And I owed it to myself, too. I was committed to not becoming as embittered and angry as my great aunt—the woman who didn’t have the courage to step past the fear that kept her in Oxford, Ohio. My hands trembled as I reached for my phone. It was late, but there was no doubt that he was still awake.
— D —
The longest hours of my life were the few that passed in a modest hotel room as I sat in the chair by the window with my elbows on my thighs and my hands clasped before me. My legs jumped up and down restlessly, and I counted the seconds between each breath I took.
I watched restlessly as the sun sank beneath the horizon. It felt cowardly, leaving the Kindle for Charlie that way I did, but it was necessary. If I stayed to hand her the tablet in person, a fight probably would’ve broken out. We were both passionate and headstrong—maybe even a little volatile at times—and I wasn’t sure we could be trusted to keep all of that bottled up long enough to talk it out.
I didn’t come looking for a fight. I was there for a conversation, possibly a pardon if all the stars and planets aligned in just the right order. All I could do was hope that the words I wrote for her were enough for her to deem the conversation necessary.
The intensity with which I was staring out of the hotel window was broken by my cell phone ringing. My stomach jumped as I lunged for its resting place on the desk. A wave of relief flooded through my body when I saw her name flashing up at me.
I coached myself as I slid my finger across the screen to answer. Play it cool, Cote. Don’t be a dumbass. Don’t sound desperate.
“Hello?” I asked. I cursed internally at the wavering quality of my voice.
“Hey,” she said quietly, and I wished that I could have been there to see the way her face looked. Goddamned gorgeous, I’d bet. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. Thank God. “Yeah, of course. I didn’t think it was fair to keep something that wasn’t mine.”
Her breathing hitched slightly. “I meant for the letter and our story, not the Kindle.”
Words failed me as she sniffed audibly on the other side of the line. I remembered thinking once that she was the prettiest crier I’d ever seen. I wondered if I would still feel the same way knowing I was the one to cause her tears. My stomach knotted as I ran a hand through my hair. Seconds ticked by slowly as she sniffled, and I fought to come up with the words that so desperately needed to be said.
“I”m not saying we’re okay,” she eventually said, filling the void my awkward silence created. “And I’m not saying that I forgive you.”
“I get it,” I replied, and I did. What I did was reprehensible, regardless of the intention behind it. Maybe I didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but I wanted it with everything I had.
“Come over?” The request caught me off guard, and I lost my words again.
Another silence, awkward and cloying, passed between us as I wracked my brain for the right words to say. Say yes! I shouted at myself. Tell her you’ll be there in five minutes to grovel your balls off! Tell her you love her and you’ll never let her go if she’ll just forgive you and take you back. I didn’t say anything.
Again, Charlie led the conversation. “Devon, I think we really need the opportunity to talk this out. I know it’s late, but we’ve already let this go on longer than we should have. We both have a lot to get off our chests, so let’s just get it done.”
I had so much to say to her. I practiced the speech over and over again on the ten-hour drive. I hashed and rehashed every possible scenario, variable, and outcome. So why was it that I couldn’t find my words when she was giving me the opportunity to get it all out?
“Please come over.”
Her voice was low, and I was surprised by how turned on those words made me feel. There was no doubt that my arousal was ill-timed and inappropriate, but I knew what her eyes looked like hooded with lust, and I was lost. I let the fantasy lead me for one short moment before coming back to my senses.
“Yeah. I’ll be there soon.”
— C —
I paced through the house as I waited for Devon. Wringing my hands was the only thing I could do to keep them from trembling. I wished I could wring my entire body out to stop it from shaking with nervous energy. The fervor that normally exploded between us when we interacted was all but muted during our phone call.
His letter and document were both eloquent and well thought out. The phone call was lackluster in comparison. I hoped to Gordie I wasn’t making an awful mistake. We didn’t have anyone to mediate the conversation, and I wasn’t sure if I could be trusted to not throw one of Enid’s awful lamps at his head if provoked.
The pacing ended with me in the kitchen boiling a pot of water. I would need all of the chamomile tea in the world to get me through the coming conversation if my still trembling hands were any indication. The tea kettle was just starting to whistle when I heard the faint knocking at the front of the house. My fumbling hands turned the stove off before I raced to the windowless door.
The sight that met my eyes when I yanked the door open made my knees tremble. Devon stood on the threshold, bathed in the orange glow of the porch light, looking as delicious as the last time I saw him. He wore a pair of low-slung sweats and a Minnesota Wild t-shirt. My relentlessly horny mind drew a blank on why I was so damn angry in the first place.
The contrite look on his face snapped me back to reality. I bit my lip to fight back a groan. Stepping aside, I pulled the door further open for him to pass. The electric sensation that coursed through my body as he breezed by was difficult to ignore. I needed to stay focused. No good would come of me leading him to the pink couch in the sitting room and fucking him until I couldn’t feel anything anymore.
I closed the door, and we were thrust into semi-darkness. His head swiveled as he studied the dark wood of the old staircase in front of him. I took the moment to study him in turn. His forest green shirt stretched and pulled against his shoulders, showcasing the breadth of muscles there and causing my mouth to water. The sweats he wore were low-slung on his hips, and my face heated at the memory of just what those hips could do. I again considered forgoing talking our issues out in favor of fucking them out instead.
I cleared my throat to both catch his attention and clear my head of the fantastically dirty thoughts. “I was making tea. Would you like some?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I skirted around him, flipping a light switch for the hallway as I passed. The silence that stretched between us as we padded down the hall was uncomfortable. For two people that needed to talk through their issues, neither of us seemed to have much to say. The silence followed us like a hungry dog, begging to be acknowledged, as we crossed into the kitchen.
I readied two mugs as he sat at the table. Hyper-aware wasn’t a strong enough term to describe how I felt with him there. I heard his every breath, could track every movement even with my back turned. I focused all of my attention on the tea as I wasn’t sure that I was quite ready to face the man.
I dropped his tea in front of him without a word and then retreated to a spot halfway across the kitchen. I pulled myself onto the counter, another not so subtle fuck you to the woman that told me I was too heavy to do so in my youth. The silence continued on as I blew on my tea and stared everywhere except at the excruciatingly sexy man sitting at the kitchen table.
I heard a soft sigh followed by a light chuckle, and I turned toward Devon. He sat with his back to the table, facing me head on. His elbows rested on his thighs, and his head was cradled in his hands. Even from halfway across the room, I could tell that his corded muscles were tensed. The urge to go to him, to wrap my arms around him and tell him that we didn’t actually have to talk about it, was nearly overwhelming. I gulped my scalding hot tea instead.
“It’s funny, y’know?” he said suddenly.
I startled at the unexpected noise. Tea sloshed from the sides of my mug, and I hissed as the scalding liquid splashed across my lap.
I dropped the kitten mug on the counter before reaching for the roll of paper towels I tossed there earlier in the day while cleaning. “What’s that?” I asked as I blotted at the cotton material now sticking uncomfortably to my skin.
“You okay?” He asked, finally looking up and noticing me with a giant wad of paper towels stuffed between my legs. His eyebrow quirked with the question, and my stomach felt just a little queasy at the sight of concern lacing through his features.
I shrugged and hoped my face didn’t show the embarrassment that I could feel burning through me. Count on me to be a total disaster at all times. “Yeah, I’m good,” I insisted as I aimed the sopping paper towels at the sink and lobbed them across the counter. “What’s funny?”
He sighed and continued to stare at me with a quirked eyebrow. The concern in his eyes hadn’t lessened, and I couldn’t control the blush that rushed onto my cheeks. If he didn’t think I was a lunatic before, surely he did now. I jumped down from the counter and busied myself with making another cup of tea. Any distraction was a welcome one if it kept me from seeing the look of guilt that passed briefly through his eyes. We both knew why he was sorry, but I wasn’t sure that I needed him to say the words anymore. Or maybe I was just a coward.
“It just seems that anytime we need to talk neither of us can find the right words to say.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have words, and the irony of that fact wasn’t lost on me in the slightest. I thought back to Nate’s words and hung my head as they echoed there loudly. I don’t know that this would have hurt you so badly if there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t love him, even just a little. But was it even a small part anymore?
“Charlie, what I did…” he trailed off, and I fought the urge to stop him. He came 600 miles to say these words, and I needed to let him say them. It wouldn’t be fair of me to stop him simply because I was afraid of the implications. Fucking coward.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” he finally said with a resigned sigh.
I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. I turned to see him with his head in his hands again, and part of me hurt for him. From day one I made this harder for him than was absolutely necessary. What felt like a lead weight dropping in my stomach nearly pulled me to my knees. It had been a long time since I accepted that maybe I was just a little too defensive toward him from the onset, a little too much of a guarded asshole. What I didn’t consider was just how much my actions affected him.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. Devon’s head jerked up, and the intensity of his stare burned through me. I squirmed, uncomfortable under his intense gaze, and continued, “This whole thing is my fault.”
“What? No, it isn’t!”
“Oh my god,” I breathed out and laced my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands at my temples hard enough to sting.
He stood and took a step forward, a look mixed of confusion and dismay on his face. “Charlie, I don’t know what you’re thinking. I’m the one that fucked up—the one that wasn’t honest with you from the beginning. I’m the one that made that stupid ass bet with Sean because of some stupid sense of machismo. I should’ve just accepted that you weren’t feeling it and left it at that. I instead chose to do something that I knew would get you hurt.”
“But,” I tried to cut in. He held up a hand, effectively silencing me.
“No, hear me out,” he insisted, taking another step forward as he animatedly swung his hands and arms. “This whole thing could’ve been avoided if I just nutted up and told you how I was feeling. There’s no excuse that could ever justify me not telling you about the bet when we started actually talking. I was a coward and a fool.”
His chest rose and fell rapidly as he finished. I didn’t necessarily disagree with him, but I did feel that he was shouldering too much of the blame. “But none of this would have happened if I wasn’t such a god-awful bitch to you every time I saw you.”
“Jesus, Charlie,” he exclaimed while throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You. Are. Not. A. Bitch.” He said sternly, each word enunciated carefully as he continued to step forward.
I pressed myself tightly against the counter, the faux-marble top digging in sharply. My heart thudded, and I wondered if the fact that I could hear the repeated thum-woosh-thum in my ears was something I should be worried about. “Okay,” I said simply as I shrugged, “but do you remember the time that I literally ran from you at a bar rather than speak to you?”
The intense stare on Devon’s face crumbled, and he paused just a few feet away from me. “Yeah?” He answered slowly, dragging the word out into a question.
“You have to admit,” I started with a small smile, and I paused as I attempted to stave off an ill-timed giggle. His eyebrow snaked toward his hairline, and I continued with a chortle, “That was kind of bitchy.”
The tension that was cloying only seconds before all but evaporated as Devon groaned. I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped as he shook his head at me, a bemused smile on his face. He closed the distance between our bodies in a few short steps and pulled me into his arms. I fell against his chest and allowed my head to rest there.
I could feel the tension easing from his body as he rocked us side to side in a soothing rhythm. He dropped a kiss on top of my head and squeezed me just a little bit tighter for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“Can you forgive me?”
My words stuck in my throat. What he did was hurtful, but I wasn’t innocent in the mistakes and misunderstandings. Once more the thum-woosh-thum of my heartbeat was audible in my ears. The stinging memory of Sharon’s letter bum-rushed me, and I knew what needed to be done. I nodded, only once, but resolute in my certainty. Devon deserved my forgiveness.
He pulled away and stared at me intently as he cupped my face. His thumbs grazed my cheeks softly, and he placed a chaste kiss on my lips. I gripped his biceps tightly needing something, anything to help hold me up as my entire body trembled.
“Would it freak you out if I told you I loved you?” He asked, and my heart caught in my throat.
My hands shook on his arms, and my knees weakened dangerously. My body sagged, and I pulled my hands away to place them on the counter behind me. I closed my eyes against the wave of nausea that crashed over me. “A little,” I muttered.
“I thought it might,” he admitted, and I focused on my breathing. “But I do love you, and I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me.”
“You don’t live here,” I reasoned as my heart thudded in my chest. I wiped my sweaty palms over the front of my pants and cursed internally when the tea-soaked material simply dampened them more.
“I’ve moved for something I loved before.”
I shook my head in disbelief and tried to reason with the man. “But the Valors,” I protested, and I wanted to kick myself. This wonderful, caring, dangerously sexy man had just told me he loved me, as if that wasn’t evident from the way he carried himself the entire evening, as if his emotions hadn’t bled through the words in his writing. Why in the name of all things good and hockey was I fighting this?
“I got suspended for trying to kick Tremblay’s ass during practice.”
“You love hockey. I won’t stand between you and your dreams, Devon,” I said, remembering the vulnerable moments we shared months before when he revealed his relationship with his father to me.
“I love you more.” His tone was matter-of-fact, a don’t argue with me type of thing. My heart continued to thud madly in my chest.
He leaned forward to pull me back into his arms once, but I placed a hand firmly on his chest. His eyes narrowed, and my eyes narrowed in turn. I hoped above all else that he could understand where I was coming from as I questioned him. “How long are you suspended?”
He leaned away and cocked an eyebrow. His frustration was palpable. “Just a few more days, why?”
“I want you to make me a deal.”
He responded through gr
itted teeth. “Okay… what kind of deal?”
“Go back to Charleston and finish the post-season. If after that you think you still love me more than your dream, then you can come back to me. But you have to give it a fair shot.”
“Charlie, I swear on Lord Stanley, Gretzky, and Clutterbuck’s phenomenal mustache that I already know I love you more than hockey.”
I shook my head, my mind made up. “No, you have to give hockey a fair shot. I would be lying if I said I didn’t love you, too, but I need you to follow your dreams.”
“What did you just say?” The heat of an uncontrollable blush seeped up my neck and into my cheeks as I realized what I just revealed to the man.
“Follow your dreams?” I suggested weakly.
He shook his head, and I bit my lip. “Uh-uh. The part before that. Do you really?”
“Do I what?” I asked, knowing damn well what he was asking.
“Love me, Charlie. Do you really love me?” I nodded, and despite the tension that started rising again, the ferocity of his scoff still took me by surprise. “Then why do you want me to go back to Charleston, goddammit?”
“Because it would kill me if you ever resented me for choosing me over your dreams,” I admitted.
His eyes softened in an instant, and the tension began to dissipate for the final time. Thum-woosh-thum. Thum-woosh-thum. I wasn’t sure that my heart would ever beat the same way again as I watched his expression change from one of frustration to something softer and tender.
“I would never,” he promised, and I wanted to believe him.
“Prove it to me,” I implored, begging with my eyes and my heart. There was a desperation burning within me, and I needed him to agree.
“Fine, I’ll go back to the Valors,” he finally gave in, and I nearly sighed as relief washed over me. “I will finish this season, but I want you to know that I’ll never choose the game over you. I’ll be back.”
“Good,” I responded, “And when you get here, if you truly believe that this is what you want, I’m all in.”
Breakaway: A Hockey Romance Page 22