by Lynda Aicher
“It’s nothing, dude,” Aiden piped in, voice overly chipper. “We’re all a bunch of overprotective assholes, just like she said.” He punched Henrik on the arm, the hit too hard to be joking. “Come on. Mom’s going to be pissed if we don’t bring you back inside.”
“And you don’t want to see Mom mad,” Colin agreed, heading back to the house. “Trust me, that Irish temper is wicked.”
“Here’s a friendly warning for you,” Finn added, grinning. “Jacqui’s temper can be just as bad, in case you hadn’t picked up on that by now.”
He was completely aware of the brothers’ not-so-smooth change of subject, but he let it go. This had been the first time Henrik had seen Jacqui truly angry. Defiant, proud, assured, tender, warm—he’d seen those characteristics many times over. His smile grew to a soft appreciation. It fit her too, just like every other trait, because it hadn’t come out in a fit of self-righteous spite but in defense of herself and him.
He glowed with the warmth that spread from his chest. No one outside of his hockey brothers had ever stepped in to protect him before. Not even Emma or his grandmother. His parents’ version of protection had been to send him away.
“You coming?” Dan asked, waiting on the short flight of stairs to the front porch. The other guys had gone inside while Henrik had been lost in his thoughts.
He cleared his throat and headed to the door. “Yeah.”
“Look,” Dan said when he reached him, eyeing Henrik with a blend of respect and doubt. “We’re not really that big of dicks.” He rubbed his neck, glancing away as he dropped his hand. “She’s our little sister, and we almost lost her twice.” He looked back to Henrik, eyes gleaming in the amber light. “We’re all a little overprotective of her.”
He got that, couldn’t fight it even a bit. “I’m not out to hurt her.” He would keep repeating that until they believed him. Better yet, he’d show them.
“I hope so.” Dan gave Henrik’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “So,” he went on, opening the door. “Does this mean you can get us tickets to a game?”
“Awesome,” Finn exclaimed from inside. “On the glass?”
“Box seats,” Aiden insisted. “We deserve box seats for not kicking your ass.”
Henrik laughed, a deep rumble that baffled yet soothed him. This he could handle. Guy banter was his first language. “I’d like to see you try, little man,” he said to Aiden when he stepped inside.
“Ignore Aiden, he’s all talk,” Finn said. “Both on and off the ice.”
“Bullsh—crap.” Aiden glanced at the kitchen. “I can out-skate you any day.”
“Dream on, little bro.”
“And I can school you both.” Henrik grinned, easing into the flow. This was comfortable. Maybe he could even fit in a bit. Was there a chance that a family like this would actually accept him?
Chapter Nineteen
“He’s a keeper, isn’t he?” Tory asked.
Jacqui didn’t move from her study of Henrik. He was sitting at the dining table, her brothers bantering around him over dishes mostly empty and pints of beer. Her spot at the end of the short hallway to the bath and bedrooms provided a perfect observation point.
She leaned into her sister-in-law who’d come up behind her, smiling to herself. “Yeah. I think he is.” She’d been thinking that more and more after their soul-baring confessions a week ago. Since then, they’d talked multiple times a day when he was on the road, and she’d spent every night at his house when he’d been home.
That had been the impetus that’d had her mother insisting on meeting the man she was sleeping with. God, she was twenty-five years old and still blushed when her mother wanted to talk about sex. Just, no.
“He barely flinched when I shoved Nigel into his arms.” Tory might’ve been joking but her voice was serious. Giving her baby to Henrik to hold had been her version of the test her brothers were still putting him through.
The poor guy. He’d been so clueless walking into her mob of a family. But he’d survived once her brothers had backed off. Asses, every one of them—who loved her deeply, and she wouldn’t change them. Ever.
Nigel was sound asleep, snuggled into Henrik’s wide chest like he belonged there. Was it right to be envious of the infant? Or was it worse to feel a pang of longing for that baby to be theirs? Stupid, wishful and way too fast.
“He only bobbled him a few times before settling back like a natural,” Jacqui observed, shooting Tory a quick grin.
“Has he been around kids before?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, the realization nagging at her. They’d spent a lot of time together, but none of it had been with other people until now.
“So.” Tory nudged her. “Are things serious then?”
Were they? “I think so.” Despite her resistance and hesitation, she was in deep with him. Love? She wasn’t ready to say that aloud. It was still too risky. Fragile.
Love me. I can love you. Words spoken in the throes of sex that spun dreams she hoped were true, if only…
“Good for you.” Tory squeezed Jacqui’s arm, warmth in her voice. “So… I thought you didn’t like hockey.”
Jacqui rolled her eyes. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I don’t hate hockey. I was ambivalent.” She shrugged, a secret grin growing. “Now I have a reason to be interested.”
Tory laughed, the sound melting into the round of laughter from the guys. They’d been talking hockey for most of the night and for once, she didn’t mind. Henrik seemed comfortable with it and her brothers were enthralled but not gushing, thank God. Mom would’ve smacked each of them on the back of the head if anyone had dared to ask for an autograph.
Now game tickets, Mom would be all over those—if offered.
“Come on,” Tory urged. “Give me the gossip. I have to live vicariously through you now that I’m an old married woman.”
“You’re not old.”
“Well, I’m definitely not out snagging hot hockey studs.”
Jacqui sent her a taunting smile. “He is hot, isn’t he?” She waggled her brows. “And all that power in bed.” Her moan was throaty and suggestive before she burst into laughter.
Tory shoved her, grinning. “Oh, you are nasty. Now I have to have the dirty details.”
Jacqui shook her head, still chuckling. “Not a chance.”
“I’d share with you,” Tory huffed.
“Ew, no.” Jacqui shuddered. “That’s my brother. I don’t want to know anything about him that involved zero clothes.”
Tory tilted her head, contemplating. “There are some incidents where most of our clothes were on.”
“Stop!” She squeezed her eyes closed, mentally scrubbing the images from her mind. “That’s just wrong.”
“What?” Tory leaned in, smirk increasing. “You do know how babies are made, right?” She stared pointedly at the dining room where Lanie sat on Aiden’s lap and Nigel slept on Henrik. “I can assure you Immaculate Conception had no part in creating those two.”
“Oh my God.” Jacqui dropped her head into her hand, but her laughter took away the dramatic impact she was going for. “You are evil.”
“I have to be to fit in with your family.”
“Too true.”
Jacqui lifted her head, gaze going right back to Henrik. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him. His hunter-green sweater was soft yet masculine, the white edge of his T-shirt beneath crisp and sharp. His sweater matched his eyes and flattered him in a way her brothers had never managed—or worried about. But he still looked casual. His jeans were probably designer or custom made to fit his thick thighs and muscular bottom, but they didn’t look it.
“Did you really meet him at the music store?”
The story had come out during dinner. “Yeah. I did.”
“Huh. I didn’t know he played the guitar,” Tory mused.
Jacqui didn’t think it was a secret, but he definitely didn’t brag about how good he was. And it wasn’t her knowledge to share
either. “And how much do you know about him outside of what the media reports and shows?”
“Point taken.”
“He’s nothing like his hockey image once you get to know him,” she confided, needing someone else to see what she did in him. “I think the media trumps up what they want to present, and he’s kind of gone with it.” Her stomach clenched at the oversharing. He probably wouldn’t like her talking about him like this, but she wanted her family to know the guy he was with her. The real Henrik who went out of his way to be nice to her. Who was intelligent, giving and…kind.
The man who gave up the gruff facade to give her whatever she wanted, in the bedroom and out. The man who was aching to be loved for who he was, not what he did.
Her heart beat a tender drum of longing for the dream she was slowly letting herself accept. She could have him, all of him right now, if she trusted her life enough. Trusted that this Christmas wouldn’t be the year the Grim Reaper returned.
On cue, her stomach roiled, dinner sitting heavy and weighted as her muscles clenched around it, the burn right below her rib cage blooming into a sharp pain.
“Are you two done talking about us?” Dan called out, drawing attention to their little tete-a-tete.
“Girls have a right to discuss something besides hockey,” Tory said, nudging Jacqui as she headed back to the table. “Are you guys ready to talk about something else?”
“What?” Finn gasped, clutching his heart. “Never. There can never be too much hockey talk.”
“Maybe Henrik would like to talk about something besides work.” Tory arched a brow in challenge as she took a seat next to Dan. “What if we spent two hours breaking down the inner workings at the plant?”
“God, please no,” Aiden pleaded. As the only one of the guys who didn’t work at the local production factory, he hated when the rest talked shop. “Anything but that.”
“Why?” Dan asked, his tone too serious. “Does the thought of real work scare you?”
Aiden glared over Lanie’s oblivious head, where she studiously worked on another masterpiece. “You know where you can go with that discussion.”
“Drop it.” Their dad glanced between his sons, his stare as firm as his voice. “We have company.”
Henrik was studying the sleeping baby who’d started to stir. He rubbed Nigel’s little back and whispered something in his ear.
Jacqui’s heart tumbled right along with her stomach. She came up to where he was sitting, smoothed her palm over his nape, and tried to let her fears go. There were times when she thought he was too good for her. Too trusting and open when she kept so much back.
“Is he still sleeping?” she asked quietly, taking a seat next to him. The conversation went on around them as Henrik shifted his tiny bundle to show Nigel’s cherub face.
“Yup.” His expression was soft, relaxed in that way she usually only saw when they were alone.
She stroked a hand down Nigel’s back, brushing over Henrik’s. All those dreams and forgotten wants lodged in her throat in a dry ache. Would she be able to have this with anyone? Babies and family and a future not tainted by her past?
“You’re good with him,” she managed to say after a few hard swallows. She reached for her glass and let the water soothe away the pain. She was being fanciful and silly. Eight weeks of sex and dating didn’t make a forever.
“Some of the guys have little kids.” He shrugged, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes. “They’re nice.”
That got her attention. She took in his gentle expression, the lowered voice and simple statement. Kids didn’t judge. They accepted love freely and asked for nothing more than to be loved back. Was that what he was referring to?
“Yeah,” she agreed. He nuzzled his nose into Nigel’s little head, eyes closing with his inhale. Baby scent—something she thought only women appreciated. Her heart cracked and grew at the confirmation of how great of a dad he’d be.
She glanced away, eyes blinking rapidly to catch her mother watching her—them, a wistful smile on her lips and a shine in her eyes. Standing in the kitchen doorway, apron on, she was the pillar of strength that’d held their family together. The one who’d arranged schedules, managed the money and kept everyone from wallowing during Jacqui’s illnesses.
And all she wanted for her children was for them to be happy. To love and live and…all the things Jacqui had been afraid to really do for so long.
I love you, she mouthed to her mother, blinking back more tears that burned her eyes.
Her mother blew her a kiss, smiled and turned into the kitchen, swiping a quick hand over her cheek.
“She loves you very much,” Henrik said.
Jacqui jerked around, a smile breaking over her lips, warmed by the abundance of love surrounding her. This was her family. Her life. And Henrik was here, sharing it with her. A part of it.
“Yes,” she agreed, leaning in to rest her head on his shoulder, hand on his thigh. “She does.”
She scanned the table. Her dad sat at the end, his steady gaze softened by a gentle smile. Colin caught her eye and winked. Aiden’s small smirk held a reluctant approval. Dan’s single nod was all big brother acceptance. And Finn, well, Finn was Finn. He waggled his brows before breaking into a contagious grin.
“They all do,” she added, absorbing the amazing reality she’d always accepted but rarely stopped to appreciate.
“You’re lucky.”
“I am.” She squeezed Henrik’s thigh and looked up to meet his deep green eyes. “Very lucky.”
If only she could hang on to that luck and make a future with it.
Chapter Twenty
The familiar stench of sweat masked by cleaning agents hit Henrik’s nose the second he entered the changing room. He snagged a sports drink from the equipment manager, whipped his gloves onto the bench, but resisted the adolescent urge to toss his stick against the wall. Fuck.
Almost by magic, his stick was whisked from his hold by another efficient equipment guy. The timed choreography of players and staff was so smoothly executed the involved skill was lost in the post-game rhythm that was cranked out again and again.
He slumped down on the bench, hunching forward to drop his helmet on the floor. His sweat-drenched hair wrapped around his fingers when he dug them into his scalp, the tight grip focusing the throb that pounded through his shoulder blades until it consumed his thoughts.
“You okay, Roller?”
Henrik recognized the shoes and voice of Steve, the trainer, and ignored the man. What the fuck did it matter if his shoulder hurt from the check into the boards or if the bruise on his thigh was pulsing in time with his heartbeat? It matched the drum in his head perfectly.
The guy squatted down, balancing on his haunches, his face still out of Henrik’s sight. He patted Henrik’s knee. “See me when you get your gear off.” He stood and walked away then.
Henrik heaved a sigh of relief. Thank fuck for a staff who understood timing and space.
The adrenaline rush that powered him through games was fading, the loss adding to the quick drain. He sat up and glanced around the room at his teammates. Losing always sucked, but the mood took an additional dip when someone got hurt too. Injuries were common in the sport, but that didn’t mean they didn’t bite every single time. In many ways it was easier when it happened to him than it was to watch one of his teammates go down.
Bowser’s stick to the face resulted in a lot of blood, six stitches, two lost teeth and a new smile every hockey player would proudly display. Nothing career-ending, but still not cool.
He glanced at the blood soaking through Feeney’s wrapped knuckles. The enforcer had stepped up to take the high-stick offender down a peg, which had netted Feeney a fat lip, the swollen knuckles and a lengthy penalty. There’d been a few times in the game when Henrik had almost done the job himself. Coach would’ve had his ass for the penalty time though. You’re more valuable on the ice than in the box.
He held in his groan as
he stretched his shoulder. It was a muscle bruise at worst. He’d be fine. Ice, heat and a good massage was all he needed. But he’d see Steve as ordered.
The smack-talk was minimal that night, and Henrik ignored what there was of it. Trainer. Food. Workout. Shower. Home. With luck, Jacqui would be waiting up for him.
He’d given her a key last week after meeting her family. It’d made sense, given their schedules. Convincing her to take the key had been another round of wills versus logic. Every other girlfriend hadn’t hesitated to take it and then basically move in. Not Jacqui. He smiled.
“What’s that stupid grin for, Roller?” Kevin Karver questioned from across the dressing room, goalie equipment already off. As the backup goalie, he didn’t see a lot of action but was still vital to the team.
Henrik let his grin widen. “Fuck if you’d understand.” The guy was still single and young, like so many of the players. They were a fairly young club now with most of the guys under twenty-six, which only highlighted his advancing age.
“Ooh. Another girl got her noose around you?”
Right. He hooked his shoulder pads over his head, flipping the man off as he did. “Don’t you get tired of the same old jokes?”
“Not if they still work,” Sparks piped in.
Henrik shook his head, turning his back to the room. “You don’t know shit.”
“Maybe not,” Sparks said, shoving his arm as he passed. “But we do know you.”
Bullshit. The reflexive comeback echoed in his head around his clenched teeth and festering annoyance. They didn’t know him. He glanced over his shoulder at the guys he considered his brothers and logged how many really knew him.
None.
Exactly like his real brother. His disgusted snort went unheard by anyone but himself. And whose fault was it that he wasn’t close to any of them?
A slow ten-count cooled his anger down to mild irritation. It didn’t really matter. These guys still had his back, which was more than he could say about Soren.
Walters had been the only teammate he’d gotten close to since moving to Minnesota, and Walters was in Atlanta now. Six years here, and who did he trust once they left the ice?