Misconducts & Temptation (The Crestwood Elite Hockey Academy #10)

30. Keaton

Chapter 30

Keaton

T he summer rain had been a gentle drizzle, now it soaked into the earth, making everything smell fresh and alive. The drops fell with a quiet persistence, almost like a whisper, filling the silence.

I stared at my mother’s grave. It stood out among the others, an elaborate monument of polished marble and delicate carvings. An angel with outstretched wings hovered over her name, engraved in gold letters. Fresh roses lay at its base, their petals vibrant against the stone.

I hadn’t been here in years. Each visit felt like an intrusion, like I didn’t have the right to stand before her resting place. My life had been dictated by my father’s demands and expectations; visiting her seemed like a rebellion against everything he stood for even though I knew he mourned her loss even more than I did.

Yet here I was, feeling more awkward than ever.

My wife’s laughter pulled me from my thoughts.

Wife.

The word still felt foreign on my tongue.

I glanced back at her, watching as she navigated the Mercedes around the cemetery’s narrow paths. She nearly ran over a curb, and I winced.

“Elodie!” I called out, my voice cutting through the rain. She stopped the car abruptly, giving me an apologetic smile through the windshield. I shook my head but couldn’t help but smile back.

It was strange, having someone to share these moments with. For so long, I had built walls around myself, keeping everyone at arm’s length. But Elodie had slipped through the cracks, bringing light into places I hadn’t even realized were dark.

I turned back to my mother’s grave, feeling a strange mix of guilt and relief. Guilt for not visiting more often; relief for not being alone anymore.

“Elodie,” I called again as she stepped out of the car and walked toward me. “You’re going to wreck that thing.”

She laughed softly and joined me under the umbrella I held. “Sorry about that,” she said, her eyes filled with warmth despite the rain. “I’m still getting used to driving.”

I looked back at the grave and then at her. “Get your shit together, babes,” I murmured.

We stood there in silence for a moment before she took my hand in hers. The warmth of her touch grounded me.

“Keaton,” she said softly, squeezing my hand gently.

“I know,” I replied.

And for the first time in years, standing there beside my mother’s grave with Elodie by my side, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I belonged there after all.

“Did you tell her?” Elodie asked.

“Tell her what?” I had asked, half-distracted.

“Tell your mom about the draft.”

I looked around, feeling the weight of her words. The cemetery was quiet, the only sounds the patter of rain and distant rustle of leaves. “She’s not here,” I muttered.

Elodie rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m not going to talk to a rock,” I said, my tone sharper than intended.

“Well, I’m going to talk to my parents and tell them what a delightful man I’ve married,” she said, turning back toward the car. “I’ll be a couple of streets over?—”

“I know where St. Michael is,” I interrupted. “I’ll find you. I’ll just follow the destruction.”

She didn’t bother to comment, but I allowed myself a small smile as she walked away. Her presence had become a strange comfort, something I never thought I'd need or want.

Once she was out of sight, I turned back to the grave. The rain had lessened, now just a light drizzle. I took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill my lungs.

“Hey, Mom,” I said quietly. It felt awkward, talking to someone who wasn’t there. But her words nagged at me. “So... the draft’s coming up. NHL scouts have already reached out. You know.”

I paused, listening to the silence as if expecting an answer. “Dad’s… gotten better. He actually came to a summer practice. Embarrassed the shit out of me, but still. He came.” My smirk widened slightly.

“Elodie and I... we’re figuring things out.” My voice softened when I mentioned her name. “She’s... different.”

I glanced around again, feeling foolish for talking to a grave marker. But it also felt oddly liberating. “I wish you were here,” I whispered, the words barely audible over the rain.

My chest ached, a dull, persistent throb that had nothing to do with the cold or the rain. It was the kind of pain that settled deep, refusing to leave no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

I left my mother’s grave and made my way over to the other side of the cemetery. The path was slick with rain, puddles forming in dips and hollows. I didn’t mind. It was almost soothing, a distraction from the strange conflict of emotions inside me.

Elodie was kneeling in front of two simple plaques embedded in the ground. Her hair, damp from the rain, clung to her face in blonde strands. She brushed them away absently as she talked, her voice carrying softly through the air. She always had this way of speaking, like every word mattered.

The plaques were modest, barely standing out against the earth and grass. I had this sudden urge to replace them with something more elaborate, something that matched the enormity of her loss. But I knew she wouldn’t let me.

Stubborn thing.

Her back was to me, but even from this angle, I could see her determination. Her shoulders were set straight despite the rain and mud staining her jeans. She had an elegance about her that didn’t come from money or status—it was something deeper, something intrinsic.

I moved closer, trying not to intrude on her moment but unable to stay away. Just watching her made my chest warm, countering the cold ache inside me.

“Elodie,” I called softly.

She turned, her eyes meeting mine. They were bright even in the gray light of the rainy day. “Keaton,” she said with a small smile. “You talk to your mom?”

“Yeah,” I replied, moving to stand beside her. “You?”

“Yeah.” She looked back at the plaques. “Told them about you.”

“Good things?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed softly. “Of course.” She stood next to me. “I think my parents would have liked you.”

"Oh, yeah?"

She shook her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Definitely not."

"What?" I chuckled, taking her hand in mine. For whatever reason, I couldn't stop myself from touching her. "Why not? I'm a gentleman, I'll have you know." Leaning forward, I kissed her neck softly. "Unless my dick is in the warm, wet pussy of yours. Then all bets are off."

She blushed, a delightful pink spreading across her cheeks.

I loved that I could make her blush. I never wanted that to end.

"Keaton, please," she said, straightening and glancing back at the plaques. "Not in front of my parents."

"You telling me you wouldn't do it in a cemetery?" I teased, grinning wickedly.

"Keaton!" she exclaimed, playfully hitting my arm.

I threw my arms up in mock surrender. "Whoa," I said. "No need to throw down. I know you have a scrappy reputation, but don't use it on me."

Her blush deepened, and she tried to hide it by looking away. But I saw it, and it made my chest swell with a strange kind of pride.

The rain had finally stopped completely, leaving the cemetery quiet except for the occasional drip from the trees. We stood there together, hand in hand, amidst the graves of those who had come before us. It was peaceful in a way that made everything else seem distant and unimportant.

Elodie squeezed my hand gently and looked up at me with those bright eyes of hers. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“For what?” I asked.

“For being here,” she replied. “For being you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I just held her hand tighter and nodded, feeling the weight of the moment settle between us.

We stayed like that for a while longer until the sky began to clear and the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. The world seemed brighter somehow as if everything was finally falling into place.

And for once in my life, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Elodie tugged my hand, pulling me toward the car. “Come on,” she said, her voice carrying a playful edge. “I think we need to head to Crestwood and get more practice in. And then we have Adrian’s Solstice thing.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “How much more practice can I get?”

She gave me that look—half challenge, half invitation—as she stepped to the driver’s side. “Well,” she said, trying hard to sound seductive, “the more practice you do… the more practice I do.”

Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink despite her efforts to maintain a sultry expression. It was adorable and completely disarming.

I couldn’t help myself. Something inside me shifted, and before I knew it, I was moving around the car toward her. She barely had time to react before I pulled her into a kiss, pressing her against the car door.

Her lips were soft and warm against mine, tasting faintly of rain and something uniquely Elodie. She gasped softly at first, but then her hands found their way to my shoulders, gripping tightly as if anchoring herself to me.

The world seemed to fall away in that moment. All the tension, the expectations, and the pressures dissolved into nothingness as our lips moved together in perfect sync. Her breath mingled with mine, creating a heady mix that made my heart race.

I felt her relax into me, her body molding against mine as the kiss deepened. It was like finding a piece of myself I hadn’t known was missing until now. Her fingers tangled in my hair, sending shivers down my spine.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless. Her eyes were wide and bright, reflecting a mixture of surprise and something deeper—something that echoed the storm inside me.

“Elodie,” I murmured against her lips.

She smiled softly, her cheeks still flushed. “Keaton.”

We stood there for a moment longer, just holding each other as the rain-drenched world slowly came back into focus for us.

Then she took a deep breath and pulled away slightly. “Come on,” she said again, though her voice was softer now. “Let’s get to Crestwood.”

Elodie slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror with a determined look. I shut the door behind her and made my way around to the passenger side. I opened the door and got in, settling into the seat beside her.

"All right," I said, fastening my seatbelt. "Show me how well you've practiced."

She chewed her bottom lip, a small crease forming between her brows. It was a habit of hers whenever she was deep in thought or a bit nervous. She pressed the ignition, and the car roared to life. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she took a deep breath.

The car rolled forward smoothly, and she navigated through the narrow cemetery paths with a cautious precision. Her eyes flicked from the road to the rearview mirror and back again, ensuring she avoided any puddles or uneven ground.

"Nicely done, babes," I said, trying to reassure her. "I always knew you were a quick learner."

She glanced at me briefly, offering a small smile before focusing back on the road.

We exited the cemetery, merging onto the main street that led toward Crestwood Academy. The roads were still wet, and puddles dotted the asphalt like small mirrors reflecting the sky. Elodie’s grip on the wheel relaxed slightly as she gained confidence with each passing mile.

She maneuvered around a tight corner, and I couldn’t help but notice how focused she was—every move deliberate and controlled. The tension in her shoulders eased as we continued driving, and soon enough, we were cruising along smoothly.

The town began to wake up around us, people emerging from their homes as if greeting a new day after a long storm. Cars passed by, splashing through puddles, their headlights cutting through the misty morning air.

Elodie handled it all with surprising ease. She chewed on her lip less now, her focus unwavering as she guided us through traffic and toward our destination.

I watched her in silence for a while, feeling a strange mix of pride and admiration. She was more than just resilient; she was strong in ways that mattered most. And sitting there beside her, I felt a sense of calm that had eluded me for so long.

As we approached Crestwood Academy, I glanced at her once more. “Not bad,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence.

She laughed softly. “Thanks,” she replied. “But we’re not there yet.”

The silence between us was comfortable, a rare and precious thing. My hand rested on her thigh, a simple connection that felt more grounding than anything else.

"Are you worried?" she asked, breaking the silence. "About the draft?"

I shook my head automatically, but the truth was a different story. Worry gnawed at me like a persistent itch I couldn't scratch. What if I didn't make it? What then? My friends had already been drafted, and here I was, the odd man out. More than that, I had picked this path myself. I could have worked for my father or done something easier. But now, with Elodie depending on me, failure wasn’t an option. But what if it happened, anyway?

"Good," she said softly. "Because I think you're going to do amazing."

"Do you?" I asked, glancing at her.

She parked the car smoothly, turning off the ignition before meeting my gaze.

"Why?" I pressed. "Why do you think that?"

"Because I believe in you," she replied without hesitation. Her eyes held mine, unwavering and sincere. "You're stubborn as hell and always get what you want when you put your mind to it. Why should this be any different?"

I fell silent, absorbing her words. No one had ever spoken to me like that before—like they truly believed in me.

No one except my mom.

"You really mean that, don't you?" I asked quietly.

"I wouldn't lie," she said simply.

"No," I agreed, a small smile tugging at my lips. "You wouldn't." Leaning in, I kissed her again, savoring the warmth and softness of her lips. When we finally pulled back, I couldn't resist teasing her. "You'd be really bad at that too—maybe even worse than your driving."

Her mouth dropped open in mock outrage. "Keaton Douglas!" she exclaimed.

"I'm only telling it like it is, babes," I said with a smirk. "Oh, and there's one more thing about this Mercedes I haven't told you."

She arched an eyebrow curiously. "And what's that?"

My smirk widened into a grin as I leaned closer. "We still have to break it in."