Chapter 24 Clark
CLARK
My hand cups April’s face, angling her just right, and when our lips meet, everything else falls away. I mean for it to be quick—a simple goodbye—but the moment we connect, all my good intentions evaporate.
I slant my mouth over hers, deepening the kiss, and her small gasp of surprise makes my pulse rocket, breaking through the planet’s upper atmosphere. My fingers thread through her curls, soft and wild.
She melts into me, pouring as much into the kiss as I am. Her palms reach around to the span of my back, gripping, kneading, pressing.
I get lost in the warmth of her mouth, the sound of her breathing, and the way she fits against me like we were custom-made for each other.
There’s no need to play the “Where does it belong?” game.
I’m where I’m meant to be.
Inhaling deeply, I draw in her lilac scent. My hand finds her waist, pulling her closer, and she rises up on her toes to meet me. The kiss turns unhurried like we both just realized there is no deadline, no pressure.
I memorize every detail to replace the daydreams I’ve played on repeat for years. The soft give of her lips. The way she tastes faintly of vanilla. How her breathing turns shallow.
When we finally break apart—more for oxygen than because we want to—our grins are identical.
Her eyes are crescent-shaped with happiness, cheeks flushed, and I can feel the warm shivers running through her. Or maybe that’s me. It’s hard to tell where she ends and I begin.
“That was …” she starts, breathless.
“It was.” I agree, equally wrecked because there are no words.
And maybe that’s just it. We can’t say with our mouths how we feel just yet, but the kiss told me everything.
We’ve crossed friendship boundaries, but is this relationship territory?
I want it to be. But the doubt that came at me like a high-sticking penalty plays air hockey in my head.
But when I look at April—lips slightly swollen from my kiss, curls mussed from my hands, gaze soft and wondering—I can’t bring myself to care.
“I really like this,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
Her smile widens, and there’s that dimple. “I really like this too.”
“Even though it might come with a few interruptions.”
“Yeah. I’ll get used to it.” She kisses me once more, quick and sweet. “See you soon?”
“Can’t wait.”
I watch her climb the stairs to her building, making sure she gets inside safely. But even as I drive away, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. I tell myself it’s just the stress, but I can’t be sure. However, it’s something I need to figure out before it becomes a problem.
Morning skate before the game against Oklahoma isn’t so much a leisurely warm-up as it is a test to see how hard we can go. Coach Badaszek is in playoff mode, which means beast mode.
“Culpepper!” he barks. “You planning to let shots in like that during playoffs?”
“No, Coach!”
“Then tighten up that block!”
I do, making the next five saves in quick succession. When he finally blows the whistle for a water break, I’m drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
“So,” Mikey says, skating over with a grin. “You and April are officially together?”
Word travels fast with no thanks to my twin brothers and elderly aunt.
“Yeah.”
“Not fake anymore?”
I squint, wondering how to explain. “It was never really fake.”
“We know.” Pierre appears on my other side. “You were the only one who didn’t. But we want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That we were right.”
I grumble and snag the puck from Pierre, skating down the ice. There is something else I should say … to someone else. Namely, April and that I want to be her boyfriend if she’d like to be my girlfriend.
The entire team chases me until I’m surrounded. They’re all wearing matching smirks.
“When’s the wedding?” Hayden asks.
“We’ve been dating for two days.”
“And you’ve been in love with her for ten years,” Fletch points out.
Liam says, “So really, you’re behind schedule.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re all terrible.”
“Terrible friends who are happy for you,” Grady corrects.
Our captain adds, “Don’t screw it up.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Coach Badaszek’s whistle pierces the air. “Less talking, more skating! This isn’t a social club!”
We scatter back to our positions, but as I settle into the net, I catch Coach watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.
Before we break again, I’m taping my stick when he says, “Culpepper, a word.”
The guys make “ooh” sounds like we’re in high school and I’m headed for detention. I shake my head and follow Coach down the hall.
He studies me for a long moment that makes me twitchy. “You and April.”
“Yes, sir.”
“About time.”
I blink, thoroughly confused. “Sir?”
“Clark, I’ve been coaching hockey for thirty years. You think I can’t spot a man in love?” He shakes his head. “With that whole fake dating thing, I knew from day one it wouldn’t stay fake. Not with the way you look at her.”
“You knew?”
He chuckles. “Why do you think I didn’t object when Whitaker pitched the Love at First Wag campaign?” He leans forward. “Sometimes people need a push. You two needed a whole pack of hounds.”
I’m speechless.
“But don’t get distracted for playoffs. We need you in top form,” he continues and tips his head from side to side. “But also don’t let hockey distract you from her either. Balance, Culpepper. That’s the key.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod, thinking back to our conversation yesterday.
“Good. Now get ready to win. And tell April I said congratulations.”
I head back into the guest team locker room in a daze. Did Coach Badaszek just admit to playing matchmaker?
The guys are waiting like vultures.
“What did he say?” Mikey demands.
“He knew about everything between April and me and he approves.”
“Of course he knew,” Liam says. “Badaszek is a legend.”
“It’s unnatural,” Pierre says with a whistle.
I’m still processing all of this when Whitaker appears in the doorway.
“Got a minute?” he asks.
Stress surges inside. “I have a game to play.”
The guys exchange glances. I reluctantly follow him out to the hallway. Confrontations on the ice are just a regular day at work. But confrontations in real life set me on edge.
Whitaker runs his hand through his hair. “I owe you an apology. A big one.”
“For?” My eyebrows lift.
“For high school. For calling dibs on April when I knew you liked her. For making you think she was off-limits.” He meets my eyes. “I was a selfish kid, and I screwed up what could have been you having ten years with her.”
I let out a long breath. “We were all selfish kids.”
“Yeah, but I was especially selfish and I’m sorry. April deserves better than how I treated her at prom, and you deserved better than a friend who put bro code over your actual happiness.”
“Whitaker—”
“Let me finish.” He shifts his weight. “I know I can’t change the past. But I want you to know that I’m happy for you. Both of you. And if you need anything, I’m here. For real this time.”
“So no more dates with the likes of Lyric and Posh.”
He grips the back of his neck. “Yeah, I wasn’t reading the room.”
I study him for a moment, seeing genuine remorse in his face. Then I extend my hand. “Thanks, man. That means a lot.”
We shake, but where I expect tension to ease, it doesn’t.
“Is there something else?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah.” Suddenly sheepish, he gazes at the floor.
“Whitaker …?”
He winces. “If, say, I, uh, were to ask—” He swallows.
“That buzzer is going to sound and you’re going to lose your chance,” I warn.
“Would it be okay if I ask your sister, Claudia, on a date?” he asks in one breath.
My mouth drops open.
“I had a crush on her back in high school and was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want—”
“To ruin our friendship,” I breathe.
He nods.
“Oh man.” I grip the back of my neck. I didn’t see this coming. Did Mom?
Whitaker’s face falls.
Then I slap his arm with my gloves. “Yeah, go after her. Treat her right. She can be feisty. If I found out you act like a fool—like I did with April—it’ll be more than these gloves coming after you.”
He pulls me into a bear hug and trots down the hall.
When I return to the locker room, the guys are focused, which means no daydreaming for me. But I got the girl and I can’t wait to go home to her. After sixty minutes, during which Coach doesn’t let us get lazy—even though the game is in the bag—we win, but the flight back is delayed.
While we wait around, Pierre says, “Hey, a friendly word of warning.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I hope you know what you’re getting into. Being in a public relationship as an NHL player isn’t easy.”
“I know.”
“The women who want a selfie—that’s nothing. Wait until April has to deal with the spotlight snipers on social media. The women who think they have a chance with you. The constant scrutiny.”
My stomach twists because I saw how April reacted at the diner. The way she went quiet, withdrawn.
“She can handle it,” I say, but even I hear the uncertainty in my voice. The stress wrings me out like a sweaty towel.
“I’m sure she can. Just be prepared for it to get harder before it gets easier.”
Turns out, they’re the least of my problems.
Because of the flight delay, I’m late to the meeting with April at the Main Street location for the building tour. As soon as I’m on the ground in Omaha, I text her frantically.
Me: On my way.
April: It’s okay. The girls are here with me.
That should be a relief, but I told her I’d be there for her.
Me: Be there in 10.
I drive like a maniac—a safe maniac, but still—and screech into a parking spot on Main Street fifteen minutes behind schedule.
Through the window of the empty storefront, I can see April, Jess, Ella, Whit, Margo, Heidi, Cara, and Gracie—half the Knights WAGs crew has shown up. And standing in the middle of them all with her nose in the air is Sophia Snodgrass-Schuster.
This should be interesting.
I burst through the door, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I’m late.”