22. Chase
Chase
I didn’t mean to give Gem an ultimatum. Except that’s exactly what I did.
And now we’re barely talking. Walking on eggshells. Tiptoeing around each other as though we’re afraid to break the fragile connection we have left.
The strain between us didn’t stop us from getting married or submitting the paperwork for her to adopt my sisters. Nope, it was full steam ahead on both fronts.
Three days after I walked out of Gem’s office, she came home with paperwork for me to sign and an appointment the next day for us to go to the courthouse where a judge joined us in ‘holy matrimony’—his words, not mine—and while our vows were simple, I meant every word of them.
I never thought about being married, what it would be like, and I only have Mom and Dad’s as a benchmark, but I can say without a doubt my marriage to Natalie Redding is nothing like what my parents had.
It’s like two enemies being forced to work together for a common cause—my sisters. There are days when I wonder what the hell I was thinking to go through with it when there was conflict between us.
Not that looking back helps. We are married, have been for almost a month, and I will honor my vows. Because even with this fractured weird relationship we have right now, I love her.
It seems impossible. Half the time I don’t believe it. But I can’t deny the way I feel about her. And I’m at a loss as to how to turn things around. How to show her I’m in this for the long haul, and not only for my sisters.
I’m in it for her .
I have no idea when I made the decision to make Gem my wife for real, probably before I brought up the subject of us getting married to secure the girls’ futures.
I’ve discovered I’ve lied to myself, or stuck my head in the sand and ignored things concerning Gem for most of our acquaintance.
Hard to believe we’ve only known each other five months, lived together for less. It seems like a lifetime since we lost Mom and Dad, forever since I made the difficult decision to move us all to the other end of the country to live with a stranger so I could give the girls a good life and follow my dream.
And it is a good life.
All the girls are thriving.
The twins love school and have made friends other than Whit, although she’s their closest one. Candace goes to the Rogues Arena childcare a few mornings a week and is growing so fast it’s hard to believe she’s the baby I first held.
But it isn’t just the girls who have benefited from the move south.
I’m having a blisteringly good season. Like my first year of college, I’m having more shutouts than not and the Rogues are at the top of our conference and on a trajectory for the Cup.
I know we all talked a good game back in August when we first hit the ice together and then during pre-season when we won our first game, and again at the beginning of the regular season. But I’ll be dammed if we aren’t following through on our boasting.
The media is having a field day with the way the Rogues are carving up the opposition. Not that we’re mopping the rink with all the other teams. Miami has given us stiff competition, and the Knights are finally getting their shit together and pulling off some wins.
Every part of my life is coming up roses except my relationship with Gem.
It’s annoying and frustrating and I want to fix it as much as I want to hold the Cup my first season in the NHL.
Both of those things seem like a pipe dream. Except we’re winning and playing the best hockey, and the girls are doing better than well. Why can’t I have the Cup and Gem?
In two weeks it will be Christmas, and I haven’t done anything about it. I don’t remember where we put any of our Christmas decorations.
Every other year of my life, now would be when Dad would load us up in his truck and drive out to the farm to chop down a tree to bring home to Mom, who would be waiting with boxes of ornaments ready to hang, hot chocolate with marshmallows and cookies.
I can’t decide if I should try to replicate other Christmases or start new traditions.
And I haven’t a clue what Gem normally does. It’s a subject I need to discuss with her. If I can get her to talk to me that is.
Speak of the devil…
The door to the garage opens and Gem steps through it, her hair a mess and what looks like streaks of mud are on her skirt, her hands, and chin.
“What the fuck?” I’m in front of her, running my hands up and down her arms before cradling her face. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
After the last few months with Cami, Bex and Whit, and those reporters, my first thought is someone attacked her.
“I’m fine. Dirty but fine.” She shrugs out of my hold and steps around me. “I need a hot shower, clean clothes, and a bottle of wine. In that exact order.”
“I’ll get the wine.” I walk toward the pantry and the cellar on the far side of it. “Any preference?”
I might have learned a thing or two about wine, but I can’t drink it. Not that I drink anything really. I’ve had the odd beer and Magnus Lund bought me a scotch one night after a particularly hard game we lost in overtime. But when it comes to wine selection, I leave it to Gem.
“Whatever. I don’t care.” She disappears down the hallway that leads to her rooms without looking back.
I’m torn between following her to find out why she looks like she’s been dragged across the ground or going to get her wine. In the end, the wine wins out because in the months I’ve lived in this house I’ve never stepped foot inside her personal space.
The space she’s spent more and more time in since the day I threatened to take the girls and move out.
I can admit, even if it took me a while, it was a dick move. I should have just told her why I thought we were friends. That I wished we were more.
I should have taken into consideration what she said too. Because we might not have been talking like we did at first, but I haven’t stopped studying her. Learning about her.
I’ve asked Eli a few questions too. And surprisingly, he’s answered them. In fact, the man has given me some valuable insight into who Gem is. How she became the powerhouse Natalie Redding, COO of Rogue sportswear, and owner and GM of the Rogues NHL franchise.
She’s worked her ass off.
All the women of KAW have.
They deserve every success because they’ve earned it. Despite a few digs in the media from years ago about them all being ‘trust fund babies’, there is very little about how they’ve worked to build their globally successful business.
It’s shocking really. And maybe they wanted it that way, less chance of people—and by people, I mean the media—coming after them to drag them down.
Except now, with the Rogues, there’s no going under the radar. They’re in the spotlight every day we play. And if any of that attention has to do with the way Gem just came home, I’m going to…
Fuck! I don’t know what I’ll do.
I want to protect her, support her, love her, and I can’t do any of them. Not in the open. The only avenue I have is to love her in secret and support her by playing my ass off so the Rogues win—bring home the Cup.
Inside the cellar is cool, the room specifically designed to house thousands of dollars worth of wine. Not that the shelves are full. When I asked about it after we moved in, Gem said it was already in the house, and it seemed a waste of money to rip it out.
Her explanation was sound and after I took over the basement for my home gym, I wasn’t going to point out the area could be used for other things.
I’ve tried not to change anything else in the house. It’s my home—feels like my home—but I don’t feel as though I have the right to change anything else.
Hence, my procrastination over Christmas decorations.
But I can’t keep doing that. This is our life. I need to be all in or get out.
And I’m not going anywhere unless she asks me to.
Scanning the shelves, I think about her request. If Gem wants a bottle of wine, she isn’t planning to return to the office today and I’ve already gotten in a workout this morning and don’t have to return to the arena until later to pick up Candace.
It’s rare that none of the girls are around and if we’re both free of responsibilities for the rest of the day, I’m going to take advantage of the time and use it to connect with my wife.
If she’ll let me.
Grabbing a bottle, I don’t bother looking at the label, I won’t know if it’s good or not anyway, but I’m assuming if Gem has it on the shelf, she likes it.
Passing through the kitchen, I collect a stemless wineglass from the cupboard before I do something I’ve never done before.
I walk down the short hallway and let myself into Gem’s rooms.
She’s in the bathroom. I can hear the shower running. I hope she’s taken a change of clothes in there with her because I’m about to make myself at home on her bed.
Placing the bottle and glass on her bedside table I kick off my shoes, and sit on the bed, position my back against the wooden headboard.
Her room is plain. There are no pictures or artwork on the walls, or books cluttering surfaces waiting to be read. It’s almost hotel-like in its plainness.
The only color in the room is the bed cover. It’s a dark burgundy, the pillowcases a slightly lighter shade.
I’m not sure what I expected, to me she’s soft and welcoming—well before I fucked things up she was—and I guess I thought her space would reflect that.
But this is so bare of personality it could be anyone’s room, and while there is some color, it doesn’t scream Gem.
“Oh good. You brought the wine.” Her voice has my head snapping around and I all but swallow my tongue. “Is it a screw top or cork?”
I haven’t a clue. I didn’t even look at it. Not that I can say that. Not with my tongue tied in a knot and no air in my lungs.
She’s wearing a pair of…workout shorts? Is that what they are? Whatever they are, they hug her body like paint. And they’re short. Like barely below her pussy short.
“You don’t want some? Wait. Of course you don’t. You don’t drink during the season.” She undoes the bottle cap and pours herself a full glass. “Not that you drink anyway. God, you’re barely old enough to do it legally.”
I hardly register her words because I’m too busy checking her out and my brain isn’t exactly functioning right now, what with all the blood rushing to my dick.
Which is standing at attention, tenting my running shorts like the center pole of a circus tent. And I’m too lust fogged to think to do anything about covering up.
It’s no surprise when Gem turns toward me and her eyes skim over my groin that she bobbles her glass and spills wine down her chin.
I don’t like wine. But I’ll be dammed if I don’t want to jump up and lick every drop off her skin.
We’re caught in this weird, stunned silence for what feels like hours and the whole time my brain is spinning scenarios of how this might be different. How we might be different.
How if she were my wife for real, I’d pull her down on top of me and ravage her mouth, fill my hands with her ass, and yank her against the part of me that’s throbbing with a beat so hard and fast it borders on painful.
“Chase.”
She says my name like a whispered prayer and I’m powerless to stop from reaching out and running a fingertip down her flat belly.
Her skin is soft and warm against my callused finger, and I wonder how it would feel against my lips.
I’m not a virgin. Although I haven’t been with many women—girls really—I’m not new to sex despite the nervous jittery sensation filling my gut.
“Chase,” she says my name again, louder this time, and I bring my gaze up to meet hers.
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“Touching you.”
“I...” She swallows, the pulse at her throat fluttering like crazy, and I’m pleased to see I’m not the only one unsure of what’s happening.
“Is it okay?” I spread my hand, trail all my fingers across her torso from hipbone to hipbone. “Me touching you?”
“It’s fi—” She sucks in a breath when I place my whole hand over her bellybutton, slide up until my fingertips hit the bottom of the sports bra she’s got on.
I smile. I like that I make her speechless. And I’m not referring to the no talking we’ve been doing for the last month. “You’re so soft.”
Her belly quivers beneath my hand and my smile grows wider.
“You know, I’ve imagined you like this, so many times I’ve lost count, and yet nothing I thought was right, or did you justice.”
“Chase.” There’s a plea in her voice, a tremor of something I can’t place, and when my eyes land on hers again, I know whatever this is has to stop.
Something happened and had her coming home dirty and disheveled, left her shaken and unsure, in need of a breather and a bottle of wine and there is no way—no matter how much I want to fuck her—I will take advantage of her vulnerable state.
Pulling my hand away, I roll off the bed and stand beside her. I study her a few seconds more before I cup her face with one hand and brush my thumb over the wetness still on her chin.
“When you’re ready to tell me what happened to bring you home in this state I’ll be in the kitchen. We’ve got a few hours before the twins are home and Candace is still at the arena daycare. I’ll stay out of your way, let you work your way through whatever you need to on your own. But if you want to talk, want someone to listen, I’m your man and I’ll be waiting.”
I don’t stay in her room. I do exactly what I told her I would. I go to the kitchen and, to keep myself busy while I wait to see what she’ll do, pull out the ingredients for dinner and hope she’ll come find me.
Hope she’ll let me in.