Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
Perfectly Understandable
Beck
I leave the team’s elimination soccer game to take Forest’s call.
“Are you sure you’re okay to talk?” is the first thing he asks.
“Totally sure.” We’re only ten seconds into this call, but I can already hear how rattled Forest is. “Talk to me.”
“You’re not playing tonight, are you?”
“Not a chance. Not even suiting up. Tell me what happened, Forest.”
He takes a shaky breath and then gives me a disjointed data dump. The FBI agent. The photos. Army guys. A federal prosecution.
“That’s a lot,” I say quietly after he stumbles through the details. “You okay?”
“Of course I am,” he says. “They caught him.”
“I get that.” But you sound like a guy who just walked away from a car accident who doesn’t realize he’s going to have whiplash. “It’s about time.”
We talk for another few minutes, and then he goes back to his shift, and I watch the seven p.m. game against Anaheim from the press box. Zack Walcott plays brilliantly and gets a shutout. Lucky bastard.
After, we fly back to Boulder, landing after one a.m. I get into my Jeep and start the engine.
My suite in Boulder is only a ten-minute drive away on empty nighttime roads, but I’m picturing Forest in his darkened bedroom, alone with all his thoughts.
I turn left out of the parking lot and head toward Erie.
Beck
You still up? You okay?
Forest
Yes and yes. Just a lot on my mind.
Come open your front door.
Wait. Really?
I knock. Loudly.
The door flies open fifteen seconds later, and a half-naked lumberjack in flannel pajama pants pulls me into his brawny arms.
I gather his warm body against mine and let out a long sigh. This is already worth the pain I’m going to feel when my alarm goes off in a few hours. “You okay, really?”
“Mostly?” He laughs against my neck, and his beard tickles. “Won’t lie—seeing that asshole’s picture messed me up some.”
“Perfectly understandable,” I say, steering him inside and kicking the door shut behind us. “He’s never coming back here, though. Never. I’d fuck him up if he tried.”
Forest goes still in my arms. Did I say something wrong? “I mean… I know you can take care of yourself. I just… I’d like to get a few punches in.”
“Beck.” He sighs against my cheek. “I love hearing that you have my back.”
My ego grows approximately two and a half sizes. Instantly. “Good. And he’s going to pay for abusing your trust.”
“Yeah,” Forest says gruffly. “I might have to face him in court, though. I offered to testify.”
“Of course you did. It won’t be easy, but I think it’ll help you heal. And maybe one of those other guys can’t, you know? You’d be doing this for him, too.”
Forest makes a warm noise and pulls back to look me up and down. “God, I’m happy you’re here.”
There’s no way he could know how those words light me up inside. “Only place I want to be.”
“Come to bed,” he says, yawning. “Now that you’re here, I think maybe I could finally sleep.”
I strip off my jacket. “That’s either a fantastic compliment, or an insult to my sexual skills.”
“It’s late, rookie,” he says, pinching my hip. “Come to bed,” he repeats.
Five minutes later, we’re curled up under Forest’s comforter. He’s got an arm around me, and his fingertips are tracing the divot between my pecs. It’s outrageously nice. And even if my erection disagrees (hello, down there!), this is exactly what both of us need right now.
“Thank you for coming,” Forest says quietly. “It means a lot.”
I roll in his arms and kiss his fuzzy jaw. “You show up for me. I’ll show up for you. That’s how this works now.”
“Yeah, it is.” He kisses me for real. Just once. “Let’s get some rest. You must be tired, sweetheart.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, even though hearing that endearment only makes me want to fuck. But Forest’s eyelids are so heavy. “Yeah, I’m exhausted.”
He’s asleep within seconds.
I, on the other hand, lie awake for a while, eyes closed, just appreciating him. The slack, trusting weight of his body against mine and the steady thump of his heartbeat.
And I realize this is it. I’ve peaked. There’s a hot, fantastic man in my life who calls me sweetheart. So many people never have that, let alone the chance to play big-league hockey.
Maybe that should scare me—nowhere to go but down. It doesn’t, though. All I feel is gratitude.
And then I sleep, too.