by Toni Aleo
It didn't matter that they weren't together, hadn't been together for five years. He tried to imagine how his escapades must make her feel, then immediately regretted it. It didn't take much imagination, not when he knew exactly how he felt, just thinking of the possibility of Chloe with someone else.
Rage. Pain.
He rolled out of bed, reached for the pair of sweatpants tossed over the small chair and yanked them on. Thinking about the past wasn't helping, not when there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Not when there was too much he had to do now, right here. In the present.
Shane made his way upstairs, automatically following the scent of sizzling bacon and strong coffee. Aunt Liz and Uncle Charles were already in the kitchen, sitting at the granite-topped island. Uncle Charles offered him a quiet grunt and went back to reading his paper—perfectly normal behavior for his uncle.
But the wide smile Aunt Liz gave him was anything but normal. Shane stumbled to a halt, frowning, then slowly made his way to the coffee pot.
"How was the party last night, dear?"
Shane took a long sip of the strong brew, studying his aunt over the rim of the mug. She watched him, that bright smile still on her face, completely ignoring his bruised face.
"It was—" He wanted to say it was a disaster, that he should have never gone. But there was something about the way Aunt Liz was regarding him that stopped him. "It was fine."
"Just fine? Did you and Wyatt finally patch things up?"
"No, Aunt Liz. Not even close."
Her smile faltered and died. Her gaze shot to the bruises on his face then darted back to his. "Are you sure? I thought—well, never mind. But things are fine with you and Chloe now, right?"
Shane wrapped his second hand around the mug, afraid he'd drop it if he didn't. Hell, he might still drop it. There was something about the knowing look in his aunt's eyes, something about the smile that she was trying so hard to hide.
Had she heard them? Did she somehow know Chloe had been here?
Heat filled his face and he quickly raised the mug to his mouth, hoping to hide his furious blush. "It's, uh, it's complicated."
"But I thought—"
"Liz, let it go." Uncle Charles folded the paper and placed it next to his empty plate. He shot Shane a warning look from beneath thick gray brows—a look that told him his aunt and uncle both knew that Chloe had been here last night.
Shane lowered his gaze, mortification sweeping over him. Shit. Shit, fuck, shit. He wanted to come up with some kind of excuse, make up some asinine reason to explain Chloe's late-night presence, but his mind was completely blank. There was absolutely nothing he could say, no excuse he could give.
Until his uncle spoke again, changing the subject and giving him an easy out. "What did you have planned for today? Any visits you need to make before dinner?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, actually, there is." He pushed away from the counter, the ghost of an idea forming in his mind. He'd been thinking about it all night—at least, before Chloe had shown up. And maybe Chloe being here had acted as the catalyst he needed. Maybe simply being with her was what he needed in order to know what to do.
"I'm going back to see Wyatt. We still have some talking to do."
Uncle Charles grunted and Aunt Liz smiled—another bright smile that made Shane pause and wonder how much she really knew.
"I think that's a wonderful idea, dear. You can take Natalie's towel back while you're at it. Try not to bloody another one when you and Wyatt have your talk."
Chapter Eight
"Shane! I didn't expect to see you this morning." Mrs. Hunter opened the door wider, inviting him inside. "Let me call Chloe—"
"I'm not here to see Chloe. I'm here to see Wyatt."
The surprise on Mrs. Hunter's face matched the surprise running through him. Shane held his breath, not daring to move from the foyer. He still wasn't sure what made him come here this morning. Still wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish.
For all he knew, he wouldn't even get the chance to talk to Wyatt. After last night, there was a very real chance that Mrs. Hunter would push him out the door and tell him to never come back. What would he do if she did that?
What would he do if she didn't?
Several long seconds passed, the silence filled with the sound of a holiday show drifting from the family room. It was Christmas Eve and he was intruding on their family brunch. Mr. Hunter would be in the family room, swearing under his breath as he put the finishing touches on the tree. Chloe and Wyatt would be in there with him, watching television as they teased their father. Asking if he wanted help, knowing he'd say no.
At least, that's how they used to celebrate Christmas Eve. Shane had been part of it, all those years ago, hiding his own smile as Mr. Hunter fought with tangled strings of lights. Things could have changed in the last five years. So many other things had, why should this tradition remain untouched?
The hug Mrs. Hunter gave him jolted him back to the present. Surprise made him hesitate, giving him barely enough time to awkwardly pat her on the back as she pulled away.
"Wyatt's in the family room, staying out of Don's way while he fiddles with those stupid lights of his." Mrs. Hunter wrapped a hand around Shane's arm, holding onto him like she was afraid he'd run away. She tugged, leading him into the large room, empty of the crowd from last night.
Chloe saw him first. Her eyes widened in brief surprise then a smile curled the corners of her mouth. She unfolded her legs and started to stand when Mrs. Hunter finally spoke.
"Wyatt, Shane is here to see you."
The surprise in Chloe's eyes changed, turning to curiosity. There was still surprise there, too, but a different kind. A surprise filled with silent question.
Filled with hope.
Wyatt's eyes—identical to his sister's—were filled with anything but hope. Wariness. Anger. Trepidation. His mouth thinned as color rose high on his cheeks and he narrowed his eyes at Shane, sending him a silent message.
Go away. You're not wanted here.
Shane heard the message loud and clear, answered with one of his own.
Too fucking bad.
"Don, give the lights a rest and help me in the kitchen."
"I thought you didn't need my help."
"I do now." Mrs. Hunter leveled a pointed gaze at her husband, some kind of silent communication passing between them. Mr. Hunter frowned, looked at Wyatt then at Shane, then finally nodded. He dropped the tangled strand of lights and started to leave the room. He paused, giving Shane a small nod, then turned to Chloe.
"Chloe, come on. Your mother needs our help in the kitchen."
"But—"
"No buts."
Chloe pulled her lower lip between her teeth, staring first at Wyatt then at Shane. He saw the worry in her green gaze, felt her hesitation before she finally stood. She brushed past him, pausing long enough to reach down and squeeze his hand before following her parents from the room.
Silence appeared in their wake. Thick. Oppressive. Wyatt stood, took two steps toward him, stopped. His gaze didn't quite meet Shane's when he finally spoke.
"What the fuck do you want?"
"I came to apologize."
"Yeah? For what?"
"Everything. The accident. What happened after. For not sticking around when I knew you needed me."
Surprise flickered in the depths of his former friend's eyes. Wyatt looked away, the color on his cheeks deepening as he sucked in a deep breath. Held it. Let it out in a rush.
"Fine. Whatever. Now get the fuck out."
The answer didn't surprise Shane. He'd expected it, had anticipated it. He took another step closer, bit back a cold smile when Wyatt's back went rigid. "That's not the only reason I'm here. I came to give you something."
Wyatt frowned, cautious tension radiating from him. "What?"
"This." Shane curled his fist and swung, clipping Wyatt on the jaw. The other man stumbled back with a grunt, holding his hand agains
t the side of his face.
"What the fuck?"
"That's for last night." Shane swung again, catching Wyatt just below the eye. "So's that one."
Wyatt staggered back another step, caught himself, then stared at Shane. One second passed, then another and another. Shane held his breath, watching. Waiting—
Wyatt lunged at him, fists swinging, flesh pounding against flesh. A blow to the shoulder. Another to the stomach. Yet another to the face. Both of them, swinging and hitting, swinging and missing. Swearing as they fell in a heap of tangled arms and legs, still swinging. Still fighting.
Just as they had when they were kids growing up, settling their disagreements.
"What the fuck is your problem, Masters?" Wyatt shoved Shane off him, rolled to the side and braced himself on his elbows.
Shane pushed to his hands and knees, his chest heaving with each deep breath. He dipped his head, brushed his mouth against his shoulder and frowned at the streak of blood staining his shirt. If he was on the ice, playing a game, he'd simply spit and keep going. He didn't dare do that here. Mrs. Hunter would kill him.
"Well? Are you going to tell me what your fucking problem is?"
"You. You and your fucking attitude. Snap the fuck out of it."
"Why the fuck do you even care?"
"Because you're my best friend, asshole. You always have been."
"Really? That's why you're beating up on a cripple?"
Shane lunged toward him, swinging again and clipping Wyatt on the shoulder. "The only thing around here that's crippled is your fucking attitude. And stop using that fucking word. It's offensive."
Wyatt spun on his ass, swung his prosthetic leg out and clipped Shane on the ankle. Stinging pain shot through him as he jerked away and lost his balance, landing on his ass and falling backward—
Straight into the tree.
He looked up, shocked into silence as the tree swayed. Wyatt swore under his breath and they both lunged for it at the same time but it was too late. The tree toppled away from them, crashing against the hardwood floor. Ornaments fell around them in a kaleidoscope of color. Some rolled away, undamaged. Others hit the floor and shattered, the sound echoing like loud shots in the room.
Shane turned and looked at Wyatt, saw an identical expression of shock and horror on his face. They turned back to the tree and swore at the exact same time.
"Fuck!"
Shane turned at the sound of footsteps rushing into the room, swallowed back a groan when Mrs. Hunter stumbled to a stop. A look of stunned surprise crossed her face as she stared at the tree. She turned toward them, her expression changing to impatient anger. "What is going on in here?"
Shane exchanged another look with Wyatt. A split second passed before they pointed at each other, their voices competing for attention as they spoke at the exact same time.
"He did it."
Mrs. Hunter jammed her fists onto her hips and stared down at both of them, much as she had when they were growing up. Then she raised one arm and pointed, the gesture taking in the toppled tree, the broken ornaments, the mess on the floor—and each of them. "I don't care who did it. I don't care who started it. I don't even care why. But both of you get your asses in gear and get this mess cleaned up. Now. Is that understood?"
"Yes ma'am."
She narrowed her eyes at their mumbled response, her expression clearly communicating her doubt of their sincerity. Neither one of them dared move, not while she watched them so closely—a lifetime of experience had taught both of them well. It wasn't until Mrs. Hunter finally left that Shane pushed to his feet. He leaned over, offered Wyatt a hand up, held his breath as he waited. Would he accept it?
Or would he push it away? Reject his offer of help—and his offer of a truce?
Seconds ticked by. Wyatt slowly reached up, clasped his hand around Shane's, and lurched to his feet.
"So." Shane wiped the palms of his hands along his thighs and made a pretense of surveying the damage surrounding them. He needed a few minutes, just to clear his head. Get his thoughts in order. Decide what he wanted to say and how to say it. "We, uh, we good?"
"Good?" Disbelief filled Wyatt's voice. He sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a rush, then ran a hand through his hair. "No. We've got a long way to go before we get to good."
Shane swallowed back his disappointment, tried to hide it behind a forced grin. "Yeah. Sure. I get it."
"I don't think you do."
Shane was ready to ask him what he meant when Wyatt swung out with his fist, catching him in the mouth. He stumbled back, tripped over something, and fell flat on his back.
"That was for breaking Chloe's heart when you left the way you did." Wyatt leaned over, his green eyes flashing with a hint of humor. He extended his hand to Shane, the barest smile touching his lips. "Now we're good."
Were they? No, not yet. They still had a long way to go before they got to that point. Still had a lot of history to discuss, a lot of issues they both had to come to grips with. But as Shane accepted his friend's hand, he knew they were at least headed in the right direction.
Chapter Nine
"It's a good thing, right? You and Wyatt?"
Shane tightened his arm around Chloe's shoulder, pulling her closer as they sat on the sofa. The house was quiet now, this late on Christmas Eve. His aunt and uncle had gone home hours ago. Mr. and Mrs. Hunter, and even Wyatt, had gone to bed not long after. Now it was just the two of them—Chloe and him.
The way it should have always been.
The low flames from the fireplace cast the family room in a soft glow. The only other light came from the Christmas tree in the far corner. A little crooked, not as full of ornaments as before, but somehow still perfect.
At least, as close to perfect as it could be after they had tried to fix it. Wyatt and him. Talking. Joking. The words had been strained at first, halting and unsure as they tried to feel the other out. So many years had gone by, so many wasted opportunities. That time—and the painful memories within—couldn't be erased in a matter of hours. No, it wasn't perfect—any more than the tree was perfect. But he didn't expect it to be.
Shane pulled his gaze from the twinkling lights and dropped a kiss on the top of Chloe's head. "Yeah, it's a good thing."
She snuggled closer, her hand twisting with his where it rested just above his heart. How easily they had fallen back into their old rhythm, Chloe and him. Like the last five years had never happened. Like they hadn't been pulled apart by life's circumstances. Had it really only been two days?
It had. That was what surprised him even more. Two days, and it felt like he had never left.
Two days, and he had to get ready to leave again. Tomorrow afternoon. Christmas afternoon. He wished he could put it off, wished he could stay longer, at least make up for the day he had lost to delayed and missed flights—but he couldn't. He had to be back in Baltimore tomorrow night because the Banners had a game the following day.
And for the first time since he'd been drafted, he wasn't looking forward to being out on the ice. Not when there was so much left to do here, so much left to take care of.
He shifted, dropped another kiss on the top of Chloe's head, then nudged her chin up with his free hand. Her gaze searched his in silent question, the deep green of her eyes pulling him in. He needed to ask her, needed to know what she was thinking.
But part of him was afraid of the answer. Maybe this was just a quick trip down memory lane for her. Maybe last night and today didn't mean as much to her as it did to him.
He forced the fear back, forced the words past his lips. "What about this, Chloe? Is this a good thing?"
"Is what a good thing?"
"This. Us. Last night and today."
Chloe pushed up on her knees and leaned close, her face only inches from his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair. Those deep green eyes bore into him, refusing to let him look away.
"I think it is. Don't you?"
"Yeah, I do. But where do we go from here? I have to leave tomorrow. What then?"
"Baltimore isn't that far. It's only a four-hour flight."
"Yeah, but you know what my schedule is like. I don't know when I can make it out here again. There's the All-Star break but that's a month away."
"A month isn't that long. Not after five years."
"I don't want to wait a month." He cupped her cheek, stroked the smooth line of her jaw and the plump fullness of her lower lip. His heart pounded in his chest when she turned her head and placed a kiss in the center of his palm.
"I—" She hesitated, pulled her lower lip between her teeth for several seconds. "I could always come out there. If you want me to, I mean."
"If I want? Chloe, just say the word and I'll make sure you're on the flight home with me tomorrow."
Her soft laugh filled him with warmth, with need. With a sense of belonging and rightness.
"We'll figure something out."
"You really think so?"
"Of course, I do. Isn't that what Christmas magic is all about?"
Shane caught her around the waist and shifted her so she was straddling his lap. He reached up and cupped her face between his hands, caught her mouth with his for a tender kiss that ended much too soon.
"I love you, Shane."
"I love you, too. Always."
"Yeah?" She offered him a teasing smile and leaned forward for a lingering kiss. "Promise?"
"Promise."
~ THE END ~
Books by Lisa B. Kamps
The Baltimore Banners
Crossing the Line, Book 1
Game Over, Book 2
Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3
Body Check, Book 4
Break Away, Book 5
Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella
Delay of Game, Book 6
Shoot Out, Book 7
The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy
Books 1-3 Boxed set
The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy