Chapter Nine
DELILAH
“This looks like shit.”
I choke on a laugh as I try to keep my expression stern, turning on the precocious twelve-year-old giving a disgusted look to a sugar cookie. “Jamie. I don’t think you’re supposed to be saying things like that.”
“It does kind of look like shit,” Corbin agrees, looking over Jamie’s shoulder.
Jamie immediately elbows the larger boy in the stomach, causing the breath to rush out of him. “Shut up. Why are you here, anyway? Boys aren’t supposed to be baking.”
I drop my spoon into the bowl of icing I’ve been mixing so we can decorate the cookies, putting my fists on my hips. “Hey, none of that. Boys can do anything girls can do if they want to. And girls can do anything boys can do too. Got it?”
Jamie looks sheepish. “Yeah, okay.”
“I don’t like the skates,” Corbin mumbles. “I can’t stand up in them.”
“And that’s okay,” I tell him, patting his shoulder. “Hockey isn’t for everyone.”
I feel a shadow cast over the table, turning to see my brother’s smirking face as he leans over it, his turquoise sling matching his jersey pretty good. “You guys want to know a secret? My sister here busted her nose the first time she ever got on the ice. She looked like she had an eggplant on her face for like a month.”
The kids around me all giggle, and I roll my eyes. “You want to tell them why you’re wearing the sling, Kristi Yamaguchi? Or should I?”
“Rude,” he tsks. “What are you guys making?”
“Sugar cookies,” Brittany, one of the older teens, says in a bored tone. “Duh.”
Jack is unbothered, shooting her a grin. “Sorry, they don’t pay me for my brain.”
“Good thing,” I laugh. “Your income would be significantly lower.”
“I will refrain from responding in front of the children.”
“That means he was gonna call her a bad word,” I hear Jamie whisper, followed by a soft laugh from Corbin.
I tilt my head toward the rink on the other side of the open-air building, trying not to let my eyes linger on a particular jersey, something I’ve been perfecting for the last hour or so. “How is it going out there?”
“Well, Sanchez hasn’t run any kids over,” Jack snorts. “So that’s something.”
I avert my eyes, grabbing the bowl of cookie icing and my spoon and giving it an absent stir. “And how’s Ian doing?”
“Boyfriend’s fine,” Jack answers with only a hint of sarcasm. “He hasn’t yelled at any of them yet.”
I roll my eyes. “He wouldn’t yell at a kid.”
“Says you. The little one likes to chirp.”
“Chirp?”
“Trash talk. He’s determined to trip Ian.”
My lips curl in a smile at the image of my massive hockey player tumbling on the ice because of some tiny little boy. Well, not my hockey player, but whatever.
“I’m going to go check on him,” I say, handing Jack the bowl. “Stir this.”
“Stir this?” He looks at the bowl like I’ve handed him a bomb. “What do you mean ‘stir this’?”
“That spoon there? Pick it up and turn it clockwise.”
He’s still shouting at me when I start to walk off. “I’ve only got one hand!”
“Bet it doesn’t stop you from doing other things!” I toss back, laughing.
I can hear the kids start to volley questions at him as I pace away, their voices growing fainter and the much louder ones of the five hockey players who volunteered superseding them as I get closer to the rink. I lean over the railing as Jankowski herds a group of preteen boys to the crease to show them some defensive moves. I watch them for a moment, trying to pretend I didn’t come over here to get a glimpse of one player in particular, but it’s futile really.
Ian is huddled close to a small boy who can’t be any older than seven—Kyle, I think his name is—his expression serious and his hands gesticulating wildly as he explains something about his stick. I watch him straighten to his full height and bend at the waist as he shows Kyle how to strike at the puck; he’s showing him how to attempt a slap shot, I realize. I rest my chin on my folded arms as I watch them, and it takes several seconds for me to register the soft smile on my mouth as I do so.
Ian hands the stick to Kyle, folding his arms over his chest as he watches the little boy study the puck with all the intensity of a full-grown man. He bends just as Ian did, pressing the end of his stick to the puck and rearing back before suddenly slapping the shit out of it and watching it fly across the ice.
Ian’s face transforms into a blinding grin, clapping Kyle on the shoulder and nodding fervently as his mouth moves in what I assume to be praise, given the way the boy lights up. The entire exchange makes it feel like my ovaries are being tied up in a knot like a fucking cherry stem.
“Looking a little flushed there, Dee,” a voice says coyly.
I turn my head to catch a familiar face grinning at me. “Fuck off, Sanchez.”
“Wow.” He clutches his chest. “In front of the children?”
“How are they doing out there?”
“I think they’re having fun,” he says. “How’s the baking?”
“I’ve got Jack manning the icing station.”
Sanchez cackles. “Wow, I need to take my skates off and get over there. I gotta see that.”
“Make sure he doesn’t break something else,” I chide. “He always seems to when you’re involved.”
“It was one time,” he argues. “And he totally bragged that he could do a double axel.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I tease.
He narrows his eyes. “Jerk. I’ll leave you here to enjoy the view.”
“You know it’s not like that.”
“Yeah, yeah, I heard the PR spiel.” He leans in close, pinching my cheek. “Hasn’t stopped the big guy from glaring at me for the last sixty seconds.”
Sanchez is already skating off when I whip my head back to where Ian was working with Kyle, catching his eyes on me for only a second before he tears them away. Even from a slight distance, I can see his face get a little red, his lips pressing into a tight line.
Well, that is interesting.
I move from my spot to wander closer to the other end of the rink, wiggling my fingers in a wave that Ian returns before saying something to Rankin. Rankin comes closer to take over with Kyle, and then Ian is gliding my way, coming to rest just on the other side of the railing that I stop in front of.
“Looking good out there, Cupcake.”
“You keep saying that,” he says. “I’m going to start thinking you’re just flirting with me.”
My eyes round for only a second, recovering quickly as I flash him a lazy grin. “Would you like me to flirt with you, Ian?”
“No, I didn’t mean—” His throat bobs, and his cheeks darken with something that has nothing to do with exertion, I suspect, and his eyes dip down to his skates as he chuckles. “Damn it, Lila.”
I tilt my chin toward the rink. “You did seem like you were having fun.”
He looks embarrassed, scratching at his neck as he shoots another glance back at Kyle and Rankin, who are still working on shooting. “The kid’s doing pretty good. He’s got some raw talent.”
“But are you having fun?”
He pushes back the hair, which is darkened with sweat, from his face, his expression almost shy and his smile even more so. “Yeah,” he admits. “I am. It’s a really cool thing you’ve done here, Lila.”
It’s so stupid that something as simple as a nickname that literally no one else uses would do weird things to my insides, but it’s more about the way his voice sounds when he says it, I think. It’s the way his tone always, always softens a fraction, the way his mouth shapes the syllables like he wants to be careful with them.
Or at least, that’s what my crush-addled brain chooses to believe.
“It just felt right to me,” I tell him honestly. I turn my head to let my eyes wander over the different groups of kids in various stages of fun, smiling. “I know we weren’t in here long, but I remember how lonely it was. That feeling like no one was coming for you. Fuck, like no one wanted you. I just figured if I could distract them from that for a day…” I shrug, feeling embarrassed myself now under his scrutiny. “I don’t know. It just felt right.”
I was far too young when the crash took my parents to really remember much about them, but I vividly recall feeling so alone. Even at a young age, feeling like you have no one sticks with you. I was fortunate enough to at least have Jack and my aunt Bea and even Ian, for a while, but these kids? Some of these kids have no one. All of this is nothing compared to that.
“It really is amazing,” he says, actual reverence in his tone that makes me feel like I’m flying a little bit. “But you always were.”
My cheeks heat, and I know there’s no special meaning to what he’s just said, but fuck if it doesn’t have me biting back a grin.
“Says the pro hockey player,” I laugh.
He rolls his eyes. “Hitting a puck doesn’t hold a candle to all this, Lila. Take the compliment, brat.”
Fuck. What is it about that word? Is it just because it’s Ian? I have a sick urge to make him keep calling me that, and I’ve never felt that once in my entire adult life.
“You keep saying that,” I say with a grin, “I’m going to start thinking you’re flirting with me.”
There’s less surprise this time, replaced instead by a glimmer of challenge in his eyes as he clears his throat. “Would you like me to flirt with you?”
“I mean”—I shrug one shoulder, leaning over the rail to reach for a damp tendril of his hair, twirling it around my finger—“isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?”
His eyes narrow, but there’s a twitch of his lips like he wants to smile. “Are you trying to one-up me, Lila?”
“I’m just playing the part, Cupcake,” I answer sweetly.
His hand envelops mine suddenly, yanking me closer so that he can lean in, his lips brushing my ear and causing me to shudder. “Two can play that game, brat.”
“Fuck,” I say on a stuttered exhale, and I feel Ian tense against me.
He draws back, his mouth parted slightly as he studies my face. I know he can see how flushed I must be, since my cheeks are on fire, and amusement colors his features as his mouth curls into an impish grin. “You good, Lila?”
“Fine, you win this time,” I grumble.
He laughs fully then, releasing me, and I immediately feel the loss of his touch.
“I should get back out there,” he tells me. “Gotta make sure Rankin doesn’t end up on his ass. That Kyle is sneaky.”
“Big scary Kyle,” I chuff, willing my knees not to wobble from the lingering sensation of how close he just was to me. “I’d better go make sure Jack hasn’t locked himself in the oven.”
“I want to say that that sounds unlikely, but I know Jack, unfortunately.”
“We love him for his personality,” I say seriously.
Ian makes a face. “Debatable.”
“Come see me when you finish up, yeah? I want to show you something.”
He looks confused for a second, but then he nods. “Sure. Okay.”
“Watch your knees,” I warn. “Wouldn’t want Kyle to take you out.”
He gives me a look that feels downright dirty, or maybe that’s just the way my brain chooses to perceive it, but thankfully he skates off quickly enough that he doesn’t see the actual shiver that passes through me, one I can’t exactly explain away, given that it’s pretty warm today.
I let my eyes linger on him for longer than is appropriate, probably, watching his broad shoulders wrapped in black and teal square up as he skates up alongside Rankin, knocking forearms with him before flashing a grin down at a focused-looking Kyle.
“Dee!”
I turn my head back toward the baking station, catching sight of Jack waving his one arm at me and wearing a helpless look as well as a good bit of bright pink icing down the front of his jersey.
Yeah, that’s about right.
I’m cleaning up when Ian finds me; the kitchen I oversaw the construction of on the other side of the building is pretty open, which means that I can hear him when he approaches, the kids having all gone back to the main building to get ready for dinner after a long day.
“Hey,” he says. “Where’d Jack run off to?”
“He’s next door with the others, sniffing around to see what the kitchen is putting out for dinner. The kids really like getting to hang out with them.” Speaking of, I notice Ian isn’t alone. “Hey, Kyle.” I address him with a smile. “Did you have fun?”
The little boy nods seriously. “Ian said I could kick ass someday.”
Ian immediately flushes, looking sheepish. “Don’t repeat that.”
“Okay.” Kyle gives another solemn nod, his little brow furrowing as he peers up at Ian. “Can you come practice again?”
“I—” Ian looks momentarily thrown, recovering quickly as his lips quirk and his large hand comes to rest against Kyle’s blond curls. “Yeah, buddy. I’ll come back soon, okay?”
“Okay,” Kyle says with another nod, his expression entirely too serious for his angelic face.
“Why don’t you go on over and see what they’re having for dinner?” I tell Kyle. “Ian is going to help me finish cleaning up out here.”
Ian laughs. “Oh, am I?”
“You’re a pushover, remember?”
Ian shakes his head, giving Kyle’s shoulder a gentle nudge. “Go on, buddy. I’ll catch up.”
We both watch him trod off, his hair bouncing with each step.
“Someone made a friend,” I say.
Ian is still smiling softly as he watches Kyle go back inside the building. “He’s a good kid. Really does show some promise. You think they’d let me come back sometimes to work with him again?”
“You really want to?”
Ian gives me a look like it’s a silly question I’ve asked, and my heart melts a little. “Not like I have a lot else going on.”
“Besides being a pro hockey player and feeding tabloid gossip, you mean?”
He rolls his eyes. “I noticed a couple of reporters hanging around earlier. Had those big clunky cameras.”
“I can’t wait to scroll through our ship tag tomorrow.”
He purses his lips. “You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”
“Maybe a little,” I chuckle.
“What did you want to show me?”
I nod toward the sink. “Finish washing those dishes first.”
“Oh, so you were serious about helping clean up.”
I arch a brow. “If you want one of those cookies I see you eyeballing, then you’re going to have to get your hands dirty.”
“Such a brat,” he grumbles.
My lips curl.
Oh, he has no idea.
“I didn’t know this was back here.”
Ian’s fingers trail along an old chain attached to one of the swings, tweaking it thoughtfully.
I brush past him, plopping down into the rubber seat. “Jack and I used to play out here a lot while we stayed here.” I push the toes of my shoes against the ground, propelling myself back and forth and giving him one arched brow. “He would always push me.”
Ian chuffs as he moves behind me, giving my back a gentle shove. “Subtle.”
“Got what I wanted, though, huh?”
“Did you just bring me out here to get me to push you around?”
I tilt my head back to smirk at him. “You’d know if I was trying to get you to push me around.”
His fingers still at my back for a second, and I feel a tiny thrill course through me at having tripped him up, even if only a little.
“It’s always strange coming back here,” I murmur, my eyes sweeping over the empty playground. “Brings back old memories.”
“Then why come back?”
“I guess…because I know how much it means to these kids to have someone show up for them. Sometimes just showing up can make all the difference.”
“That’s…” He clears his throat. “That’s really great, Lila.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I let the tips of my shoes scrape across the dirt as I swing. “I really just wanted to see how you were doing with all this.”
“All this?”
“You know. The PR shit, the training, all the jerks on the internet…We haven’t had a chance to talk about it.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Don’t do that,” I huff. “It’s been a fucking whirlwind, Ian, and you know it. Even with all the good chatter on social media lately, I know people are still talking. I know it has to bother you.”
“I’m used to it by now.”
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have to be.”
He stops pushing, his hands curling around the chains on either side of me. “Why are we talking about this?”
“I don’t know…” I let my head drop back again to meet his eyes. “I guess I feel guilty that we never have.”
“We’ve both had lives, Lila,” he says. “It wasn’t your responsibility.”
“Still. I feel like I could have reached out. When everything happened. We were close once.”
He looks contemplative, his full lips pressing into a tight line. “I was a mess, anyway. I’m not sure that I would have been very receptive to anyone trying to help.”
“We could still talk about it, you know. About Mei and the pictures. You know that I’m always here to listen.”
I watch as his jaw clenches, a wrinkle forming at his brow before he suddenly gives my back another push. “There’s nothing to talk about, really. It’s old news. People just haven’t figured that out yet.”
I want to push it, for my own curiosity as well as my worry for his feelings, but I can tell when I’m being shut out. I can’t even say why I’m so eager to talk about it in the first place. Is it just because I want to know more about him? To understand him better? And why is that? It’s not like there’s actually anything between us.
“When I saw the pictures of you and that woman, I swear I never thought that you would ever—”
He stops pushing altogether, making a frustrated sound and stepping away from the swings. “Lila. We seriously don’t have to talk about this. It’s not important anymore.”
“Okay.” I hang my head, feeling my face heat. “I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t—fuck,” he mutters. “Hey.” He kneels down at my feet, peering up at me. I suck in a breath when his hand reaches to press his fingers to my chin, tilting it up to force me to look at him. “Don’t be sorry, okay? I just hate the idea of you thinking about this shit. I can take everyone else thinking I’m garbage, but not you.”
But not me?
My brain is already reading way too much into that.
“I don’t think that,” I assure him quietly. “I’ve never thought that.”
His mouth quirks, and his eyes are warm, and there’s a barely-there swipe of his thumb against my jawline before his expression changes, and he stands abruptly. “Good,” he grunts. “You were always as much of my friend as Jack was. I hope you know that.”
His friend.
Fuck, that word sours my stomach now just as much as it did back then.
“Right,” I answer softly. “Of course.”
His gaze lingers on my face for a second more, his expression unreadable but his eyes still soft. “We should probably get back. Everyone is going to be looking for us.”
“Sure,” I say, sliding out of the swing and landing on my feet.
Like this, the disparity of our heights is glaringly obvious, and being this close makes me feel tiny, dainty even—thick thighs and all. It makes the lizard part of my brain wonder if he could simply slide his hands under my ass and pull me up against him without a second thought.
I try to cut through the awkward tension between us by shaking off my desperate thoughts and bumping my hip against his, forcing a grin on my mouth. “Come on, I’ll race you back.”
“What?” His nose scrunches. “I’m not going to—”
I take off at a dead run, laughing, and it hardly even takes a second for me to hear the heavy falls of his footsteps close behind me, an answering laugh in the wind.
Idly I wonder if I can go fast enough to outrun all the conflicting emotions Ian makes me feel…but somehow I doubt it.