Chapter 15
DECLAN
“It’s high time, Sweetheart.”
“You know I always come around,” I say, pulling Aunt Kat into a hug. She smells like lavender and the faint floral perfume she’s worn since I was a kid. She squeezes extra hard before she leans back, still gripping my arms.
“Let me take a good look at you,” she says, her gaze sweeping over me. I don’t miss the moment it pauses on my eyes, knowing she can see the dark circles beneath them. Not to mention the bandage above my eye. “You need to sleep my boy.”
“I need a lot more than sleep, Aunt Kat.” I pull out her chair before taking my own.
The coffee shop smells like dark roast and pastries. The faint hissing of the coffee machines in the background fill the space along with soft chatter of the rest of the patrons. The waiter brings us each a menu and I take the time to hide behind it until she’s settled and hopefully distracted.
“So what brings you to town?” I ask, ordering a double espresso while my Aunt orders tea and lemon meringue pie. “When I called to check in, I didn’t expect you’d be in New York.”
I’ve been ignoring her calls for long enough. I needed to touch base, to get back to the people who care about me. When I called her, I figured we’d have a five minute phone call, enough for me to set her at ease about me. Instead, she was in town already.
“It wasn’t the plan,” she says, her eyes crinkling with a soft smile. “I’ve been waiting for months for this art exhibit. Booked the tickets ages ago. I knew you’d be playing and training, so I didn’t expect to be able to sit down with you. Guess God works in strange ways, huh?”
I nod, my hand covering my mouth as I watch her. She’s always been comfortable talking about her faith, and I never thought too much about it. But now it’s like a tug in my chest. Everyone is going to church, talking about God, praying…except me.
What am I missing?
How’s God working in everyone’s life except my own?
“Have you heard from Dad?” I ask, knowing that it’s the one thing that her faith can’t fix.
Her smile dims. “Not in a while,” she says, accepting the steaming teapot from the waiter. “You?”
“Sure.” I take a sip of my scalding hot espresso. “Not that I pick up to hear what he has to say.”
She sighs, pouring herself a cup of tea and stirring in a bit of honey.
“Declan, you have to learn how to forgive your dad for his shortcomings.”
I scoff and look away.
“Would you not want to be forgiven of yours?” she asks, her gaze firm and steady. “I’ve seen the news. I’ve seen the things you’re struggling with. Don’t think your dad fell face first into the hole he’s living in now. He slowly dug that thing, bit by bit over the years.”
Her words hit hard. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. But somehow with every drink I take, I’m even more mad at my dad. I blame him for my own tendency to run to a bottle when things get a bit hard.
“I don’t want to see you heading down the same path, Sweetheart. And as much as you might think your anger toward him is keeping you safe from becoming him…it’s actually a shovel. The enemy is handing you the very tool to dig yourself that same hole.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “I just remembered why I don’t answer your calls when I’m in trouble.”
“I also know you call back when you’re ready to face the truth.”
She’s right to call me out on it. There’s truth to her words, truth I need to hear. I might not like it, I might not agree with it…but my feelings on the matter won’t shift what simply is.
I huff out a laugh and lean back. “Speaking of truth…I’m getting married.”
Her teacup stops halfway to her lips. “Married?”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my tone light but steady. I’d have to practice to keep a straight face anyway. From now on this is going to be the story I tell people. “Things happened fast, but she’s…someone I want in my life.”
Aunt Kat blinks, and then a slow smile spreads across her face.
“What?” I ask her, taking another sip of my espresso.
She takes a bite of her pie, holding her finger up until she finishes.
The cream pearls on her grey sweater gleam in the light of the coffee shop, her floral scarf wrapped around her neck in the same way it’s always been.
Aunt Kat has always been constant, and somehow telling her about my marriage with Avah makes it more real than when I told Brady about it.
“I’m glad you found someone,” she says finally, shrugging. “What’s her name?”
“Avah,” I say, her name suddenly feeling strange coming from my mouth. “Avah Johansson.”
Aunt Kat nods, her gaze sweeping over me once more. “When are you getting married?”
I look at her, wondering how much I should say. I don’t want her to be more worried about me than she already is.
“Tomorrow.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “Tomorrow?”
“It’s small,” I add quickly. “Just at the courthouse. I don’t want any more drama in my life. I just want to get settled and focus on my hockey career.”
The excuse spills from me and when it’s out, it feels more true than I thought it would be.
Sure this is another temporary agreement, but two years is better than a few months.
And this would be with someone I know…someone who wants just as little out of this as I do.
Nothing but a transactional two years—it’s perfect.
She takes a slow sip of her tea. “That’s good news, Sweetheart.”
“Yeah?” I ask, realizing I want her to approve of this decision I’m making, even if she doesn’t know the whole truth behind my reasoning.
“Absolutely. Settling down is always good. Especially with a good woman, who knows you and who’ll stand by you through everything. And since she’s marrying you even with everything going on,” she says, tilting her head and studying me a beat too long. “I’d say she’s got her head on straight.”
Something about her tone pulls up a quick image of Avah—the stubborn lift of her chin when she doesn’t back down, the way her eyes flash when she’s irritated with me. It’s gone as fast as it comes, but Aunt Kat catches it.
“You’re smiling,” she says, quietly.
“I’m not.” I frown for good measure.
She laughs softly, the sound warm enough to cut through the cold knot in my chest.
“Just remember…” Her voice softens as she reaches across the table, her fingers closing gently over mine. “You also need to get settled in your soul.”
I nod, though the words land heavier than I let on.
“But,” She gives my hand a squeeze before letting go. “I have a feeling God is already at work in your life.”
* * *
“This place is next level,” I say, pulling out Avah’s chair as we arrive at our table at Cinzano’s.
“It’s the best in town,” Avah says, smoothing the skirt of her black dress as she sits. It flares at her knees, the movement catching my eye. I hang my jacket over the back of my chair and roll up my sleeves, needing the extra air.
She arches a brow as she follows the movement carefully. “Are you preparing to butcher your own entrée?”
“Not everyone loves being in a suit,” I say, stretching my arms. “I need space to breathe.”
Especially with her sitting across from me, looking like trouble I’d willingly run toward.
Since I picked her up, I’ve struggled to keep my eyes off her.
She looks like she stepped off a Nordic runway, all calm poise and icy perfection, and we’re here tonight to lay the groundwork for our agreement.
All while looking like we’re convincingly in love.
Which would’ve been easier if she didn’t write a contract and underlined the words no intimacy almost fifty thousand times.
“How did you manage to get a table?” I ask, letting my gaze roam over the low-hanging warm lights, the polished wood finishes and dark feel, with waiters who look like they’ve stepped straight out of Casablanca.
“It was a pity present from my boss when she reminded me that I’m about to be deported,” Avah says, shifting in her seat before taking a sip of the water in front of her.
“She must really be sorry to lose me, because today I was told to take my last week as a farewell present and ‘really soak in the city’.”
I don’t miss the bite in her words.
“You actually like your job,” I state, mentally making a note that she’s possibly doing this for career reasons. It’s refreshing. I’ve never dated a woman who held her career in high regard. “What is it exactly you do?”
“I’m a junior editor and I loved my job,” she says with a sigh. “And now I won’t be able to get another one until all of the paperwork is figured out.”
The waiter comes and hands us our menus before relaying the chef’s specials—which sounds more like something out of Shakespeare than food.
“Bring us a bottle of champagne,” I tell the waiter when he asks what we’d like to drink. If the press takes photos, it’ll look like we’re a couple celebrating, and that’s exactly what Brady wants.
“Make it non-alcoholic please,” Avah adds without looking at me.
The waiter nods and retreats. Avah finally lifts her gaze to me.
“If we’re going to do this, we might as well start with your other…PR problems.”
I smirk. “So tonight we’re working on women and booze. Great.”
She doesn’t even flinch as she picks up her menu and starts perusing the options.
“What else did you think your agent meant by getting a woman who’s marriage material? When you find the one you want to spend your life with, you have no need to keep yourself sedated or…occuppied.”
I set my menu down. Her words stir frustration as they settle.
“It’s very early in the evening for you to start slinging insults, Snowflake. We’re supposed to act like we’re in love, not shoving each other off a cliff.”
The waiter returns with our champagne, pouring while we keep our eyes locked across the table. The tension hums between us, practically thick enough to cut with the butter knife beside my plate.
The waiter finally leaves and we both lean forward.