Chapter 12
Grant
My eyes open three minutes before my alarm is scheduled to go off. I was two minutes early yesterday, and four minutes the day before. I haven’t actually needed an alarm clock to wake me up since I was in high school, but I still set it just in case.
I push myself up out of bed and pull on a t-shirt and shorts, my muscle memory guiding me through these first parts of my morning routine when my eyes are still heavy and I’d rather be right back under the covers.
I’ve never really been a morning person, but I wake up early because that’s what the schedule says to do. The schedule that’s been tailored to my body, my exercise needs, my caloric intake for years until it’s become a perfectly regimented fact of life.
This schedule, this routine makes me better on the ice. That’s why I follow it without questioning or complaining, even when I’d rather be doing something else.
By the time I get to the bathroom scale to weigh myself, my eyes are finally open enough to see the numbers.
Almost exactly the same as yesterday. Right where I need to be.
The blood pressure cuff is next. One-twelve over seventy-two. Perfect.
Meal prep is next, and it’s as precise as everything else in my life. Breakfast is usually a protein shake, and I’ve let myself become spoiled with a chef who comes in once a week to make my dinners, but lunch is still my responsibility.
Keeping that prep for myself lets me feel like I’m maintaining control over my diet, even if it’s mostly a symbolic thing these days.
I line up seven identical glass containers on the counter, then portion the lean protein to the gram. Complex carbs get measured to the ounce, and vegetables are chopped with mathematical precision.
Except this morning.
My hands aren’t as steady as they should be as I reach for the cutting board and knife.
That simple fact should be enough to set off warning bells in my head, but I stick to the routine and start slicing the bell peppers—red, orange, green, and yellow—until the colors start to blur and my mind drifts somewhere it has no business going.
Back to last night and the way she looked in that bathtub, with the bubbles covering her body but still hinting at every curve. Then there was the way her lips felt against mine, the way she reached out for me and the soft, needy sound she made when I kissed her.
Fuck, I’m hard right now just thinking about it.
I’ve kissed plenty of women before, but this was different from all those past kisses. This was—
The blade slips and bites into my thumb, stinging like hell and bringing me out of my Heather-induced daydream.
“Dammit.” I hiss the word through gritted teeth as the knife clatters to the cutting board.
I hurry over to the sink so I don’t bleed all over the counter, still cursing myself for letting my focus slip. The cut is deeper than I’d like, but probably not bad enough to need stitches.
It’s exactly the kind of careless, thoughtless mistake that I try to avoid with my strict routine. Then again, my routine was never meant to compete with the kind of thing that happened last night.
I’ve trained myself to track a hundred-mile-per-hour puck without blinking, but thinking about Heather has me bleeding like a stuck pig.
“Grant?” Heather still sounds half-asleep as she comes around the corner, squinting against the bright kitchen lights. “Are you okay? I thought I heard you—oh my god, you’re bleeding.”
She’s next to me in an instant, still wearing her pajamas—a loose t-shirt and shorts that barely peek out under the hem of her nightshirt. Her hair is still sort of wild from sleep, and she smells exactly like the floral, fragrant bath I drew for her last night.
Which, it has to be said, is probably redirecting the blood flow from my thumb to another inconvenient area.
“It’s nothing,” I start to say, but she’s already taking charge, studying my thumb like she does this for a living.
“Where is your first aid kit? This needs to be cleaned and bandaged.”
I nod toward the small half-bath just off the kitchen. “Just in there, under the sink.”
She’s already moving before I can finish speaking, and I’m actually a little surprised by the way she’s taken control of the situation. Most people would hesitate or ask if I need help before jumping in, but not Heather.
Within seconds, she’s back with the white plastic box that holds my first aid kit.
“Have a seat.” She leads me to the nearest barstool. “And try to keep your hand elevated.”
I do as I’m told, silently watching as she lays out antiseptic, gauze, and medical tape on the counter. There’s no doubt she’s done this all before. Probably a hundred times with April.
“This might sting.” She gently takes my hand in both of hers. “But only for a minute or two.”
The antiseptic does sting a little, but I’m more focused on the warmth of her hands on mine, and the way she nibbles at her lower lip in concentration.
She starts humming something, maybe a nursery rhyme or song that she sings to April when these things happen—but I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it.
Which makes it a hell of a lot sexier than it should be.
“It’s not as deep as I first thought,” she says once she’s finished wrapping the gauze around my thumb. “You should pull through just fine.”
It takes me a second to pick up on the hint of sarcasm, and it catches me off-guard enough that I’m smiling before I can school my features back to normal.
“Good to know.” I try to match her semi-playful tone, but I’m pretty sure that’s a fail. “I have a game on Thursday.”
Yeah, that definitely came out rougher than I intended. Which sucks, because we’re already so close that she has to look up to meet my gaze. Close enough that if I lean down just a few inches, I can taste those beautiful, perfect lips again.
But the moment passes and she looks away, focused again on making sure my bandage is secure.
“There.” Her hand lingers for another moment on mine before she releases it. “All better.”
When she looks up again, she’s biting her bottom lip—exactly the same way she was doing last night—and the memory combined with her lingering closeness sends a jolt of searing heat through my body that starts somewhere deep in my chest and ends in the pit of my stomach.
“Thank you,” she says even though I’m the one who should be thanking her.
“For last night, I mean. The leftovers, the way you cleaned up after us, and the way you fixed April’s shirt.
” She pauses, and I can see a flush rising in her cheeks.
“And especially for the bath. That was so unbelievably thoughtful.”
“It wasn’t a problem.”
I don’t know why my first impulse is to deflect her obviously genuine praise and thanks, but I do. And I instantly feel like a jackass when I see her expression harden just a little in response.
“I should apologize,” she says as the color in her cheeks deepens. “For kissing you like that.”
This isn’t what I want. The last thing I need right now is an apology for something that didn’t feel wrong. That still doesn’t feel wrong.
“Heather, wait.”
“No, I need to say this.” She looks down at her fidgeting hands, probably too embarrassed to keep up the eye contact. “I feel a little pathetic, honestly. I’m just not used to having someone take care of me like that. I guess I got swept up in the moment and I wasn’t thinking.”
I need to say something, anything to make her feel better. I’m useless when it comes to shit like this.
“It wasn’t just you. I wasn’t thinking, either.”
The part I don’t say out loud is that I’m not sorry. I won’t take that moment back or pretend to regret it, not even for a second.
“Right. Exactly.” She nods. “It shouldn’t have happened. You’ve already done so much for me and April, and I didn’t mean to make things weird or cross a line.”
I should tell her how I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss since it happened. It felt so damn right even though it probably shouldn’t have.
But I don’t know how to say those things without making everything more complicated than it already is.
Instead, I clear my throat and say, “It’s fine.”
Her entire body seems to slump a little, but only for a split second. So fast that I would’ve missed the tiny flicker of disappointment if I hadn’t been looking directly at her.
“Okay,” she says. “Great. So we’ll just pretend last night never happened?”
This feels all wrong even though the rational part of my brain—the part that loves schedules and routines and predictability—is telling me that’s exactly what we should do.
“Right.” I speak slowly, as if the word is being dragged out of me. “Let’s… pretend it never happened.”
“We’re good, then?”
I nod. “We’re good.”
The sound of a familiar whistled tune makes me instinctively take a step back, and Heather nearly jumps out of her skin as Colin rounds the corner into the kitchen.
I’ve been so caught up in our awkward conversation and my internal back and forth that I must have missed the front door opening and closing. Judging by the startled look on Heather’s face, she completely missed it too.
“Hey, there,” he says, his eyes bouncing back and forth between us. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Not at all.” I shake my head, knowing he can see right through the lie. “We were just, uh…”
“Talking,” Heather offers, covering my ass. “While I bandaged Grant’s thumb.”
“Right. That’s what we were doing.”
I’ve never wanted to be good at lying, but damn. Maybe being able to tell a little fib here and there without feeling mortified and self-conscious wouldn’t be the worst skill to have.
The worst part is, her explanation was technically the truth. We were talking while she bandaged my thumb. It’s just the parts she left out that are making me feel guilty.
Regardless, there’s not much more we can say with Colin here, so I go back to my meal prep while Heather starts her own morning routine.
A few minutes later, footsteps are thundering down the stairs and the kitchen fills with April’s infectiously chaotic energy.
Now we’re back to the kind of morning I was anticipating. The easy, stress-free rhythm of April eating breakfast and Heather’s gentle reminders about brushing her teeth and finding her backpack.
By the time I’ve finished organizing my weekly meals, it’s time for Heather and April to leave.
“You have your lunch in your backpack, right?” Heather asks.
“Yeah, it’s right here. And I remembered my library book this time too.”
“Good job.” She presses a kiss to the top of April’s head. “Ready to conquer another day at school?”
April grins. “I’m ready to conquer the world!”
I look down to hide my own smile as they grab their things and head for the door, calling out their goodbyes along the way.
Only after they’re gone does Colin come back into the kitchen to fix me with another one of his knowing looks.
“It seems like you’re getting along pretty well with your house guests.”
There’s no mistaking the loaded implications in his tone, but I do my best to play dumb.
“We get along fine.”
“Just fine?”
Nope, still not taking the bait. The only answer I give this time is a grunt as I head for the stairs so I can get dressed for practice.
But now his teasing has me thinking again about my conversation with Heather, which of course circles right back around to what happened between us last night.
I wish I’d kissed her longer. Or that she would’ve invited me into the bathtub with her, even though that would’ve probably taken this morning’s awkwardness to a whole other level.
Still, the thought makes my cock twitch, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it besides mutter under my breath as I stomp up the stairs.
An hour later, I’m walking into the practice facility when my phone buzzes with a text. I check the screen and see Heather’s name, and damn if my heart doesn’t start beating a little faster.
There’s a photo with the message. It’s April’s safari shirt from the zoo, with the small hole I mended barely visible thanks to my admittedly amateur sewing skills.
HEATHER: Thank you again for taking care of this! It looks perfect! April was so excited this morning when she saw it.
I know better than to show even an ounce of emotion out in public, and that goes double while I’m at practice, but here I am smiling at her message before I can think to stop myself.
“Well, look at that.” Reese is a few feet away, but closes the distance to fall into step alongside me. “Someone has Grant Parker grinning from ear to ear. I’d better alert the media.”
I grunt and shove my phone back into my pocket. “You’d better be ready to work your ass off at practice today.”
“Oh come on, man.” He bumps me with his shoulder as I open the locker room door. “You’re not gonna tell me what that was about? Not even a hint?”
“It was nothing. Drop it.” I push past him and make a beeline for my locker.
But as I start changing into my practice gear, I pull my phone out again. Carefully this time, and as nonchalantly as possible.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard for a few seconds as I try to figure out how to reply. I need to acknowledge her thanks without sounding cheesy. I need to keep things friendly, but not too friendly.
ME: I’m glad it worked. Tell April good luck on her quiz today.
No, that’s too much. I delete it and start over.
ME: No problem.
Too brief. I tap the screen to delete that too.
ME: I’m glad I could help.
I stare at those five words for a full twenty seconds before I finally hit send.
Damn, I suck at this.