Chapter 33
CHAPTER 33
OWEN
June 29
Francie
I still cannot believe you had a bathroom quickie at my engagement party!
In my future in-laws’ house!
I don’t know if anyone’s ever had sex in that house
Owen
Haven’t you and Josh?
Francie
Fuck no. His mother scares the shit out of me. We sneak out to the pool house like respectable adults
I like Wyatt, by the way
Owen
Me too
I don’t tell anybody about the panic attack. Not Wyatt, not Francie, not Felix. I tell myself that if it happens again, I’ll call the therapist I saw when I was in residency, maybe set up a Telehealth appointment or get a referral to someone closer to Cardinal Springs.
But I don’t. Betsy is fine, things are smooth at work, and gradually the aftershocks fade.
And anytime I feel the tight fist of anxiety start to squeeze my chest, I call up the image of Wyatt’s reflection in that gaudy gold mirror, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her lips swollen and pink, pressed together to suppress a moan as she came on my cock.
With her eyes open. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
So I’m fine.
And when I spot her across my dad’s backyard, her curls brushing the ink on her bare shoulders, tipping her head back to laugh at some joke my twin brother is telling, I feel better than fine.
I feel fucking fantastic.
The can of pineapple with our hastily scrawled contract sits on the mantel in my living room. If Felix has seen it, he hasn’t said anything. Neither has Wyatt, which is interesting, because the “rules” have been evaporated into a mist at this point.
She’s melted into my life such that I’m not sure I could extract her if I tried. And she doesn’t seem to mind. Most nights when she gets off at work, if she’s not needed back at her house to help Hazel with Eden, she lets herself into mine and slides into the bed beside me, folding herself into my body and dragging my arm across her waist. Sometimes I peel down her panties and set about making her moan, but sometimes I just pull her in tight, nestle my nose into the mess of her curls, and fall back asleep to the rhythm of her breaths.
This was supposed to be no strings attached, but there are strings everywhere. And they’re getting tangled.
I keep waiting for her to notice, to rear up, to pull back, to drag that pineapple can off the mantel and shake it at me, reminding me of our agreement.
I can’t tell if she’s forgotten or if she’s changed her mind.
I don’t dare ask.
Instead, I let myself enjoy the way she lights up when she catches me looking at her. I watch the curl of her lips as her smile turns into a naughty smirk. I relish the sassy sway of her hips as she crosses the yard.
I feel myself fall in love with her when, despite being surrounded by our families and closest friends, she slips her hand into mine.
I am so very much in breach of contract with this woman.
“What are you doing all the way over here, Doc?” she asks.
“Ignoring me, that’s for damn sure,” Decker grumbles, and it’s only then that I remember I’m standing next to my sister’s boyfriend. He was telling me something about…fuck, I wasn’t listening.
“What’s the matter, hometown hero?” I tease him. “Can’t handle not being the center of attention?”
My father’s postage stamp of a backyard is packed with people balancing paper plates full of deliciousness courtesy of Dad, who’s been manning the grill all afternoon. Summer has settled into Cardinal Springs, hot air lying over the town like a wet flannel blanket. Everyone is coated in a sheen of sweat and sunscreen, some cheeks already pink after a morning spent standing on Main Street to watch Decker drive by in a convertible, Grace by his side, the Stanley Cup sitting between them.
Because just last week, Decker led his hockey team to his third Stanley Cup victory, then promptly announced his retirement.
And now that trophy sits on a table in the center of the celebration, a man in white gloves guarding it to make sure nobody does anything untoward with it. Which apparently doesn’t include Decker pouring an entire case of Upland into it and passing out sips like this is some kind of holy jock communion.
That, I was surprised to discover, is perfectly allowed.
“Fuck off,” Decker says, but he’s grinning. I think he’s taking this retirement thing pretty well. “I’m just trying to relay details so I can go stare at my girl.”
“Is this about Grace’s birthday?” Wyatt asks, letting go of my hand and slipping hers into my back pocket. It makes my vision go fuzzy. “Carson was telling me: Indianapolis, cake, karaoke.”
Decker nods. “Yeah. I reserved a bunch of hotel rooms for everybody. I just need to know if you guys want to be together or not.”
I nearly choke on my beer. Do we want to be together?
If you’re asking me, absolutely yes.
Do we want to be together, though?
I glance down at Wyatt.
“Actually, I told Carson I’d bunk with her,” she says. “I don’t want her to be alone.”
Record scratch.
Fuck.
“Great. Okay. Perfect.” Decker blows out a quick, hard breath like he’s warming up for Game Seven, not standing in the middle of his victory party. “I don’t have to tell you what a big deal this is. Grace has never agreed to a real birthday party. I want everything to be perfect.”
“You think I need this warning? Go talk to Felix. He’s much more likely to pick up half a bachelorette party in Indy and cause a scene,” I tell Decker.
“Oh, I intend to,” Decker says, narrowing his eyes at my brother. “Enjoy the party.”
“Congrats, man.” I nod at the Stanley Cup, which is currently holding a grinning baby Eden.
Decker smiles. “That’s the only prize I care about,” he says, pointing across the lawn at where Grace is snapping a photo of Eden in the Cup.
And then he charges across the lawn to claim her.
If he weren’t talking about my baby sister, I’d probably melt.
“That’s okay, right? If I stay with Carson?” Wyatt asks once we’re alone.
No. I hate it. Even if a few bricks have been removed, there’s still a wall between us. And I want all of this woman. Every piece. Watching her come with her eyes on me was so very close to everything I need. I just wish that mirror hadn’t been between us.
I want her connected to me in every way.
But I signed that pineapple can. I promised her. So I keep all that to myself.
“Of course,” I lie. “Just as long as you promise to sneak over for a late-night visit.”
She grins the grin that tells me we’re going to have a very good time, and that takes the edge off the revelation that she’s staying with Carson.
“What else is a bad girl gonna do but sneak into the good boy’s hotel room?”