Chapter 3
Lachlan McAllister pulled on a pair of plaid sweatpants—a gag gift from one of his teammates—and paced the tiny length of the cabin’s living room. The flickering fire made shadows of his anxious strides.
He felt amped up, like in those final, breathless seconds of a game as center on the ice, where every muscle strained, and every ounce of focus narrowed to a single point.
The puck was loose, skimming just out of reach, and he was racing down the ice, flanked by defensemen on either side, bodies crashing around him, eyes locked on the prize. His heart pounding, lungs burning, only seconds to line up the perfect shot before the clock ran out. Feeling the pressure of every glance, every move from his teammates relying on him to bring it home.
One wrong step, a hesitation too long, and it was game over.
And now, this was his last play, the most important play of his life.
His final and only chance with Holly. And it mattered so much more than any game ever had that his heart thumped wildly.
Slowly, his pacing turned meditative, the soft nap of the rug under his feet offering comfort, as did the solid walls of the cabin he came up against. Reminding him she was here. With him. Under the same roof with the outside world cut off. And there was nowhere to escape to, at least for a couple of days.
This was his chance to clear up the shit-pile of misunderstandings between them. His chance to tell her what was on his mind and in his heart. Or he would permanently return to Edinburgh.
Without hockey and with his grandparents moving back to Edinburgh themselves to be near his aunts, there was nothing left here for him.
His entire social life—mostly fabricated by the media machine of Vancouver Hawks—was with his ice hockey team. Reality was that he was a man who liked to read, build furniture by hand, and had only ever let two friends close.
One had been Josh, who had betrayed him in the worst possible way, and one was…Holly’s brother Dev.
If he was part of Dev’s life, he would be in her life too. Getting little, tormenting glimpses into it, like he had in the past few years. And after all this time, he couldn’t take that anymore.
So, it was either taking the shot and playing for everything he’d ever wanted, or keeping his secret to himself for the rest of his life.
He didn’t fool himself that life in Edinburgh would be any more fulfilling than here. But there would be no Holly to torment him. His nerves hummed, as if playing a background score, even as resolve tightened his stomach.
Minutes later, the bathroom door remained closed. He needed to move, to do something. Eying her backpack and two other bags near the door, he brought them to the tiny kitchen.
The scent of chili filled his nostrils as he unpacked the cloth bag loaded with glass containers full of food. Besides the chili, there was fragrant chicken biryani, steaming samosas, and an extra-large bag of Doritos. He grinned at the two cheap wine bottles and colorful cocktail drink cans before popping them in the fridge. Two dark chocolate bars and apple pie rounded out the stash.
In the other cloth bag—he wasn’t snooping, he told himself—were stacks of…romance novels. Paranormal, contemporary and even sci-fi, with covers of bare-chested men or couples in clinch. The last one had a blue alien man with smoldering eyes.
A lightness he hadn’t known in months filled him as he stacked the books and the food containers. Clearly, Holly knew what kind of solo vacation she wanted. He felt only a little bummed that he was ruining it for her.
No, he was all for Holly indulging herself in as many solo activities as she needed. As long as she interacted with him, once in a while.
That was one of the many things that had drawn him to her. Even as a young girl, Holly had been one of those rare people who was content with the world and her place in it. Not a grumpy introvert like him, but happy among friends and happy alone. She didn’t hold back anything, but neither did she try to impress anyone.
The first time Dev had brought Lachlan to meet his family, he had been seventeen. Grieving his parents, angry at being schlepped off to Canada to live with grandparents he’d only seen a few times in his life and lost. So lost .
And yet, something about the ten-year-old Holly had soothed him. Her genuine smile with colorful braces, her endless questions about the castle he had lived in, her silent companionship when he whittled wood in their garage…had made him ache for something he hadn’t understood then.
That ache had never left him. It had only solidified and cemented into this…void inside him. A Holly-shaped hole, as if he was never meant to be whole without her.
The neon green post it on one of the novels with her tidy scrawl on it brought him back to the present. Hefting the books in both hands, he carried them to the bed. His thoughts whirled from past to present and back as he cleared the nightstand of his stuff. He placed her books there, refolded the quilt, and left her backpack at the small bench at the foot of the bed.
That ever-present ache intensified as he remembered she hadn’t subjected him to any of her sweet smiles or tight hugs or even the speeches she gave when she got worked up about the state of education in the country.
Rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes, Lachlan groaned. God, he missed her, every moment, every day.
He didn’t blame her for being wary of him. Even distrustful. He had fucked up, badly. But he had never expected she would be so…angry with him.
But anger was good. It meant she had some expectations of him. She had wanted, needed , something from him he hadn’t delivered on. It was a good start and from there, he would build something new.
If he was anything, it was loyal and persistent, even though the first quality was the very thing that had led to this clusterfuck.
Then there was the second weapon in his arsenal—her attraction to him. Wide mouth falling open, she’d drank him in.
The clicking of the knob as the bathroom door opened sounded like the beginning of the game clock. When she finally stepped out, Lachlan could do nothing but stare like a starving man looked at a feast.
Without the numerous outer layers, her lush, hour-glass figure was visible. Her pink tank top and black leggings clung to every dip and rise of her curves. Her hair, in a messy bun on top of her head, bounced when she moved.
Without meeting his eyes, she moved towards the main door. Irritation flickered through him, but he pushed it away.
Holly wasn’t going to make this easy for him. He wanted to, needed to earn her trust again. This confrontation had been coming for months, and he wouldn’t chicken out at the first hurdle.