by Kendall Ryan
“Dude, get your ass over here and play,” the blond six-foot-four center, Asher, says with a cocky grin. “Owen is kicking all our asses.”
“Come on, Cap!” Teddy says. “Show ’em how it’s done.”
I groan out a non-reply. I may be the oldest one here, but little do they know I have no clue about matters related to babies—or anything domestic, for that matter. Yes, I occasionally cook for myself, but that’s about the extent of it. I don’t even do my own laundry.
Ignoring their pleas, I watch as Ana makes small talk with the mom-to-be, Becca, touching the round swell of her belly with a gleeful expression.
Something inside me twists at Ana’s tender smile. God, maybe I was being a dick by not wanting to come. She clearly needed this today. Needed to be surrounded by friends and hockey players playing goofy games. I let out a sigh and rub one hand over the back of my neck just as Jordie approaches.
“Hey, man,” he says, stopping beside me.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a chin lift.
“Crazy news about Kress, huh?” His voice is low, his gaze drifting toward Ana. “Is she okay?”
He must have seen the footage on the news. Everyone did, I’m sure. Which is why it’s even more important that everyone treat her as usual today. I wouldn’t want anyone walking on eggshells or making her feel self-conscious. And so far, so good.
“Well . . .” I clear my throat, stalling. “First, it’s her business. But she’s a strong girl, and yeah, I think she’s going to be just fine.”
Jordie nods. “Understood.”
After cupcakes have been eaten and gifts have been opened, I pause beside Ana, careful to keep some physical distance between us. There’s no sense in getting my body confused, and we probably both prefer to keep our friends in the dark about what happened between us the other night.
As far as anyone knows, Ana and I only rode together today. They don’t know we’re living together, and I want to keep it that way.
“You about ready to get out of here?” I ask her after a few more people filter out and the party winds down.
She looks up at me with a softness in her eyes and nods. “Sure.”
Becca hugs us both at the door and tries to get us to take some of the extra cupcakes. We both politely decline.
On the way home, Ana’s quiet, calmly looking out the passenger window as I drive. I’ve got something I need to tell her, but decide to wait until we reach my place.
“Today was fun,” she says, breaking the silence after a few minutes. “Owen is so extra.” She grins, probably recalling the silly baby-shower games.
“Yeah,” I murmur, chuckling.
“I’m so happy for Owen and Becca.” She smiles. “They’re going to make wonderful parents.”
If only she could have seen Owen in his playboy heyday. He was quite the hedonist. But, yeah, married life has certainly been good for him.
A few minutes more and we reach my place. When I unlock the door, Hobbes comes running over.
“I’m gonna get someone to move these to the basement for you,” I mutter as we step around the boxes stacked in the foyer.
Ana sighs and places one hand on her hip. “I know you’re not happy I went over there when you were gone,” she says, seeing right through my short tone. “It was my decision. And I wasn’t alone.”
I lick my lips and nod. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Ana has already lived with one controlling jerk, and I don’t plan on being the second. It’s her life, and these are her things. She had every right to go and get them.
Regardless, I wish I could have gone with her.
Now that I think about it, though, that would have been a terrible idea. I would have had no reason not to kick Kress’s ass now that he’s not a member of my team. Still, I could have at least sent a packing and moving company. Something.
Pausing in the kitchen, I run one hand over the back of my neck. “So, listen, can I talk to you about something?”
“Of course.” She meets my eyes, waiting.
Her lips are perfect. I can’t stop my brain from replaying our first kiss. It was hot and tender, and of course I want to kiss her again. Not happening, dude.
“Coach asked me to pick a cause for the team to support this season. Last year, it was breast cancer awareness, and all the guys changed the laces on their skates to pink ones. But for this year, I had another idea.”
“Okay?”
“It’s another women’s cause, but I wanted to run it by you first.”
“What is it?” she asks.
“Domestic violence.”
I read a bunch of statistics online and was prepared to rattle these off to her—like that most violence against women is never reported to the police, or that one out of five murder victims is killed by an intimate partner. But it now seems really insensitive, so I keep my mouth shut.
“There’s a women’s shelter in Seattle that’s vastly underfunded.” I swallow the words as an unexpected wave of emotion sweeps through me. “We’d be donating a portion of ticket sales to help out.”
Tears form in Ana’s eyes, and she blinks them away. “I think that’s amazing, Grant.” Her voice is small and hushed.
I can’t tell if she’s touched by this or saddened by it. I’m still not good with crying, but I’d like to think I’m getting better.
Opening my arms, I beckon her closer. “You look like you could use a hug.”
Softening, she smiles and steps into my embrace. “I didn’t take you for the cuddly type. But look at you, exceeding all expectations.”
“Trust me, I’m not.”
“Could have fooled me,” she murmurs, lingering in my arms. The top of her head doesn’t even reach my chin, and her face is pressed into the front of my shirt.
It feels so good to hold Ana again. I haven’t touched her since that night, not even an accidental bumping of elbows in the hallway. Nothing.
My heart rate picks up, and I take a step back at my body’s response to hers being so close. “I’m sorry.”
She blinks up at me. “For what?”
“I just . . .” I shove one hand in my pocket and force the words out of my mouth. “As perfect as the other night was, and believe me, I’m grateful you chose to share that with me . . . I don’t think that can happen again.”
She’s quiet for a second, and then looks up to meet my eyes. “I’m not looking to jump into another relationship, Grant. You don’t have to worry. It felt good. I think we both needed that. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
I nod along to her little monologue, but she’s wrong. It meant a lot more to me than it did to her, and that’s why I won’t let myself go there again. Because I can see how easy it would be to feel messy, inconvenient things for her, and how easily she could break my heart.
I’d like to smile and make a joke. I’d like to tell myself that sex between us could be casual and fun, and promise her that it wouldn’t complicate things. But that would be a lie.
There’s nothing simple about my feelings for Ana. I don’t normally do complicated, yet here I am, in way over my head with this girl.
• • •
When I walk into the dressing room the next morning, the sight before me shouldn’t be a surprise. But it is. Because Jason shouldn’t be here, yet here he is, standing there cleaning out his stall while the rest of the team gets changed for practice.
I guess I figured he’d sneak in at some off hour and do it without an audience. Or hell, even make one of the PAs clear it out for him and ship his shit to him. I haven’t seen his face since the suspension started, and I’d started to convince myself that I never would.
“Hey, good luck in Wisconsin,” one of the rookies says to him.
Jason nods. “It’s all good.”
“You’re in a good mood,” someone else says.
Jason chuckles and continues packing up his hockey bag, tossing in a pair of old socks. “I’m still going to be playing hockey, e
ven if it is in the minors for a bit. Plus, I got laid this morning, and then had a long shower and a strong cup of coffee. Life is good, man.”
My nostrils flare, and I tighten my hand around the roll of athletic tape I’m holding.
He’s already fucking someone else?
What woman in her right mind would want anything to do with his sorry ass?
He could be bluffing—everything else in his life is falling apart at the moment. He lost his girlfriend, his spot on the pro roster, and has been disgraced by the media.
Even if he isn’t bluffing, I really don’t give a rat’s ass. He’s done hurting Ana as far as I’m concerned. And she won’t hear about this from me. Somewhere along the way, protecting her has become something I do on instinct.
And I’ll keep right on doing it, no matter the cost.
15
* * *
Deep Breaths
Ana
“Ana?”
My eyes shoot open, the soft lighting of the massage parlor’s ceiling slowly coming into focus. There’s a carpet-like texture against my skin . . . wait, yep, I’m on the floor.
What the hell?
“Are you okay?” Almost in slow motion, Georgia slides into my vision. She’s at my side, one hand on my shoulder and the other digging in her pocket.
“What happened?” I ask, my brow furrowed as I try to figure out what the hell happened. An older woman is half lying, half leaning over the massage table, staring at me with wide eyes, and my hands are slick with oil. Oh shit.
“You collapsed during a session,” Georgia mutters, worry coloring her features. “Damn, I must have left my phone at the desk. I’ll get it. How are you feeling? Should I call an ambulance? Yep, I should call an ambulance.”
“No, no.” I object, shaking my head a little too aggressively, which causes my vision to go hazy again. Wow, I’m so light-headed. “It’s just a dizzy spell. I’m okay. I can finish . . .” I make a move to get up, and decide immediately that’s not going to happen and sit back on the floor.
“Don’t even think about moving just yet,” Georgia says, her tone stern.
I nod, dropping my head into my hands. “You’re right. I don’t feel so great. I may need to go home.”
“Okay, I’ll drive you. Devon! DEVON!” Georgia shouts the owner’s name until he rushes over, his expression panicked.
“What is it? What happened?” Devon gasps when he sees me. “Ana? You’re so pale!”
“I think I need to go home,” I manage to say, but Georgia cuts in.
“She collapsed mid-massage. I have no idea what happened, but I’m going to drive her home and get her settled. Can you have Maggie take care of this super-understanding client while you watch the front desk?” She nods toward the woman on the table, who may be paler than me at this point. “Ana’s appointments need to be rescheduled, and my next appointment too.”
“Of course.” Devon nods, frantic. “Please, go. Do you need anything before you leave, Ana? Mints? Orange juice?”
“There’s orange juice here?” Georgia asks incredulously.
“In my personal fridge, yes.”
Georgia exchanges a look with me, then shrugs. “Sure, we could use some orange juice.”
Getting me off the floor and out the door isn’t exactly easy.
“Well, if I knew passing out would get me special access to Devon’s personal fridge, I would have done that ages ago,” Georgia mutters.
I snicker, then wince. Each step makes my head spin like a dang windmill. It takes a bit, but Georgia helps me into her car with a promise to retrieve my car later today.
“Okay, what the fuck was that?” she asks once we’re pulling out of the parking lot. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, taking the tiniest sip of orange juice from the bottle. “I think maybe I just didn’t eat enough this morning.”
“What did you eat?”
“Oatmeal. A banana.”
“That seems like enough,” she says, and she’s right.
“I don’t know what it is.” I squeeze my eyes closed, willing myself not to barf in Georgia’s car. The same car that she so kindly used to help move my things just days ago. I can’t puke.
She must sense my stress because her tone changes drastically.
“That’s okay,” she says, her voice soothing. “Just give me the address of your friend’s place, and I’ll take you there and get you settled. Will your friend be home? I don’t think you should be left on your own.”
“His name is Grant,” I mumble, resting my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window. “He’s on the hockey team, and I’m pretty sure he’ll be training.”
Georgia gasps. “Like, the hockey team? Wow, okay, I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m rollin’ with it.”
I haven’t told her that I’m staying with one of Jason’s teammates. I guess I was worried that would make me sound like some kind of slut, jumping from bed to bed, but Georgia doesn’t seem to be judging me. She just seems surprised.
I guess I am too. I never would have imagined how sweet Grant could be.
When I give her the address, she punches it into her phone, and we’re off. Only ten more minutes of my brain and stomach battling at who can spin the fastest before I’m tucked safely into bed.
When I unlock the door to the condo, Georgia close behind me, I expect Hobbes to run to the door. What I don’t expect is for Grant to follow. Hobbes scampers up to me, jumping and barking with pure elation that I’ve come home unexpectedly.
Grant steps into the hall, a plate of toast in his hands. He’s wearing athletic track pants that stretch around his muscular thighs and a T-shirt that accentuates his bulky chest and arms. I would laugh at the look of surprise on his face if I weren’t so terrified of puking on his nice wood floor.
“Hey,” he says as he approaches, his brow furrowed. “Everything okay?”
“Oh, wow. Hello.” Georgia giggles with a small wave, and I roll my eyes.
Not the time.
“I’m just not feeling well,” I say with a grimace.
Before I can continue, Grant’s hands are on my shoulders, his torso bent over to align our faces. He brushes his fingers against my cheek, and I involuntarily lean into the cool touch.
“You’re really flushed.”
“Well, I was pale before, so that’s good?”
“Let’s get you in bed. It’s down the hall, third door on the left,” he tells Georgia, who gently guides me in that direction. “I’ll grab some water and a cool cloth.”
“You didn’t tell me your friend was smokin’ hot,” she whispers in my ear, and I snort.
“Hard to bring up in conversation.” I sigh, but a smile twitches my lips. Glad she agrees.
“Um, not that hard,” Georgia says. She helps me under the covers with a promise to bring me a cup of tea in, and I quote, “Tea minus three minutes.” After sliding the small trash can over to my bedside, just in case, she scurries off to the kitchen.
I can vaguely make out the sounds of Georgia’s pleasant voice introducing herself to Grant, followed by his deep baritone. Guess you can add “meet the friends” to the list of situations I’m not emotionally prepared for. Not that Grant and I are . . . Never mind.
Georgia comes back in the room moments later with a cup of steaming tea in her hands. “Here you go, some nice Mint Medley. He’s got a decent stash of tea for a dude.”
“I bought the tea,” I say with a small smirk, accepting the cup.
She nods. “Ah, that makes more sense.”
I blow on the tea, still a little too hot to sip. Georgia watches me with x-ray vision eyes.
“I’m really okay,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?” she asks, glancing at her phone.
“I’m sure. I still have no idea why I passed out like that.”
She gives me a sad little nod. “You just stay in bed and rest. As for me . . . I guess I could still go back to w
ork. I’ve got a few appointments later today. And the tips these folks give are always—” She pauses, bringing her thumb and forefinger together into an A-OK sign with a wink.
“Please, go. You’ve done enough.”
Debating, she bites her lip. Finally, she claps her hands together and stands.
“Okay, if you insist. But you must know, I’m only leaving because you’re clearly in good hands.” She winks. “Good, strong hands.” She winks again. “Good, strong, sexy hands.”
“Stop,” I say on a groan, but I can’t hide my chuckle.
“Good, strong, sexy, large—”
“Good-bye, Georgia!” I say louder than necessary.
She blows me a kiss on her way out the door. I listen to her say some lengthy good-byes to Grant, likely threatening him with promises to call the police and accuse him of kidnapping me if he doesn’t take good care of me. Just normal friend stuff.
I hum a contented smile, my dizziness finally slowing to a faint spin. I take a small sip of tea. It’s still a little too hot but the mint is calming, so I take another sip. Once all the tea has hit my belly and my legs and fingers feel warm again, I snuggle under the covers.
What a weird day.
I close my eyes, which proves to be a mistake. The room spins again, the blackness behind my closed eyes only making me feel more untethered. My stomach lurches, and I know I have about ten seconds before all that minty goodness comes rushing up again.
I throw off the duvet and rush to the bedroom door, swinging it open with what little energy I have. I bolt across the hall past Grant, who slams his body against the wall to make room. I’m barely bent over the toilet before the tea, orange juice, oatmeal, and God knows what else comes out of me. I try not to think too hard about it. Instead, I take slow breaths, steadying my breathing as tears sting my eyes. I hate throwing up. Hate, hate, hate it.