24. My Pants Have Left The Building #2
Folding her lips into her mouth, she pretends to lock them and throw away the key.
Chuckling, I wrap my arms around her, holding her a little tighter as I gaze out at the mountains, the stars that paint the sky. “I’m happy you liked him. He’s one of my best friends.”
“I can tell. You two seem really close. Have you known him your whole life?”
“A little over seven years,” I murmur. “He saved my life.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I’m not sure whether to stop while I’m ahead or keep going. The handful of people who know how Hank came to be in my life is restricted to my family, my best friends.
“You said that earlier, that his wife did.”
Because she did. I may have never met Ireland, but she saved my life the day Hank found me, and there isn’t a single piece of me that will ever think otherwise.
“You don’t have to tell me, Carter. You’re allowed to have boundaries, and it’s okay if this is one of them.”
But what if I don’t want to have any boundaries? What if I want to show her all of me?
“The day I met Hank, my dad was in a car accident. It was barely five in the morning, and the driver was still drunk from the night before.” My throat constricts as something heavy settles deep in my chest. “He died on impact.”
Olivia sits up, laying her cheek on my chest and her hand over my heart, and any apprehension I have about giving her this piece of me melts away. If I want her to know me, well, this is maybe the most important piece of my puzzle.
“I was supposed to play in Calgary the following night. My dad was driving down to watch because it was my first game as an assistant captain. I offered to fly him out but he said he wanted to take the scenic route. I should’ve…I should’ve made him.”
Olivia presses a kiss to my palm. “It’s not your fault, Carter.”
“I know that, but it’s hard not to think that way sometimes.
Especially that day.” The only person to ever blame me for my dad’s death is me.
It’s a heavy weight to carry around on your shoulders, even though I’m not the one who chose to get behind the wheel after drinking all night long.
Hell, I’ve seen the struggle in my own sister’s eyes, wondering if our dad would still be here, if he’d one day be able to walk her down the aisle if it weren’t for me playing hockey.
“It was after eleven when my mom’s body finally gave up the fight.
I carried her to bed and sat with my sister as she cried herself to sleep.
And then I…I went out. By myself. I didn’t want the responsibility of taking care of them when I didn’t know how I’d even be able to take care of myself.
Hank was there. Kept cracking fucking blind jokes.
I tried to ignore him but he kept throwing peanut shells at me every time I started to doze off.
” I run an agitated hand through my hair. “I was just fucking …”
“Heartbroken,” Olivia whispers.
“Yeah.” My voice cracks as I hug her tighter. “Just a heartbroken mess. I didn’t think he had any clue who I was. He couldn’t see, after all. And then I made the stupidest decision I’ve ever made. I stood up and grabbed my car keys.”
A jagged inhale pierces the air as a tear rolls down Olivia’s cheek. She quickly swipes it away.
“Hank slapped his cane against my knee so fast before he stabbed the end of it into my stomach. I remember exactly what he said to me next.”
I think back to that moment, the one that saved my life, and maybe many more. I remember those light blue eyes moving over me, the fury that I’ve only seen Hank wear that one time as he slipped off his stool, his hands moving slowly over my chest until he found the neck of my shirt and gripped it.
“‘I know you’re not about to drive, Mr. Beckett,’ he said.
‘You’ve had way too much to drink and have too much to lose.
There are people here who depend on you.
Don’t make a stupid decision that you’ll regret the rest of your life, if you even live to see it, just because you’re hurting right now. ’”
Silent tears stream down Olivia’s face as she turns, fingers pressing into my jaw as she presses the softest kiss to my lips.
“Hank doesn’t even drink. That day was the seventh anniversary of Ireland’s death.
He was sitting there at midnight drinking a glass of chocolate milk because he’d had a dream during his afternoon nap and claimed that his dead wife said somebody might need his help.
He’d been sitting there since six in the evening, waiting.
Said he knew it was me he was waiting for the second I sank down on the bar stool next to him. I know it sounds crazy.”
Olivia draws in a sniffle, hiccupping against my chest. I pull her face up to mine and smile at the way she tries to slap her tears away.
“I’m sorry for crying.” It comes out pretty wail-y, so I don’t think she’s going to be able to stop any time soon.
The fact that this is the same girl who slammed the door in my face and told me to go fuck myself not all that long ago is mind-blowing.
She sure puts up a good I-don’t-give-a-shit front.
She wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my neck while I smooth my palm down her hair.
“It’s not crazy, and I’m so thankful for Hank and Ireland and you. ”
“Me?”
She nods. “For letting me see the real Carter Beckett. For being the type of man who carries his mom to bed. For having a man in his eighties who loves dirty books as one of your best friends. I’m grateful to be here with you.”
I’m a little lost for words, so I tip her face up to mine for a kiss.
If I attempt to talk, there’s a good chance that a lot of words I’m not ready to say about how I feel for her are going tumble from my lips, which is pretty fucking ridiculous, because, disregarding all the weeks before, it’s been one day.
There’s no denying that whatever we’ve got between us feels right. I hope she feels it, too, because in this moment I’m acutely aware that these feelings are going nowhere fast.
For the next hour, we stay by the fire, trading stories, laughing quietly while she stretches out opposite me, enjoying the foot rub I’m giving her through my socks.
She keeps jerking her foot away and giggling every time I hit a certain spot in her arch, so I peel the thick socks off and throw them over my shoulder, revealing her pink toes.
“Do you have a foot fetish I’m not aware of?” Olivia asks when I press my lips to her arch.
“No.” My mouth drags over her ankle as my palm slips beneath the sweatpants she wears, gliding up her calf. “I have a you fetish. And I’m dying to see if your feet are…” I nip her arch. “Ticklish.”
Olivia flies off the back of the couch and almost hammers me in the face with her foot when my teeth nibble on her sensitive skin. “Stop it! Carter !”
But do I stop? No, of course not. I wrap my hand around her ankle and the tips of my fingers go to town on that foot of hers while she squeals and thrashes. I don’t stop until she’s a sweaty, red mess and tears are leaking from her eyes.
She struggles against me as I pull her into my chest. “You’re such an ass.”
“Yeah, but I’m your ass.” A rustle draws my attention down below, and I drop my voice, nudging her cheek. I point out at the clearing where a moose is emerging, each step slow and cautious as it looks around. “Look.”
Olivia gasps, scrambling over my lap to get a better look, gripping the railing. “Oh my gosh. It looks like a young one.”
“Yeah.” A dark shadow catches my eye, and a much larger moose takes a few steps forward, rooting around in the snow. “And there’s Mama.”
“So incredible,” Olivia murmurs wondrously.
“Like you.”
She turns to smile at me. “Are you trying to charm me now, Mr. Beckett?”
“I’ve been trying since I met you.”
She slings her arms around my neck, straddling my hips. “You’re getting pretty good at it, as much as it pains me to say.” She brushes a kiss across my lips. “Much better than ‘I wanna put you in the penalty box.’”
I snort a laugh. “Still can’t believe that didn’t work. But I think if I’d had five more minutes—”
“I would’ve punched you in the face. Yes, you’re absolutely right.”
“Feisty girl.” I slip my hands beneath the hoodie she wears, palms sliding up her back, and the chill makes her shiver. “You like putting up a fight, and I like it too.” I flick my tongue over the spot below her ear. “Makes me wanna slap your ass and fuck you until you scream.
I think my favorite sound is Olivia’s whimper. I enjoy the way her skin warms with the sound, her body buzzing as my lips move against her neck. I rip the collar of my sweater to the side, exposing her shoulder to the cold air, and cover it with my hot tongue.
“ Carter .” There’s that whimper again. Goddamn, I love it.
“Olivia.” I pull the hoodie over her head, exposing her soft curves, the gem in her belly when her shirt underneath rides up.
It’s getting late and I have a flight in the morning.
I know I need to take her home so she can get some sleep before work, but I won’t see her for a few days and I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave this city without a little taste.
So I kiss her stomach, peel those sweatpants off her legs, wrap her around my body, and cart her off to my bed. She tries to pull me down with her when I set her on the edge, but I shake my head and drop to my knees on the floor.
She props herself up and sinks her fingers through my hair, her head falling back with a moan as my mouth coasts up the inside of her thigh. There’s a little pool of moisture gathered in the center of her pale purple panties that makes me want to rip them right off.
So I do. I destroy that scrap of satin and bury my face between her legs like I’m a feral animal and she’s the first meal I’ve had in days. Olivia collapses on the bed, legs winding around my neck as she pushes me deeper into her, hips arching, crying out for more as I fuck her with my tongue.