The Definition of Icing: A Dallas Demons Hockey Romance (Dallas Demons Series)

by Ellis, Aven

And this time, I don’t ignore him.

  I draw a shaky breath of air and answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Bae, where have you been? I was worried something had happened to you.”

  Tears flood my eyes. “Something has.”

  “You’re crying. Why are you crying?” Nate asks, his voice full of concern for me. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nate, I can’t do this. I can’t!” I cry, the words flying out of my mouth. “Don’t stay with me and try to force feelings you don’t have!”

  “What? Kenley, what are you talking about?”

  “I read the Dallas Details article,” I say, choking on the words. “And you make it very clear I’m not a part of your life.”

  “Christ, what are you talking about?”

  “Nate, stop. Just stop it,” I plead. “You talk about how you have only let one person into your heart. How you can’t speak to your future. You talk about going home to Minnesota in the summer. You talk about your days off and how you spend your time. You confirm you’re single—”

  “That’s not what I said,” Nate interjects. “You need to calm do—”

  “I won’t calm down. I won’t be with someone who can’t love me!” I shout, interrupting him. “I need to hear those words from the man who loves me. I need to know where I stand. And I’m not getting that from you because you’re not over Megan.”

  “You seriously believe all this? I didn’t say those things. I would never say those things,” Nate exclaims, shock resonating through his voice. “And do my actions mean nothing to you?”

  “Like keeping me out of the WAGS suite?”

  “What? Is that what you think I’m doing? Keeping you out? How long have you thought that, Kenley?”

  “That doesn’t matter now. But instead of actions, sometimes people need to hear words, Nate,” I retaliate, my voice shaking. “And your words to Dallas Details are painfully clear as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Fucking hell, I did not say those things,” Nate roars back, anger now taking over. “I haven’t seen the article, so you’re blindsiding me with this, but for you to sit here and say I don’t tell you I love you—bullshit. You’re the one who told me it takes time for your feelings to develop. Remember that? How the hell do you think I felt when you stood on your mother’s lawn and basically told me you weren’t in love with me?”

  My stomach lurches. “Isn’t that what you wanted to hear? You’re the one who wanted baby steps.”

  “I wanted to hear how you really felt about me, especially after I promised your moth—” Nate abruptly stops. “I’m not having this conversation on the phone with you, I’m not.”

  “What? What did you promise my mother?”

  “No. This is a conversation we need to have face-to-face. I refuse to discuss this with you over a fucking cell phone. I’m playing tomorrow in St. Louis, and I need to focus on that. I’ll be flying back after the game. You have my key, if you want to meet me at my place Friday night, do so. I’ll be in around two in the morning.”

  And then he hangs up on me.

  Chapter 31

  Hard crack stage: When cooking sugar syrups, and you reach 300-310F, if you drop the syrup into cold water, it will break into brittle threads — Kenley

  “You’re not going to want to hear this, but I refuse to let you throw what you have with Nate in the trash,” Amanda says sharply. “I’m going to tell you the truth, and I’m sorry if it hurts you, but I’ll be dammed if you are going to lose Nate over this.”

  I swallow hard. As soon as Nate hung up, I cracked. My heart shattered into a million threads. I was crying so hard Lexi heard, and she rushed in to see what had happened. As I was trying to get the story out past my hysterical crying, Amanda called. She forced CiCi to come over to watch the girls and she headed straight for my apartment in Uptown.

  And now I’m curled up in my bed, with my best friend and my sister by my side, as they always are during a crisis.

  “You’re wrong,” Amanda says bluntly. “I read that article and that’s not the Nate I know. Did you ever think he was protecting you? Maybe keeping your name out of the press because you guys are so new together?”

  “Nate knows I can handle media,” I snap in defense.

  “But he said they have it wrong, didn’t he?” Lexi adds.

  I nod, as that part didn’t make sense to me either.

  “Misquoted,” Amanda says. “I bet he was misquoted.”

  “An entire Q&A of being misquoted?” I ask. “No. Not likely.”

  “But if that’s true, why would he say all of that, knowing you’d read it? It doesn’t make sense,” Lexi says.

  “I’m always wrong about men, don’t you see that, Lexi?” I cry. “I misunderstood all of his actions. I read him completely wrong.”

  “Would you shut up?” Amanda snaps, her tone so forceful I jerk my head up. “Are you that determined to blow this up? This isn’t about what Nate said or didn’t say. This is about you being so afraid of being deceived that you can’t see straight.”

  My eyes flood with tears as I take in her words.

  Amanda reaches for my hand, squeezing it tightly.

  “Actions do matter,” Amanda continues. “Sometimes more than words. You know what you mean to Nate, Kenley. You know what’s in your heart. Don’t listen to our screwed-up mother. Don’t you dare. Think of Nate and his actions and the things he has said. Does that sound like a man who isn’t serious about you? Let go of your past. Let it go. Don’t destroy your future because you’re afraid of it not being real. Believe in Nate. Believe in yourself.”

  Amanda’s words hit me full force.

  She’s right.

  I’ve been so afraid of the past repeating itself that I kept waiting for it to happen. And I projected that fear right on to an article that may not even be Nate’s true words.

  And I realize Nate has the same fear of repeating the past. He can’t say he loves me until he knows for sure that I love him.

  He needs to hear it from me first.

  “I need to tell Nate I love him,” I blurt out.

  Amanda grins. “Good, because if you were going to go all proper like a woman on Downton Abbey and wait for Nate to make a declaration, I’d go mental.”

  My phone buzzes again, and I pray it might be Nate.

  I reach for it and see it’s a Connectivity private message from Holly.

  “It’s his sister,” I say, my heart pounding.

  Amanda and Lexi exchange a look.

  I read the message:

  Kenley I’m so sorry. After we talked in the suite I tried to get my statement retracted by the reporter at Dallas Details. She assured me she’d do it, but she didn’t. I’m so wrong. Nate is furious. He says the article is a hatchet job. Please, forgive me. Please! Nate loves you. I know he does. Especially now.

  I pass the phone to Amanda and Lexi, who both gasp when they read it.

  “He was telling me the truth,” I whisper, guilt consuming me. “And I didn’t believe him.”

  I choke back a torrent of tears with this thought.

  “You both had fear interfering in this,” Amanda says wisely. “And Nate didn’t break up with you. He just said he wanted to talk to you in person.”

  “Message him,” Lexi encourages. “Don’t let this wait.”

  I shake my head. “He needs to sleep and be focused on the game tomorrow. His head has to be there. I’ll tell him when he gets home.”

  Determination fills me. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to tell Nate I love him, in every way I can think of, tomorrow night. He will have no doubt how deep my feelings are for him, and that I’ll love him forever if he will let me. I realize my biggest fear isn’t of misreading Nate, n
ot anymore.

  My biggest fear is losing him.

  And I refuse to let that happen.

  I anxiously watch the game Friday night, wishing it would move faster. Because the sooner the Demons can beat the St. Louis Blaze, the sooner Nate will be home.

  Nate hasn’t had his best game, and I can’t help but think that’s because of me. Right now, the score is tied 1-1, with Harrison scoring the only goal for the Demons.

  “You okay?” Lexi asks.

  I nod. “I want the Demons to score. I want it to be over.”

  “I know you’re anxious to see him,” Lexi says, shifting her gaze back to our TV. “But I still don’t think a message would hurt. He’ll see it after the game, you know.”

  “No. The first time I tell him I love him isn’t going to be in a text message,” I say firmly.

  Just then, Nate’s line skates onto the ice in a line change.

  “Come on, Nate!” Lexi yells at the TV.

  Nate chases after a Blaze defender. I watch as Nate moves swiftly across the ice, checking a Blaze player into the board near the Demons’ bench. But the Blaze player loses his balance, and as he falls he kicks his skate up. All of a sudden the blade of the skate rips across Nate’s torso. I watch in horror as Nate screams and drops to the ice holding his stomach.

  “Nate!” I scream in anguish. “Oh my God, Nate!”

  But I see nothing but Nate crumpled on the ice.

  And he’s not getting up.

  Chapter 32

  The Definition of Icing: A delicious, sweet coating for baked goods. Like iced sugar cookies — Kenley

  The Definition of Icing: Not sweet. When the puck is shot into the other end from behind the center red line and the opposing player gets to the face-off circle first — Nate

  Dallas Demons’ trainers rush to attend to Nate, getting down on each side of him, trying to examine his injury. Harrison is standing over him, his face etched in concern, the same expression worn by his line mates, which terrifies me.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I begin to shake.

  Nothing but pure panic takes over. I can’t hear what the announcers are saying about Nate over the pounding of my heart in my ears. What if he’s cut ligaments or nerves or worse, what if he lacerated an artery?

  Nate could be in serious trouble.

  Please be okay, I will him. Please, please.

  But then Nate goes to his knees, with the trainers continuing to work on his abdomen.

  “He’s up, that’s good, that’s good,” Lexi reassures me, squeezing my hand tight in encouragement.

  My phone is ringing nonstop. I have no doubt it’s Kylie or Amanda, who must have seen the accident, but I don’t care.

  Nothing matters except for Nate.

  He has to be okay.

  He has to be.

  The trainers get Nate up, and he skates to the bench. Nate lifts his jersey and reveals a huge, gruesome gash across his lower stomach, one that appears to be at least six inches long.

  Nausea floods me the second I see the horrible cut. The trainers appear to be applying something to it with swabs and a gel.

  “Kenley, he’s okay,” Lexi says firmly. “They didn’t even take him back to the dressing room. They aren’t even stitching it. It’s superficial.”

  I realize Lexi is right. And then I notice Nate is arguing with the team doctors and gesturing frantically at the ice.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “He can’t go back out there. He just got sliced with a blade!”

  As the trainers work on sealing his cut, I see two shift changes occur, and Nate appears pissed.

  He’s hell-bent on going back out there, I think. I know he is.

  And within five minutes, on the next shift Harrison’s line takes, Nate’s back on the ice, next to his captain.

  Fear grips me.

  “How can he do this?” I ask Lexi in anguish. “He’s vulnerable. He could further injure himself. How can the Demons let him back out there?”

  But the second I ask the question, I realize I know the answer.

  That’s who Nate is. No matter how badly he’s been hurt, whether in hockey or his heart, he survives it. He’s a warrior, and he’s going to fight through this until he gets the result he wants.

  Nate knows the risk he’s taking by going back out into the game. Just like he knew the risk he was taking with his heart by falling for me.

  And just like that, I know my truth.

  When it’s something Nate’s passionate about, when it’s something he loves, he will risk everything for it. Like hockey.

  Like me.

  Nate was willing to risk his heart, to be vulnerable once again, because he fell in love with me.

  Tears fill my eyes. I watch my man skate across the ice, at full speed, as if nothing at all had happened to him a mere five minutes ago.

  I see Harrison move out ahead with the puck, and I know he’s looking for Nate. Nate breaks ahead, down the left-hand side of the ice, and Harrison passes the puck to him. Nate goes around a defender, rips his stick back, and sends the puck sailing over the Blaze goalie’s shoulder, hitting the top back corner of the net. The light immediately goes off, signaling a goal.

  Lexi and I both leap to our feet, screaming in celebration.

  “Top shelf!” Lexi screams, hugging me.

  I watch as a huge smile passes over Nate’s face. He yells and pumps his fist, and his teammates swarm him in congratulations. My phone is blowing up again, no doubt with more messages from Amanda and Kylie, but I’ll return them later.

  Because right now, the only thing I can think of is Nate.

  And how I’m going to make things right with him the second he gets home tonight.

  Marabou studies me from his dog bed, head tilted, and I’m sure if he could speak, he would ask me why the hell I was pacing Nate’s living room floor at two o’clock in the morning like a crazy woman.

  “That’s because I am crazy, Marabou,” I admit, dropping down on the hardwood next to him. I pick him up and snuggle him, missing the scent of Nate’s cologne that lingers on his fur when he’s home. “I need to see your Daddy and tell him everything I should have said last week when he asked me how I felt about him.”

  Tears fill my eyes, and I can’t hold them back. I left Nate a voicemail after the game, telling him I was scared to death for him, worried sick about his injury, and that I had so much more to tell him, but things I know he wouldn’t want to hear in a message on his phone.

  Marabou licks the tears that have slipped down my cheeks. Nate shot me a simple text, saying he got my message, didn’t want to talk now, but would when he came home.

  I bury my cheek against Marabou’s soft fur and close my eyes. All I want is to tell Nate how sorry I am for all of this. That fear was so deep in my heart it screwed up my head. That I know him, the man he is, and I should never have jumped to conclusions after reading that article.

  But more than that, I should have been brave enough to share my feelings with him. To tell this amazing man that I love him. And it didn’t matter if he couldn’t say the words back, his heart already told me what I wanted to hear. I was just too stupid and insecure in myself not to listen to it.

  “He has to forgive me,” I whisper to Marabou. “Because I can’t imagine a life without him, I can’t.”

  Suddenly Marabou lifts his little head, ears cocked. He squirms in my arms. I put him down, and he runs straight to the door, barking.

  My heart freezes inside my chest.

  Nate’s home.

  I stand up. My legs are shaking. I bite down hard on my lower lip, using everything I have to keep from bursting into tears.

  The key turns in the lock, and
Nate opens the door.

  I can barely see him now through my tears. Nate’s got his Louis Vuitton duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his charcoal suit jacket draped over his arm. His sky blue dress shirt is open a few buttons, and he’s never seemed more beautiful than he does to me at this moment.

  Nate’s eyes lock with mine. And suddenly the accident is replaying in a loop on my head, with Nate screaming and crumpling to the ice in agony.

  How not only could I have lost him due to my insecurity, to me not trusting my heart and what we had and believing that rag, but I could have lost him to the cut of a blade as well.

  “Nate,” I manage to get out, “Nate, when you went down—” I pause for a moment, as I’m on the verge of falling apart, “I was so scared. If anything happened to you, if you were severely injured, if you . . .”

  My voice trails off. I can’t allow my head to go there.

  Through blurry eyes, I watch as he steps into his condo, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t go to pick up Marabou, which he normally does, but instead slowly walks into the kitchen, to where I’m standing. He sets his duffel bag on the island and drapes his suit jacket over a barstool.

  Then he turns toward me, his deep-brown eyes locked on mine.

  “I promise you I’m okay,” he says softly. “If the blade had hit inches in another direction, I could have cut an artery.”

  I sob in anguish, thinking of how this could have possibly killed him.

  “But,” Nate says, continuing, “I didn’t cut an artery or ligament. They used skin glue to seal it. That’s all it needed. I’ll have a scar as a reminder, but it’ll heal. And it’s the only scar like that I have.”