Chapter 19
Nineteen
Sean
My breath catches. I don’t hear a single thing—not the traffic or the sound of the wind whistling over the top of the building. There’s nothing aside from the sound of my heartbeat roaring in my ears.
“Can you say that again? Because I seem to be hearing things.”
“I miss you,” she says again.
I roll her onto her back and hover over her. A tear drips across the bridge of her nose and rolls down the side of her face. Pressing my forehead against hers, I close my eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you. Impatiently, I might add.”
“Patience has never been your strong suit.” She laughs through her tears.
I lean back, my eyes roaming over her gorgeous face, mapping the little freckles that dot her high cheekbones. Her pulse flutters in rhythm with mine against the tips of my fingers—fast just like a hummingbird’s wings.
“If this is you throwing me a life raft, I’m grabbing ahold of it and holding on tight, because I’m fucking drowning without you. So, tell me, is this gonna be another time that my hope is crushed, or are you in?”
She studies me while worrying her bottom lip, and I hold my fucking breath.
Please. Come back to me, baby, I silently beg.
She gives a silent nod, but that’s just not going to work for me. “I need to hear you say it, Rebel.”
“I-I’m in.”
“Finally—”
Leaning forward, she shuts me up with a kiss that leaves us both breathless. My dick is fucking rock hard in my pants, but somehow, I find the self-control to break our kiss, and roll on my back, pulling her to my side again.
“Does this mean I actually get to come to family dinner tomorrow night?” I ask, playing with the ends of her hair.
“How do you know about that?”
“Your dad invited me. Surprised you didn’t set him straight about us.” I smile down at her.
She tangles her fingers with mine. “I never pressed the button.”
“Huh?”
“I didn’t press the button to change my relationship status on social media.”
Be cool, Sean. Be fucking cool.
“Hmm,” is all I say because I can’t trust myself to say anything else.
“I mean, you’d probably just break into my phone and change it back anyway.”
Yeah, she’s right. I would. We lay there in comfortable silence for a while with her drawing mindless patterns on my chest with her nails.
“Do you ever think about what your life would be like right now if you weren’t playing hockey?”
“Me? I’d probably be stuck behind a desk somewhere well into the early hours of the morning, sifting through discoveries and depositions, and trying like hell to figure out how to get some asshole, who probably deserves to be locked up, out of trouble.”
She tilts her head back to look at me. “Why does that not surprise me?”
A door slams, jolting me in surprise. Hannah raises up and looks over her shoulder.
“Hey, Sean? Um . . . we gotta run.”
“I told you not to let me catch you up here again, young lady!” The old man yells, storming toward us.
We both hop up and take off, darting around the security guard; her going left and me going right.
Our laughter trails behind us as we run down the stairs, launching ourselves over the rails to the next flight of stairs.
We take the elevator down until we’re on the first floor, darting through the lobby and bursting through the glass doors.
The second my foot hits the sidewalk, I toss Hannah over my shoulder and take off.
“Put me down!”
“Not a chance,” I pant.
My lungs are on fire, and my ribs fucking ache, but I don’t stop to put her down until we’re a few blocks away. Bending at the waist, I fight to catch my breath and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand before sweat drips into my eyes.
Hannah glances between my empty hands and my face. “You . . . you didn’t grab my menudo?”
I turn around to go back and get her soup, but she grabs my arm, stopping me. “I was kidding . . . You’d really do that for me?”
A gust of wind catches a strand of her hair, blowing it into her eyes as I turn back to face her.
Reaching up, I sweep the curl back behind her ear so I can see her beautiful face.
“I’ve jumped off a cliff for you. I’ve risked my career for you.
I’ve lied, stalked, stolen, kidnapped, committed assault, and trespassed.
All. For. You. Do you really think going back for a little soup is where I draw the line, Rebel? ”
One second her feet are planted flat on solid ground. The next, her hands are in my hair, and her legs are coiled around my waist as she kisses the fuck out of me.
I carry her into the alley and pin her back to the brick wall. “You’re testing all my self-control here, mi amor. I really want to fuck you right now—add exhibition and indecent exposure to your laundry list of crimes.”
“So do it,” she says, skimming her lips up my neck and nipping my earlobe with her teeth. “Fuck me, Sean.”
Goddamn.
I’m hard as a fucking rock. So much so the pressure from my dick straining against my jeans is painful . . . but we can’t.”
“Not tonight, baby.”
The words leave my mouth, and I want to swallow them back. I know if I fuck her now, she’ll worry if we’re just falling back into the toxic cycle. How do I know that? Because I know her.
“I’m freaking the hell out, Smiley. She has me all kinds of fucked up.
Look at me. I’m pouring sweat, and I just hopped out of the shower.
What the fuck?” I pace back and forth, but I can’t seem to tamp down the anxiety.
“I can’t explain it . . . My heart it . .
. it aches, like someone’s reaching inside my chest and squeezing the fuck out of it.
And every time I think about seeing her today?
These tingles . . . they shoot right through me. ”
I rub my arms, trying to alleviate the goosebumps. “My skin is humming. It’s fucking humming. Jesus Christ, why is my stomach doing this weird shit? I think I’m gonna puke.”
Facing my closet, I lock my fingers behind my head and take some calming breaths.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Yeah, it’s not working.
“I still feel like that with Aspen. It’s called being in love.”
“I’ve loved Hannah for a long time, and it’s never felt like this.”
“There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with them .
. . you’re in love. And, man, I gotta tell you .
. . I never thought I’d see the day a woman brought The Sean Mac to his fucking knees.
Let alone have him scouring through his closet for an outfit—like a chick—and talking about his feelings.
” Cal chuckles, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, while I toss yet another shirt onto my bed.
“Where’s Aiden? He’s so much better at this wardrobe shit. ”
“First of all, have you seen how Aiden dresses?” I ask, raising a brow. “He’ll have me going over to your in-laws in an Armani suit. The man’s country, but he’s bougie as fuck. What if I wear jeans and a nice shirt?”
“No. You can’t go over there wearing jeans.”
“They’re not just any pair of jeans, Cal. They’re Amiri,” I argue.
“The answer’s no. What was your next point?”
“Huh?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
“You said first of all, but you didn’t state your next point,” Cal reminds me.
“Oh yeah . . . Second of all, I’m meeting her entire family . . . which happens to be your entire family. I need your help not Aiden’s,” I say, plucking a white button-down dress shirt out of my closet and holding it up to my chest in the mirror. “You think she’ll like this?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Dude, you’re ate the fuck up. You’ve already met her entire family. Also, if you didn’t want Aiden’s advice then why’d you—”
“What’s wrong?” My head whips around at the sound of Aiden’s voice.
“Ah. Just in time. He doesn’t know what to wear to our family dinner,” Cal tells him.
“Wear that blue Armani suit you wore to the team meeting a few weeks ago.”
Cal laughs as I give him a look and toss an arm in Aiden’s direction. “See what I mean? Wait. What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here?” Aiden pulls his phone out of his back pocket. He gives the screen a few quick taps, then flashes it in front of my face. “You said, and I quote . . . ‘SOS. I need you to come over.’ See?”
Fuck! I sent the text to the group chat.
“Mac, are you okay? I got an SOS text,” Carter calls through the house. “Well, I don’t see any blood so that’s a good sign . . . Oh, there you are . . . and you seem to be alive and well. What’s going on?”
“He doesn’t know what to wear to the family dinner,” Aiden tells Carter.
“Not the white shirt, that’s for sure,” Carter says, forcing me to toss the button-up onto the bed along with the other shirts.
Cal slides past me, pulling out a fitted navy shirt, adding, “Yeah, that wasn’t your color. This one’s not bad, though. Goes good with your skin tone.”
They all jump into action, holding different articles of clothing up to me and arguing over what looks good and what doesn’t. I move to grab a couple of shoe options off the shelf.
“Which of these?” I ask, and turn back around, holding up the shoes.
Carter covers his mouth with his fist while Cal rolls his lips together, both of them trying hard not to laugh. Aiden doesn’t even try to hide it, that mother fucker just bursts out laughing. I cut a glare at each of them, realizing this was all a joke.
“Everybody, get the fuck out! I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Go back to your families,” I snap, striding into my bathroom to take another shower. I pop my head back out of the door. “Thanks for coming over to make sure I’m not dead. You can all fuck off now.”
Shutting the door behind me, I brace my hands on the counter and stare into the mirror, talking to myself.
You got this. You’ve worked your ass off to get her back.
That was the hard part . . . well that and refraining from being murdered by Coach.
He didn’t try to kill you at the hospital.
Probably because there were witnesses and ICU beds on standby.
He didn’t try to kill you at the arena or during practices either. Again, because there were witnesses.
Quit being a fucking pussy.
It’s just dinner with your woman and your friends . . . And your coach. You’ve done this a hundred times.
Hopping in the shower, I try to shake off the nerves but fail.
Thank God, when I open my bedroom door, the dickheads are gone.
My eyes cast down to my bed and set out is an entire outfit in all black—black diamond pattern button-down dress shirt, black slacks, a stylish black belt with a gold buckle, black dress socks, and black dress shoes.
What the fuck? Am I going to a funeral?
I pick up the note lying on top of the shirt.
Wearing all black shows authority and confidence.
~Aiden
P.S. Don’t forget flowers and a bottle of wine.
P.P.S. Rub one out before you go over there for Christ’s sake. It’ll calm your nerves.
Why am I not surprised by the post-postscript?
Tossing the note back down on my bed, I look over the outfit.
Aiden has style, and he’s onto something, but I don’t want to look like a goddam undertaker.
I trade out the black slacks for a pair of jeans.
There. That’s better. I stand at the end of the bed, studying the outfit I just pieced together.
Reaching over, I snatch up the black slacks and lay them back down next to the shirt.
Mother fucker.
Undertaker it is.
I dress quickly, dousing myself in entirely too much cologne because Hannah swears it’s an aphrodisiac, then head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine out of my cabinet.
My phone rings just as I’m about to walk out the door.
Fishing it out of my pocket, I look down at the screen and answer with a huge smile splaying across my lips.
“What’s going on, baby bro?”
“Just checking in on ya,” Matty says as I swipe my keys off the hook by the door and head into the garage. “What are you up to?”
“About to go to a family dinner with Hannah.”
“Ah. I see. I see. You two back together?”
“Yep. Wore her ass down until she finally gave in.”
“You’ve never been good at taking no for an answer.” He laughs. “I’ve told you a thousand times; you would’ve made a damn good attorney.”
“I’m a damn good goalie, and I only have to deal with half the bullshit.”
“True. True. No match for me though.”
“Oh, fuck off with that noise. You don’t stand a chance.”
“You won’t be saying that next month when I’m scoring goal after goal against you,” he says with a laugh.
“Bet.”
We bullshit back and forth, talking about what’s going on with everyone until I pull into the florist’s parking lot and kill the engine.
The little bell above the door rings as I walk inside and scan the shop for something that catches my eye.
Coolers line the wall with premade bouquets and vases full of flowers, and the more I look, the more confused I get.
“Hey, Matt. In the movies, do people show up with a vase of flowers, or are they just wrapped in paper?”
The line is silent for a few seconds before I hear Matty hissing out a laugh.
Fucking dick.
I’ve never bought flowers for anyone in my life.
Picked them for my mom when I was little a few times, but that’s about it.
And before you even ask the question, I already know what you’re thinking.
It’s probably the same thing I’m thinking right now.
How was I ever married and never once bought her flowers?
Well, the short answer would be: I’m a prick.
I guess I didn’t think about anyone but myself until Hannah came along.
And even then, I’ve been pretty fucking selfish.
“You’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t ya?”
“Why did I even ask you? This is why you’re single,” I snap back.
“I’m single because I wanna be single.”
“No, Mateo, you’re single because you have the emotional intelligence of a fucking snail.”
“And a dick the size of a horse.” He laughs.
A woman, with long blonde hair, lip filler, and entirely too much makeup, moves the curtain to the side and strolls to the front. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear the bell. How can I help you?”
“I gotta let you go so I can figure this shit out. Later, baby brother.”
“Bet.”
I press the end button, pocket my phone, and address the florist. “I’m sorry about that. I really could use your help . . . I have no idea what the hell to get.”