17. Hendrix #2
No other woman has ever made me feel like this. Like my heart might burst from my chest. Like I've finally found something I didn't even know I was missing.
Maybe that's why none of my relationships ever worked out. Maybe I've been comparing every woman to Colette McAllister since high school, measuring them against an impossible standard. No one else stood a chance.
Tucker's stupid bet flashes through my mind – the dare to get Colette to fall for me before Christmas.
But as I hold her closer, tasting hot chocolate and possibility on her lips, I realize I don't give a damn about winning some juvenile bet.
This is real. She is real. And whatever's happening between us means more than any childish game.
I've spent years pretending I didn't care, acting like she was just the uptight teacher who never gave me the time of day.
But standing here in the moonlight, snow gathering on our shoulders as we kiss, I can't deny it anymore.
I'm falling for Colette McAllister. Maybe I never stopped falling for her in the first place.
I feel her shiver against me, and reality crashes back. We're standing in the snow without proper winter gear, and her fingertips are starting to turn blue. Reluctantly, I break the kiss, though everything in me screams to keep holding her.
"Inside," I murmur, rubbing her arms to generate warmth. "Before you freeze to death."
Back in the cottage, I stoke the fire while Colette wraps herself in a fresh blanket, settling onto the couch. The flames cast a warm glow across her face, highlighting the flush in her cheeks that isn't entirely from the cold.
She won't quite meet my eyes. "Maybe we got a little carried away out there."
My heart sinks, but I get it. She just shared something deeply personal with me, and the last thing I want is for her to think I took advantage of that vulnerability.
"Hey." I sit beside her. "That kiss wasn't because of what you told me.
I mean, I'm honored you trusted me with that story, but.
.." I run a hand through my snow-dampened hair.
"I've wanted to kiss you since you stormed into the ice rink that first day.
The way you told me off in front of all those kids… I didn't stand a chance."
She pulls the blanket tighter around herself, but I catch the small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"You like it when I tell you off, eh?"
I reach over to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "Immensely."
I lean in to kiss her again, unable to resist the pull between us.
Her lips are warmer now, and she melts against me with a soft sigh that makes my heart race.
My fingers thread through her hair as the kiss deepens, and for a moment I forget everything else—the contract negotiations, the bet with Tucker, the storm… the cat.
But then she pulls back, pressing her forehead against mine. Her breathing is uneven. "Hendrix, I... this is..."
"Too fast?" I stroke her cheek with my thumb.
She nods, not meeting my eyes. "It's just... we're stuck here, and there's only one bedroom, and I don't want you to think..."
"Hey." I tilt her chin up gently. "I wasn't expecting anything. Well, maybe a few more kisses." I wink, making her laugh. "But nothing more than you're comfortable with."
Relief floods her features. "Thank you."
"You should take the bedroom." I stand and start gathering blankets from the storage chest by the fireplace. "I'll crash down here on the couch."
"Are you sure? I don't want to keep you from a proper bed."
I arrange the blankets into a passable nest. "Please. I've slept on buses and airport floors during away games. This is practically the Ritz in comparison."
She hesitates at the bottom of the stairs, watching me settle onto the couch. "Goodnight, Hendrix."
"Night, Colette."
She tilts her head. "Hendrix?"
""Yes?"
"You haven't called me Shakespeare or Professor in… well, I don't know how long."
"Disappointed?" I wag my brows. "If you want to role play, you can just ask."
"Aaand he's back." She makes a lopsided grin heads upstairs.
The house creaks as Colette moves around upstairs, each footstep a gentle reminder that she's here, just a floor away.
I stretch out on the couch, pulling the blankets up to my chin, but sleep feels impossible.
My lips still tingle from our kiss in the snow, and I can't stop replaying it in my mind, smiling like an idiot at the ceiling.
But reality crashes in, making my smile fade. I've been such an idiot about this whole thing. That stupid bet with Tucker seems ridiculous now. First thing tomorrow, I'm calling it off. This thing with Colette – whatever it is – it's real.
The sound of running water filters down from above, and I smile, imagining her going through her nighttime routine. Probably has it all scheduled down to the minute, knowing her.
My mind drifts to the hockey team – those kids are starting to grow on me.
They deserve a coach who's fully committed, even if it's just temporary.
Maybe I can set up some kind of mentoring program with the Titans, get the guys to visit more often.
The look on those kids' faces when Owen and the others showed up.
.. that's the kind of thing that could change their whole outlook on the sport.
But eventually, I'll have to go back. The thought of leaving Brookking – leaving Colette – makes my chest tight. The Titans are my team, my family. But if Malcolm trades me... I could end up anywhere. Vancouver. Florida. California. The distance from Toronto to Brookking already feels too far.
I roll onto my side, watching the dying embers in the fireplace. Whatever happens with hockey, I want to see where this thing with Colette goes. It's new and fragile, but it feels more real than anything I've had before.
I want more moments like this. More snowball fights and shared secrets and kisses in the moonlight. More of her sharp wit and fierce determination and the way her eyes light up when she laughs.
I drift off to sleep with thoughts of Colette's smile, her laugh, the way she felt in my arms during that kiss in the snow. The couch isn't half bad, especially with the lingering warmth from the fireplace, and the sound of wind whistling through the trees outside becomes a distant lullaby.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I jolt awake to the sound of shattering glass and howling wind. I bolt upright, heart hammering. An arctic blast whips through the living room, and something massive looms in the darkness.
"What the heck?" I fumble for my phone, clicking on the flashlight.
The beam reveals shattered glass everywhere and a giant plastic Santa sprawled halfway through the window, his jolly face now looking decidedly creepy in the harsh light. The storm must have picked up the decorative statue from outside and hurled it straight through the front window.
"Hendrix?" Colette's voice carries down the stairs. "What was that noise?"
"Uh, looks like Santa tried to make an early delivery." I kick some glass aside. "Stay back – there's glass everywhere."
Colette comes to the bottom of the stairs, wrapped in a quilt. "Oh my gosh!"
The wind howls through the broken window, sending curtains flapping , and snow swirling in, already forming little drifts on the hardwood.
"We need to cover this somehow." I carefully pick my way through the glass. "Think there might be a tarp in the attic?"
"I'll check." Colette disappears upstairs, her footsteps creaking above me as I collect the larger pieces of glass. I find a broom in the kitchen and start sweeping up the mess while trying to shield my face from the biting wind.
By the time I've cleaned up the last of the glass, Colette returns empty-handed. "No luck with the tarp. Maybe in the shed?"
"Wait." I spot a massive armoire against the far wall. "Help me with that?"
Together, we drag the heavy piece of furniture across the room. It takes some maneuvering – and a few choice words from both of us – but we manage to position it in front of the worst of the damage. Colette's stronger than she looks – though her grunt of effort is kind of adorable.
"There are garbage bags under the sink," Colette says, already heading to the kitchen.
She returns with a roll of industrial-strength trash bags and duct tape.
While I hold the armoire steady, she tapes black plastic around the edges, blocking most of the wind.
It's not pretty, but it'll have to do until morning.