Chapter Ten Odette #2
He gives me an unconvinced look, which I don’t blame him for one bit.
We’ve lost power for less, that’s for sure.
With the way these winds are already whipping and the fact that the worst of it hasn’t even come through yet, I’d say we’ll definitely be kicking it old school with candles and firelight tonight.
Especially if that low thunder I hear actually turns into something.
Thunderstorms are rare here—we lack sufficient humidity—but when they happen, they cause significant damage because people are unprepared.
“Were you really just fighting with a duck?” I ask, nodding toward Larry, who is staring up at us like she’s watching Mom and Dad argue.
“Yes. She was being a brat.”
I don’t even bother trying to hide my smile. “Whatever you say.”
He narrows his eyes. “Come on. I could use your help with the goats.”
He leads us to their pen, Larry trailing behind us the entire way.
We work together to lock goats into their pen, then secure anything loose and keep the animals calm as the sky gets darker and darker, fighting the wind the whole time.
“Think this is going to hold?” I ask over a big gust.
The coop—which Noah planned to redo anyway—is struggling against the windstorm already. It’ll be a miracle if it makes it through the night.
“It’s all we can do on such short notice,” he yells back. “Come on. Let’s head inside. I felt a raindrop.”
The second we step through Stick Taps’ doors, the sky opens, and water pours from the clouds.
It’s heavy and relentless, with more rain than we’ve seen in some time. Despite what most people think about the Pacific Northwest, the summer tends to be sunny and dry. We haven’t been hit like this in a while.
“Jesus.” I stare out the door as the sky brightens with lightning. “I really don’t want to drive in this,” I mumble.
“Good, because you’re not going to.” He stomps toward the bar, and I’m stunned by the finality in his words, almost like he would physically stop me from leaving if he had to.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he grabs a glass and sticks it under the Neutral Zone tap.
“Cartwheels. What the hell does it look like I’m doing? Getting us drinks.”
I don’t argue. Instead, I move to the bar, slipping onto a stool as he slides the cider toward me.
He pours himself a pint of Glove Save, then crosses one leg over the other and rests his back against the counter.
Just as I take a sip, the power goes out, and we’re bathed in darkness.
I let out an involuntary squeak, and Noah laughs.
“Give it a sec,” he says. “The generator will kick on.”
As promised, the lights come back on within a few seconds.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and he doesn’t miss it.
“You okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, just always feels so weird when the power goes out, you know? Eerily quiet.”
“I know what you mean. I can’t sleep for shit when it happens. Need some sort of sound. I used to bring a mini fan on the road for games. The noise always helped me sleep in those unfamiliar hotel beds.”
“I don’t know how you did that for so long. My bed is my best friend. I could never give it up so willingly.”
“It’s the only thing I hated about being on the road. I loved everything else. Exploring new cities and trying new food and drinks. Finding those little pockets of what made the city the city, ya know?”
He talks about it like he misses it.
“That sounds nice,” I say. “I haven’t been to very many places outside of Washington. Even when we didn’t live in Port Harbor, we were still in the state. Anaheim is really the only place I’ve been for . . .” I trail off. He knows why I went to Anaheim.
For him.
“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?” he asks.
“Hockey. Do you miss it?”
He takes a long, slow drink of cider before answering, almost like he needs liquid courage.
Finally, he looks at me, his brown eyes sadder than I’ve ever seen. “Every fucking day.”
It comes out a whisper as if he’s afraid to say it too loudly.
“I’m sorry, Noah.”
I don’t know what else to say besides that. I can’t imagine giving up something I love so much. It’s why I’m working so damn hard to save my business.
He shrugs. “It’s fine. I mean, I had to hang my skates up at some point, yeah?” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but we both know it was. Is. “Besides, I’ve got plans to keep the game in my life.”
Oh? I haven’t heard him talk about that before.
“What kind of plans?” I ask.
“Ezra and I want to help train the next generation. We’ve, uh, we’ve been looking at building a rink.
Somewhere safe to skate. Somewhere they can learn without having to drive into the city like I always had to.
We both know how expensive hockey is to play, so we want to offer something for kids who are interested in playing but whose families can’t afford it.
We potentially found a place, but nothing final yet. ”
It’s not what I expected from him or Ezra. They’re both so . . . closed off. Some might even say cantankerous. I never thought they’d care so much to help the kids like that.
I smile, imagining Noah and Ezra out on the ice with little kids, trying not to curse or get frustrated by their parents.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just picturing it.”
“Me playing hockey? You’ve seen it plenty of times before.”
“No. I mean, you bossing the little kiddos around.”
“I’m a great boss.”
I snort out a laugh. “You’re something.”
“Hey, I was captain of an entire team for ten years. I know how to command a room.”
“Sure you do, boss.”
His eyes darken at the name, and I swear he’s about to yell at me, but another loud clap of thunder has the bar shaking.
I jump.
I look at Noah, expecting him to have a comment or two about me being scared, but he doesn’t. All I see is understanding.
“I hate storms,” he says, and I wonder briefly if he’s just saying it to make me feel better. Even if he is, I don’t care. It’s exactly what I need. “Especially at night when I’m . . .”
Alone.
He doesn’t have to finish that. I understand it all too well.
Silence falls between us. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. Still, I feel the need to fill it.
“Wonder how long the power will be out,” I comment.
“Last I checked, the storm was expected to last until eleven at least. I’m sure we’ll be low on the priority list for restoration. Why? In a hurry to get out of here?”
“No,” I say honestly. Much like Noah, the last thing I want to do is go home and sit in my apartment alone while the storm rages on around me. I like the comfort of having someone else around too much. “I just need to text Izzy, make sure she can check on Beans while— Oh my god!”
“What? What’s wrong? What happened?” Noah shoves off the counter, on full alert, as I hop off my stool and race toward the door.
“Pork!” I yell behind me. “We forgot Pork!”
Then I push through the front doors of Stick Taps and step into the storm.
Wind and rain pelt me, and I’m instantly soaked. I don’t care, though. I care only about getting to the barn to grab the kitten, who is probably scared, uncertain, and desperate for warmth. It’s freezing out here.
I can’t believe we forgot about him. I can’t believe we abandoned him.
My feet feel heavy as I sprint to the barn, and I know it’s because the ground is waterlogged, and the parking lot already is one big mud pit.
When I finally reach the barn, I skid to a halt, my feet slipping in the wetness, and I fall to one knee.
It doesn’t matter, though. I pull myself up and wrench open the door. I hear the kitten as soon as I step through.
I run to the box I left him in earlier, and tears spring to my eyes at the sight.
He’s wrapped in the towel, his little face wet from falling into his food, probably. He looks so sad and so helpless. My heart hurts.
I scoop him up, holding him to my chest as he shakes in my arms.
“Oh, little guy. I am so, so sorry. We didn’t mean to forget you. We just got distracted by everything else going on. But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
I run my finger over his head, rocking him like a baby, praying he’ll forgive me for leaving him out here all by himself.
“Odette! Odette!”
I hear Noah before I see him.
The doors are slung open, and he comes pounding into the barn, rain falling off every inch of him. His brows are pulled in tight as he scans the space, and they drop even lower when his eyes land on me.
“What the fuck, Odette?” he roars at me, stomping my way.
“The cat. We forgot about the cat.”
His features soften as he takes it in. “Shit. We did, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, passing the kitten off to him. “I feel so bad.”
He runs his finger over its head, and it’s the most affection I’ve seen him give the creature. “Poor fella.”
He holds it for a few moments, being softer and gentler than I’ve ever witnessed, before setting the little guy back into the box.
Then he doesn’t look soft and gentle at all.
No. He’s scowling at me.
He’s mad. Really mad.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he says through clenched teeth, taking a step toward me.
“The cat. I—”
“I don’t fucking care. You don’t just run out like that in the middle of a storm. It’s raining its balls off. There’s lightning. It’s dark as hell out here. You could have gotten hurt.” His eyes trail down to the mud covering one of my legs. “You did.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, even though I can feel a scrape hidden under the mud. I’m sure if I were to wipe it away, I’d find blood. “I was worried about the cat.”
“Yeah?” He takes another step closer. So close I have to tip my head back to even look at him. “Well, I’m worried about you.”
“What? Why?” Then it hits me. “Oh, right. Because I’m like a sister to you.”
“That’s not— I—” He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head once before opening them again, his gaze piercing right through me. “Odette, I— I didn’t—”
“Mean it? Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you? You see me as a little kid still and nothing more. You—”
“Lied!” he shouts. “I fucking lied, okay?”
His words stun me. They completely take me by surprise.
He . . . lied? He doesn’t view me as a sister? Then what does he see me as? A friend? Or . . . more?
Does that mean . . . was he really going to kiss me in his parents’ kitchen?
“I lied, Odette,” he says softer this time. “I lied, and I’m tired of lying. I’m tired of pretending. I’m just . . .”
But he doesn’t finish his sentence. He just lets the words hang between us. Words I have no idea what to do with.
The storm rages around us, the wind lashing against the old barn, thunder shaking the fragile building, and the sky brightening with each lightning strike.
My heart beats wildly right along with it.
Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
Noah looks like he’s wrestling with something. What, I don’t know. But his oak eyes are troubled, his breaths coming faster and faster by the second.
“What?” I ask. “You’re just what?”
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “I’m . . .”
“Yes?”
Then he steps closer, and any distance between us is gone as he slips his hand behind my neck. His touch is warm, softer than I expected from him.
He stares at my lips.
“Noah . . . what are you doing?” My words are a mere whisper. Barely even audible.
Slowly, he drags his eyes to mine and says, “I’m saying fuck it.”
Then Noah Stevens kisses me.