Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
Faye
“You want to talk about it?” he asks, stepping close, his front pressing to my back as I brush my teeth.
Yup.
We’ve reached that level of domesticity—sharing a bedroom, brushing our teeth side-by-side.
Hell, beside the couple of nights he’s slept away from me when the Grizzlies played away from San Jose, I’ve spent every night in his arms.
Dumb? Maybe.
A fantasy? Absolutely.
Too fast? Probably.
Gonna stop? No freaking way.
Never—never—has my soul felt more at home than when Gray is holding me, when his slow and steady breathing is ruffling the hairs on my nape, when his gentle voice is waking from a nightmare.
Less of those of late, less of an excuse to sleep next to him.
Except…that he’s mine.
“I’m rested,” I say after I rinse and spit, put my toothbrush aside. “That nightmare last night was a fluke. I think because I spent the morning at the house—”
Thinking about all the things I’m waiting for the insurance company to do.
Fire marshals. Engineers. Adjusters. Contractors.
And still cooling my heels while I wait for them to cut a check to reimburse me for my laptop and phone—not to mention the battle that’s been taking place between my home owner’s and auto insurance as to who’s responsible for replacing my car.
Which is part of the reason I’m up early to drive Gray to the practice facility before he flies out for another game.
The other piece is that…I like spending time with him.
Especially when he does things like cupping my jaw and rubbing his nose back and forth against mine, saying, “I want to hear about the house, Red. And I fucking hate that you’re still having nightmares—”
“Occasional nightmares,” I correct.
His eyes are gentle. “Occasional”—his thumb brushes over my cheek—“or not, I still hate that you have them.”
Warmth in my belly, spreading out through my body, coiling carefully around my heart.
I really, really like this man.
“Gray,” I whisper.
Hot green eyes. Lips brushing over mine. “Hate it,” he says firmly then lifts his head. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”
“Then what—”
“The game.” He nuzzles at my throat, lips brushing over my skin.
“I know you’re still not the biggest hockey fan, but I’d love it if you would come watch.
” A kiss that has me shivering, my hands plunging into his hair, holding him close.
“I’d make it worth your while, baby,” he says earnestly, “I promise.”
It feels so good to have him close like this I’m having a hard time focusing on his words.
“I know you will,” I say, arching against him, trying to turn his head so I can kiss him.
He takes my mouth in a flash of tongue and teeth, leaving me breathless and limp and…slow to register the note of desperation in his words.
Of worry.
His lips trail to my ear, his tongue flicking out and making me shiver. “Come to the game, Red.”
The game.
Why had I wanted to avoid the game again?
It’s hard to remember now—with him so close, with his mouth on my skin, with his hands running over my body, lightly teasing my curves, drawing me flush against him.
“Okay.”
Triumph in his eyes…until his phone rings.
We both still.
“Ignore it,” he mutters, fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt, trailing up my side.
“You can’t be late,” I protest, though it’s more sigh than words since his tongue is flicking out to taste the sensitive spot behind my ear again.
He spins me, bracing my hands against the counter. “We have plenty of time.”
The phone cuts off.
Then immediately starts up again.
“Just answer it,” I say, breaths coming in rapid gusts, “so we can get back to—”
A wicked grin as he snags his phone from the counter, swipes across the screen.
“Hell—”
“What the fuck are you doing, Gray?” Courtney snaps.
His hand drops away from my body and he steps back so quickly I waver on my feet.
Shame. Worry. Desperation. Hurt.
It spurs me into motion and I jab at his cell, immediately silence the next call that comes through.
Then block her number—a new one, I see, since the last time she’s called.
Meanwhile Gray’s turned into a statue, his gaze averted, the only thing that makes him appear slightly human the flickering muscle in his jaw.
“That’s why I don’t want to go to the game,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move, but his eyes fly to mine.
“I know you hate the attention”—I chew at my bottom lip—“and if I go, there’s a good chance that people will put the pieces together about who I am to you or Courtney may see something and be even more triggered…
” I shake my head, force my words through my tight throat.
“If we wait until the news cycle calms down and people are moving on to different and more interesting stories, it will be easier for us…”
He just looks at me. And I…keep talking.
“But if I go now…” I exhale. “I know you just want to play hockey, honey. Same as I know you don’t want more stories out there about you…”
Still silent.
And I just…keep going.
“I want to watch you play in person, Gray. I really do. I just…” I shrug. “I think it’s probably safer to wait until…”
A thunderstorm across his face.
“…things settle,” I finish.
And I don’t have any more words, any more thoughts—
Because he’s turning away from me.
“Fuck!” He punches the wall, doing it with so much force his fist bursts through the drywall, sending up a little puff of dust. “I hate this shit,” he growls. “Hate that it keeps happening. Hate that she won’t fucking go away!”
But when he goes to punch again, I grab his wrist, halting him.
“No,” I rush to say. “You need your hands, honey. You need—”
He yanks out of my grip and I freeze expecting…I don’t know what the hell I expect.
Certainly not what happens next.
Which is him spinning and wrapping his arms around me, burying his face in my hair, falling silent while holding me tight for a long, long time.
“Fuck, Red,” he rasps and there’s more in his voice I don’t understand, pieces I’m missing, an incomplete puzzle. “What’d I ever do to deserve you?”
“Gray,” I whisper. “We’ll figure it out.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” The words are so quiet I barely hear them.
But I do hear them, and so I ask, “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t respond, just buries his face in my hair and holds me tight.
I open my mouth, wanting to demand he answer me—but the words won’t come.
I want to know what’s scaring him, want to know every part of him.
Want him to know he deserves everything, and certainly much more than he thinks he’s entitled too.
But I don’t think he’ll hear me if I say that, don’t think he’ll believe me.
And he has to be on a bus in an hour.
He needs to focus on work, not dredging up old drama.
So…I let it go as I hold on to him in return, as I do it tightly. Waiting. Hoping. Wanting him to talk to me, to give me the rest of it—why Courtney is so determined, what gives him the haunted look in his eyes when her name comes up…what the fear eating him up inside is.
Fear that has nothing to do with my nightmares or with my house or the videos currently going viral on the internet.
But…we’re new.
But…we’ve shared so much already.
But…we’re in deep—deep—in such a short amount of time.
So, I don’t push.
I let him pull back and lightly brush his lips over mine, let him give me the soft, sweet words that are a way to gloss over what’s just happened. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Red.” He cups my cheek. “I appreciate you.”
He seals his lips over mine.
“And you’re right,” he says when he pulls back, cupping my jaw. “There will be more games for you to watch.”
I nod, hold him tightly again, hold him until he’s releasing me, coaxing me to finish getting ready because he really is going to be late unless we get moving, and then I drive him to the practice rink, where the team’s bus is waiting.
There are reporters outside, trailing him as he walks to the bus, calling out questions that have his shoulders going stiffer and stiffer.
As I watch him, I know it’s the right call to skip the game.
I just can’t know later…
That this was the moment I should have pushed.