Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
McCabe
W hen I open my eyes, AJ’s still wrapped up in my arms where we must have fallen asleep last night. But now she’s got one leg slung over my hip, and in my sleep, my body must have felt hers pressed up against me, because I’m fully hard in a way that has my dick screaming to be taken care of.
Frozen in place, not waiting to wake her up, I take a few minutes to study the light smattering of freckles dusting the tops of her cheeks, right under her eyes. I’m guessing they’re normally covered by makeup, but with the bright early morning light streaming in the windows, I can see them now, where last night’s low light hid them from me.
I’m trying to determine the best way to extricate myself from her embrace without waking her, so I can figure out what time it is and how soon I need to leave for morning skate, when I hear banging in the hallway.
“C’mon, McCabe, we don’t have time for this!” Walsh’s voice carries into AJ’s room.
I press my eyelids together. Fuck, this can’t be happening.
He bangs a few more times on the door across the hallway, which has AJ stirring. Holding a finger to her lips before she can speak, I sit up, looking for my phone. It’s behind me, face down on the bed, where it must have landed after falling out of my pocket.
When I tap the screen, I have a dozen texts and two missed calls from Walsh. Fuck, I fell asleep and didn’t turn my ringer on last night, like I always do when I’m on the road in case there’s any kind of emergency with Abby.
I shoot off a quick text.
McCabe
Sorry. Went on an early morning run and lost track of time. Just got back. Give me two minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs.
Walsh
Fuck that. You’re already ten minutes late. I’m waiting at your door so I can make sure you get down to the bus.
Shit. I need him out of this hallway so I can get over to my room without him seeing me coming out of AJ’s room.
McCabe
Just go downstairs. I swear I’ll be two minutes behind you.
Walsh
Well you need to think up a better excuse by the time you get on that bus, especially after you were late to the plane last week.
I glance at AJ as she sits up next to me.
Fuck my life. I wouldn’t trade last night, and having her fall asleep in my arms, for anything. But why couldn’t I have remembered to set an alarm? Or even just woken up fifteen minutes ago?
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, in case Walsh is still in the hallway. “I overslept and the team is waiting for me to go to morning skate.”
“You’d better go, then.” Her words are kind, but emotionless. I can’t tell at all how she’s feeling. She doesn’t look worried that I’m late, or sad that I have to go. But she also doesn’t look like she regrets the conversation we had last night or the way we fell asleep together, so that’s a plus, I guess? God, I wish she was easier to read. The aspects of her personality that make her so good at her job are the same ones that make her impossible to figure out.
You don’t want to get close to her. You want to move to Nashville.
At this point, reminding myself of these things feels a little ridiculous. Yes, I want to live closer to my sister, but that doesn’t in any way, shape, or form, mean I don’t also want to let myself grow emotionally and physically closer to AJ.
In fact, I don’t want any boundaries between us at all. I want to know her inside and out. I want to be there for her like no one else ever has. I don’t even know what that looks like; I’ve never had that type of relationship with anyone. But I want to, with her.
“I know,” I say. But I make no move to get up.
“McCabe. Go . And when you get down to that bus, please have an excuse for being late that doesn’t involve accidentally falling asleep in my bed.” A small smile plays at the corner of her lips, and I’ve never felt so relieved in my life.
“I went on a run this morning and lost track of time. Got back to the hotel late.” I shrug. “Oops.”
She puts her hand on my lower back and pushes. “Hurry the hell up.”
“Fine,” I grumble, standing and then turning to look down at her. I bend to kiss the top of her head, then say, “Don’t think we’re not finishing that conversation from last night.”
She looks down at the floor. “There’s nothing left to say.”
Tilting her chin up so she’s looking at me, I take in the worry in her eyes. “Like hell there isn’t. But I have to go before I get fined for being late.” I couldn’t give a shit about the fine, but I do care about playing tonight and don’t want to be on Coach’s bad side.
“Good luck tonight,” she says, putting a hand on my hip and pushing me toward the door.
I glance over my shoulder as I walk away, trying to memorize what she looks like sitting there in her shorts and a Rebels t-shirt, hair a mess and still looking half-asleep. God, I could get used to this view.
When I peek through the viewfinder, I don’t see anyone, so I pat my pocket to make sure I still have my room key, then crack the door open and peek out. Walsh definitely isn’t standing there anymore, so I swing the door to AJ’s room open and take a step across the hallway to my door. And as I hold the keycard up to the reader, I peer down the hallway by the alcove for the elevators—and that’s when I see Walsh, standing there watching me.
I sink into a stretch on the ice right next to Walsh. Too close to him, if I’m being honest, but I’d like our conversation to remain private. “That wasn’t what it looked like, this morning.”
Around us, the stands are starting to fill in with the fans here to watch warmups. I’ve been trying to talk to Walsh all day, but he’s clearly avoiding me. He’s like our team dad, and I hate feeling like I’ve disappointed him.
“Oh yeah? What did it look like?”
“I’m not sure, honestly. Probably like I was shacking up with some chick in the hotel last night, and that’s why I was late for practice?”
He gives me the side-eye but doesn’t say anything.
“That’s not what happened,” I insist.
“So what did happen, exactly?”
I thought long and hard today about what I wanted to tell Walsh, and Grandma’s words kept running through my mind: Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. I can’t be fully honest with him, but the less I lie, the easier it will be to keep track of my story. Still, that doesn’t mean I have to tell him everything.
I glance around to make sure we’re not within earshot of anyone else. “First of all, that was AJ’s hotel room.”
His mouth hangs open, and he seems to have forgotten how to form words.
“Again, it’s not what it looks like.”
“Good to know. So, what is it then?”
“I’m just helping her out because she hurt herself protecting Abby at the last game. With her dominant hand unusable, there’s a lot she can’t do. Like lift and open her suitcase, for example. Since I happened to be across the hall from her, I was just helping.”
“Oh yeah, and what did she need this morning?” he asks. The tone of the question implies that he doesn’t believe that whatever’s going on is platonic. Which is fair, since from my perspective, anyway, it’s not.
“She couldn’t get the ironing board set up with one hand.” This feels like a realistic reason she’d need someone with two functioning hands to help her, and it’s a small lie that I can keep track of.
“Who uses a fucking iron these days?” Walsh asks with a laugh.
“You’ve seen her, right? I assume that’s why her suits look that crisp even on the road.”
“I can’t even imagine seeing her not looking all buttoned up,” Walsh says. Until a few days ago, neither could I.
She’s such a rock-solid figure in this organization. But I’m learning that her tough exterior isn’t all there is to her. Now, I practically live for those moments where she’s casual, relaxed, and more open than I’m used to seeing her.
And then, there was last night. Holding her while she cried after opening up to me about her failed marriage—it broke something in me, too.
If the feeling was just physical attraction, I could deny myself what I want with her like I’ve always done. But now?
Now that I know she’s not just stunning and great with my daughter, but she’s also vulnerable—she’s suffered, loved and lost and, most importantly, is willing to be open with me about it? Whatever lock I was keeping on my feelings has fully broken open.
“Yeah,” I say, the word clipped. “It’s hard to imagine that she doesn’t wake up with her makeup on and her hair done, and wearing a perfectly pressed suit. Maybe she’s human after all.”
Walsh’s laugh is more like an annoyed huff. “Given the way you’ve always treated her, it’s not a huge surprise that you thought she was some sort of professional robot or something.”
I’m about to ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean when I realize that he’s right. I never hid my dislike very well. “Yeah, well, I can admit when I’m wrong.”
Walsh nods as he rises so that he’s standing over me. “Good. Now let’s try to win this game without you rushing off the ice at the end.” He pokes me in the shoulder with his stick and gives me a nod of his chin to indicate he’s just giving me shit. “Okay?”
“Yeah. It’s time we turn this series around.” And when we head back to the locker room after warmups, that’s exactly what I tell my teammates. I say all the things I should have said last time AJ asked me to talk to them. I give them the pep talk they need from their captain instead of the few grumbled words I normally say.
I lead by example, not just in the locker room, but when we take the ice. It’s a textbook-perfect game on my part, and after my hat trick—the one that AJ had said it’d been too long since she’d seen—I look for her in the stands and find her standing right behind the bench like she so often is.
She’s not celebrating like she was when I scored in the last game. Instead, she’s narrowing her eyes on me, like she’s trying to figure out why I’m on fire tonight.
I raise both eyebrows at her and think: Maybe I just found my good luck charm.