Because It's You (Carolina Rebels Book 2)

by Lindsay Paige

  “Because you’re getting riled up, panicked, and whatever other emotions are running through your head. Yes or no, Elizabeth? Both are complete sentences. Neither require explanations. It’s up to you. You know what you can handle and what you want. All I wanted was to ask and get an answer. So, what’s it going to be. Yes or no?”

  I gulp. “How festive would we be?”

  He shrugs. “Up to you.”

  Crap. He’s giving good answers. That’s bad.

  “Taking too long, Elizabeth,” he pushes. “Yes or no?”

  A million fucks run through my mind as I whisper, “Yes.”

  Then he has the nerve to smile! He kisses me so softly and with such emotion, his tongue sliding into my mouth making me lose my breath. If I hadn’t already said yes, his kiss would’ve made me. “Thank you,” he murmurs against my lips. I can’t help but wonder what I’m giving to Marc by agreeing to this insanity. That almost makes me happy to be doing it already.

  I wrap my arms around his neck. “I have some time before I have to leave.”

  “Are you trying to make my day even better?” He grins. Just as fast, it disappears. “Or are you trying to say I’m a really quick lay?”

  A laugh pops out before I can stop it. “The first one, but a little of the second might not be a bad thing. We’re wasting time by talking.”

  He’s suddenly out of bed and I immediately miss the feel of him. Marc pulls me to the side of bed, lifts me over his shoulder like I’m a sack of potatoes, and says, “We’ll save time in the shower.”

  “Why couldn’t I have walked?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that all Southern belles should be tossed over a man’s shoulder at some point. Just making sure I get that done.”

  I laugh. “That’s crazy. Put me down.”

  “See? You’re even reciting your line! Good job.” He pats my butt.

  “Marc,” I warn. “This isn’t fun.”

  “Marc, this isn’t fun,” he repeats in a nasally, high-pitched tone that sounds nothing like mine, but unfortunately, it makes me laugh. He lets me glide down his body, that obnoxiously beautiful smile of his in place. “Get naked, woman.” He reaches around me to turn on the water in the shower stall.

  “Did you turn into a caveman overnight?” I ask as I pull his T-shirt over my head as he does the same.

  His eyes roam over me and he grunts. Grunts! I dissolve into a fit of giggles. It doesn’t help when he says, “Me Marc. You Elizabeth. Fuck. Now.” It all fades away when he grabs my hips and pulls me flush against him. When did he get completely naked? How’d I miss that?

  Marc dips his head, bending to kiss me. His fingers, leaving a blazing fire in their wake, dance along my skin from my hips to my back to my stomach, higher and lower. Sweet lord. We step into the shower. A breathy moan causes all the air to leave my lungs when he kneels in front of me and licks where I’m most sensitive. I’m going to be late for work, but I don’t care. All I want right now is Marc.

  I don’t even know why I’m letting Sylvia come over tonight. I should be hibernating like a bear. It’s winter. That’s what we grumpy creatures do during this time of year. I wish I had told Marc not to let Scott know he’s going to spend Christmas with me. If they get wind of that, they’ll be hounding me to spend it with them as well. Baby steps. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier to spend it with Marc than my family, and it’s not going to be a piece of cake to spend it with Marc.

  The only progress Sylvia needs to know about is the fact that I am seeing Marc and that I’m baking still. That’s it. Any more than that and she’ll overwhelm me. Or she’ll get her hopes up. Maybe she’ll try to push things along. They’re already moving way faster than I’d like, but I’ve been trying not to think about it.

  “Why are you ignoring Scott?” Sylvia asks as she barrels into the house.

  Here we go.

  “Why does he assume I’m ignoring him because of Marc?” I fire back to avoid answering.

  “Because you don’t ignore Scott.”

  “It’s December, isn’t it?” If he calls during this month, I always ignore his calls. I don’t know why this is surprising all of a sudden. Sylvia looks deflated as she sits on the couch. That’s when it hits me. I stand, pissed the hell off. “Just because I’m sort of dating Marc doesn’t mean I’m fixed, Sylvia! It doesn’t mean anything has changed! Roger is still dead! It still hurts! You’re both fucking idiots if you think that a few weeks of being with Marc is going to miraculously heal me. It takes time!”

  “It’s been six years, Lizzy!” she shouts, standing. “We all lost him, but we’ve all moved on. You’re the one who refuses to do so.”

  Refuse? She thinks I haven’t been trying? That I’ve intentionally been wasting away my life because I didn’t want the pain to go away? That I didn’t want my life to change? The fucking nerve! “I went from being with him every single day to not having him at all. You only lost a brother-in-law. Scott only lost a brother. I lost the love of my life!”

  “What do you think that’s going to do to Marc, Lizzy?”

  “What are you talking about?” One has nothing to do with the other.

  “What’s going to happen when Marc falls in love with you and you can’t move past Roger? What’s the point in seeing him if you’re just going to string him along? Half the time I can’t tell if you’re actually happier with him or if you’re just going through the motions like you have been for the past six years. I can’t look out for only you, Lizzy; I have to look out for him, too.” The anger has faded from her tone, and I try to wrangle mine back in, difficult as it is.

  I fold my arms over my chest and sit down on the edge of my seat. She follows suit. “It’s not that I refuse,” the word is bitter on my tongue. “I haven’t been able to figure out how, Sylvia. I still don’t know how, but it’s incredulously stupid for you to think I’m going to change so quickly. Even Marc knows it’s baby steps.”

  “I’m sorry. We want you to be happy again.”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s what they all keep telling me.

  “Does he make you happy?” she quietly asks.

  I shrug.

  “Lizzy,” she sighs.

  “Fine. I might be a little upset if he were to drop off the face of the earth tomorrow.”

  She laughs. “That works for me. Can we have one small request?”

  “What?” I know what she’s going to ask. I can feel it in my bones. Stupid me will say yes because if she asks and I say no, I’ll feel so guilty knowing what I’ll be doing with Marc.

  “Can we call once or twice a week and you talk to us? I know you usually don’t, but maybe this year, you could try?”

  I hate when I’m right. It’s a struggle to force the words out of my mouth, but somehow I manage to say, “Sure, we can try.”

  She smiles and comes over to hug me.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “What is it?”

  I swallow hard. “Do you think Scott would tell Marc about Roger’s accident? He wants to know, and I—” My head starts shaking in protest before I can even say the words.

  Sylvia pats my hand. “I’m sure he won’t mind. Are you going to eventually tell Marc about...you know?”

  My eyes harden. She can’t be talking about what I think she’s referring to. “Am I going to tell him what I did after Roger died?” I ask for clarification.

  She nods.

  “No. Why would he need to know something like that? It’s none of his business.”

  “But one day—”

  “No,” I interrupt her. Fear more than anger is gripping my throat. Marc can not know about that.

  “I think one day, it’s going to be something he should know,” she says softly and I do my best to forget she said it.

  Later, I’m curled up on the couch with a pizza and my laptop. After last night, I don’t want to attempt watching a game without Marc for the time being at least. I don’t know why I even want to watch a game at a
ll, but the more I think about it, the more I want to do it.

  I’m such a bad person for throwing Stella in there as a reason why, too. I’ve never considered watching her play. Ever. When Sylvia told me she was signing her up to learn how to skate, I immediately let her know I’d never go to her game when she would start playing. I can’t do it. What kind of person am I that I want to see the guy I’m seeing play hockey, but not my niece? I’m so screwed in the head, that’s for sure.

  For some reason, my mind keeps looping around to what Marc asked of me. I certainly don’t want to tell him what happened to Roger. Hell, I don’t even know if the words can come out of my mouth. But I don’t understand why he needs to know.

  With a sigh, I text Marc and Scott. It makes me feel better knowing neither will get them until later. The first one is to Marc, letting him know he can ask Scott. Then, I text my dear brother-in-law.

  Me: I’m sorry for ignoring you. We’ll talk soon. Just wanted to give you a heads up that Marc may ask about Roger’s accident. He wants to know what happened, but doesn’t want me to have to tell him.

  “And that’s Scott Boyd with the goal!” the broadcaster shouts.

  “Looks like Marc Polinski and EJ Bertuzzi with the assists,” the other one says.

  Hm. Maybe my texts were somehow good luck. But with Scott’s second goal, I turn off the team’s radio. I can’t stop thinking about Roger. He would’ve been twenty-six this year. I can almost hear him ragging me about being older than me. That’s how he celebrated his birthdays with me, by bragging about being older. Like I cared. Like either of us cared, but for some reason, he liked to tease me about it.

  He was only older by less than a month, as my birthday is January twentieth. I’ve avoided spending Christmas with people because Roger loved the holiday. He went all out. I mean, if Santa wasn’t already the face of Christmas, then it would be Roger because that’s how much he loved it. It’s been a struggle to listen to a jingle, see a decoration, or wrap presents without bursting into tears. I hope Marc doesn’t want a festive holiday because all I’ve been able to do since he’s died is buy presents for the girls and make Sylvia wrap them.

  This is why I go into hiding. It’s why I shop online. It’s why I try to stay home as much as possible. I try to watch as little TV during this time, and the same for the radio, because if I can avoid Christmas, then that’s what I want to do. I don’t know that I can bear to experience the holiday without it killing me inside.

  Heaven help Marc and me because who knows if we’ll get through this.

  “ARE YOU SURE you didn’t flop on that pass because you’re still rooting for the other team?”

  “Will you shut the fuck up, Marco? Why do you have to do that shit? Every time I make a mistake in this building, you say it’s because I want to play for them.”

  “You grew up here. You wore that jersey, Rams. Of course I think that.”

  He shakes his head at me. Noah hates it that I rag him about wanting to play for Pittsburgh when we’re in town. There is some truth in what I say. He was a fan when he was a kid. Most people love their hometown team and hockey players usually dream of playing for said team. But it pisses Noah off that I insinuate that he would fuck up just so the other team could have an advantage, which is exactly why I like to mess with him. I usually wait until after the game, but I felt like starting the fun early.

  “Both of you shut the hell up,” Captain Hook snaps.

  It’s time for our shift, so we jump onto the ice. We’re tied at one in the middle of the second period. I swear, we’ve been up and down the ice a million times tonight. Or, at least, it feels that way, though I think we’ve spend a decent amount of time in each zone. Not too much, but not too little either.

  Donny has the puck at the moment, but there’s a black jersey on his back and in a split second, he takes the puck and we’re headed back down the ice. I’m the closest to him, so I’m on his heels and we slam into the boards together. Rams is right there all of a sudden. The puck is between the boards and the guy’s skate. I push my stick in there, hoping to nudge the puck. It slides right out and Rams quickly takes it, passing it to Captain Hook. Back down the ice we go.

  Our captain skates straight down the ice, rears his stick back, and sends the puck flying through the five-hole. He throws his arms up with a shout as we come in for the celebratory hug. Many attempts are made, keeping us on the edge of the bench, but Sav holds steady and doesn’t let another puck get past him.

  Scotty, who received the boxing gloves in the last game, holds them up in the locker room after the game. The gloves are given to the best player from each game by the player who received it at the previous game. Scotty got them last night for securing our win with his hat trick.

  The guys quiet down as he clears his throat. “I think this goes to our dear captain. Not for his goal, but because he was able to get through a game without getting called for hooking. About damn time! Is that the first time this season? Of your career? Should we celebrate some more when we get back to the hotel?”

  “Fuck off, Scotty,” Brayden grumbles, snatching the gloves from him. There’s the slightest of smiles on his face. That’s probably the closest to an acknowledgment that he’s amused by Scott that we’ll see. It’s replaced by a serious expression when someone comes in to take his picture. Dude needs to lighten up.

  “You going to see your family while we’re here?” I ask Rams.

  He shakes his head. “There’s not much time, it’s late, and I’ll be back in a few days anyway. Plus, Mere will be jealous if I see them before she does. She’s on break since the school is, but she’s waiting to come visit when I do. You coming home with me this year? I’ve been meaning to ask, but I keep forgetting. You know you’re welcome to.”

  If Noah goes home for Christmas, he always invites me because he knows I’ll be alone otherwise. I always reject him. His family is great, but it’s awkward to be the third wheel in a situation like that. For me it is, at least. He once told Meredith that I was shy when he first met me. I was, and he took me under his wing for some reason. The one time I spent Christmas with his family, it was like I reverted back to that shy guy who was terrified of pissing someone off and didn’t know how to be social. I do not want to go through that again, even though it probably wouldn’t be like that this time. Plus, I won’t be alone this year.

  “I have plans.”

  Noah’s eyes widen.

  “Going home?”

  “No. I’ll tell you later.”

  The last thing I want is for Scott to overhear that I’m spending Christmas with Elizabeth. Who knows how that news will be received and I doubt Elizabeth wants him to know. Either way, I won’t be the one to deliver it, that’s for sure.

  When we’re walking into the hotel, I finally check my phone. Nothing from Elizabeth since her text last night giving me the green light to ask Scott about Roger’s accident. I was shocked as hell when I saw that text. I haven’t talked to Scott yet, and I don’t even know how or when to bring it up. I’ve been second guessing it, too. But why hasn’t she texted me? I send her a simple text saying hey.

  “Hey, Marco, wait up.” I turn at the sound of Scott’s voice. “Let’s go to the bar for a minute.”

  I look down at my phone. No text yet. “Yeah, okay.”

  Changing directions, I follow him into the hotel bar. He chooses a high-top table for two in the far corner that’s as secluded as it can be, which isn’t too terribly much. A waitress comes over, and we both order only water.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Lizzy said you wanted to know about Roger’s accident.”

  My lungs pause mid-breath. She told him already? Well, that’s good, I guess, but couldn’t she have told me that little detail? It would’ve been helpful. Regaining my composure, I say, “Yeah.” My mouth opens to say more, but I don’t know if I should tell him that she wants to come to a game or not. My thought process was that if I knew what her triggers were, what
happened, then I could help her get through them. Elizabeth has so many secrets and hidden truths from her family that I’m at a loss as to what to say and what not to say.

  Scott nods curtly. “She’s trying to move forward, and you’re trying to help her.”

  “Yes.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if it’ll help for you to know, but at least you’ll know what happened, I guess. Lizzy likes to call it a freak accident, and it’s the fucking damnedest of freak accidents. Roger and his buddies would all get together for a game. Lizzy always went to watch him, so she was there. I can’t say she loved the game, but Roger liked having her there and she liked being there for him.” He stops as the waitress drops off our drinks. Scott takes his time peeling the paper off the straw and crumbling it into a ball, even though he doesn’t use the straw. He gulps down half of the water before speaking again.

  “Things can get heated in a game; you know that as good as I do. What has never made sense is that Roger was always coolheaded. Never engaged. Never fought. Never got seriously pissed off, but for some reason that day, he blew a gasket. He started pissing everyone off after he got into a fight with one of the guys. Hearing about it later, something was off about the whole damn day, but especially with that game.”

  Scott shakes his head. His eyes have been fixed on his water, his hands cupping the glass, and if the room was quiet, I’d bet that I could hear the ice clinking from the slight shake of his hands. “There was a battle for the puck, guys were flying by, next thing you know, someone collided into someone else. It was a low blow that sent him flipping with his skates in the air. One of which sliced Roger’s neck to cut his carotid. He was down within seconds. He bled out on the ice.” Scott lifts his gaze to mine. “That’s how my brother died. Lizzy saw it happen, held him until she was pulled away, and has been ruined ever since.”

  Fuck.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out to see who it is. Elizabeth is calling me. She must want to talk if she’s calling instead of texting back.