Chapter 5 Colt #2
We keep walking as I shove my hands deep in my pockets, trying to look casual. Trying not to think about how close she was to me during that photo shoot. How warm she felt. How badly I wanted to pull her closer and never let go.
We pass Frost Café, and through the windows I can see Harold Frost behind the counter. I give him a look, checking my 'plan' for this afternoon is still in check. He winks at me and gives a thumbs up.
Zoey glances at me, her expression suddenly thoughtful.
"You're really good with Morgan, you know."
The comment catches me off guard. I shrug, deflecting on instinct. "Morgs? She's easy. Smart kid."
"Maybe." Her voice is softer now, curious. "But not everyone knows how to talk to kids. You just... do. Have you always been like that?"
I'm quiet for a moment, turning the question over in my head.
Have I?
"I was an only child." My voice comes out a little too casual. A little too light. "I always wanted a sibling, though. Brother, sister… didn't matter to me. Hell, I would've taken a dog just for a bit of company around the house."
I can feel her looking at me.
"Brothers aren't all they're cracked up to be, you know." She bumps her shoulder against mine. "You can have one of mine if you want. I've got three, and they're all big hockey goofs like you."
I laugh. "Hockey boys, huh? What are their names?"
"Mason, Declan, and Beck. The Morrison brothers." She rolls her eyes fondly. "They're across the country now, playing in the big league like you. But they still call me every Sunday to ask if I'm eating enough and whether I've met anyone nice."
I stop walking right in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Wait." I spin toward her and lock her gaze on mine. "Mason Morrison? Declan and Beck? The Morrison brothers?"
Zoey blinks at me, confusion flickering across her face. "You know them?"
"Know them?!" I run a hand through my hair, grinning like an idiot. "I played against Declan in juniors. He's fucking badass. He checked me so hard once it was like he was warming me up for what Gabe just did to me."
Zoey rolls her eyes and laughs softly. "Sounds about right."
"Swear to God, I saw stars for a week. Separated my shoulder and everything. I couldn't lift my arm above my head for a month."
We start walking again, closer now. Our shoulders brush with every other step, and neither of us moves away.
"The Morrison Brothers," I murmur, smiling into the wind. "Small world."
"Smaller than you'd think." She tilts her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hockey's like that though, isn't it? Everyone knows everyone."
"Pretty much. Six degrees of separation, except it's more like two degrees and a cross-check."
She laughs again, and the sound wraps around me.
"But growing up with three brothers who were addicted to hockey…" She shakes her head. "I was basically their second mom. Our parents worked constantly, so I was the one who made sure they ate vegetables and did their homework. And didn't kill each other."
"That explains a lot, actually."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing bad." I hold up my hands. "Just... you've got that energy. The 'I've kept multiple humans alive' energy."
She thinks hard, then nods. "I suppose that's fair."
We keep walking and talking, with Zoey telling me stories about her sibling rivalries, which apparently still happen between her brothers today. The stories are endless, but soon, the supply store comes into view at the end of the block.
Zoey shakes the list in her hand loose again, refreshing her memory as she moves toward the store entrance.
But I catch her arm gently before she can go inside.
"Actually..." I take a breath, nervous as hell. Zoey turns, eyebrows raised. "There's something else we need to do first."
Her eyes narrow with suspicion as I steer her gently past the supply store entrance and down the sidewalk.
"Colt, what are you—"
"Just trust me."
This had better go smoothly.
Two doors down, I stop in front of a window where a hot pink sign reads SHEAR TROUBLE in bold cursive letters, with a pair of scissors split around the words.
Through the window, I can see Debbie Williams arranging her station, her stylish blonde hair looking immaculate as always. A Taylor Swift song is drifting through the door, something about her being the problem.
Zoey has stopped dead on the sidewalk, staring up at the sign like it might bite her.
"Colt..." She turns to me, confusion written across every gorgeous feature. "What are we doing here?"
I take a breath, steadying myself for the surprise I've been working on all damn day.
"Okay, don't freak out but… I made you an appointment.
" The words come out in a rush. "Hair, nails, the whole thing.
Debbie's got you booked for the next three hours.
Full highlights if you want them, or just a trim.
" She goes to open her mouth, but I keep going.
"Or! One of those scalp massage things that apparently feel like angels are touching your brain.
Plus a manicure, pedicure, the works. And if you mention that Harold sent you…
which technically he didn't, I did, but Debbie doesn't need to know that…
she'll break out the good champagne. Not the stuff she gives the hockey wives.
The secret stuff from the mini-fridge in her office.
Trust me, I've seen it. It's French. The bubbles are smaller, which absolutely matters. "
I pause for breath, realizing I'm gesturing wildly with both hands like I'm conducting an orchestra of beauty treatments.
Zoey just stands there and listens to my dribble before saying, "You done?"
"Not quite. I also heard there's a hot towel situation involved at some point. I don't know the full details, but it sounds nice." I draw a dramatic breath, clutching my chest. "Okay. Now I'm done."
She stares at me, then looks into the window.
"This is some kind of joke, right? A Colt Lane locker room prank."
"Nope."
"Colt, I can't—" She's already shaking her head, backing away from the door. "I have to get these supplies. I have to pick up Morgan. I have to—"
I snap the supply list from her hands. "Already handled. All you need is to get pampered."
I pull out my phone, showing her the group chat I used to get this all worked out in one morning, all while simultaneously working with some very tricky tongs in the display case at Butter Batch.
"Harold's watching the bakery. Supplies are now on my list. I'll grab them and bring them back. And Morgan..."
I hesitate, suddenly nervous.
Because this is the part that could go wrong. The part where I've overstepped, assumed too much, inserted myself into her life in a way she never asked for.
Delaney and Paige's voices have been mocking me all morning, swirling inside my head. She's got a daughter who comes first, second, and third. So if you want her to trust you, you're going to have to earn it.
And earn it I am.
Or trying to at least.
"I figured I could hang out with Morgan until you're done.
If that's okay with you." I watch her carefully, gauging her reaction.
I've got a back up plan if she says no, but I want to wait.
"I mean, I know she's your kid, and I'm not trying to overstep, but she mentioned wanting to show me some card game she learned, and I thought maybe—"
"You arranged all of this." Zoey's voice is strange. "For me."
I shrug, trying to play it cool. "You needed a break. You've got me as your helper for two weeks, Zo. Why not make the most of it?"
Inside, Debbie waves through the window, her bright pink nails acting like neon lights.
"Well?" I say.
Zoey's gaze darts from me to the salon window, then back to the list in my hand. She sighs, and then… she steps forward and wraps her arms around my waist.
"Thank you, Colt. This is—" She shakes her head on my chest, breathing heavy in my arms. "…Thank you."
She holds on, and I freeze for half a second, my arms coming around her. When she finally pulls back, her face is inches from mine and I damn near faint seeing her up this close.
Time stands still. I can see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. The parting of her lips. The way her breath catches when my gaze drops to her mouth.
"I should…" She breathes, eyes now dipping to my lips. "…go in."
Do it. Kiss her! Kiss her you fool!
I lean in—
"ZOEY, HONEY! YOUR CHAIR'S READY!"
Debbie's voice shatters the moment like a baseball through a goddamn window. Zoey jerks back, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
"Right. Debbie." She laughs nervously and takes a stumbling step toward the salon door. eyes still locked on mine. "I should…"
"Yeah." I clear my throat and look up to the sky. "Go. Enjoy yourself."
She pauses at the door, one hand on the handle, and looks back at me over her shoulder.
"And Colt? Thank you again. This is really… thoughtful."
I wink and wave her in. She's swallowed by the hot pink and leopard print paradise of Shear Trouble, and it's all I can do to stand on the sidewalk with my hands in my pockets, staring at the closed door.
I stand there for another minute, the cold biting at my cheeks, watching the glow of Shear Trouble's lights through the frosted window.
Fuck.
I should have kissed her.
Next time.
There's going to be a next time.
And when it comes, I'm not letting anything get in the way of showing Zoey Morrison just what she does to me.