Chapter Nine
Tia
It's amazing how much you can fit into one giant suitcase and a carry-on if you really try.
What isn't amazing is how long it takes for said suitcase to appear in baggage claim…
or how many people you have to elbow aside to try to haul it off the conveyor belt before it inevitably disappears around the back for another rotation.
I reach it just in time to see it slip beyond my grasp.
"Dang it," I grumble, hoisting my carry-on a little higher on my shoulder and planting my feet, determined to stand my ground so I don't miss it again.
Except, right as it reaches the back of the belt, it's snatched off.
"Hey! That's—" I break off, blinking at the gorgeous giant hauling it off the belt like it weighs nothing.
Briggs.
My heart does a flip before racing away. It's startling how intensely you can miss someone you speak with multiple times a day, but here we are. I've never missed anyone or anything the way I've missed him since he left last week.
Unless it's the Playoffs, I don't usually even watch Kingston's games. But I watched both of Briggs' games, just so I could stare at him in the net every damn time the camera panned his way.
It's ridiculous how giddy he makes me feel without even trying. Every time we talk, I want to keep him on the phone, just so I can keep listening to his voice, so I can keep feeling close to him.
A week ago, I didn't even want to come to Chicago. For the last few days, I've been dying to get here already, just to see him again.
And now, he's standing in front of me.
Gulp.
I think he saw me before I saw him, because as soon as he has my bag under control, he turns toward me, his head tilting.
His denim eyes lock with mine, his expression intense.
He doesn't look at me like anyone else ever has.
He looks at me like he's staring at pure magic, like he's awed and humbled at the same time, trying to figure out how to keep it all for himself.
I love knowing I'm the thing he looks at that way—that I'm the one he wants badly enough not to try to hide the greedy need or the heat in his eyes.
The young guy in a hoodie standing beside him recognizes him and does a double take, but Briggs doesn't even notice. His lips curve into a grin as he lifts a hand, crooking a finger at me.
I'm not even embarrassed by how quickly I rush toward him. Maybe I should be. Maybe I should try to play it cool and act like I haven't been dying to see him again…but I think he'd know that's bullshit. I think he knew I was falling for him before I figured it out myself.
I spent all day after he left, trying to tell myself that this isn't what this is, that it can't be that, that I'm just confusing lust for love.
And every damn time, I arrived back at one simple fact: lust doesn't make you see yourself more clearly than you have in years.
Love does that. Lust doesn't make you want to be a better version of yourself than you have been in years.
Love does that. And lust doesn't heal the pieces of you that you thought would always be a little raw and humiliated. Love does that.
I'm falling for him. Somehow, inexplicably, he burrowed his way into my heart.
He's only burrowed deeper in the days since I had that realization.
Every time we talk, he gives me a new reason to fall, like when he told me that he's going to be the only first I remember because I deserve perfection.
Or when he told me that his biggest regret is not being big or old enough to properly protect his sister back when she needed it most.
I guess I thought I was the only one with scars and trauma. Turns out, his run deep, too. Deeper than I expected. And somehow, despite everything he and his siblings have been through, he still believes in love. He still believes in it enough to fight for it.
Maybe that's why I'm here now, a little bit terrified, a little bit excited…but ready to fight, too.
"You looking for this, beautiful?" he asks, motioning toward my bag when I'm standing in front of him. "Because I'll give it to you, but it's going to cost you."
"What's your price?"
He crooks a finger again, smirking at me like the devil.
I step into him, so close, he's everywhere again, eclipsing everything and everyone around us. His head tilts toward mine, his breath warm against my lips.
"Kiss me," he breathes.
I lift on my toes, planting a light peck on his lips.
He growls before I can drop back down to my feet, hauling me up in his strong arms to kiss me properly.
The world spins around me, falling out of focus.
I latch onto him, clinging to his shoulders as he kisses me so thoroughly that there isn't an ounce of breath left in my lungs. There's just him, everywhere.
"That's how you say hello to your man, sweetness," he rasps against my lips, his voice low and breathless, before he burrows his face into my throat. "Christ, I missed you."
My heart turns another flip. "I missed you, too."
"Yeah?" He pulls back, his eyes on my face. "You missed me?"
"Like crazy, Briggs," I say solemnly.
He kisses me again, not caring that we're in the middle of the airport, blocking access to baggage claim. Not caring that there are dozens of witnesses. He just kisses me like he has all night.
When he releases me this time, people are staring.
"Shit," he mutters when he notices, blindly reaching for the handle of my suitcase. Within seconds, he's got my carry-on slung over his shoulder, too. "You ready to get the fuck out of here?"
"Um, yes," I say, glancing around, "definitely."
I'd really like to not be on the news already.
I know it'll happen eventually, not because I'm cool enough to be gossip, but because he is.
And Kingston is my brother. Of course people are going to have something to say about the fact that Briggs and I are…
what are we even doing? Talking? Dating?
Is there a word for when you haven't labeled it but you're falling in love with someone?
I have no idea, but I think we're whatever that word is.
Briggs wraps an arm around my waist, guiding me out of baggage claim, then through the maze of the airport, and out. The sun is a bright ball directly overhead, but it doesn't really warm the air. A frigid breeze blows right through me.
"Cold?" Briggs asks, noticing when I shiver.
"Only always."
"And yet, you live in Minneapolis."
"It's not as cold there."
"You little liar," he says with a chuckle. "It's way colder there than it is here."
"Not really. You guys have the wind trying to murder you all winter. We don't. The wind makes it colder. Science," I retort.
"That is absolutely not how science works, Tia," he laughs.
"It is." I pat his arm sympathetically. "It's okay that you didn't learn it properly, Mr. Engineering Degree. At least you have hockey to fall back on."
He laughs so loud, he startles a couple one row over. They shoot us an odd look, but it doesn't faze him any. Nothing ever really does. He's just…Briggs.
We stop for burgers on the way to his place because I'm starving, and end up cuddling in the back of a fast-food restaurant until the staff basically kicks us out.
By the time we make it to his place, it's dark. But not even the night hides how fucking massive his house is. I'm pretty sure it has its own zip code.
I look over at him as he hauls my stuff out of the back. "You overcompensating for something here, Briggs?"
"What?" His brows furrow, his gaze following mine when I nod toward the house. And then he laughs, the confusion clearing from his gaze. "You've had your hands all over it, beautiful. You know damn well that I'm big everywhere."
"Yes, and so is your house."
"It was on sale," he says with a shrug.
"You're the reason people want to eat the rich," I say sweetly.
He just shakes his head at me, pointing toward the giant stone porch. "Take your gorgeous ass inside before I eat something rich."
"You aren't talking about me," I mutter, starting up the sidewalk. "I could never afford a house the size of a city."
"It's not that big."
"It is, but I'll let you keep thinking that if it makes you feel better," I call over my shoulder as I step onto the porch and peer around.
What I can see of the house is beautiful—a French Provincial with classic stucco and casement windows—but it's a little surprising.
I've never put much thought into what kind of house he lived in, but I guess I just thought it'd be something more practical, not an actual fucking mansion.
He carries my bags onto the porch a second later, juggling them while he unlocks the door. "Does it bother you?"
"Hmm?"
"The house," he asks, and he actually sounds worried about it, like he's afraid I hate it.
"Not really," I admit. "I guess I'm just surprised. You don't seem like the mansion type."
"I'm not," he mutters. "But I drafted at eighteen, with one brother already in the league and another playing professional football.
" He swallows. "And a fourteen-year-old sister who hated being home alone with our mother.
I needed somewhere safe for her to go when she needed to get away.
Since Tye was playing in Colorado at the time, and Harlan was in Oregon, I figured this was as good a place as any.
It has a library, pool, and gardens, plenty of space for her to breathe.
Since it's a gated community, she'd be safe here on her own, even if I were out of town. "
My heart stutters as I place a hand on his arm, feeling how rigid it is. "I'm sorry," I whisper, guilt rushing through me. "I didn't know. I shouldn't have teased you about it."