42. Chord
forty-two
Chord
7 DAYS AFTER MILAN
The Slippery Tipple is at capacity with a rowdy crowd that includes half of Aster Springs, my brothers and sisters, and my Fury teammates. Twenty-four hours after our win against Calgary and forty-eight hours until we’re in San Francisco for our next game, it was my idea to bring the boys back to Aster Springs for a long overdue round of drinks and a slow dance with my girl.
For now, Violet snuggles contentedly under my arm, her earnest face lit up by her phone as she checks her appointment schedule.
Soon after we landed in San Francisco last week, Violet reached out to the people who inquired about her couture while she was stuck in Milan. She’ll officially open her books and her studio next week—quietly and under the radar the way she wants it, even though I suggested a blowout launch party.
It’s a fucking rush to watch her breathlessly and beautifully build her brand-new business. If I didn’t believe it when she told me she was happy before, I’ve got too much evidence to doubt it now. My wallflower is in her element—vibrant and confident. In breathtaking bloom.
“Everything okay?” I ask as she tucks her phone into her new leather bag.
“Mm-hm. Just confirming my bride for Monday morning.”
“Your first client, Wallflower. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you. I’m kinda proud of me too.”
Her cheeks flush from what I suspect is part exhilaration at her new couture label and part the half-glass of Mona’s white wine sangria in her system. Tendrils of her dark curls have pulled free of her ponytail, and I twist one around my finger as I lean in for a kiss. How can it be that only a week ago I was on a plane to Italy, hoping that one day, three years from now, we might have a life made of moments like this one?
And here we are, back in California, Violet in my arms where she wants to be. Where she belongs.
She eases away from my mouth with a satisfied smile, then takes a sip of her sangria and lifts her eyes to the oversized television mounted above the bar.
The screen flashes with a replay of the Fury’s game against Calgary last night, and because I know what’s coming next, I grin around the neck of my beer and tighten my hold on Violet as she flinches at a violent hit she’s already seen three times—once at the game and twice more tonight. We’re on the third replay, and the drunk commentary from all corners of The Tipple just keeps getting better.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I ask Violet for the thousandth time. “Spending tonight here with the guys?”
She leans against me and burrows against my chest like it’s possible to get closer than she already is. “It’s perfect.”
“Hm.” I set down my beer and slide my hand under the table, coasting over Violet’s bare knee and sliding my way up her thigh, running my finger underneath the hem of her shorts.
Goosebumps ripple over her warm skin, and she fights a little whimper as I murmur against her ear. “I think our first night back was perfect, don’t you? Didn’t you like the way I fucked you on the floor of our new apartment?”
Her eyes float closed before she remembers we’re in a public place, and then they fly open as her cheeks flush with awareness—and, if I’m not mistaken—desire.
“Yes. That— That was perfect.”
“And how about the way I made you come on my tongue in that hotel penthouse in Calgary? Do you remember? I hoisted you on the dining table and devoured you for dessert. That might be a close second.”
She wilts against me with a near-silent moan. “Chord…”
“And that’s nothing compared to what I plan to do to you when we’re back at the ranch tonight. Making love in our bed, making you happy in the house I built for us before I even knew you existed.”
Violet turns her head and leans in for a kiss. I slide my tongue against hers, and when she allows the kiss to grow deeper, my boys start stomping their feet and hollering like jackasses.
“Get a room!” Hayden hoots.
Violet pulls away with a shy giggle and a pretty blush, and I pull her in tighter as I shout at my team, “Shut up!” But I smile when I say it because I’ve missed this kind of banter with my guys, and besides, nothing in the world is going to bring me down tonight.
Around the bar, a cry goes up at the replay as I score the first goal of the game. On the ice, Jake and Hayden jump me with congratulations before I coast around the glass, pausing where Violet sits in the stands.
The camera pans in on her, and the thrill of seeing her in my jersey at the game, blushing like fire but tolerating the spotlight for me, only gets greater every time I watch it.
“There’s my girl,” I murmur, turning my nose into her hair and inhaling the peachy scent.
Violet hums her agreement. “There’s your girl.”
Play starts again, colors flashing across the screen, and I smirk with mixed humor as Spencer Cook checks me hard into the boards, but then The Tipple crowd boos loud enough to drown out the cheers of Calgary fans coming through the television speakers.
“I hate that guy,” Violet mutters, glowering with a rage I didn’t think she had in her as the camera documents my once-over with our trainer. She’s adorable, like a furious kitten, and I smile wider. “I can’t wait for—”
She cuts off as someone skips the tape through the next few minutes, hitting play at the exact moment Jake takes out Cook hard enough to draw blood. Whoever has the remote control mutes the boos coming from the Calgary crowd, making The Tipple audience cheer even louder.
“You realize he’s going to have an eyebrow scar a lot like yours after that,” Violet muses. “I’m starting to wonder if that guy wants to be you.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Good fucking luck to him.”
At thirty seconds left in the first period, there’s a fight for the puck behind our net. Shore slides in, takes control, and with a sharp shot, sends the puck gliding past the Calgary goalie’s skate.
Hayden jumps to his feet, whooping as he throws finger guns to himself on the screen. “Fuck, yeah! And that’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
West yanks him back into his seat with a grunt. “Sit your drunk ass down before you embarrass yourself.”
Hayden waggles his eyebrows at West, then tips his head toward the women watching him and whispering at the bar. “I’m done talking myself up anyway. I think it’s already had the desired effect.”
Hayden swaggers across the room as West shakes his head and takes a long draw of his beer. Only his second, I note, and the only one beside me on this side of sober.
“More sangria?” Poppy asks as she stops at our table, a little white apron around her waist and a full jug of Mona’s liquid poison in her hand.
Daisy thrusts her empty tumbler in the air for a refill while Violet pushes her empty glass away. “I think I’ve had enough,” she declares. “But thank you.”
“Smart,” Poppy agrees before glancing around the table.
Charlie shakes her head with a polite no, Finn’s still nursing his whiskey, and at the other end of the table, my teammates raise their beers to toast Poppy with rowdy, nonsensical rambling.
“Wings!” Theo slams a palm on the table. “We need fucking wings!”
Poppy chuckles. “No problem. I’ll hook you up.”
“And laid.” Breaker slumps in his chair with a moan, his half-empty beer bottle clutched against his enormous chest. “I need to feel a woman’s touch.”
“Oh, Jesus,” West mutters as Jake snickers behind his hand.
“Sorry, buddy. I can’t help you there.” Poppy hooks a thumb toward Hayden, who looks like he’s getting lucky over at the bar. “Why don’t you hit up your friend for some tips?”
Breaker shakes his head with morose defeat and returns to his beer. Another cheer goes up around The Tipple at the Fury’s third goal of the game. Mine again.
Poppy turns her attention to Dylan, who hunches over his barely touched drink. My youngest brother is a little quiet tonight, and Poppy flicks a puzzled look to Daisy, who replies with a subtle shake of her head and a silently mouthed I’ll tell you later .
I shoot Daisy a look to let her know she’s going to tell me too.
“And how about you, Dylan?” Poppy asks with unusual care. “Another top-up?”
Dylan gives her a fast smile, then stands without looking directly at anyone and shrugs into his jacket. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get back to Izzy.”
Poppy takes a step back to let him pass. “Of course. Where is she tonight?”
“Her mother’s in town, and they’re back at the ranch.”
“Her mother?” Poppy’s fingers flex around the handle of the sangria jug as her eyebrows lift with surprise. “I didn’t realize she—”
“Yeah, so I’ve got to go. Thanks for the drinks. Food was good, too.”
Poppy smiles with a small shrug. “Our pleasure.”
Dylan waves a generic goodbye to the table, and it’s interesting the way Poppy watches him walk away, staring and smoothing her apron before she gives herself a little shake and returns to the bar.
If I didn’t know their history and how desperately Daisy and Poppy tried to shake Dylan from their tails as kids, I’d say she was disappointed to see him go.
As soon as Dylan disappears through the door, I turn to Daisy with a pointed look. “What the hell was that all about?”
My baby sister purses her lips like she’s debating how much to share, then throws up her hands with an exasperated sigh. “Dylan’s in a weird mood because Annalise is here. We all know their parenting arrangement is a little unconventional, right? She never wanted custody of Izzy, and she only visits when it suits her work schedule, but he was so damn infatuated with that woman when they met, and I’m not sure he ever got over it.”
Finn’s grunt sounds almost disapproving while Charlie hums her agreement.
“Annalise visits three, maybe four times a year,” Charlie elaborates. “Stays in one of the cabins on the ranch and spends a few days or a week with Izzy. Dylan’s a mess the entire time, but he shuts me out when I ask him about it.”
“Do you think he’s in love with her?” Violet wonders.
“I don’t know,” Charlie admits. “Dylan’s never suggested there’s anything serious going on. She’s got to be ten years older than him, a successful international lawyer working in diplomatic affairs. Always traveling and not interested in putting down roots. They’ve got nothing at all in common.”
“Maybe not,” Daisy agrees, “but she broke his heart.”
“Fuck,” I reply with a rough exhalation. “Really? I’ll talk to him.”
“You can try,” Charlie says doubtfully.
“And I will,” I insist. “Tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to take my wallflower out to the dance floor.”
Violet’s eyes light up, and I grin as I take her hand and lead her to the darkest edge of the dance floor. The beat is too fast for something slow, but I don’t care. I twirl her out and then spin her against my chest, and we sway together in the almost-shadows of the crowded bar.
I take off her glasses and hook them onto the neck of her tee, and for a long while, I do nothing but get lost in her eyes. The warm brown irises with flecks of gold that glitter in the muted lights.
I coast the back of my hand down her cheek, and she leans into it with a contented sigh. There are things I want to say to her, and maybe a drunken dance floor isn’t the most romantic place to do it, but the words spill from my lips before I can stop them.
“I almost can’t believe how much my life changed in just one summer,” I tell her. “All because of you. Not so long ago, nothing was more important to me than hockey. Nothing felt more urgent than ending my career on top. I never thought I could love anything the way I loved my career, and even though I told myself I didn’t care what people thought about me, I’ve spent too long trying to prove my worth to assholes who couldn’t give a shit about who I was and what I wanted. All I could think about was winning. All I wanted was to be the best.”
Her eyes are open and trusting as she stares up at me. “And now?”
My throat feels thick as I press her closer, spinning us around as I search for the right words. “Now, there’s nothing more important to me than you. Nothing has ever kept me up at night like the thought I might never hold you again. Nothing ever twisted me into knots like the possibility of you falling in love with somebody else.
“The only thing that kept me going was believing I’d finally done something that made me worthy of you. You are capable and talented, and you deserve the world. I want you to have it all, and I thought loving you was letting you go.”
“Chord.” She rests her head on my chest and breathes deeply. “I know we took a roundabout way to get here, but I’ve come to believe it had to happen like that. The lessons we learned made it all worth it in the end. How else would I have learned to listen to my heart over all the noise in my head, or that I have the power to choose what lights me up inside?
“Thank you for letting me figure this out for myself.” She runs the back of her fingers across my cheek, mirroring my own gesture of adoration. “And thank you for chasing me halfway across the world to tell me you love me and to bring me home.”
I slide my hand around her nape and pull her mouth against mine, claiming her with a kiss. It’s soft and lingering. It’s demanding and possessive. It’s more than a promise. It’s a vow.
And then I tilt her face up to mine, blinking against the sting in my eyes. “I’ll chase you anywhere and always, Violet, because it’s the only way I know to catch a dream. And you, my pretty wallflower, are my fucking dream come true.”