Chapter 12 #2
“Not the best feeling, no,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “My agent’s not too happy with me either. And don’t even get me started on Harry.”
“So you’re in a lot of trouble?” I ask, knowing the answer. Harry Matlock is very strict when it comes to the image of his team. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that Declan has been damaging that image…on and off the ice.
He grimaces. “Major trouble.”
“Well, maybe you deserve it. I mean you did hit that guy pretty hard.”
He nods, no excuses. “I did. Harry says Brodin is out for a few games too.”
Grace.
“But you’ll be fine,” I say, this time softer. “You’re a great defenseman and they need you on the ice. They know that, everybody knows that.”
I’m not going to fluff his ego, or lie to him about the horrible state of his circumstances. But I can tell the truth—and the truth is Declan has immense talent and skill. The team is better with him. No one can argue that.
“Was that a compliment?” he asks, and my stomach twists realizing that he might take the simple truth and turn it into something it isn’t. “Ah, thanks Snowflake.”
With a huff, I move to the front door that’s still open. “Was that all?” I ask, gesturing for him to leave.
He gets up from the couch and steps closer. He’s incredibly tall and somehow he’s even bigger now that he's clean and sober and wearing sweatpants.
“Come now, you liked me enough to compliment my game a second ago,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “Doesn’t that warrant a cup of coffee? At least?”
My eyes narrow. What’s your game now, Murphy?
“That was before the idiot made his reappearance," I toss back. The coffee is almost done, the steam and the smell of fresh filtered coffee coming off the machine in the kitchen.
“I’ve heard idiots like coffee too,” he says. “Especially idiots who just want to apologize and say thank you.”
I’m not sure if I should allow him to stay. We’ve never had coffee, just the two of us. Granted, we’ve never been able to be in each other’s company for more than a few minutes without one or both of us slinging a quip in the other’s direction.
“Or maybe I could get a cup of coffee for bringing you back a clean, nice-smelling car?” he tries again.
“My car would’ve been just fine if you hadn’t puked in it in the first place.”
He has the decency to look slightly sorry at least. “True, but if I didn’t throw up in it, would it smell as good as it’s smelling now?”
“Better,” I say with confidence. I sigh, closing the front door. “Fine, you can stay for coffee.”
Making my way to the open plan kitchen, I feel his gaze following me. He takes a seat at the counter while I head to the coffee machine.
“You still haven’t told me where you’re going,” he says, looking into one of the boxes on the counter before reaching in and pulling out my family recipe book.
“A place with a bigger kitchen so you can bake?” He flips through the book, landing on a random recipe.
“Or perhaps make Kroppkakor…” He tries and butchers the word and I can’t help but laugh.
“What in the world is that?” he asks, his voice rough and laced with laughter.
“In English it would be body cakes.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
“Are you willing to stay ten more minutes to find out?” I silently dare him, while taking out two cups from the cupboard.
“Mm, maybe you should make my coffee here where I can see you.”
Turning around, I place the cups and the coffee on the counter in front of him. I’m a bit surprised by how comfortable it suddenly feels.
“What?” I ask, pouring him a cup. “You don’t trust me?”
Heading to the fridge, I take out the cream remembering he took it that way this morning. I add it to his coffee as he watches me carefully…considering.
“I trust you, Snowflake.” His voice is low causing my stomach to unexpectedly dip.
A warm blush creeps up my neck and I clear my throat.
“I have to go back home, so I guess I’ll be making more body cakes than I have in the past year being here.”
“You’re going back home?” he asks, setting down the book where I’ve scrawled down recipes over the years. I’ve got a few in there from my mom and grandmother too.
“Sent back,” I say simply.
“EJ didn’t mention…”
“EJ doesn’t know yet.”
He looks up, tilting his head like he’s trying to figure out what just happened. Well, at least that’s what I think he’s doing, because that’s what I’m doing. I have no idea how I just managed to share something so personal with Declan Murphy.
“Well, I’m sure the next time he comes over, he’ll have some questions. Even someone with a smart mouth like yours couldn’t wrangle an excuse for using cardboard boxes as furniture.”
I shrug, holding the cup of hot coffee between my hands. “I can always tell him I’m donating a few things.”
“Sure,” he says, leaning forward. “Everyone wants to donate a body cake cookbook and half their belongings.”
I let out a soft laugh, taking a sip of my coffee. I have no idea how I’m going to tell EJ and still save face. Maybe I’m not supposed to save face. Which I like even less.
“When do you have to leave?” he asks, his voice quieter. Less teasing.
My gaze meets his, and for the first time since finding out it feels like there’s a real, honest to God chance that I might have to leave.
“Six weeks is all I have,” I say, my breath hitching.
“You don’t want to go,” he says. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the fact that he has now, not once, but twice successfully read what I’m not saying out loud.
Studying him for a second, I try to make out if he’s being sincere. There’s no indication of the contrary. I’ve never seen this side of him. But again, I’ve never been in a position to see it. I’ve always seen him with a woman pasted to his side. Never alone. Never apologizing. Never just…Declan.
“No, I don’t want to go back,” I say, watching as his gaze softens as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“Then why are you going then? Seems stupid to do something you don’t want to do.”
I can’t resist rolling my eyes at him.
“Yes, well, the American government doesn’t really care about how I feel about moving right now.”
“Ah,” he says, a clear smile in his voice. “Well, there are ways to get around that if you’re really desperate to stay.”
Am I desperate to stay? Yes.
Am I willing to do anything to not have to go back and face Axel in six weeks? Yes.
Did the pastor preach on forgiveness, and grace, and letting the hardness in our hearts go?
Also yes.
But as much as I know the right thing would be to follow the road of forgiveness, it’s difficult and complicated.
Instead of facing Axel, I ran away. The entire year I’ve been here, I haven’t really allowed myself to think about what happened, I haven’t allowed myself to even consider what forgiveness might look like.
Because trying to forgive Axel means I have to face my entire relationship.
It means I have to face the decisions I made, the mistakes I made.
I would have to analyze why everything went wrong, why I continued to give myself to a man who was giving himself to different women behind my back.
I would have to start thinking about why God let something like this happen to me.
Was it because I messed up? Because I made the wrong decisions? Was all of this punishment? Or is this all part of some bigger plan, and pain is just part of the process?
I’ve always thought I’m on the right track. I found the guy, we made the commitment and we’re heading into a sure and steady future…and then everything fell apart.
Being that blind…it’s not who I am.
And that scares me.
“Avah?” Declan asks, his hand suddenly on my arm.
His nearness startles me, his sharp eyes studying me carefully.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said,” I say, looking up at him, wondering if I’m reading his slight concern right. “Getting around the whole visa thing.”
“You could marry a stranger off Craigslist. Or I’m sure you’ll be able to bag an old guy off Wallstreet.” His eyes move across my face, my hair, before moving further down. He swallows and frowns. “Someone will definitely pick you up in a few seconds flat.”
I shrug, ignoring his strange compliment and taking another sip of my coffee.
“That’s if I want to marry a stranger to stay in the country.”
“Do you want to stay that bad?”
I consider his question. And the fact that I am, hits me harder than the actual situation I’m in. That I’m this desperate to ignore my past mistakes doesn’t say too much about me.
He starts to laugh. “You’re actually considering it! My, my…not such a Snowflake afterall.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, spinning around to ignore the smug smile on his face.
“Just thought the woman who loves giving me grief for my life choices would never turn around and marry a stranger for a green card. You see where the dots don’t line up, right?”
I turn back just to find him crossing his arms and leaning against the counter like he’s very comfortable in my discomfort.
“You don’t know anything about me, Murphy. You’re the last person to stand there and pretend to know why I make the choices I make.”
A few seconds of silence passes before he answers. “True. Just like you don’t know me or why I make the choices I make. Yet you’ve always felt free to speak your mind.”
I thought he’d be sporting the same baiting expression on his face I saw at Hannah’s wedding. What I didn’t expect was this… a flash of hurt and a disarming smile.
“I guess you’re right,” I concede.
“Never thought I’d hear those words from you.”
“Well, don’t get used to them,” I say teasingly, the need to keep the conversation between us light pulsing through me.
A soft laugh escapes him, almost reluctantly. He tilts his head, watching me longer than feels safe. The air between us shifts, tightens, as I take a slow sip of my coffee. A blush creeps up his neck, betraying him before he clears his throat and fumbles with his coffee.
Something’s happening.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, my voice low and careful.
“Nothing,” he says too quickly, suddenly standing in one fluid motion. “Thanks for the coffee. I have to go. Enjoy your car. Enjoy Sweden.” He frowns as the words tumble from his mouth, uneven.
“Wait.” I grab his wrist without thinking.
Because I need to know what just happened that turned the confident, charming, borderline crazy good at hockey defenseman into a weird lump of…not Declan.
My fingers curl around his wrist, his skin warm beneath my touch, and his gaze shifts to where our hands meet. He swallows, his gaze trained my hand.
When he finally looks up, my gaze locks with his. The look in his eyes causes my stomach to dip, my breath to catch, and I let go.
Before I know it, Declan Murphy is out the door leaving my mind scattered on the floor.