14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
14
As I linger in the lobby, the tick of a clock that exists only in my head grates on my patience.
An hour trickles past, its weight measured in rehearsed apologies and all the right words to be said. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want Rory.
This shit has to work.
And, if it doesn’t, I’m not done yet. There’s no way I’m giving up that easy. This overwhelming pull I have towards her is not something you walk away from. People talk about chemistry, connection, about finding that one person who gets you—it’s all bullshit until you’re standing in it, feeling it. It’s like gravity shifted with Rory, and suddenly, she’s the only ground I want to stand on.
This shit has to work.
The thought is a mantra in my head. Failure isn't an option because every hardship is worth overcoming with her. Rory's gotten into my veins, and just like that muscle in my chest, I want to function without having her in my life.
And, if any of this doesn't work out the way I want it to—I’m not done. There's no way I'm done. When it comes to Rory, what we have 'never done' isn't just about holding on. It's about knowing that some things in life are worth every effort, every setback, and every moment of uncertainty. It's about fighting for what truly matters.
If that leads to the kind of turbulent love that novels are written about, then so be it. I'm ready to turn every page, every chapter because I'll never be finished with Rory.
Finally, the door to the giant hall that she disappeared into opens, and Rory steps out in that black dress that should be illegal to wear in public because she looks ridiculously hot in it.
It's not ostentatious; it doesn't have to be.
It effortlessly captures every curve and angle of her, and a possessive irritation strikes me at the thought of anyone else tonight soaking in her image.
Her hair is a soft cascade of waves, nonchalant yet perfect. It's that understated beauty, the kind that whispers instead of shouts, and damn, it gets me every single fucking time.
Restlessness gnaws at me because, despite everything, there's a real chance Rory won't let me off the hook. I'd climb mountains to win back her favor, but even as I stand, ready to start the ascent, I'm sharply aware she doesn't need me to plant her flag on any peak.
And I’ll wait for however long it takes.
"Hey," I say as she nears, a word too small for the enormity of this moment.
"Hi, Wells." I look at her face, searching for clues about how this will go down.
I can't get a read on her; she's a closed book, her expression a mask of neutrality. It only spikes my unease.
My hand finds the back of my neck- an unconscious gesture as I search for the right words. "I need to apologize for—"
"It's fine," she says, quick, easy, and dismissive as all hell.
I obviously didn’t start on the right foot with her boss in tow, but he put his hands on her.
That’s a fucking no in my book.
She folds her arms, and her posture tells me she's braced for whatever I need to say, and that’ll give her the out she needs.
However, it’s not going to be that easy for her.
“I didn’t do anything with those girls,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t. They were hangin’ out with Cyrus, my buddy on the team, and I went out to dance. They followed. It wasn’t shit else. The media stirred that shit like they always do, and since I’m a playboy in the books, it wasn’t hard to make the story up.”
Rory bows her head, and I’m unsure if it’s in understanding or straight disbelief.
“I’ve fucked up a lot in the past, but I didn’t care. Now I do.”
“Why?” That question comes right after my comment, and I have no problem clarifying more for her. I know what my name is associated with—playboy, heartbreaker, a dude who doesn’t do relationships because they’re too much work.
“Because I’m all in on this,” I reply honestly. “We might not be dating publicly, and I get that. But that doesn’t mean I’m off doing the shit I did before.”
“How do I know that?”
“You don’t,” I say. “And I don’t expect you to wait around and see if I knock some chick up, but that’s not even in the cards for me. If I get anyone knocked up, I’d want it to be—”
“Don’t even manifest that shit, Wells,” she threatens back lightly with narrowed eyes. “We’re not getting pregnant.”
“Well, not now,” I reply, forcing my lips not to take this moment to be a smartass. “I won’t go out if that makes you—”
"I'm not that girl. I'm not here to dictate your life."
But part of me wishes she would, just a little.
"I want you to," I urge her. "If my going out bothers you, say the word. It all stops."
The air between us thickens, charged with silent confessions and shared insecurities. Rory fixes on me with a probing look that demands honesty.
"What do you want?" Her question isn’t about now. It’s vast and open-ended, asking me to lay bare the complications of desire and compromise.
"I want this," I say, motioning between us. "Whatever we're doing, I want to get it right. I want you. And I'm willing to adapt to make that work. I’m willing to do anything.”
Her eyes remain locked on mine, searching, calculating the sincerity of my words. “You don’t know how to date.”
Ouch.
However, she’s not wrong.
I haven’t dated since high school. College girls were too much fun, and I got bored quickly.
Rory is not a sorority girl, nor is she like anyone I’ve ever been with.
Sexually or mentally.
My body wants her. My head won’t let her go. And my heart starts to beat too fast when she’s around.
“I know how not to cheat and that you’d be my number one. That’s all I need to know.” Rory averts her eyes, and I take that moment to step closer. “Let me kiss your ass and make it up to you—anything you want. Make me work for it because I want to. You’re worth it.”
Her light green eyes slice over to me. “I know I’m worth it. The question is, are you?”
I lift my shoulder. “I don’t know the answer to that. Probably not. But I won’t have you regret me. Or anything we’ve done. We’re only getting started, Snowflake.”
Both her brows lift as if not convinced just yet.
“Let me take you to dinner,” I emit softly. “I know you’re hungry.”
“I’m tired.”
“Then let me put you to bed.”
Her eyes narrow. “Wells….”
Her voice is a warning, but I don’t heed those often. They’re more like suggestions than anything.
“Yeah?” I ask innocently. “I’ll get you room service while you’re—”
“The room doesn’t have room service.”
I balk at her as if that’s the most appalling thing I’ve ever heard. “No room service? Shit…” I shake my head. “Doordash, then.”
“Wells—”
“Unless you need space.” I step closer, using my sex appeal to sway her because I can’t leave now.
I don’t want to leave now.
I need her to give me something—anything to tell me that she’s thinking about us. That she wants us to work.
I’ve never been so fucking desperate in all my life for her to give me a breadcrumb on where we’re at.
“Just promise you’ll call me in the morning,” I hedge, watching her chin lift the closer I get. “I need to know what you’re thinking. I need to know if you want this. If you want us and everything we’ve been building because that’s what we’ve been doing, baby. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care about or want you.”
“Is that because I’m the daughter of the head coach of—”
“Don’t,” I clip out, frowning at her because I’ll allow a lot of shit, but not that. “We’re not going there. Ever. I don’t need the extra press. Who your father is has nothing to do with how I feel about you. It’s just an added obstacle I’ll jump over a million times for you.”
“He’s never going to accept you.”
“He hasn’t met me yet. I’m fucking awesome.”
“Yes, he—”
“Actually, no, he hasn’t. Surprisingly, I’ve never had any weird altercations with Coach Sellers. I don’t mess with the staff. They can’t skate on the ice and knock me out if I run my mouth, so it seems unfair.”
A chuckle rumbles from Rory then, and I’m not sure if it’s because she thought it was funny, but it’s true. I’m not about to fuck with a defenseless older man.
"Wells, even if we went back to my hotel room, that doesn’t change anything in there.” She nods toward the door of the hall. “It might be best that we...”
“Are you cutting me out? Is this it?” She averts her gaze, and I see hesitation in those beautiful green eyes. She’s dealing with a civil war in her head, which means she feels something for me, and I’ll take it. “I know what I signed up for, Snowflake. However, if you don’t want to go through with it anymore, say the word, and I’ll respect the hell out of your decision. I won’t like it, but I’ll do it.”
“Maybe it’s best,” she deadpans, and my heart falls at those words.
I never thought that going out one night to a bar with the intent to beat the shit out of Charles Gagnon was going to cost me more than any consequence I’ve ever received on or off the ice. This is karma at its best. For every woman I may have hurt emotionally and every game I’ve played off the ice, this is it.
The shit hurts, and it’s real.
“Alright,” I manage to get out, feeling my stomach twist and turn uncomfortably. “If that’s what you want—”
“But I was never one to make the best decisions,” she tacks on, lifting her green eyes to me. And at that moment, my heart jumps into my throat. “You can come to my hotel room. And I want several orders of all sorts of food, Judson Wells, not just one.” I open my mouth to agree when she continues wholeheartedly with, “And we’re not fucking, Killer. I like the idea of you kissing my ass for the next several days.”
“Done,” I blurt out, reaching for her hip, but I stop there. Many people are coming out of the hall, and someone could notice me, despite the hat. “Let’s get out of here.”
Game back on, Snowflake.