by Lavinia Kent
“We’re getting your sheets wet,” he whispered against the top of her head. “I should’ve grabbed towels.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now.” She nuzzled him.
“I can’t say that I do either, but I don’t want you to be cold later.”
“We can always add another quilt on top if we need to. Now be quiet and let me enjoy not caring.” Thoughts and cares buzzed about the edges of her mind, but she refused to let them in. This was what she wanted, what she needed—really, really needed.
Brian shifted beside her, drawing her tight against him, and pulled a cover over them.
And she just relished.
Often, she would drift off to sleep briefly at this point, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to stay locked in the easy comfort of this moment.
She wasn’t sure how long they lay there, cocooned in their private world. The moon shone through the window and there was the light rustle of wind in the trees.
Brian turned on his side, rose up on an elbow and stared down at her. “It doesn’t get much better than this.”
She pushed with her feet until she was reclining on the pillows at the head of the bed. “No, it doesn’t.” She moved until she was partially leaning against him.
“Are you ready to sleep?” he asked.
She glanced at the clock. “I should be. It’s not late, but I’ve been exhausted these last days.”
“I think you mentioned a long day—did anything bad happen?”
She let out a long breath. “No, but nothing felt right either. I’m trying to handle some of Charlotte’s clients while she prepares for the wedding, and it’s a lot on top of my own work. And my father is being his typical mysterious self, hinting at the future without really saying anything. I think sometimes he’s purposefully trying to drive me crazy—but then I think he’s not aware of me enough to do that. I almost confronted him, but the moment passed before I could. And yes, I know that sounds like an excuse.”
“I don’t know him, so I can’t say, but you do let the man have too much power.”
“It’s my whole life, my career.” She knew that her career shouldn’t be her whole life, but somehow it was hard to see beyond it.
Brian was quiet, and Veronica could see that he was thinking. She didn’t want to talk about herself anymore. Sometimes she felt like all she ever did with him was talk about herself. She looked at him, let her gaze run over his incredible body. Her glance settled on his knee, on the scars there. She reached out and traced them, feeling him quiver beneath her touch. “How exactly did this happen? It looks brutal.”
His lips drew thin.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, it’s just—”
“No,” he said firmly. “I do have to talk about it. I can’t blame you for not knowing me if I don’t give you a chance. I’m coming to realize that even though I’m moving on, I feel like if I don’t talk about it, then it didn’t really happen. I haven’t been in denial, but I also haven’t faced up to it. I haven’t talked about my past life, because it feels so separate from me now—and I want it that way.”
She placed a hand on his chest. “Is that why you’re on break? Are you trying to escape life for a bit? I mean, I understand that preparing to apply to med school takes time, but it probably didn’t require you to come to Forbidden Cove.”
One side of his mouth curled up. “I was definitely trying to escape being surrounded by players, by my old life, but it’s so much more complicated than that. It was a way to take a fresh look at life, to see what I wanted when I wasn’t surrounded by—”
“You do realize you’re still avoiding talking about the actual injury, about what happened?”
She could feel the air leave his chest, feel him deflate. “You’re right. I need to face up and talk about it.” He pulled air back into his lungs. “It was a game like any other. Nothing felt different. I had no sense of foreboding. Even when it happened, I didn’t realize that it would be different than any other blocked shot, any other tumble of bodies. I went down, my stick in front of me, blocking the goal. My whole focus was still on the puck, on those six ounces of rubber. The world moved in slow motion. It was almost like watching a movie frame by frame, but that’s how it always was when I played. I could live a lifetime in only a few of those seconds. I’ve never felt as alive as I did when the puck was coming at me, when my body and stick were the only defense. Only that time, my skate caught—people still argue about how. Caught in the net itself? Hit the moorings? A groove in the ice? I’ve watched the replay over and over and there’s not a clear answer—and it doesn’t matter. My skate suddenly caught, completely stuck just as two players hit my leg from opposite sides. And my knee gave in. Nobody did anything wrong—but my world ended. I tried for months to pretend it hadn’t, but there was no going back. I don’t know that I’m a different man than I was before—but at the same time, I know I’m not the same one. I’ve seen one life end and another begin. I’ve discovered how resilient I am.”
All she could do was stare at him. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine how you go on from there. You do put it all in proportion. It’s hard when you work for years for something, and then it’s gone.”
“Yes, but I had to find something else to work toward. There are always endless possibilities. The big thing is to not give up.” He ran a finger down one of her cheeks. “And for you, maybe making partner is as important as playing was to me. From what you’ve said, you’ve worked your whole life toward it.”
“Well, not my whole life—only the last five years. I mean, I was already a lawyer, but it’s only since I joined my dad’s firm that it’s been my focus. Before that, I had a bunch of different ideas.”
“And what were those ideas that you gave up on?”
She rolled away, staring up at the ceiling. “I worked for legal aid when I first graduated from law school. I enjoyed feeling like I was doing good in the world. I’m not sure what I would have done if I hadn’t joined the firm, probably worked for some nonprofit.”
He sat up, leaning on an elbow and looking down at her. “But then your brother died and everything changed. And I don’t mean to sound like I’m trying to analyze you.”
“I’ve analyzed it enough myself. I know I’ve said that I didn’t know if Aaron would have gone to work for my father—and maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was as simple as I felt a need for security, for family. Maybe I sensed that my father needed something, and I was trying to fill the space left by Aaron. It was probably all of those reasons and more. What matters now is that I’ve invested so much of myself into this that I don’t dare let go.”
He didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her, his eyes soft. She felt herself growing defensive, felt the need to defend the choices she’d made in life, but kept her lips closed. It wasn’t for anybody else to judge what she’d decided she needed. “And we’re talking about me again. Why does the subject never stay on you? I imagine you could fill hours talking about how hard it was to have to stop playing.”
* * *
—
It should have been an easy yes, Brian thought. There should have been hours and hours of discussion over everything he’d lost, but the words weren’t there. At this moment, he felt strangely at peace with all that had happened. “I suppose you’re right, but somehow it feels almost like it happened to somebody else. Aunt Mols reminded me the other day of my life before I started to really play—and in some ways I’m feeling closer to that teenage kid, science nerd, than to Brian Walsh, starter goalie. Maybe it’s because, despite having worked hard for over a decade, my life as a player still felt like it was just starting—and so once I adjusted to it being over, it didn’t seem like it had ever been real.”
“Are you sure you’re not avoiding it? You’re sounding way too adjusted.”
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“Well, I definitely ran away from having to be near the team. I wanted to be far gone before things started up again this fall. It’s why I’m here. And if you’d seen me last winter or spring, when I still hoped that my knee would heal, you wouldn’t have thought I was adjusting at all. I lived in constant denial for a few months. I couldn’t believe that it was gone.”
“Does it have to be? I certainly don’t want to diminish your desire for med school, but maybe you’d be happier as a coach or something else working with the team.”
“I wish I’d counted how many times people have said that to me. Everybody seems to think that’s the answer—or that maybe I should be a physical trainer. The problem is that neither of those has any interest for me. I like getting in shape, being in shape, but I have no desire to push other people to do the same things. I like the quiet in my head when I work out. I’m not going to get that if I’m shouting instructions at somebody else.”
“I’ve always avoided trainers who yell. You can be quite effective without it.”
“You know what I mean.” It was his turn to collapse on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “Actually, that’s what I loved about hockey, about being a goalie.”
“What?”
“The quiet. That sounds strange, doesn’t it. Nobody thinks about hockey as quiet, but for me it was. When the game was on, there could have been an earthquake and I might not have noticed. I hardly heard anything. When I was in the crease, the only thing I saw was the puck. I mean, I knew that the other players were there. I understood their part, in having to predict how they would move, but it was all about that piece of rubber, about following it around the ice. I completely lost sense of time and space. A single minute could seem as long as a game. I was pure focus. I couldn’t afford to let anything distract me. A single second of letting the rest of life in could lose a game.”
She turned toward him, the heat of her body settling against him. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“Nobody does. The other players certainly don’t. I think it’s a whole different game for any other position. I’ve heard a few other goalies talk about it the way I do, but even with them, I’m not sure if anybody feels exactly the way I do. It’s what I miss the most, having the world slow so that each second goes on forever.”
“That’s really beautiful. But it doesn’t make me think, Oh, this guy should go to med school.”
“You’d be surprised. I want to be a surgeon and I think there actually might be a lot of similarities. And I don’t think that just because I am a dumb hockey jock.”
“Hold it,” she said. “I certainly have never thought you were dumb. And I can’t believe anybody else has either.” She tapped a finger over his heart. “Seriously, if I hadn’t thought you were intelligent, I wouldn’t have had problems with finding you way too attractive. It probably helps explain why I found you so irresistible, even when I was trying to ignore my attraction. It’s always taken more than a pretty face—or a nice ass—with me.”
“So you like my ass?”
She cuddled closer and let one of her hands slip down to squeeze said ass. “You know I do, but I want to hear more about med school. It does seem like a big leap from what you’ve been doing. I’m still not sure I see the connection.”
“Well, I am definitely pushing myself—but that’s no different than what I’ve always done. I’m good at working hard. I do admit I am not having an easy time. It’s why I’m doing all this studying. I want to be sure that I know as much as kids fresh out of college. I used to be good at math and science, but I admit that relearning calculus on my own is kicking my butt. Don’t suppose you could help?”
She squeezed him again. “And we don’t want that. Unfortunately, no, math was never my subject—except where it overlaps with logic. I was good there.”
“What about biology or chemistry?”
“Nope and nope. I’m good at writing if you need any help with that.”
“I may take you up on it, let you look over my applications before I send them in. I think I have a great story, but…”
“It’s far from the usual one. And I’d be honored. Are you seriously thinking you need to get them in by the end of the month?”
He turned to her, finally meeting her eyes. “Yes, my timing was all off. The deadlines are approaching way too fast. Early admissions is actually already over. I am not quite sure what I’ll do if my MCAT scores aren’t up to snuff.”
“Did you do the pre-tests? I found those were a fairly accurate predictor when I took the LSATs.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “Yes—and I’ve done pretty well, but that doesn’t stop my fear. I guess having had one life break apart, I’m nervous about trying to start another.”
“I’m still not sure I completely understand why you chose med school. I mean, there are lots of other science jobs. Why choose one that takes so many years?”
“Well, before I took up hockey in earnest, I wanted to be a doctor, and when I thought of the feeling I got playing and my desire to be back there, strangely enough I hit upon surgery. I know that sounds crazy—as if any part of this plan doesn’t—but I’ve talked to people, to surgeons, and it seems that I’m not far off.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“I don’t think I am. From the moment I thought about going to med school, I’ve known it was right, how things were meant to be.”
Her lips pursed slightly, drawing his attention. His body was recovered from their bout of shower sex and starting to hint that there’d been enough talking.
Her eyes crinkled. “And to think there was a point I was worried you had no ambition, that you wanted to sleep on your aunt’s couch forever.”
He moved his arms, wrapping them about her waist and drawing her close so that she could feel just how little interest in sleep he had. “Well, I have to admit there are some attractions to staying here forever—although my aunt’s couch isn’t one of them.”
His fingers slipped lower.
Veronica widened her eyes. “Why, Mr. Walsh, are you trying to end the conversation by playing doctor?”
Chapter 21
Veronica smoothed the skirt of her pale blue dress and looked out the window, waiting. It was still five minutes until Brian was due, but she was nervous. He’d taken Baxter to stay with Mrs. Clouster earlier in the day, so at least that was taken care of.
She turned from the window, paced across the floor, and then paced back to stare again.
Charlotte’s wedding was finally here. Veronica wasn’t sure why she was nervous. It wasn’t like she had any part in the ceremony. She’d been invited to the dinner after the rehearsal the night before and everyone had been civil. Her father had only stayed long enough to nod to the minister and drink a single whiskey before running out for a previous engagement.
Who let a previous engagement take precedence over his own daughter’s wedding?
Her father, that’s who.
And that was why she was nervous. It might still be strange seeing Charlotte and Greg together, but she certainly wasn’t upset by it. They looked happy, and that’s what mattered. There wasn’t a chance she would ever have been happy with Greg. She’d have been bored before the first night was finished—which was why they’d broken up originally.
Was she nervous about being seen with Brian? It would be the first time she was introducing him to her friends and family.
She paced again.
But she was proud of him, proud of everything about him. Maybe she was nervous what he’d think of them. His family sounded wonderful, while hers…
Came back to the window—and stopped. That was a Bentley. A new Bentley. She didn’t know much about cars, but some things were unmistakable. And it was stopping in front of her house.
And that was Brian getting out—but Brian as she’d n
ever seen him. Even once she’d known who he was, she’d still imagined him in some ill-fitting suit—and this certainly was not that. She might have to tape her jaw closed. He was gorgeous to begin with, in a suit that was cut to define every angle of his body…that hugged his thighs and broadened his chest. And the color…It was almost dark gray, but there was a sheen of blue—nothing definite, but…could something have a feeling of blue?
It was not what she’d pictured from their conversation—but it would be hard to complain when it left him looking like that. Nobody else at the wedding would come close to matching Brian’s perfection.
Grabbing her small clutch, Charlotte went to the door. If she let him get inside looking like that, they might never leave. And her form-fitted dress was much too hard to get in and out of for her to even be thinking such thoughts. She’d noticed how much Brian liked looking at her in the pencil skirts she wore for business and had chosen with him in mind, but perhaps she should have been a little more practical—she might not need easy access, but she had a feeling that the work of getting her out of this dress might leave them both frustrated…not necessarily a bad thing, but definitely not something she needed to be worrying about now.
Brian stopped at the foot of the stairs and stared up at her. He gave a low whistle.
He evidently liked her dress as much as she liked his suit.
Walking with care, she made her way down the steps. Stilettos and a tight skirt did not make things easy. She stopped when she reached Brian and he bent to lay a light kiss upon her lips. Something moved across the street, drawing her eye. Mrs. Nelson was peeking out the window, partially hidden by the curtains. No doubt she’d been drawn out by the car, and then held by the perfection that was Brian.
With an internal smile, Veronica reached up and caught Brian behind the head, drawing him down again, holding him tight. He resisted her touch for a moment, but then gave in wholeheartedly, his hands settling on her butt and drawing her against him. She moved her lips against his, enjoying the tickle of his beard on her upper lip. Her tongue danced out to trace the seam of his lips. He opened beneath her touch and her tongue darted in.