Chapter 2 #2
“She's pregnant, not an invalid.” Troy shook his head.
“Before we get into how their mother had me believing she shouldn’t be lifting a finger while she was carrying our kids.” Harold stretched out his arm. “This came for the birthday boy a few minutes ago.”
“It’s not from one of you?” Noah took the box and stared at it. No one ever bought him presents, except for the Bowies. And he constantly told them to stop, but they never did.
“Nope. Came by special courier. Darcie signed for it.”
"Open it," Troy said.
“Looks like someone’s got an admirer.” Reid raised an eyebrow.
Noah pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid.
A hockey puck. A plain, boring, black puck. Nothing notable, but that didn’t stop his heart from racing, or from remembering hearing his father cheer from the corner of the rink whenever Noah had scored a goal.
He picked it up and registered the weight of it—the specific density, the feel of the rubber, the muscle memory of years of playing that apparently still lived in his palms regardless of everything else he'd tried to leave behind.
Tucked inside the box was a folded piece of paper. He didn't open it. Instead, he placed the puck back in the box and did his best to look mildly puzzled and faintly amused.
He lifted his gaze to Harold. “Did you happen to get the name of the delivery person, the courier company? Or did they say who this was from?”
“No. Sorry,” Harold said.
“Is there a problem?” Jag asked.
It was always hard to lie to Jag, the police chief. Noah found it best to stick somewhere in the middle. “It’s a story thing.”
“That’s a little too vague for me,” Jag said. “And I’m not sure I buy it.”
“It’s from a source.” Noah wasn’t about to stand there and debate it, and for now, that explanation would keep Jag off his back. “Excuse me. I need to go find Ziggy.” He snagged his drink and did his best to walk like his blood pressure wasn’t probably through the roof.
He scanned the living room. No, Ziggy, but he could hear her laughing around the corner.
He spotted her in the kitchen with Crystal Morning, who owned a local bakery, laughing at something with her head tilted back and completely unguarded. Ziggy only got like this with people she'd known her whole life. He crossed the room and touched her elbow.
She turned, still smiling. "Hey—"
“Sorry to interrupt. But I need to talk to you. It’s important." He kept his voice low and even.
“Give me two minutes. I’m just in the middle of—”
“I’m sorry, Zig. Now, please.”
Ziggy narrowed her stare, and her smile faded, just a tad. She politely excused herself and strolled down the hall. He opened his bedroom door, closed it behind them, and held out the box without preamble.
“What is this?” She reached inside and held up the puck. “I don’t understand. Someone gave you a hockey puck. Why?”
He let out a long breath and sat on the edge of the bed. “There’s a note inside. I haven’t read it yet.”
“Why not?”
“No idea.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you mind?”
She narrowed her stare. “Sure.” She pulled it out and unfolded it. “Happy Birthday. 25 years is a long time.”
He lifted his gaze, and the color had drained from her face. She stared at the note, then at him, then back at the note.
“What’s the significance of a hockey puck?” she asked.
He flopped back on the bed and stretched his arms wide. Another confession. Another truth. Another thing she’d have to carry. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You didn’t drag me from the party for something that doesn’t matter.” She set the puck, note, and box with the balloon attached to it on the nightstand.
He patted the side of the bed.
And she did the unthinkable. She kicked off her heels and snuggled in next to him, resting her hand on his chest and her head on his arm.
“The card at the station earlier could’ve meant anything and been from anyone,” he said. “It had no bearing on my past life. Or who I used to be.”
“You’re right. Just one card would most likely mean a person who felt wronged by you bringing out their truth.”
“You don’t send someone a puck who isn’t in love with the sport or who never played the game. I’ve never expressed interest in either.”
She lifted her head and caught his gaze. “You’ve always said you don’t have time for sports, and about the only thing you’ve ever taken any interest in is cars and sailing. And the latter, only because I’ve forced you to with my sister and me.”
He chuckled. “I played travel hockey until my father was arrested. I was pretty good, too. All my coaches told me I had talent and had a chance juniors and college, at the very least.”
“Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you at all.”
He traced his finger across her jawline. “You know Noah Chase. And Noah doesn’t like to play hockey. As a matter of fact, he can’t stand it.”
“I know I’ve always said I see you. I see Noah, not that teenage boy who moved to get away from being the son of a—”
“Please don’t say it.” They might be just words, but they were the truth, and her family was only a few feet away. He didn't want to taint the party and the people she cared about. “Two incidents in one day. We can’t ignore that.”
"We don't know anything, yet."
“No. But twenty-five years is specific. And the anniversary is only four months out. Whoever sent the puck knows something about who I used to be.”
“Again, we don’t know that.”
“You’re adorable when you’re trying to make me feel better.
” He stared into her deep blue eyes, which had always held him captive.
But they also had the power to settle his nerves and ground him in the present.
Right now, they just reminded him how much he cared.
How much he’d tried, over the years, to protect her from his past. And yet, he’d pulled her so deep into it that she’d become the only connection he had to who he’d been and who he wanted to be.
Jag was right. All Noah had were excuses, and he’d run out of them.
He cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a kiss. It was soft, warm, and she tasted like vanilla frosting mixed with red wine. It was intoxicating.
It lasted only a second before she pulled away. “Every year at this time, you give me mixed messages.”
“I know.” He rolled on top of her, smoothing her hair from her face.
He brushed a few feather-light kisses on her neck, just below her ear, then moved across her chin, and back to her lips.
“You’re accepting my mixed messages now.
” He didn’t wait for a response. He kissed her hard.
The kind of kiss that told a woman she was desired.
The kind of kiss he knew was dangerous because he wasn’t sure there was any going back now.
He was tired of fighting. Tired of living alone.
Tired of being scared.
And whenever he was with Ziggy, all of that went quiet. It didn’t disappear. It just went still.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she kissed him back like she meant it. Like she had no intention of going anywhere.
Knock. Knock.
“Noah? Are you in there?” Henreitta, Ziggy’s mother’s voice rang out.
Ziggy buried her face in his neck.
“Yeah. I’ll be out shortly,” he managed.
“I was just looking for Ziggy. Is she with you?” Henreitta asked.
“Yup. Give us a couple of minutes. Just discussing a work thing.”
A few seconds later, the sound of heels clicking down the hallway echoed off the walls.
He rolled to his side, offering Ziggy his hand.
She pinched his side… really hard.
“Ouch. What did you do that for?”
She jumped off the bed and slipped her feet into her heels. “You understand how my mother can be. Knowing that I was in your bedroom, with the door closed, and didn’t answer? That’s just going to give her all the reasons she needs to shove us at each other.”
“You were just in my arms in my bed.” He winked. “And is it so bad to be pushed in my direction?”
“I’m confused, conflicted, and too old for your games.” She stepped around him and headed toward the door.
He moved in front of her. “I’m not playing anything. Letting you walk out that door five years ago was a mistake. I thought I was protecting you from my past, but I’ve never done that, now have I?”
“I didn’t need you to protect me then, and I don’t need it now.
Not from that anyway.” She side-stepped him and curled her fingers around the door.
“As far as us goes? I won’t deny I still care about you.
That’s obvious. But there’s been too many what’s her names in your recent history for one kiss to let me forget that you’re a player with more commitment issues than either of my brothers ever had. ”
She closed her eyes for a moment and sucked in a deep breath.
“You give me whiplash, especially this time of year and honestly, what happens when we get past it? Because the last time I let you in, you broke my heart.” She opened the door and was out of his room faster than he could make his lips move.
Not once in the last five years had she ever mentioned he’d crushed her that way. Sure, he wasn’t a total asshole. He suspected it was more than she’d let on because it had killed him. But they’d muddled through it and remained friends.
Good ones.
But he hadn’t simply hurt the woman who’d just left his bedroom. He’d taken a piece of her heart, and she’d never fully recovered. It would take some doing to show her he was man enough to make it right.