Chapter 3
Ryder
I wake up to snow falling past my window and the house quiet around me.
The clock says six-fifteen. Too early, but my body gave up on sleep around four. Too many thoughts. Too much awareness of Lucy in the room down the hall.
My shoulder aches when I roll out of bed. Six weeks minimum before contact practice. Three weeks down. Three to go.
Three weeks with Lucy before I have to leave.
I pull on sweatpants and a henley and head downstairs. Connor sits at the table with Maisie, building a tower out of her breakfast cereal. Jim reads the paper at the counter.
No Lucy yet.
Footsteps on the stairs. My pulse kicks up.
Lucy walks in wearing dark jeans and a cream sweater. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulders.
Our eyes meet. Hold. Her cheeks flush pink.
"Morning," she says, breathless.
"Morning." Mine comes out rough.
Connor glances between us, but Maisie launches into an explanation of her cereal tower and the moment passes.
Lucy slides into the chair across from mine. I can feel the closeness of her knees to mine.
Emma breezes in and gives Lucy a look that says they'll be talking later.
Lucy's blush deepens.
Breakfast is torture. Every time Lucy moves, I'm aware of it. When she reaches for the jam, her sweater pulls tight across her breasts. When she tucks hair behind her ear, I track the movement. When she licks jam from her thumb, I have to look away.
"Blackwood, you with us?" Connor waves a hand in front of my face.
I blink. "What?"
"I asked if you want more coffee."
"I'm good."
Connor drains his mug. "All right, Maisie. Ready to build that snowman?"
"You in, Blackwood?" Connor asks.
Lucy is watching me with those hazel eyes, and I can't seem to form the word no.
"Yeah. I'm in."
The snow outside packs perfect. Connor works on the base while I handle the middle section. Maisie throws snow in the air and catches it on her tongue.
"Remember that fort? Eighth grade?" Connor asks.
I do. Three days of work. Snow bricks shaped with buckets. His mom brought us hot chocolate every hour.
"Your mom was convinced we'd get frostbite."
"She was probably right." Connor's voice goes soft. "But she never stopped us."
Martha. Warm and patient and the closest thing to a mother I had after mine died.
"She was the best," I say.
We hoist the middle ball onto the base. My shoulder screams, but I don't let it show.
I glance at the house. Lucy stands at the kitchen window watching us. Even from this distance, I can see her soft smile.
She lifts her hand in a small wave.
I wave back.
Then Emma appears beside her. Says something. Lucy's head whips around. Her cheeks go red.
Emma laughs. Lucy swats at her arm.
"Earth to Ryder." Connor's voice pulls me back. "You gonna help with this head or just stare at the house?"
By the time we finish, Maisie declares it the best snowman in the history of snowmen. Connor takes a dozen photos, then glances at his watch.
“Hey, Lucy's helping me at the Christmas market this afternoon. You should come. Two o'clock?”
I should say no. Should find an excuse.
Connor's words from yesterday echo in my head. She deserves someone who can be here. Someone stable who can give her everything she wants.
'Yeah,' I hear myself say. “I'll be there.”
***
The Christmas market is chaos. Main Street is blocked off for vendors. White tents line both sides. The air smells like roasted chestnuts and mulled cider.
I find Lucy's booth near the town square. She's talking to an older woman, her smile bright.
Then she sees me.
The smile changes. Heats.
"Mrs. Henderson, this is Ryder Blackwood."
Mrs. Henderson's eyes light up. "The hockey player! My grandson is a big fan."
Lucy packages books while Mrs. Henderson talks. I sign a napkin when she asks. But I'm tracking Lucy's movements. The sway of her hips. The way she bites her lip when she concentrates.
Between customers, she catches my eye. "You didn't have to come."
"Connor asked me to help."
"But I know you hate crowds."
A man approaches. Mid-thirties, gym build, expensive jacket. He zeroes in on me.
"Holy shit. Ryder Blackwood?"
I tense. "That's me."
"Dude, I'm a huge fan. Can I get a picture?"
"Sure."
He positions himself next to me. Takes three selfies. Then he leans in, voice dropping.
"So what really happened with Sienna? The stuff she's saying online, is any of that true? Because man, she's making you look like a real asshole."
My jaw goes tight. "I don't talk about my personal life."
"Come on. Just between us. Was she really that crazy, or did you do something to set her off? Because the way she tells it—"
"I said I don't talk about it." My voice is flat. Cold.
The guy holds up his hands. "Whoa. Touchy subject. My bad."
He backs away, but the damage is done. My chest is tight. My hands are fists.
Then Lucy is there. Stepping between me and the guy with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Sir, if you're not here to shop, I'm going to have to ask you to move along. We've got paying customers waiting."
"I was just talking to—"
"I know who you were talking to. And I know you were being rude about things that are none of your business." Her voice is still pleasant, but there's steel underneath. "So unless you want to buy something, please leave."
The guy mutters something and walks away.
Lucy turns to me. "You okay?"
I stare at her. This woman who just stepped in front of me like a shield. Who protected me from invasive questions without making a scene.
"Yeah," I say, and my voice comes out rough. "Thank you."
"People forget you're human. That you have feelings and boundaries." She squeezes my arm. Quick. "That guy was an ass."
"I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't have to be."
She holds my gaze. In the middle of the crowded market, she looks at me like I matter. Like I'm more than a hockey player or a tabloid story.
She sees me.
Lucy Wright sees me. All of me. The broken parts and the scared parts and the parts I don't show anyone.
And she's still here.
"Come on," she says. "Let's get hot chocolate. I need a break, and you look like you could use some sugar."
We walk through the market with white lights twinkling overhead and snow crunching under our boots.
She doesn't touch me, but I'm aware of her every second. The way she walks close enough that our arms almost brush.
We get hot chocolate from a cart. Find a bench near the gazebo, away from the crowd.
Lucy sits close. She doesn't move away.
"Better?" she asks.
"Getting there."
"I hate people who do that. Act like you owe them something because you're on TV." She takes a sip of her drink. Gets whipped cream on her upper lip. "You're not public property."
I reach out without thinking. Thumb away the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. Feel her breath catch.
"Whipped cream," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
Her lips part. "Oh."
I should move my hand. We're in public. Anyone could see.
But I can't seem to let go. My thumb traces her bottom lip. Just once.
"Ryder." My name is barely a whisper.
"Lucy."
She catches my wrist. Holds it for a heartbeat longer. Then lets go.
We finish our hot chocolate in charged silence. Walk back through the market like nothing happened. But everything happened. Every brush of her shoulder against mine. Every shared look.
Back at the house, Connor's warning from yesterday plays on repeat. Keep some distance. Be her friend. She deserves someone who can be here. Someone stable.
But all I can think about is the way Lucy looked at me. The way she protected me. The way her breath caught when I touched her mouth.
At five-thirty, I can't take it anymore. I grab my keys and tell Connor I'm going for a drive.
I drive to Main Street. Park behind the shop. Wait until I see the last customer leave and Lucy flip the sign to CLOSED.
Then I walk to the front door and knock.
Lucy appears through the glass. Her eyes widen when she sees me. For a second, she just stares. Then she crosses to the door, unlocks it, and pulls me inside.
She locks the door behind us.
We just look at each other. Her chest rises and falls fast. Her pupils are blown wide.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi."
"Connor talked to you. Yesterday."
Not a question.
"Yeah."
"What did he say?"
"That you deserve better than me." I take a step closer. "He's not wrong."
"I get to decide what I deserve." She closes the distance. Puts her hand flat on my chest. "And I want you."
"Lucy—"
"Do you want me?"
"You know I do."
"Then stop trying to protect me from my own choices." Her other hand slides up to curl around the back of my neck. "I'm twenty-seven years old, Ryder. I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?"
"I know this is temporary. I know you're leaving. I know all the reasons this is a bad idea." She goes up on her toes. Brings her mouth close to mine. "But I'm tired of playing it safe. Tired of wanting things and being too scared to take them." Her lips brush mine. "So kiss me. And don't stop."
I break.
My mouth crashes onto hers. Hard and hungry. My hands slide into her hair and fist there. Angle her head so I can kiss her deeper.
She opens for me. Meets my hunger with her own. Her nails dig into my neck. Her body presses against mine from chest to thigh.
I walk her backward until her back hits the nearest bookshelf and pin her there.
My hand slides down her side. Grips her thigh and hitches it up around my hip. The new position lets me settle between her legs. Lets her feel exactly how much I want her.
She rocks against me. Makes a sound that's half moan, half whimper. I swallow it. Kiss her deeper.
My other hand finds the hem of her sweater. Slides underneath to palm the soft skin of her waist. She's warm and smooth, and when my thumb brushes the underside of her breast through her bra, she gasps into my mouth.
"Ryder." My name is ragged. Desperate.
I pull back enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen and red from my mouth. Her hair is a mess from my hands. Her sweater is rumpled up and her chest heaves with each breath.
"We should stop," I say, even though stopping is the last thing I want.
"Why?"
"Because if we don't stop now, I'm going to take you right here against these bookshelves."
Her eyes go dark. "Maybe that's what I want."
Fuck.
"Lucy—"
"Don't." She slides her hands under my shirt. Her palms are cool against my abs. "Don't overthink this. Don't decide what's best for me." Her hands move higher. "Just want me."
"I do want you." I catch her wrists. Hold them still. "But not here. Not like this. You deserve better than me losing control in your shop."
"What if I want you to lose control?"
"Trust me. You don't."
Her smile is slow. Dangerous. "Try me."
I kiss her again because I have to. Because she's here and she wants me and I'm not strong enough to walk away.
But I keep my hands on her waist. Keep the kiss just this side of control.
When I finally pull back, we're both breathing hard.
"Tomorrow," I say.
"Tomorrow what?"
"I'll pick you up after you close. We'll go somewhere private. And I'll show you what happens when I lose control."
Her breath catches. "Promise?"
"Promise."
I force myself to step back. To let her go.
She straightens her sweater. Smooths her hair. Tries to look composed but her hands shake and her face is flushed.
"You should go," she says. "Dinner's at seven."
"Lucy—"
"Go." She steps closer. Rises on her toes. Presses one more soft kiss to my mouth. "Before I change my mind about letting you leave."
I go. Walk out into the cold December air with my heart hammering and my body aching and the taste of her still on my tongue.
Connor's warning echoes in my head. She'll be the one left behind.
He's right. When I leave Pine Hollow, Lucy will still be here.
And I'll be in Boston with nothing but memories and regrets.
Lucy Wright is going to break my heart.
But right now, walking through the snow with her taste on my lips and her voice in my head promising tomorrow, I can't find it in me to care.