Chapter 4
4
NICKY
S o, that hot guy with the giant muscles and the superhuman reflexes from the train? It turns out that he’s:
1 - My cousin, Mason’s, soon-to-be brother-in-law; and,
2 - The captain of the hockey team my brother, Cash, now co-owns.
Holy hockey sticks. What are the odds of that?
Hmm. A professional athlete, huh? Well, at least his lightning fast reflexes make sense now. And the bulging muscles, too.
Also, I’m totally starting to understand where his arrogant attitude comes from, just watching the way the men in my family shine a spotlight on him all throughout dinner. He is literally the center of the discussion all night. It’s all…
“How’s the trade from New York to Sin Valley been treating you?”
“Do you think the Saints will manage to get to the Cup this season?”
“Will the team be able to trade up for some better draft picks next year?”
The Westbrook men are absolute sports nuts. Between Cash’s new venture into owning a hockey team and Harry being a professional football player himself, I see no end to the sports conversation in sight.
A part of me is relieved though. As long as Train Guy is wrapped up in all that hockey talk, there’s less of a chance that he’ll bring up the train incident and embarrass me. I’m definitely not in the mood to re-live that debacle in front of the whole family. So, I do the smart thing, completely ignoring him and his pretty smile and his big muscles.
Or at least, I try to. It’s hard when he keeps peeking in my direction between his stories to the guys.
Meanwhile, Simon is dutifully ignoring me. He showed up partway through dinner, looking nervous and disheveled, and he hasn’t glanced my way once.
I know we were never super open about our hook-ups. He was always scared that Jasper would find out and be pissed about it. But normally, I’d expect Simon to be trying to cop a feel in the hallway.Or trying to lure me into the coat closet when no one is looking. Instead, he’s flat-out pretending I’m not here.
I keep trying to smile his way or make eye contact when he almost looks in my direction.But, I’m having zero luck tonight. Seriously. WTF ?!
It’s like I bumped my head on that train, never woke up, and I’m in a freakish snow globe nightmare where nothing makes sense.
With a heavy sigh, I turn my back on both men and focus my attention on Meghan, who’s sitting closest to me.
“How are you doing, Megs?” I ask my sister-in-law.
“I’m good,” she says with that warm smile of hers, “but Cash is mad at me.”
My eyes shoot over to my brother and he jumps in to defend himself. “She brought home another cat last week.”
I barely hold back a laugh. Meghan is a vet tech at the local animal clinic. She has a notoriously hard time resisting new furry friends.
“So what?” I say, just to get under my brother’s skin. “You can never have too many cats.”
“That’s what I said.” Meghan grins charmingly and shrugs.
She knows as well as I do that Cash is not a cat-guy. But he’s a Meghan-guy. So Meghan gets as many cats as she wants.
My brother pins his angry stare on me. “Okay, then you take one or two of the monsters home with you.”
“Oh, no. I’m…” I fake-cough. “Allergic.”
Cash shakes his head. “Always full of crap.”
He and I have a special sort of dynamic between us. Once upon a time, Cash hired me as his intern. That was back when he was the workaholic CFO at our dad’s wealth management company in Chicago. In those days, I truly perfected the art of pushing Cash’s buttons.
We used to be The Three Musketeers—Cash, our dad and me. But that was until they both moved back here and left me behind in the city.
Gosh. I really miss those days.
“So, how are things going at work?” he asks me.
Currently, I work as a junior associate at Westbrook Wealth Management. As for Cash, he only occasionally checks in to the office via videoconferencing nowadays. In fact, my billionaire brother manages most of his many business ventures remotely, only providing in-person input when absolutely necessary. He spends the rest of his time doting on Meghan like it’s his full-time job.
I shrug. “Fine.”
Meghan’s eyes narrow. “Fine? Nicky’s not a fine kind of girl. Since when are you a fine kind of girl?” She nudges my arm.
I glance out the window at the falling snowflakes and let out a heavy sigh. “I think I need a change, guys. I’m…I’m tired of being so far away from everybody. I’m tired of constantly dragging my briefcase and my overnight bag from Chicago to Honey Hill and back. You’re all having babies and building lives out here.” My eyes skate around the table at the happy faces gathered here tonight. “Look how big Sparkle has gotten already. Plus, Mom and Dad are re-married. And Grammy’s getting older.” I sigh. “I feel like I’m missing out on everything.”
Meghan watches me closely, inspecting my expression. “Are you saying you want to move out here? To Honey Hill?”
My head bobs up and down. Then, I shake it from side to side. Then I nod again. “You guys know I’m a Chicago girl at heart, and well, I never thought I’d say this, but yeah. Yes. I think I want to move back home.”
My words surprise even myself.
I love the big city. But there was just something about the seven-hour train ride today. Watching the magic of each small town passing through my window. Staring out at the solitude of the quiet fields of snow. And now, sitting here watching my brothers look all starry-eyed at their women.
Maybe I’m ready for a little less Chicago.
Cash doesn’t question my motives. He doesn’t try to talk me out of it. Instead, his shoulder rises in a shrug. “Say the word and it’s done. I’ll find you a job, and you can start packing your bags.”
“Really? Just like that?” My eyebrows climb up my forehead.
“Of course,” he says, like I’m a fool to doubt his almighty power.
“Well. Can I think about it?”
“Sure. Just let me know when you decide.”
The rest of dinner flies by because I’m lost inside my head. This is a big decision to make. One that could make or break my future. But I think I know what my heart wants.
After exchanging gifts, we’re mostly chatting and catching up and stumbling around the house, refilling our wine glasses. Dad tugs on my arm, pulling me into the middle of the living room and spinning me around on his makeshift dance floor. “How’s my only daughter doing?”
“I’ve missed you!” I lay my head on his chest and give him a squeeze.
“Oh, I’ve missed you, too, baby girl.” He kisses the top of my head. “I miss seeing you at the office every day.”
“Yeah, but I’m glad you’ve finally slowed down,” I tell him. “You gave your doctor an entire head of gray hair, trying to get you to step back from work.”
“True. Poor Dr. Weiner. I refused to listen to reason.” He smiles brightly when his eyes find Mom who’s pouring two cups of punch at the snack table. “But in my defense, I eventually listened to love, though.”
“And I’m so glad you did.” I nod.
He blows out a breath. “After having my priorities screwed up for half my life, I’m just relieved that your mother took me back once I got my head out of my ass.”
Dad used to be an even bigger workaholic than Cash. He devoted his entire focus to building up his company. So much so that Mom had to walk away because he wasn’t giving our family the attention that we deserved. But my parents’ love for each other never died.
After fifteen years of divorce, a health scare or two, and a few failed attempts at moving on with other people, my parents recently found themselves back together and tied the knot for a second time.
Now, Dad is happily retired and Mom is the principal at Honey Hill’s local elementary school.
“Haha! You definitely are lucky. Mom’s a tough cookie. What’s your secret? How did you get her to give you a second chance?” I ask him conspiratorially.
He leans down and makes a big show of whispering so nobody will hear. “I realized that I need to spend the rest of my life loving her extra hard. That way, she’ll never remember that she was doing just fine without me.”
When he says that, I break out into loud laughter. “Sounds like a great strategy, Dad.”
My mother approaches, a suspicious smile on her face as she sets a cocktail into Dad’s hand. “What are you two tittering about as usual?” She questions, her eyes volleying between her former ex-husband/current new husband and me.
“He was just telling me how absolutely in love he is with you.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
A mega smile breaks out across her face. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
As I shuffle away, Dad’s free arm slides around Mom’s back and they start swaying to the Christmas music.
I smile. Although it’s still weird seeing them back together, I love it so much.
And even though I’m rooting for my parents’ rekindled relationship, I haven’t forgotten how rough things were in their years apart. I remember seeing Mom struggle to cope with all her pain. It was so difficult to watch, but at least it taught me how to be strong. A strong woman who can stand on her own two feet. Even without a man by my side.
Lost in my thoughts, I wander through the house and inevitably find myself in the kitchen, about to steal another slice of cherry crumble pie. That’s when I catch sight of Simon sneaking out the side door with a packet of cigarettes in his hand.
I take a hasty glance over my back to make sure no-one’s looking. Then I scuttle across the room and follow after him.
“Simon?” I call out, the moment I step outside.
Frick. It’s freezing. I pull my thin sweater tighter around me, cursing myself for not grabbing a coat. Frigid air seeps right through the threads, making me shiver.
Simon turns around at the sound of my voice. He hesitates. “Hey.”
It’s quiet out here. Well, aside from the neighbors’ kids who are playing across the street. But the children are too busy throwing snowballs and playing hockey under the glow of the street lamps to pay us any mind.
I turn my attention back to Simon. “Everything okay with you?” I can see my breath in little white puffs suspended in the air in front of me.
“Yeah. I, uh…” He digs the toe of his boot into the frosty floorboards of my grandmother’s side deck. He lowers his head and sheepishly watches me from under a crinkled brow. “I was meaning to get you a birthday gift, actually. But…”
But I’m not his girlfriend.
I force a smile. “It’s all right.”
Except I’m not so sure it’s all right. I’m well aware that we’re not dating, but damn, we’re friends. I would have gotten him a birthday gift.
My smile slides off as I remember why I followed Simon out here in the first place. I open and close my mouth three times before I finally find the courage to speak. “I, uh. I feel like you’ve sort of been, you know, avoiding me.”
It’s not eloquent, but I manage to spit it out. It shouldn't be this hard to speak my mind. I do it all the time. But talking about feelings makes me itchy. Some people are actually allergic to cats. And I’m allergic to sharing emotions.
Simon stutters, pausing to zip his winter jacket all the way up to his chin. Then his head moves side to side, as he glances around and makes sure no one’s looking. It’s only then that he steps a bit closer. Wow. I really am his dirty, little secret. How was I ever okay with this?
He gets that ‘look’ in his eyes. I recognize it immediately. It’s a look that tells me maybe there’s still time for that birthday sex after all.
For a second, I’m tempted to go right along with it.
But at this point, it just doesn’t seem right. Emma’s words return to my mind. You should either tell Simon to step up, or cut your losses and move on with a man who will give you the love you deserve .
And suddenly, I realize that birthday sex is not enough. I need to know where we stand. I need to stop letting him play with me like this.
I shiver. From the cold air or from the looming threat of rejection? I don’t know.
Backbone up, Nicky.
“Look, Simon. I just need to know where things are between us. If you’re not into this anymore, just say so.”
With a rueful expression, he reaches forward to brush a wayward curl away from my face. But I take a slight step backward.
It’s in this very moment that I decide I’m totally taking Cash’s offer. Whatever it is, I’m in.Now, I just need to see whether Simon will fit into my new life plans.
“I’m moving back to Honey Hill,” I blurt out.
His hand falls away from my face.
“Cash is finding me a job. And I miss my family. And I’m sick of spending hours and hours taking that train back and forth. And…” I carry on, rambling away now that the emotional gate is open. “And I…we…maybe we could see where things go between us.”
Simon’s eyes bulge.
Then he takes a step backward.
Then another.
“Simon...?”
“I…Fuck.” He pulls on his hair. “Nicky. I think you’re incredible. You’re fucking amazing. But I’m not ready for something… more .Hooking up is one thing. You moving here? That’s a full-time thing, and I didn’t sign up for—” He cuts himself off when he’s sufficiently dug his grave.
For a moment, I stare in shock. I just poured my heart out. And Simon threw it right back.
Sadness starts to take root. No one ever said that shooting your shot would hurt like this.
Damn .
But that pathetic feeling of helplessness doesn’t last long. A fiery anger ignites in my belly and races up my chest, pushing out the chill of the night air. Simon is not supposed to hurt me.
That’s the whole reason I chose him. That’s the whole reason I…settled.
My jaw tightens and I fold my arms across my chest. “So sleeping with me is fine, but I’m not good enough for anything more?”
Emma was right about everything.
Simon shakes his head over and over, like I’m getting it all wrong. “Look—I’m still really fucked up from my last break up. Plus, the longer this goes on, the worse it will be when Jasper finds out. And you deserve better than all that.”
Silence grows between us. It’s so quiet, I swear I can hear the snow flakes landing on the frozen grass.I almost buy his excuses. Almost. But I refuse to be the weak girl here.
I grow angry with myself when I feel the teardrops forming on my lower lids. I look away, refusing to let him see me cry.
Y’see? This is why I don’t open up to guys. This is why I keep my emotions under lock and key. I hate feeling weak like this.
Rising chatter from across the street catches my attention. My gaze shifts over to where the neighborhood children are playing. Except now, they’re not alone. Their parents are standing by, excitedly talking and taking pictures of—wait, is that Ronan?
The hockey captain is at the center of the group, everyone circled around him. I watch as a child hands him a hockey stick. Then he’s hunched over the ice, giving an impromptu lesson to the crowd of kiddies.
In the middle of the action, his head suddenly rotates in my direction. Ah, fuck.
I take a quick step back, moving into the shadows of the house so he won’t see me. I really don’t want to have to deal with him and his constant staring when I’m in this state.
“Nicky—say something?” Simon mutters softly, pulling my attention back to him.
He and I started this thing just for fun. But now I’m forced to admit to myself that none of it is fun anymore. Fuck. My feelings are hurt. By the one guy I thought was safe.
“I just wasn’t expecting this.”
“Sorry,” he says simply. Like that’s enough.
I shake my head, like I’m shrugging off my daze. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. None of it does.”
“Are you okay, though?” Simon asks a few quiet moments later.
No. I’m not okay. I’m more mad at myself than anything. I should have never put myself in this position. I’m smarter than this. Tougher than this.
“Yes. I’m fine,” I grit out.
I feel him staring at the side of my head for a second longer. “I’d better get back inside.” After an awkward moment, he shuffles away, leaving me outside alone.
My eyes prickle with tears. I’m so upset, I barely notice the cold seeping into my bones.
Dammit. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Exactly why I chose to play it safe. Exactly why I chose Simon, thinking he’d be a sure bet. Look how well that turned out.
I shouldn’t have sacrificed my dignity for some guy. Some of the strongest women in my life were able to stand on their own two feet without a man. Look at my mother. Hell, look at Grammy. And Jane Austen. And Oprah.
Some of the greatest women ever were single.
I made an absolute fool of myself over Simon. But boy did I learn a valuable lesson. One I won’t let go of anytime soon.
I will never give any man the power to make me feel this shitty again. Never.
In fact, on that note, I’m officially swearing off men.
Forever.
Maybe .
Okay, probably not forever. But definitely for the foreseeable future.
Maybe love just isn’t for me. I can still be a kickass woman without a man. For now, I’ll focus on my career.
“ Girl power…Boss babe…” I whisper to myself as I blot at the single tear that tracks down my cheek.
I pull myself together and I’m getting ready to head back into the warmth of the house when I hear boots crunching on the gravel. My eyes shoot up. Hot Hockey Guy—er, Ronan—is approaching from around the side of the house.
Shit. I immediately straighten my spine, blinking fast, and desperately trying not to look like I’m on the verge of tears.
How long has he been standing there? Did he hear Simon ending things with me? And me acting like a pathetic little girl?
Jeez, I sure hope not. I’d be so freaking embarrassed.
In a few long strides, he’s standing in front of me. We say nothing to each other. We just stand there, eyeballing each other down.
Soon enough, he breaks the silence. “So I’m guessing that was Simon?” he drawls.
“And I’m guessing you don’t know how to mind your business?” I retort, not missing a beat.
A tiny, amused smile peels across his handsome face, accompanied by a low laugh. Ronan takes a step closer. Like, to me .
“In all seriousness, are you okay? You look upset.”
The concern in his eyes looks genuine. It really does. But as the evidence would confirm, I’m not the best judge of guys and their intentions.
His lips catch my attention, and I stare.
So tempting. Soooo damn tempting.
For one hot second, I quietly wonder if those gorgeous lips could help soothe this ache inside of me. A rebound doesn’t sound too bad right about now.
But then I remember—Hot Hockey Guy is a man. And I swore off men. Less than two minutes ago. Because men are jerks.
Nope. Not today, sex devil . I snarl at him.“I’m fine.”
His eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me. He pauses for a moment and I brace myself for what he’ll do next.
Then with a curt nod, he starts to walk away—thank god. But he stops himself right outside the door. “You deserve better than that, Train Girl.”
My eyes zip up to the star-filled sky, struggling to keep more tears from falling. “How do you know what I deserve?” I ask quietly. “You don’t even know me, Hockey Guy.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you. But I’ve read your text messages. So I know you really know how to hold a man’s attention.” He smirks shamelessly. Not in a mean way. In an, ‘I’m trying to get you to crack a grin’ way.
Too bad I’m not in a grinning mood.
I can barely resist rolling my eyes.
Great. Go right ahead and objectify me just because you saw a few sexy messages I wrote to a guy I stupidly trusted with my heart .
I shoot eye-daggers at him across the distance. “Oooh! Yippee! A famous hockey fuckboy who wants to get in my pants without knowing anything about me. Where do I sign up?”
The corners of his lips slightly tip up again, like he’s enjoying this little back and forth.
He unzips his fleece and shrugs the sweater from his wide shoulders. Now, he’s only wearing a T-shirt, displaying muscled-up arms decorated with colorful tattoos. “You’re a real fucking peach, aren’t you? Sarcastic, little thing.” His eyes twinkle under the porch lights. “Fine. I don’t know anything about you. But there’s one thing I know for sure.”
“One thing?” I fold my arms tighter across my middle. “What’s that one thing?” Oh, I can’t wait to hear this .
He comes up behind me, so close that his broad torso momentarily covers my back, like a shield against the biting cold. He drapes his sweater around my shoulders and his mouthwatering cologne surrounds me.
When he speaks, I feel his breath against the shell of my ear. “If I were your boyfriend, none of your text messages would be sitting on my phone, unanswered. Sexy messages, not-sexy messages, no matter the subject matter. You deserve a guy who texts you back, Peach. That’s the bare fucking minimum.”
I hate the things I’m feeling right now. The tingling inside my chest and behind my eyes and in the space at the apex of my thighs. Each word he says is weakening my tough girl act. Christ, Nicky—when did you get so gullible?
Straightening my shoulders, I turn and face the man head-on, toe-to-toe. “Yeah, well I’m not in the market for your ‘boyfriend services’. So no need to worry about me and my unread text messages.”
I don’t wait for his response before I’m slamming his sweater into his hand.
On that, I turn to stomp back inside the house. But I shoot him one last glance over my shoulder from the doorway. “Also, I’m not your fucking ‘peach’.”
I let the door bang shut behind me.
Yeah, I am so done with men.