Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thorne
Four days of being benched, and I'm climbing the walls. The story of my punching Savard leaked online the day after Mollie’s story went live, throwing us into a chaotic storm of gossip and speculation. I can’t say I’m sorry, though. Savard deserves far worse for what he did.
Adding to the maelstrom, my father has been texting me nonstop about how I’ve thrown away the rest of my career. Not really what I want to hear right now. When has that stopped him, though?
At least it’s better than the hate I’m getting online. I thought that I would feel relief about having my relationship with Mollie wide open. And I do. But I know from a quick check of my messages that my fans and haters are all up in arms about my admittedly complicated relationship.
They can all go fuck themselves.
My right hand is in a splint, ring finger fractured, two knuckles split open and scabbed over.
The first regular season game is two weeks out, and I can't hold a stick.
My agent has called three times with updates that aren't updates, but nervous check-ins.
Juliet texted me a carefully worded message that basically said ‘please don't talk to the press.’
And Beck hasn't said a word to me since the rink.
Gordie is the only living creature in this house that doesn't look at me with concern. He's thrilled that I'm home all day. We've been on six walks since yesterday and he's ready to go on another. I have the feeling that I need to up his number of walks through the dogsitting service.
Mollie comes downstairs, dressed in jeans and a cropped sweater, her red curls wild around her face. She drops her bag on the counter and gives me a look. "Okay, Hotshot. Get up."
I'm sprawled on the couch with my splinted hand on my chest, staring at the ceiling. "I'm healing."
"You've been staring at that ceiling for too long." She grabs my good hand and pulls. "We're going to eat. I'm starving. And you need to eat something other than protein bars."
"Self-pity has a lot of fiber."
"Alex." She tugs harder. "Come on. We can go out to eat now without having to look over our shoulders. So, I’m going to need you to put on shoes. Real ones, not the slides."
I let her drag me off the couch because she's right. I haven't left the house since Tuesday. Besides, after telling Mollie’s brother we’re an item in the most awful way possible, I should at least get to kiss her in public.
We take her car because she insists, which means I fold myself into the passenger seat of Car-di B like a circus clown. The muffler rattles ominously as she pulls out of the marina lot.
"This car is a health hazard," I tell her.
"This car has character."
"Character is what people call it when something should be condemned."
She reaches over and pats my knee. "Shut up and enjoy the ride."
After we climb out of the car, I grab her and kiss her, squeezing her butt. She flushes and swats my chest. “Alexander Thorne, stop it right now.”
“It’s my reward. Now that everybody knows about us, there is nothing stopping me from pawing you, and slobbering all over you, every chance I get.”
Her warm brown eyes soften. “You’re not regretting this whole thing? Thinking that this is more trouble than I’m worth?”
“Hah!” I squeeze her ass again. Her warm little body against mine is a comforting weight. “Good one, Freckles. You’re stuck with me. If you ever decide to dump me, I’ll just go back to being your full-time stalker.”
Mollie’s lips twitch. “It’s a good thing I love being your girl, then.”
My girl. Hell yeah. I kiss her again, ignoring the fact that we’re in the middle of the parking lot and people are gawking at us. I’ve earned this.
The diner is a greasy little spot on Eastlake that we've been coming to for weeks. The coffee is mediocre, and the hash browns are transcendent. Most importantly, nobody in here gives a shit about hockey. We slide into a booth and order a ton of food. I didn’t realize how starving I was until I smelled bacon sizzling.
The food comes fast. For a few minutes, it almost feels normal. Just the two of us in a sticky booth, her knee bumping mine under the table.
Mollie eats a little, then pushes her plate away, clearly wanting to say something.
"I'm sorry you're benched. I'm sorry about Beck.
I'm sorry that Savard showed up and ruined everything.
" She picks at her toast, not making eye contact.
"If I hadn't told you about him, you wouldn't have reacted like that. I should've made you leave the rink."
"You did try to make me leave the rink." I put my fork down. "You were pulling my arm. You were screaming my name. You did everything right, Mollie."
"But if I hadn't told you about Savard in the first place, you wouldn't have even known who he was."
"And those little girls he was coaching would still be alone with him every day. You telling me wasn't the problem. Me throwing three punches when you specifically asked me to stop was… not my best moment."
"Alex." She takes my injured hand and cradles it in hers. “This is such a fucking mess.”
"This is my mess. The first punch was instinct. The second and third were choices I made because I wanted to hurt him. You were right there trying to stop me, but I didn't stop. That's on me. Not you."
She's quiet for a second, looking down at my splinted hand. Then she carefully releases it, scoots out of the booth, and burrows into my side. She wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face against my chest.
"For what it's worth," she murmurs into my shirt, “it was extremely romantic in a fucked-up, toxic masculinity sort of way. I won’t lie and say I didn’t get a tiny bit turned on at the sight of you beating the snot out of him."
I laugh. Actually laugh, the first real one in four days. Something loosens in my chest that's been locked tight since I watched Beck walk out of the rink. "Glad my potential felony assault charge is hitting the right romantic notes for you."
"I’m a red-blooded woman, after all." She kisses my neck and sits back, her eyes bright. “If I didn’t like alpha male bullshit, I wouldn’t be dating you.”
“When you’re right, you’re right.” I can’t stop grinning.
Someday, I think, this feisty little redhead is gonna be my wife. The thought fills me with an intense male satisfaction that’s hard to tamp down.
We're settling back into the food when three women materialize at the end of our booth. Mid-twenties, dressed up, phones out. One of them leans in with a smile that I've seen on approximately ten thousand faces over the course of my career.
"Oh my god, you're Alex Thorne, right? Can we get a photo?"
"Sorry, ladies." I don't even hesitate. "I'm here with my girlfriend and we need some privacy."
All three pairs of eyes swivel to Mollie. She gives them a small wave with her fork still in her hand. They apologize, giggle, and retreat to their table in a huddle of whispered excitement.
Mollie stares at me across the booth. "You just said girlfriend. In public. To strangers."
"That's what you are."
"I know, but you just..." She shakes her head. Then she leans across the table and kisses me, her hand on my jaw, soft and deliberate. I cup her face with my good hand and kiss her back, and for a second the diner disappears.
When she pulls back, her cheeks are pink. "My boyfriend."
"That's me." I wink, just because I know that it will fluster her. It does, and I’m glad.
She grins and goes back to her eggs. I watch her eat for a minute, my chest tight with something that I'm not sure I can name. "Mollie."
"Mm." She glances up, her mouth full.
I word my question carefully. "If I get fired from the team, are you still going to want me?"
Her fork stops midway to her mouth. She sets it down and looks at me with an expression that borders on offended. "Are you serious right now?"
"Dead serious."
"Alex, I like you despite your fame. Not because of it. I fell for the guy who makes me coffee, walks Gordie in the rain, and reinforces doorframes without being asked." She narrows her eyes. "I can't believe you'd even ask me that."
I shrug. "Maybe I needed to hear it."
"Alex, you could get fired tomorrow and I'd still be sitting across from you in this shitty diner, eating these incredible hash browns." She points her fork at me. "Don't insult me by asking again."
I smile. “Okay, Molls.”
My phone buzzes on the table. I glance down and my stomach tightens.
It’s Beck. Where are you?
Mollie reads it over the top of her coffee mug. Her expression shifts. "You should let him cool off a little more."
"It’s like cement. Every day I wait, his version of the story sets more firmly." I pick up the phone with my left hand and type the name of the diner. "Better to talk now, while everything is still flexible."
She purses her lip. "I hate that you're right."
"Get used to it," I fire back, trying to make her laugh.
She kicks me under the table but doesn't argue. We wait. I finish my coffee. She finishes hers. The diner carries on around us, oblivious to the fact that my entire life is in a state of upheaval.
Beck walks in a few minutes later. He looks like he hasn't slept well, with dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight. He spots us in the booth and his expression hardens as he takes in the two of us together, my hand near Mollie’s on the table.
He doesn't sit down. He stands at the end of the booth and looks at me. "How long?"
"Since the summer," I say.
He looks surprised. "The whole time she's been living in your house?"
"Yes."
Beck's voice gets louder. "You were fucking her behind my back, and lying to my face about it? You fucking asshole."
"Beck," Mollie starts. “Please, sit down."
He ignores her. "Every goddamn day, Thorne. I trusted you. I asked you to take care of my sister, and you used that to get in her pants." His fists are clenched at his sides. The couple in the next booth has stopped eating to stare. "You're a fucking snake."