11. Hadley
Chapter eleven
Hadley
The sun is streaming into my window when I wake up the next morning.
I sit up and stretch, glancing at the clock on the nightstand to see that it’s a little after ten.
Guess I was tired after all the travel. I feel bad that it’s already so late.
Weston promised to take me to pick up the G-Wagon, and here I am, sleeping in.
He probably wants to go skate and work out, not wait around for me to get up.
I throw back the covers and get out of bed, then head to the bathroom and hurry through my morning routine. Once that’s done, I go into the kitchen in need of caffeine. My steps falter as I take in Weston, peeking into the fridge, his back to me, clad only in a pair of navy-blue boxers.
Fuck, that man is built. His back is covered in muscles and tattoos.
Shit.
I should not be ogling my fake fiancé.
My roommate.
My brother’s best friend.
As quietly as I can, I start to back out of the kitchen, but as I’m about to turn around and hightail it to my bedroom, I misjudge where I’m going. I slam my elbow into the corner of the entranceway, throwing me off balance, and I topple to the ground. Never said I was graceful.
“Shit,” I hiss, rubbing my elbow.
That will definitely leave a mark. Probably a bruise. I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping he didn’t hear me. Maybe he’s got headphones in.
“What the—”
Nope, not my lucky day.
I open my eyes to find him hovering over me.
In his boxers.
All of his tattoos on display.
Wearing wire-frame glasses.
Holy fuck, the man wears glasses. Kill me now. Glasses are my weakness.
“Glasses?” I squeak.
He smirks, pushing said glasses up his nose. “Yep. But I usually wear contacts.”
“Oh.”
“You okay?” he asks, peering down at me, his gray eyes sweeping over my body as if he’s trying to check for injuries.
I’m too stunned to answer. Not from the fall, but from the man towering over me with not a care in the world that I’m staring up at him from the floor while he’s wearing basically nothing.
“Yep. Yep. Yep.” I finally manage to say as I scramble to my feet. “I’m just gonna …” I skirt around him, ready to make a mad dash to my room. I’ve only made it a couple of steps out of the kitchen when he speaks again.
“Whoa, tornado, slow down.”
I pause, turning to face him. “Tornado?”
“You tried to blow out of here like one …”
I crinkle my brow, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.
He must notice my confusion because he shrugs, running a hand over his naked chest, and I can’t help following the movement. I swallow roughly. Weston is all muscles. Muscles and tattoos. And glasses. Can’t forget the glasses. Icing on the fucking cake.
“Eyes up here,” he murmurs, and when I meet his gaze, I realize he’s smirking.
“You’re the one who’s practically naked,” I hiss, trying to act as though I’m not affected by the sight in front of me. “What the hell, Weston? Where are your pants?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “I forgot you were here.” He pulls at the back of his neck, his face turning red. “How about I make you breakfast? As an apology for forgetting my pants. I make a mean omelet.”
My stomach rumbles, and I wrap my arms around my midsection. “Deal, but please put pants on first.”
He gives me a mock salute before sauntering out of the room, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t checking out his ass. I can’t help it. He’s hot. Nothing wrong with looking. He’s the one who was walking around in just boxers.
Blowing out a breath, I pour myself a big mug of coffee in hopes that it’ll take my mind off him and the way he looked.
“Please don’t be one of those people who drinks their coffee black,” I mutter. “Gross.”
Opening the fridge, I find a variety of creamers. Score. I stare at them for a few seconds like a kid in a candy shop before deciding on the hazelnut flavor.
“I see you’re going with my favorite.”
I startle and turn around to see him leaning against the entranceway of the kitchen, watching me, his arms and legs crossed.
That was fast. At least he’s dressed now.
Not that what he’s wearing is much better since he’s sporting a pair of gray sweatpants, a worn Storm shirt, and bare feet.
His glasses are gone, sadly, but his black hair is still messy as though he’s been running his hand through it.
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m shocked you have so many.”
“I like to keep things interesting.”
He steps into the kitchen and reaches around me, grabbing a frying pan off the drainboard. He sets it on the stove top.
I take my mug and sit at one of the barstools where we ate dinner last night and watch him crack a couple of eggs into a bowl.
“Spinach? Onions?” he asks, holding both items up. I nod. “Cheese and ham?”
“Yes, please. What are your plans today?”
“Work out at the arena and then maybe skate for a little while. Depends on who’s there. Hunt said he was going to try to get there this morning, depending on how Mads is feeling. I’ve got a few errands to run.” He starts chopping the vegetables. “What about you?”
“Probably go to the grocery store. Unpack more. Maybe I’ll call Madison and see if she’s up for a visit.”
“Oh, before I forget.” He sets the knife down on the cutting board, wipes his hands on the kitchen towel, and walks out of the room.
“Um, oh-kay,” I mutter to myself.
He comes sauntering in a minute later with a jewelry box in his hand.
“Weston Albert, what did you do?”
He snorts. “Not my middle name. And relax, it’s nothing. First, this is for you to use.” He holds out a black Amex credit card.
“I can’t take that.”
“Hadley Jane, you are my fiancée for all intents and purposes. My fiancée would have my credit card. Don’t worry, I added you as an approved user thingy, whatever it’s called, earlier this morning.” He shakes the card at me.
“I can’t. It’s too much.”
“Take. It.” He thrusts it at me again, and I finally accept it. “And you better use it.”
“Or what? Are you going to punish me? Spank me?”
His eyes widen for a brief second before he clears his throat. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I roll my eyes.
“This is for you too. If it doesn’t fit, we can get it sized.
” He opens the jewelry box. In it is the most gorgeous ring I have ever seen in my life, a sapphire surrounded by small diamonds, set in a simple yet intricate band.
“I know it’s not a diamond.” He shifts on his feet.
“It was my mom’s. If you want a diamond, we can get one. ”
I peel my attention away from the ring that I would have picked for myself to meet his gaze. “I can’t wear that.” I peer down at it. His mom’s ring? No. Nope. I can’t wear it. That makes it seem too real. “Just get me a fake one.”
“Hadley, please.”
“What happens if I damage it? Or lose it? Then you won’t have it for the actual woman you want to marry. I couldn’t do that to you or her.”
“But I want you to wear it. It’s insured. At least try it on.”
I stare at it for a few seconds, chewing on my bottom lip. Part of me really wants to because it’s gorgeous, and it would be fun to at least try it on. It probably won’t fit, and then I can suggest we pick out a cheap one.
“Fine,” I concede.
He takes the ring out of the box, and I hold my hand out to him.
“This isn’t how I expected to get engaged,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
“I can get down on one knee if you want me to.” He starts to lower himself to the floor.
“As much as I’d love to see you on your knees for me, it’s fine.” Except now I’m picturing him kneeling in front of me, that devilish grin on his face as he tells me he’s going to ruin me for all other men before he …
“Have it your way, tornado.”
Still not sure how I feel about the nickname. I don’t hate it.
He slides the ring onto my finger, and it fits, like it was made for me. He gives my hand a quick squeeze before releasing it.
“Shit,” I mutter, staring down at the ring. “It’s beautiful.” I peer up at him. “Are you sure?”
He gulps and nods before spinning on his heel and going back to making my breakfast.
“Okay,” I concede, because it seems as though it means a lot to him that I wear it. I don’t know why. I would have thought he’d want to lock it away in a safe until he finds the woman he wants to marry for real, but who am I to question it? “If it’s what you want.”
He glances at me over his shoulder as he cooks my omelet. “It is. Toast?” He holds up a loaf of bread.
“Please.”
He pops two slices in the toaster before turning the stove off and plating my omelet.
“Will you tell me about your mom? And your dad?” I ask when he sets my breakfast in front of me, along with the butter and utensils.
I know his parents died a few years ago, and he’s an only child, but other than that I’m clueless about his family.
He tilts his head, studying me, and I break eye contact to take a bite of my eggs, wondering if maybe I crossed a line. If it’s still too soon for him to talk about it—about them.
“She and my dad met in college. She was dating his roommate.” He lets out a bark of laughter.
“She told me that when she met Dad, she knew he was the one, so she broke up with her boyfriend. According to my dad, he was oblivious to the whole thing until his roommate came in one day, yelling and cursing at him. The roommate moved out the next week, and Mom and Dad started dating.”
“Sounds like something out of a romance novel.”
“A nineties or early two thousands rom-com if you ask me. Anyway, they got married right after college, even though their parents thought it was a mistake. She was a teacher, and he was an engineer. They moved to Anchorage a few years later because Dad got a job there.” He clears his throat.
“They had a lot of trouble getting pregnant before they had me. Even gave up trying to have kids and adopted retired sledding dogs. They always called me their miracle child because they were in their early forties when I was born.”
He pauses, a faraway look on his face. I have the urge to get up and hug him, offer him some comfort. I can’t imagine what he must feel missing them. But before I can, he’s speaking again.
“Mom loved to ice skate. My earliest memory is of her holding me as she skated on the rink my dad built for her outside our house. I was skating as soon as I could walk. I took figure skating lessons for a while. Did you know that?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I always wondered why you were so graceful on the ice. Now I know.”
And the gifts keep on giving. First the glasses. Now the figure skating. Wonder if he can still do turns, flips, whatever they’re called.
“And no, don’t ask me to do a double Axel because I couldn’t do it then, and I most definitely can’t do it now.
I’m not about to break an ankle trying.” I giggle, picturing him attempting it, and he continues talking.
“I had a happy childhood. Even though I didn’t have any siblings, it always felt like our family was complete, and I was never lonely.
Probably because I started playing hockey young and was always surrounded by teammates. ”
I pick up my toast and take a bite, staying silent.
“They were so proud when I made the NHL. I’d fly them in to see games.
I offered to move them to Florida so they could be closer to me, but they didn’t want to leave the cabin.
” He swallows. “It was rough having them so far away. I went to see them as often as I could. Uncle Rob, my dad’s best friend, was there too, which is why I think they wanted to stay.
At least they let me hire someone to help them cook and clean and take care of the property. Not that it mattered in the end.”
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
He’s quiet for a few moments, tracing a pattern on the table.
“Dad fell on black ice going out to get more wood one evening, and Mom died not even a year later, probably of heartbreak.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, reaching over and laying my hand on top of his.
He gives me a small, sad smile, and when he speaks again, his voice is full of emotion. “That’s life, unfortunately.” I squeeze his hand, and he reaches over and runs his finger over the stone on my ring. “They would have liked you.”
“I’m sure I would have liked them too.”
We sit in silence for a while before he clears his throat and pulls his hand away. I let him go even though I don’t want to.
“A few years before he died, my dad told me he was adopted. I’ve been trying to find out if I have any biological family that I don’t know about.”
“Oh?” I take another bite of my eggs. He really does know how to make a tasty omelet.
“He met his biological mom once. But she didn’t have any other relatives.
The whole single-child thing must run in the family.
She didn’t know much about his bio dad except for his name.
” He runs a hand through his hair. “Dad found his father’s death certificate, but no obituary or anything.
I did one of those DNA things earlier this year, but haven’t gotten any matches yet. ”
“I’m sorry.” I’m not sure if that’s the appropriate thing to say, but it’s the best I can come up with.
“Not a whole lot I can do. Maybe one day I’ll meet more relatives, but until that time, I’ll have to assume there’s no one else. Maybe my grandfather was an only child too.”
I go back to eating my food, thinking about what he said. I can’t imagine being all alone in the world, with no family. I mean, technically, he’s got my brother and the other guys as pseudo brothers, but I’m sure it’s not the same thing.
“Are you almost ready to go over to Holt’s?” he asks a few minutes later.
I shove the last bite of toast into my mouth, chewing and swallowing before getting to my feet and rinsing my plate and cup out.
“Give me a few minutes to change into going-out clothes.”
“I’m going to change too.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward his bedroom, and I nod, staring down at the ring sitting on my finger.
Why does it feel as if things with Weston just got a whole lot more complicated?