12. Pepper
Istir at the unwelcome morning light that filters through the curtains. Like the bustling New Yorker I’ve trained myself to be, my disorientation fades quickly and I remember where I am.
Chase’s apartment is nothing like the cottage he gave Elliot—which is where I wish I was waking up right now.
My body hurts. Bad.
I groan. Heat floods my cheeks when I think about Chase. I shouldn’t have opened up to him the way I did. I thought it might help.
I don’t talk to people about my dreams. I don’t talk to people about anything. But I was so delirious with exhaustion and my body hurting and…I just wanted to help.
I didn’t want him to feel alone. Or embarrassed.
But not asking about his brother and instead asking about the first thing I could think of to get his mind off it—backfired.
I should go. I should pack up my one bag and go.
But not before I hold up my promise of cleaning out and boxing up Elliot’s things.
He can’t do that alone. He’ll end up throwing everything out without a second thought.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I pull up the plaid pants that have shifted around my hips and tiptoe to the bathroom.
I jump back when I look in the mirror, briefly forgetting I’m a redhead again.
“Oh,” I breathe. “Right.”
I’m in disguise.
As myself.
A shiver runs down my spine at the realization of how close I am to my old self again: No one in town likes me. I’m homeless and a redhead.
And Chase Reeves…wherever the hell he went—to the gym…for a bagel—hates my guts.
So much so that when I opened up to him in hopes of him doing the same, he told me to take my pickup lines someplace else.
I was so exhausted, his words almost affected me.
But I’m good now. My ass still hurts. But I’m good.
Changing back into my clothes, I fluff out the loose waves of my hair, dab on some gloss and venture out into the living room.
“Morning,” Chase says from the kitchen, startling me.
“Sorry I slept late,” I say, keeping my tone even and distant. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m falling for him if I keep it playful and…well normal. “I was just going to see myself out.”
He frowns. “I brought breakfast. This fridge hasn’t been well stocked in over a week.” He pushes a small paper cup with a plastic lid across the counter. “Black with sugar,” he says, remembering the way I ordered my coffee at the bakery in Hideaway.
I resist. “Thanks, I’ll just grab one on the way.” I pull my scarf off the hook by the door and wrap it around my neck, then reach for my bag.
He circles the counter. “Going somewhere?”
“Yeah. I’m going to grab the train back to town.” I offer a quick smile before turning on my heel.
I pull the door open, but it’s pushed shut before my eyes. “Why?” he grits.
I blink a few times and turn my head. “Because…you have a game to prepare for—errands to run—your own life to live. I’m fine. I’m a big girl who has done the train commute in and out of town before.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“It’s a twenty-dollar train ride and not worth your time.” I smile politely and attempt at pulling the door open again, but he doesn’t give it a chance. His hand keeps it shut tight.
“I’ll. Take. You.”
“I’m not in a motorcycle mood. My body is hurting and—”
“I have a car. I’ll go grab my keys.”
“Don’t, Chase.” I yank the door open. “I can get—” I catch myself before I say something else stupid—like home. “Back to town on my own.”
He’s unreadable.
A complete blank page.
And I’m done playing this game.
“I’ll see you when you get back.” I don’t wait for him to figure out whatever he seems like he can’t say.
And he doesn’t need to.
Chase Reeves doesn’t chase.
I’m halfway down the block and have the urge to reach for my phone so I can check train times, but I still don’t have one. I make a mental note to ask Charlie about getting one. Stopping at the corner, I try to decide which way would be my best bet for the station.
“Pepper.”
Glancing back, I see Chase jogging up behind me.
I stop.
Don’t move. Don’t give anything away.
Don’t let them see you.
Don’t let them pity you.
“Hey,” I say, a little too high-pitched. “Did I forget something?”
He releases a harsh breath, clearly not liking that he had to jog for anyone. “Pepper, I know you’re upset. Just come back up and I’ll drive you back.”
“I’m not upset,” I counter quickly. “I’m just…late. I need to get to the house. There’s still a lot to do and I need to hold up my end of the deal.” I point a playful finger and turn on my heel once again.
“Forget the deal. Would you just stop? Look, you want to know about my tattoos? I’ll tell you—over coffee. Come on.”
“Ya know, I’m good, thanks.”
“Pepper. Stop being a brat.”
“I’m not a brat,” I shout and spin.
He grins.
Shit.
Swallowing hard, I turn again and march down the sidewalk—the station has to be this way.
“Pepper!”
I turn my death glare on him. “Look, I’m not running again, alright? I’m just giving you some space so I can go and have mine—at your brother’s cottage where I feel a whole lot more comfortable. I want to get through those boxes. I want to call my only friend in town so I’m not constantly talking to myself in my head. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, Chase—really, I do. From the bottom of my heart. But you can’t babysit me. I’m fine. I’m going back to town, smile brightly when someone congratulates me on our engagement and pray for this nightmare to be over soon.”
I give him three seconds before I turn back on my heel and charge down the street.
It’s a minute before I hear him behind me.
“The wings,” he starts, as calmly as he can muster, “when I was young, I wanted to be a pilot, but I was afraid of heights so I got the wings inste—”
I keep walking and he abandons the admission.
“Okay, the uh…the anchor. That’s for Grandpa Reeves. He was a sailor. It’s supposed to represent strength and staying grounded—no matter how rough the seas—” An exasperated breath releases from him as I keep my strides sharp and avoid the bullshit he’s giving me.
He’s not behind me anymore. He’s stopped his pursuit. But my legs don’t stop. I’m too hurt—too embarrassed for trusting him with the one thing I’ve never shared with anyone.
“It was Elliot,” he shouts.
I stop. But I’m not turning. Not yet.
He’s breathless. “My dream…he does that, the jackass. Comes to me where he knows I’ll listen because I have no choice.”
I glance around the empty streets before turning slowly.
He releases a breath and takes small strides. “He wanted me to teach him to skate like a pro. Play like a pro—be like me. I told him to find his own thing. To stop trying to be like someone else and just find his own way.”
He stops moving and his head falls like he’s out of breath. Which I know is impossible for him because I’ve seen him fly across the rink like it’s a walk in the park.
“So he did,” he finally says. “He went skiing instead of to the rink with me that day. That’s how he died.”
My heart falls.
“Last night he asked me again—if he could come with me.”
“What did you say?” I ask quietly, moving toward him in slow steps.
His jaw works and his eyes shimmer. “What I should have said.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“No,” he agrees then looks back at me. His eyes full of regret. “But I didn’t even give him a chance. I kept telling myself that I just wanted him to be who he is. But…what if I just wanted it to be my thing?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I tell him. Meaning it but knowing he’ll never be convinced. He’ll never stop believing that his brother’s death was his fault.
“I’m sorry about last night. I wasn’t prepared.”
“I don’t blame you.”
He stretches a hand to me. “I know a nice place with a killer mountain view for breakfast if you’re interested.”
I perk a brow.
“Not in that way, of course. Message received, you are not interested in me—or my tattoos in any way.”
“Alright.”
The café is nothing like where I’d expected Chase to take me when he suggested breakfast. What I had in mind was a corner diner that was likely voted “best omelet in Denver.” But he walked us down to his underground garage, settled me into his sports car and drove us twenty minutes out of the city.
Chase wasn’t wrong about the view. The place is nestled in a forest of trees, overlooking the mountains. It looks like a kind of tea shop a middle-aged couple would call their hidden gem. Soft jazz music plays through some hidden speakers—possibly somewhere behind the hanging baskets of bright greenery.
It’s a spacious café but there are only a total of seven round tables, each lined against the wall of the enormous windows.
Coffee is definitely key here. Warm scents of freshly-brewed coffee, spices like cinnamon and cloves fill the air. It’s inviting, and seeing as how Chase drove out of his way here for what’s supposed to be the quickest meal of the day, tells me it’s one of his favorites.
“I got you something,” he says absently as he sips his coffee.
I blink past the skepticism. “Okay.”
He digs into his jacket and pulls out a phone. Sliding it over.
“Pretty,” I comment on the pink and gold cased phone.
“It’s for you. We need to stay in touch. In the meantime, keep yours dead.”
“Oh.” I slide open the screen. “It’s…a picture of you.”
He grins. “Why wouldn’t you have your fiancé on the lock screen?”
“I could think of a few reasons,” I mutter as I set it down.
“One more thing.” He glances around at the near empty café and pulls something else out of his jacket.
A small blue velvet box.
I stare at it.
But he waits for me. “Are you going to open it or are you waiting for me to get down on one knee?”
I lift the box and tap it lightly on the wooden table. “I’m willing to bet that if Chase Reeves doesn’t chase, then he doesn’t do the one knee thing either.”
He winks. “You catch on quickly.”
I lift the lid and nearly gasp at the emerald-cut citrine diamond ring—it’s not a simple ring. He is making a statement.
I lift my gaze, my lips curving. “Who are you trying to impress?”
He scratches his chin and leans back in his chair, looking at the ring like it’s some business proposal, then lifts his gaze to mine. “Do you like it?”
My brows jerk and I nod just as simply. “It’s beautiful…um…thank you? I’ll take care of it. I’m sure this was a loan from the jeweler or something.”
“Yes, Pepper. I told a jeweler about our fake engagement.”
“So you bought this?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
I stare down at the expensive piece of jewelry. “This…isn’t even your problem.”
He stares at me.
“I mean…the woman you eventually give this to—will she ever know it wasn’t meant for her?”
“Pepper, put the ring on. Drink your coffee. And eat your toast. We need to get to the rink.”
Tearing my eyes off the diamond, I look up at him. “Why?”
“The real challenge is getting you ready for the ice by Saturday,” he says, tying my laces on the bench in the arena. It’s empty, but we’re in the smaller rink. The one that Lonnie used for my practice last night.
Stubbornly, I stay seated at the bench where he just tied my laces like I was a toddler.
He stretches a hand. “Come on. I used to watch you do this at the lake. It’s like riding a bike.”
“It is not the same thing. And what do you mean watch me?” My question is playful, not accusatory, because it’s the second time he’s referenced it.
He looks up. “More like wait for you to move so I could toss the puck to my buddies.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I feign ignorance. “You were one of the nerds who never left the ice.”
“Still am. Now get up. I promised Lonnie I’d work with you.”
He offers a hand, thankfully, and I take it, letting him guide me the few steps to the ice.
“How come you don’t walk as wobbly in these things on the rubber mats?” I grumble.
He chuckles and steps on the ice, twisting to me and taking both my hands when I try to reach for the boards. My chest is pounding as he pulls me along with him, heading toward the center of the rink. My eyes are glued to our feet and my heart is thundering against my chest.
I don’t think it’s because I’m balancing on thin blades or afraid of falling again. I’m pretty sure it’s the way he’s focused on me. It’s the way his warm hands wrap around my icy fingers.
I swallow.
“Keep your head up and your eyes on me.”
Tall order.
But I don’t cower. I lift my chin and look into those piercing eyes. They flash as if he’s saying, Good girl.
And I almost…wish he did.
My body heats. My mind swirls. And don’t even get me started on what’s happening in my core right now with the way he’s looking back at me.
Oh my gosh. Can he read my mind? Am I readable?
My knees weaken, and I wobble, gasping and gripping his hands. Effortlessly—as if he expected it—he captures me. “Always keep your head up. Even if you fall.”
“How’s that possible?”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes dip to my lips, and for a moment, it feels like he’s lost in them.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper, silently noticing our bodies are almost flush. So close, I can feel the heat of his body.
“Relax. No one’s asking you to do any triples here. You’re just sweeping and acting like you’re having a good time out there.”
“Cheering on my man, right?”
His lips part before he answers, and a tiny thrill jolts through me to have caught him off guard. “Right.”
Before yesterday, when Lonnie dragged me onto the ice headfirst, it had been almost nine years since I’d laced up my old skates with my cheerleader besties. None of us were pros. We just had a good time.
I stop gingerly as he lets go of my hands to check my balance. He skates a few feet from me, watching me expectantly.
My bones still ache from last night—and I don’t need more judgment.
“Come to me.”
I clench and bite the inside of my cheek as I do, my eyes flicking away.
“What’s the matter, Woods?”
“I don’t need to give you more reasons to laugh at me.”
He smirks. “I’m laughin’ at you now.”
I huff. “Well, cover your eyes or somethin’.”
He cocks his head, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. “Not a bad idea.”
Skating up to me, he holds up a black and white handkerchief. “For you though—not me.”
“Why do you have one of those?”
Why is that the first thing I say instead of ‘Are you out of your mind’?
“Don’t worry about it.” He takes my question as permission and steps closer, lifting it to my face.
“Do you blow your nose with that?”
“Gross, Pepper. Just stand still.”
I exhale and close my eyes. “It better be clean,” I grumble.
After securing it over my eyes, he takes both my hands again and glides me along the ice. When my legs start spreading out of my control, he puts his hands on my hips and squeezes.
I gasp and tighten my hold.
“I’ve got you.” With his hands still on my hips, he skates backward.
I release a breath and the tension in my shoulders, putting all my trust in him.
“What do you feel?”
“Pain in my ass.”
“That’s not nice.”
“No, I mean my ass is still in pain from last night.”
A guttural noise, like a groan blended with a throat-clearing, oozes from his throat. “Jesus, Pepper,” he breathes.
“What?” I whine.
He releases a breath. “Let’s try this again. What do you feel…in your stomach, between your legs as you shift from one to the other. Where does your mind go?”
“Where is your mind?” I ask with a nervous laugh because I don’t know how to answer his questions.
There’s no humor in his tone. “You first.”
“Argh. Okay.” I exhale. “I feel blind but confident. A little cold—”
He gently digs his fingers into my abdomen and holds them there. “Here. What do you feel here?”
There are a million things happening in my stomach right now. Fluttering with excitement, buzzing with a need for him to drag me along the entire circumference ten times as long as he doesn’t let me go. An energy beyond words that has little to do with the ice.
“What…am I supposed to feel?” I ask, cowering away from my thoughts.
“Fair enough. I’ll go first.” He waits a beat, and I wish I could see his features right now. “Every time I hit the ice on game day, my veins pulse. With every stride. Every pass. Every goal. Every miss. I feel heat despite the cool air. I feel my focus sharpening, my senses heightening. I’m ignited, electrified. Like I’m flying and I never want to come down.”
A puff of air leaves my lungs. “That’s all?”
He squeezes my hips again as he picks up speed and we glide. “What do you feel?”
“Umm…” Say it. Just say it. “That my jeans are too tight? That I don’t know if I can balance on these without holding on. That I’m going to make a fool of myself?”
He stops.
The energy buzzing between us stops too.
He loosens the handkerchief from around my head. My eyes blink open and the first thing I see is the piece of fabric being stuffed in his back pocket.
When I look up, his expression is blank. Or maybe not blank. Maybe irritated? It’s a hard glare that says he expected more from me.
“What do you want me to say, Chase?” I whine.
“I want you to admit that you’re scared. That you’re worried about what people will think. That you know how to do this, but you’re so convinced you don’t, you give up trying.” He turns and skates toward the exit.
“It’s only day two. Give me a break,” I call back.
“We don’t have time, Pepper. We don’t have time for you to adjust into this. If we’re going to pretend you’ve been here all along, you need to fucking act like you belong.”
I swallow.
“You gotta make this look real, Pepper.”
“Why do you care so much?”
He blinks away then seems to recover. “Because you’re not the only one faking it. If you’re caught, I’m caught. And you’re not bringing me down with you.”
I flinch. The rock in my chest crippling my ability to breathe. My throat burns with the threat of tears. He doesn’t mean that. He can’t be that cruel.
You idiot, of course he means it. He’s famous. Successful. You don’t even have an identity.
I sniffle and mentally shake off the sting. Digging up the New Yorker in me.
He’s right. I wasn’t focusing before.
I need to right now. And I know just how to do it.
When I was nine, my mother sent me to a local lady’s dance class. She held it in her basement until she had enough money to open a studio. She was a woman with spunk, drive, dedication. I remember her clearly. Hippie, dark hair, always spinning and singing.
She did this unreal super-spin where she’d find her focus, stretch her hands out, get in position and spin, letting her legs carry her effortlessly to her destination.
How do you see where you’re going if you’re always spinning? I’d asked.
Draw your line. Never look down. Lift your chin for the audience before you take off and draw it with your nose, lifting just until you find your point. Drawing your line first is the only way to stay in it. No one has to know you’re doing it. It’s all in your head. When you close your eyes, you’ll see this line. You’ll follow it. But don’t doubt it—or you will stray.
Lifting my chin, I follow her guidance. I stop when my eyes lock with Chase’s.
Pulling the scarf off my neck, I wrap it around my eyes and tie a knot to secure it.
“Pepper,” he starts.
“Don’t. Move,” I call back.
I have my line. I see it clearly. Like the blue in his eyes that stayed with me long after I turned around that first night. I push off. Except, I’m not spinning. I’m striding. Following the line that’s vivid behind my blindfold. I glide smoothly. I glide...flawlessly. And I keep going until I reach him. The end of my line.
I keep my blindfold on when I search for his face, feeling for it with my hands. I find his cheeks and sweep my thumbs over his lips.
There.
I lift my head while bringing his down to mine and kiss him deeply. I don’t move my mouth. He doesn’t either. But I hold our kiss and deliberately melt into him.
He wraps one arm around me, pulling me closer. A moan releases from his throat as he loosens the knot from the fabric around my eyes and slides it off.
Breaking the kiss, I pull back, blinking. “I can pretend just fine.” I glance down to his crotch—noticing the bulge in his sweatpants. “Proof.”