by Elise Faber
Unlocking his phone, he went to call her, forgetting again for a moment that she didn’t have her cell. It opened onto the message screen. Onto a new voicemail from . . . Dr. Lyon.
A sinking feeling settled into his stomach, tugging him down, down.
“Shit,” he whispered, hitting play on the message.
This is Dr. Lyon. I have the results of the tests you asked me for. Please, give me a call right away. It’s imperative we make some decisions regarding the status of the samples.
“Fuck!” he burst out after the message ended.
Because it didn’t take a genius to figure out what Fan had heard, what conclusion she’d come to. Why she had suddenly disappeared.
Fury coursed through him.
He’d thought they were over this. That they were moving forward.
That they were done letting fear or the past take them down again.
And the first time he’d gotten a message about his health, the first fucking time, she’d run. What the fuck was that? Look, he got it. She’d been fucked over by the circumstances of his health almost more than he had. But this? This was fucking bullshit, and she needed to know it.
He sighed, trying to cool his temper, but it was nearing on impossible.
Why hadn’t she just talked to him instead of disappearing?
Didn’t she understand how fucked up that was?
But . . . trauma.
It didn’t magically go away just because they were together. And the path to healing wasn’t a straight one. Shit went down, things got fucked up, but the real mettle was being a person to fix things. He couldn’t fix things before, couldn’t make the cancer go away or the memories come back. But he sure as shit could fight for Fanny, could explain what the call was about, and stay, no matter how many times she pushed him away.
He closed the door, but only for as long as it took to grab his wallet and keys before heading back outside and getting in his car.
He knew where she would go.
So, he’d follow. He’d fight.
And then he would make her understand, shake some sense into her until she recognized that their lives were connected for-fucking-ever.
No matter where she ran.
And then maybe he’d kiss her.
Okay, he would definitely kiss her.
Especially if kissing was the most efficient avenue to get that sense into her.
Chapter Nineteen
Fanny
She didn’t realize where she was until her knees were frozen.
Literally.
Or they felt that way, anyway.
She was kneeling on the ice, just inside the door to the rink, some sense of self-preservation having kicked in so that her high-heeled self hadn’t decided to start Bambi-ing on the ice without her skates.
Unprepared.
That wasn’t like her.
She usually kept her skates in her trunk.
But she hadn’t been planning on skating, not until Monday. She had planned an entire weekend of being in Brandon’s bed, ordering food, watching movies, having copious amounts of orgasms, and not surfacing until they both had to get back to work.
She didn’t know how she’d gotten to the practice facility or how there wasn’t anyone on the ice. This evening slot would normally be a prime slot for public skating or a birthday party or someone might rent it. This was why her practice or head-clearing time came late at night or early in the morning, when no one else was around. But maybe she’d get lucky and could disappear and—
Brit skated onto the ice.
Or not. Because this was Brit’s extra ice time. She remembered hearing Brit talk about getting Frankie—the goalie coach—and a few of the Gold players together for an hour so she could work on a couple of things.
And sure as hell, Kaydon, Blane, Coop, and Ethan skated out.
Fuck.
Brit started to head for the net, the guys for some pucks, and Fanny tried to slither toward the door, wanting to run far and away . . . but her fucking heels. And the dress. And—
She grabbed the boards, lifted a leg, and—
“Stop right there, Fanny Douglas!”
Brit’s voice echoed through the empty rink, and Fanny found herself halting when she should have kept running.
Kept.
Running.
The words finally penetrated the panicked haze. Because, seriously, what the fuck was she doing? She hadn’t even talked to Brandon. She hadn’t even gotten an explanation. And even if that explanation was that he was sick, then what?
Was she going to run from him?
Was she going to be the woman who loved him and then just fucking left because he was sick?
Of course not.
“I need to get my shit together,” she whispered. “We’ll find our way back to each other, no matter what happens, no matter how long it takes. But”—her eyes slid closed—“I want this time. I want him for however long I can have him.”
Skates crunching on the ice had her eyes opening just in time to see Brit coming over.
“Want to tell me what you’re doing?” the goalie asked.
Fanny nibbled at her bottom lip. She liked Brit. A lot. But Brit was tough and amazing—hello, first female to play in the NHL outside of an exhibition game, the first female to earn a starting role, the first female to win a Cup (twice). She was a total BAMF, and there was no way she had ever done what Fanny just did.
Brit looked her problems in the eyes and then kicked them in the balls.
“Fanny?” Kaydon asked, skating up behind Brit; Ethan, Blane, and Coop, only a few moments behind. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”
Ethan’s eyes sparked with fury. “Did Brandon hurt you?”
Blane’s jaw clenched.
Coop’s face stayed neutral, but she didn’t miss the intense look in his brown eyes.
One word from her, and these men would have her back.
Hers.
And that, more than anything, snapped her back into herself. Because one word, and they would support her. Her. Because she was family. Because even if things went to hell with Brandon, even if he got sick, she would have them.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
She didn’t need to continue doing everything in her power to remain safe and lonely in her isolation.
“I fucked up,” she whispered.
“What?” Brit asked.
“I fucked up,” she said, louder, her eyes flying from Brit to Ethan, desperation clawing at her. “Oh my God. I saw the message, and I panicked, and I ran, and I . . . left him, and—shit”—she scrambled for her purse, seeing it on the two steps that led up onto the ice—“where’s my phone?”
Brit dropped to the ice, her pads bumping into Fanny’s leg.
Helmet tipped up on her head, she took the purse from Fanny’s arm and reached into it.
Ethan slipped a hand under her arm. “Here,” he said. “Come on and sit down.” He helped her off the rink and sat her on the bottom bleacher.
Then Blane was there, taking off his jersey and slinging it over her head. “You’re shivering,” he said quietly.
Because she’d blown it and needed to call Brandon, and—
“It’s not here,” Brit said.
Ethan sat next to her, just as Coop returned with a blanket bearing the Gold logo, wrapping it around her shoulders. “What?” she exclaimed, jumping up and dislodging it. “It has to be there. I need to call Brandon and tell him what happened and ask him to—” She broke off, thrust her hands into her hair, tears burning her eyes. “I need to talk to him as soon as possible. I messed up, and—and I need to go. I should go. I—”
“No,” Ethan said, gripping her arm when she would have launched herself to her feet.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Blane said. “Not like this. You need to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.”
“Calm down?” She threw her hands up, yanking out of Ethan’s hold, moving for the doors, the blanket falling to
the floor. “I can’t calm down! I just torpedoed my chance with Brandon, and I promised I would be there and that I wouldn’t let the past come back and haunt us.” Tears began sliding down her cheeks. “And then the first time I saw something that might not be smooth sailing, I panicked and fucking ran off. Without my phone. Away from the man I love and—”
“Hey.” This time it was Kaydon who caught her arm, and he tugged her to face him. “Listen to Blane. Take a deep breath”—she opened her mouth to protest, but he kept talking—“and I’ll go get my phone. You can call him from it, okay? Tell him where you are so you can fix this.”
Fix this.
Yes, that’s what she needed to do. If she could just talk to him, then she could fix this.
“Okay, Fan?” Kaydon asked, his thumb wiping at the tears streaking down her cheeks and probably fucking up the makeup she’d painstakingly applied before she’d ruined everything. “Fan?”
She blinked, forgetting about the makeup, and nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
A nod, and then he was gone. Coop came up next to her, bundling her in the blanket again and leading her back to the bleachers, where he and Blane sandwiched her, their big, warm, bulky bodies comforting as they waited for Kaydon to come back.
“I’m so stupid,” she muttered, her head in her hands. “I can’t believe I ran.”
Brit had knelt in front of her. “We all do stupid shit when we’re in love.” She dropped a hand on to Fanny’s knee, squeezed lightly. “He loves you. It’ll be okay.”
“I wish I could be like you were with Stefan,” she whispered.
Brit’s relationship with Stefan had been in the public eye from the moment they started seeing each other, and Brit had never looked back. She’d grabbed on to her happiness and lived her life without fear drawing her down.
“What do you mean?” Brit asked.
“You were so brave. You knew you would be good together and just went for it,” she said. “You didn’t let anything or anyone get between you.”
Brit’s brows had lifted, and they were sky-high by the time Fanny finished speaking. She turned slightly to look at Blane.
Fanny turned, too, saw and felt him shrug. “It’s not exactly common knowledge,” he said.
Brit sat back on her heels. “Stefan and my relationship was a publicity stunt.” Fanny’s mouth dropped open. “At first,” she added, “and then when it became real, I was terrified. Fucking terrified that I was going to do something to ruin it between us, that everything might go wrong, and I’d be hurt.”
“You were?”
She nodded. “Love is fucking terrifying.”
“Here, here,” Blane said.
“Ball withering,” Coop added.
Brit patted her knee. “But it’s also the best thing that you can ever do.”
Fanny thought about all the times she’d had with Brandon—the good, the bad, the tear-jerking, and the moments that had made her feel more complete and happier than she ever dreamed was possible. “Yes,” she agreed, “it is.”
Brit smiled at her, patted her knee again. “It’ll be okay, Fan.”
Fanny could only hope that was true.
Kay walked back over to them, extending his cell toward her. “Brandon’s number is all cued up. Just hit the button, and you can call him.”
Fanny started to take it.
“Or,” Brit said, her gaze drifting to the left, “you could just talk to him in person.”
Fanny’s heart thudded once, hard against her ribs.
And then she followed Brit’s stare to see Brandon striding through the doors.
“Oh shit,” she breathed.
He looked furious.
“Want me to stay?” Brit asked.
“No,” she murmured.
“We’ll be close by if you need us,” Ethan said, pushing up from the bench. He led the others back onto the ice just as Brandon reached her.
She stood, still clutching the blanket, opened her mouth. “I’m so—”
Brandon yanked her against him and kissed her.
She tried to push away from him.
Which was another mistake in the long line of mistakes she’d made that evening.
First, not talking to him. Then running like an idiot and leaving her phone. Now, trying to break a kiss that was clearly trying to show her that while he might be furious, he still liked her enough to kiss her.
“Bran—” she began when he eased up enough for her to form words.
It was formed against his lips, but she didn’t even get his full name out before he was kissing her again, his fingers in her hair, his tongue in her mouth, and her body melting against his.
“You’re not leaving,” he eventually said, pulling back enough so that his words were formed against her lips.
“No,” she agreed.
He kissed her again, deeper and longer until she could barely see straight. Then he took her hand and started dragging her toward the door, the blanket fluttering behind her like a cape.
She wanted to go home, to allow him to take her away from this.
But she knew that she needed to talk to him first.
“Wait,” she began, yanking against his hold.
Brandon spun to face her. “No, Fan. I’ve been patient. I’ve understood that it’s going to take you some time. I love you, and for a while I considered that it might be better to just let you live your life without the risk of me.”
She gasped.
“But I decided that life is too fucking short to not go after what I want, and what I want is you. Forever. For as long as I’m able to have you.” He touched her cheek. “And if you get scared again and run off, I’ll find you because I know deep down in here”—his hand slid down, covered the spot just above her heart—“that you love me, too, that you want the future and—”
“I do.”
She leaned in, pressed a finger to his lips when he tried to go on.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I do, and I—I don’t want to run. I know it was a mistake, know it was so freaking stupid. I should have just talked to you. I’m so sorry.” She cupped his jaw. “But I won’t do it again. I promise. I was going back. I was getting ready to call you.” She dipped her head toward the rink, where Brit and company were probably soaking in every second so they could report back to the Gossip Train. “Kaydon had just given me his phone so I could call you and tell you how badly I fucked up. I panicked, and I didn’t mean to come here and I wasn’t thinking clearly, but when I realized what I did, how I reacted, I knew I’d messed up.” A tear slipped from her eye. “I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if you forget me. I don’t care if you fall in love with someone else.” She swallowed hard. “If you don’t remember, I’ll make you fall in love with me again. I’m done running. You’re worth better than that.” She sucked in a breath, released it. “I’m worth more than that. I—”
He snagged her hand, kissed her palm. “Fan?”
She blinked, all the words she needed to say still swirling around in her mind, ready to tumble off her tongue. But they all got tangled in her throat, and all she could say was, “Yeah?”
“You’ll make me love you?”
Her chin came up. “Yes.”
“Babe,” he murmured, and she couldn’t read his face.
More words tumbled out. “I fucked up,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I won’t leave again. I promise I don’t care if you’re sick. I’ll be there and—”
Soft hands on her face. “I’m not sick.”
She blinked. “What? But the phone call—”
“Was from my doctor,” he said gently, winding an arm around her waist and drawing her even closer. “She was following up because I asked her about the status of my sperm on ice.”
“Uh—” Fanny was stunned into silence. “Um . . . what?”
He bent close, rubbed his nose against hers. “I banked it the first time I got treatment. I was told that I might not be able to have ki
ds after the chemo.” He kissed the tip of her nose and straightened to look into her eyes. “I saw you with Jasper, sweetheart. I heard you tell Becca that you want to have babies. I don’t know if I can give them to you naturally, but I will try, and if not, we have the samples.”
“But the message said it was really important that you make some decisions.”
“She needs me to decide if I’m going to pay to relocate the samples out here, or if I’m going to keep them on ice back home.”
“That’s it?”
He smiled. “That’s it.”
“And I—” She broke off on a groan, pressing her hands to her face. “Oh, God.”
Brandon was gentle when he peeled her fingers back, gentle when he brought her close, gentle as he held her against him. “You were coming back?”
She nodded. “I’m such an idiot.”
“You were coming back,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”
Her eyes prickled, and tears threatened to escape again. God, she was so stupid. “I’m so—”
“Fan?”
This time it wasn’t Brandon saying her name. She turned to glance at Ethan. He’d come off the ice, or maybe hadn’t been shepherded onto it in the first place. Not that Brit was going through her workout. Nope. She, Blane, Kaydon, and Coop were staring through the glass watching them.
Yup.
Gossip Train fodder.
“Yeah?” she whispered to Ethan. His face was soft, his tone even more so.
“You’re not an idiot.” He tugged her from Brandon’s arms, wrapped his own around her, and bent to whisper in her ear, “You’re not. Now, I know something of women who run when they’re scared.”
She leaned back.
He held her close and met her eyes. “I know what it’s like to be scared and make mistakes. But I know that when you can let that go, you’ll have something amazing.”
Her lips parted. “You make it sound so simple.”
“You’ve already made the decision to go for it,” he said. “That’s half the battle.”
“I—”
Brit tapped her stick on the glass, and they all whirled to face her. “Go home and make it up to him!” she called. “Makeup sex is the best sex!”