown that was growing on Poppy’s lips. “I smile too much sometimes.”
She blinked at me. “That’s okay. My mom told me that you use less muscles to smile than you do to frown. This is a falsehood, but I understand her reasoning.”
My light laughter was out of place in the quiet kitchen. Poppy was eight going on forty. “I think I like you, Poppy Grayson.”
Her lips twitched again as she watched me, the moment only lasting two, maybe three seconds before a strong hand rested on my shoulder and a deep, familiar voice warmed my stomach. “I found a pair of skates.”
“That took forever, let’s go.” Poppy stood, grabbing the hockey stick resting next to the back door of the kitchen.
“You’re so bossy,” Mark teased as he handed me the skates he’d found.
“Who do you think she learned it from?” Molly laughed as she walked into the kitchen holding two hockey sticks.
My pulse jumped as I gawked at the weapons in her hands. “Um… what are those for?” I asked, my voice taking on a high pitch.
Poppy’s brows dipped deeply with confusion, and what I thought might be a bit of irritation. “They’re used to hit the puck… Uncle Mark… have you not taught her the basics?”
Poppy’s question was earnest and it made me like her even more.
Mark pressed his lips together. His smile only obvious in the dimples popping in his cheeks. “No, kiddo, I haven’t.” She glared at him and I let a laugh slip. “But I will…” He held up both of his hands. “I promise, as soon as we get her skates on.”
Poppy gave a quick nod of her head and disappeared out the back door.
“She’s worse than my coaches.” Mark kneeled down in front of me. “Can I help?” he asked taking a skate from my lap.
Molly leaned against the door frame. “She told me she wants to play for the Bruins. I told her not to tell Grand Dad, he’d be devastated.”
“He’s not a fan.” I surmised.
“We were born Toronto fans, didn’t I tell you?” Mark asked.
Molly snickered. “She’s been throwing Boston stats at him all day, I think he looked nauseous at one point. How many factoids did she hit you with while we were gone?”
I slid my foot into the skate and Mark began the process of tightening and tying as I answered, “Not too many…” I hesitated, not sure if I should mention what she’d said about Mia. “Mostly Mark facts.”
He took the other skate from my lap, meeting my gaze. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Something about NHL goals and games.” He chuckled and held my calf as I slipped my foot into the other skate. His fingertips dug into the muscle and a puddle of heat gathered in my belly.
“Hopefully she didn’t bore you too much.” Molly’s tone was filled with mirth. She exhaled. “You guys have fun, I’m gonna help Mom make her second bowl of stuffing for tomorrow. Tell Poppy one hour, alright, Christmas morning comes early.”
“I don’t think I’ll make it an hour,” I said.
Molly scoffed. “Just sneak away after the first ten minutes, they’ll never notice.”
Mark tapped his palm on the ankle of my skate before he stood. “Not true.”
“You and Poppy always get lost in your own little private hockey bubble…” Molly’s eyes met mine. “Seriously, Stevie, head on in after a few, and you can learn how to make the proper stuffing… there’s hard cider, too.”
It had started to snow again. My warm-blooded veins liked the offer she’d presented. “I might take you up on that.”
Mark held out his hands and I wobbled to my feet.
“Have fun,” Molly said again before leaving us alone together.
He held my face. “You can be a poor sport and leave early if you want. I won’t mind at all.” His lips spread into an easy grin. “Hanging in there?”
I kissed his top lip and he lowered his hands to my waist. “Your family is amazing.”
“I think so, but I’m biased. Poppy is—”
“She said my face was more symmetrical than Mia’s.”
He cringed. “Shit, I’m sorry, she’s too—”
“I really like Poppy.”
His light brown eyes flared. “I heard.”
“You did?” I whispered.
Mark didn’t answer me with words. First, his nose touched mine, gentle and soft. He leaned his head to the side, his eyes on me. His kiss was sweet and my arms slid around his neck, and I didn’t care my ankles were starting to hurt, or that I was going to have to hold a stick and try to hit a small disc, all while trying not to fall on my butt. Mark’s tongue swept across my lips and I opened for him. He tasted like apple cider and longing. My heart answered to the memories his lips created with heavy thudded beats.
He kissed my bottom lip once and pulled away with a satisfied hum.
“You’re about to get your ass handed to you by an eight year old.”
I let my head fall into his chest as I grumbled, “Don’t remind me.”
Stevie was sound asleep, tousled in the sheets she’d stolen from me some time in the night. Shadows floated across the length of her body in slow motion, and when I turned to the small basement window, the snow was coming down in fat white flakes. The clock on my nightstand told me it was too damn early, but even on vacation, I couldn’t shake the schedule I’d grown used to. Stevie was sweet with soft breaths escaping from her parted lips. She wore the pair of long johns I’d let her borrow. My room was freezing on most winter nights, and I savored the way the fabric clung to her breasts and hips. Stevie had enlisted the “no fucking around rule” and even snuggling, for the sake of warmth, was out of the question.
I eased myself to the edge of the bed and it shifted as I stood. The full-sized mattress was laid out on the floor, no frame, and a box-spring to give it a few inches of height. The only thing about my childhood bedroom that had changed, was the woman sprawled out and snoring in my sheets. My Toronto Maple Leafs posters still adorned the walls, and Stevie had gotten a good laugh about the few swimsuit models I had pinned up, as well. I’d shrugged and told her every teenage kid had something they’d spanked it to. The comment had gotten me a cute and disgusted swat to the chest.
My eyes devoured her perfect form for a few more seconds before I turned toward the door. I wanted to grab the presents I’d hidden upstairs, figuring she’d rather open them before the Poppy’s-The-Only-Grandchild-Christmas-Day-Massacre occurred. It wasn’t hard to admit Poppy was spoiled. The girl got everything she wanted. She had doting grandparents and an uncle who couldn’t tell her no
to save his own damn life. The only saving grace was Poppy didn’t act like a brat. She was wise beyond her years. And my favorite thing, for a girl who never showed much emotion, she had an abundance of gratitude. The smile I had on my face spread to my tired eyes as I thought about the interaction I’d witnessed between my niece and girlfriend last night. Poppy’s gratitude had been out in spades, or maybe it was graciousness, as she’d taught Stevie how to hold a hockey stick. In her own way, Poppy took Stevie under her wing, and to my surprise, let her steal a few pucks and even win a goal. Stevie wasn’t too bad of a player… when she wasn’t on her ass.
I was lost in my thoughts as the bedroom door clicked behind me. My feelings for Stevie, seeing her with my family, she fit us, fit me more than Mia ever had in two goddamn years. My mother had pulled me to the side after dinner last night and said she liked how happy I seemed. My dad’s opinion hadn’t been much different. He’d told me Stevie was one of the “good ones.” Mia never made me feel good, never made me smile like Stevie did. She’d always nagged about how NHL players didn’t get paid like basketball players or football players. She’d freaked out when I’d injured myself the first season we were dating, and it wasn’t because she was worried about me. She’d been worried about my career, what I could offer her—what she’d lose if I wasn’t playing. She’d wanted to be arm candy, a hockey wife, but Stevie, she wanted to be mine. Stevie made me feel human, real—more than just the logo I wore on my jersey.
The basement stairs creaked under my feet as I ascended to the main level. The house smelled of cinnamon and sugar, and as I drew closer to the pale light of the kitchen, the scent got stronger. It was only a quarter after six, and I knew there was no way Poppy would be awake. We’d all stayed up late playing Yahtzee, and she’d fallen asleep on the couch, her head in my lap, around midnight. A long sigh poured through the kitchen doorway, but it was the quiet sob that had my feet moving faster through the living room. My sister stood in the kitchen, her face in the palms of her hands, crying.
“What’s going on?” I asked in a rushed whisper. Her big, watery eyes found mine. Her lashes like wet soot speared me in the chest. My gaze fell to the phone on the counter and then back to her. “Everything alright?”
She nodded. “Yes…” She blew out a breath and croaked, “No.”
Three strides had my arms wrapped around her waist, her cheek to my chest. “Jesus, you’re shaking, Mol. What happened?”
She sniffled into the cotton of my shirt before she pulled away and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips.
“Dax… we got into a huge fight…” I ran my hand through my hair, letting my lungs expand. No one was hurt. “He said he couldn’t get a flight out until the twenty-seventh.”
“Mol, he’s stuck, it’s not his—”
“Fault. I know, Mark.” She shot daggers in my direction. “I understand. He’s stuck. It’s part of his job to travel, but…” Her temper ebbed and tears trickled down her cheeks again as she spoke in a choked whisper. “I asked him to quit for me when I got pregnant with Poppy. I hated that he was away all the time. He gave up his dreams for me, took this sales job… and fast forward eight years later and here we are. He probably would’ve been home more if he still played for Providence.”
“Molly…” I stepped toward her but she held up her hands and shook her head. “The AHL, those guys, some of them never see NHL ice. He knows that. He did what he wanted to do. He didn’t give up a dream, Mol. He got a family. He loves you and Poppy, and I guarantee he’d make the same choice again, I sure as fuck would’ve done the same thing.”
She lowered her eyes to the floor. “You can’t say that… you don’t know. You would never leave your team for—”
“I would if I had to be there for my family, for someone I loved. If that was my only choice, I’d always choose my family.”
Molly lifted her head, a sad smile forming on her lips. “You sound just like him.” She gently shoved me in the chest on her way to the coffee maker. “I know I’m crazy. I know he’s paying our bills.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, her chin tilted down. “I yelled at him, asked him how he could do this to me on Christmas. He told me I was being selfish and hung up.”
Dax and I had always gotten along, we were cut from the same cloth. There wasn’t much either of us wouldn’t do for the people we loved. We would give the fucking sky if we could. Molly was stubborn like our dad, and sometimes it was hard for her to see around her own nose.
“He missed Christmas with his family, Mol. He’s sitting in a shitty hotel in Denver, alone.” I picked up the phone from the counter and held it out to her. “So he said the wrong thing because he’s hurting… as much as you are.”
She took the phone from my hand. “I hate that you’re right.”
I chuckled and ruffled her hair with my palm. “Give him a break, the big stuff can wait till he gets home.”
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears again. “Stevie is lucky to have you.”
“I think it’s the other way around.”
“Possibly.” She cleared her throat, a smirk growing on her lips. “Mom made cinnamon rolls before she went to shower, steal a couple before Dad wakes up and eats them all.”
She headed to the living room with her phone to her ear and I overheard her whispered, “I’m sorry.” After I used the bathroom, and splashed some water on my face, I loaded a plate with cinnamon rolls, and grabbed the bag with Stevie’s presents in it from the cupboard inside the pantry. It was heavy and I worried the paper sack wouldn’t hold as I took the basement stairs two at a time.
She hadn’t budged an inch, but her shirt had ridden up a little, and the smooth expanse of her stomach teased me from where I stood in the doorway. Setting the bag to the side, I locked the door and placed the plate of rolls on my dresser. I raised my hand to the back of my neck, pulling my shirt over my head. The cold air of the room tickled the hairs on my arms as I stalked toward my girl with intentions she’d probably smack me for later. Slow and quiet I crawled onto the mattress, tugging the sheets until she rolled onto her back with a light hum. The other day she’d woken me up with a blow job, and I figured this morning I’d return the favor.
Pressing kisses to her belly, my nose dusted along the line of her hip as I pulled down her pants one stealthy inch at a time. She wriggled under my touch as my lips moved lower, much lower, and finally, I was tasting her. She was warm under my tongue, the slick heat of her body inviting me in as I slid two fingers inside her. Her hand was in my hair, nails on my scalp as I kissed and nipped her clit.
“Mark…” My name was a lust and sleep-filled syllable.
She rocked her hips, urging me. My fingers pumped faster as she arched her back. She swore softly, her hands dropping from my hair, only to shield her mouth as she cried out and came on my tongue, on my fingers. She was breathing hard and heavy as I pushed down my sweats letting them fall to the floor and climbed over her. Our lips collided together as I slipped inside her, the need I had for her driving my hips brutal and quick. She grasped my shoulders, spread her legs farther apart, letting me fall into her completely. Messy kisses and a hasty rhythm, I rode her body. My chest sinking into the softness of hers, the scent of sex and Stevie clung to my sheets, making itself known and permanent in my home, in my life. My left hand fisted in her hair, my right arm cradling her lower back as I closed off any space between our connection. Tight words spilled from our lips. Don’t stop, I’m almost there, Please, and God, and Oh, fuck.
The room, the world faded, and the painful anticipation settled at the base of my spine as I whispered, “Don’t close your eyes.”
All that was left was the euphoric relief I found in the amber color of her irises as I let go. Filling her, I spiraled down until our lips met. I took deep sips from her mouth, my tongue sliding alongside hers stroke for stroke. Breathless and spent, I pulled away, burying my lips inside the crook of her neck. I could feel the way her heart pounded inside her chest,
and it matched my own deafening beat.
Stevie ran her fingers along the nape of my neck, through my hair, and back down again.
She was the first to speak, her tone content with a touch of humor. “You broke the rule.”
I raised my head, holding the weight of my body with my arms. My hands braced against the pillow beside her head. “Merry Christmas.”
She brought her fingertips to my lips and traced a line across them. My eyes closed as she cupped my cheek. I was fucking gone for this girl. “Merry Christmas.”
I opened my eyes and she smiled at me, her cheeks flushed all the way down to her chest.
“Have you ever had sex in here before?” she asked and I laughed.
“No.”
Her eyes widened. “We just christened your childhood bed… I feel so…”
“Good?” I offered.
“Dirty.”
I dropped my lips to hers and chuckled against her mouth. “Dirty… like you’ll let me fuck you on every surface of this room before breakfast kind of dirty?”
She shook her head, pushing my shoulders until I fell to the side and admonished me with mock irritation. “You broke the rule.”
“I think you liked breaking the rule.”
I palmed her breast and she wrenched her shirt down with an exhale. “Mark.”
I lifted onto my elbow and laughed. “What? You did. You loved it. Twice.”
“What if your parents heard—oh God—what if Poppy…” She glared at me and I had to bite back my smile. “I hate you right now.”
“Does that mean I can’t give you your presents?”
Stevie’s features softened, her eyes glimmered as they appraised me. “Now?”
With the tips of my fingers, I moved a strand of hair from her forehead. “Now.”
I didn’t give her a chance to answer as I rolled to my side and stood. I picked up my sweats from the floor, hauling them on before grabbing the bag and the plate of rolls off my dresser. When I turned around, Stevie’s smile punched me in the stomach, knocked the wind out of me like I’d been hit by a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound blue liner. Her hair was everywhere, her cheeks were splotched with pink, and she was wiggling into her pajama bottoms. Excitement danced across her face as she flipped on the bedside table lamp. She crossed her legs as I sat on the bed, leaving the bag on the side of the mattress and placing the plate on the night stand.
Breakaway (The Rule Book Collection) Page 23