Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ADDISON
I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I hadn’t been in love with Chase Lockhart.
Of course, I’d spent the majority of that time denying it.
Even to myself. Because anything else hurt too much.
But I couldn’t deny that I’d spent hours—days, probably.
Maybe even a grand total of weeks—dreaming about what a life with him would look like.
But as we lay in front of the wall of windows on a cloud of pillows, the fireplace crackling and the box of puck bunny deliveries long gone, I wasn’t sure I’d ever imagined something as good as this.
We’d spent most of the day in bed. After our second round, when I’d tried to get up and, you know, do something, Chase had hooked his arm around my waist and tugged me back into his chest. He’d murmured into my hair that we had too much time to make up for, so he had no intention of letting me leave the bed.
It was only after I’d promised to wear his jersey, sans panties—and after he’d sat me on the kitchen island and ate me out to a screaming orgasm—that he’d agreed to move the party out here.
Now, I was curled into his side, his arm around me, my head resting on his chest as we stared out at the still-falling snow.
At this point, I had more questions than answers about what we were, but part of me didn’t want to burst this bubble we found ourselves in. Worried it could all come crashing down around us.
But the other part—the bigger part—was desperate to know him without any secrets between us.
“How come you don’t talk about this?” I asked, gesturing to the ice pack he’d just wrapped around his knee.
He pressed his nose to the top of my head and inhaled deeply, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “Not much to say. Besides, someone told me they didn’t hand out pity, so what’s the point?”
I poked my finger into his side, causing him to jerk away from me with a yelp. “First of all, you run into fights with grown-ass men, but jerk away from a little finger?”
“That’s not a little finger. That’s your demon finger, and you know my ticklish spots.”
“Second, you wouldn’t want me to feel sorry for you anyway. And just because I’m not going to pity you doesn’t mean I don’t want to know about it.”
“There’s not much to tell. First time was a medial meniscus tear that surgery fixed pretty quickly. It was grueling to recover and get back in playing shape by training camp, but I made it happen.”
And his undelivered messages showed he’d told me back in July that he wasn’t going to be able to come home because of that.
“And this”—he gestured to his knee—“was a lateral meniscus tear and just plain fucking unlucky.”
“What it was was a cheap shot and a shitty call by the refs,” I grumbled. “Everyone saw it.”
Chase’s body stilled under mine, and he shifted so he could catch my eye. “Addison Grace. How do you know what kind of play it was?”
I froze, my fingers stuttering on his chest. Fuck. “Uh…Levi?”
“Was that supposed to be a question?”
“I mean, Levi,” I said with more confidence this time.
Chase rolled us so I was flat on my back, and he hovered over me. “Nice try, but that commentary was all you.”
“So?”
“So… Someone has been watching my games while pretending for ten fucking years that they hated hockey.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A smile slowly spread across his face until he was openly grinning at me like a big idiot. “You beautiful little liar. Your brothers know about this?”
“Know about what?”
“How obsessed you are with me.”
“I’m not—” The words were barely out of my mouth before Chase attacked me, his fingers digging into my sides until I was a squirming, squealing, gasping mess. “Okay, okay! Stop!”
He stared down at me, fingers poised and ready. “Okay, you admit to being a dirty liar?”
“Okay, I’ll answer your question.”
He must’ve realized that was as good as he was getting from me, so he relented and stared at me with one brow raised.
I blew out a long sigh. I’d managed to keep this locked down for ten fucking years, and then I got some good dick and I was suddenly spilling state secrets. “No, they don’t know. It’s my dirty little secret. I sneak into my room to watch your games.”
“How many?”
“How many what?”
“How many games of mine have you watched?”
I rolled my lips in, not wanting to admit this. But when he wiggled his fingers, ready to strike again, I relented. “Fine!” I snapped with a huff. Then, quieter, I mumbled, “All of them.”
“All seven hundred plus, huh?”
“Yes, all right? All seven hundred plus. Are you happy now?”
“Immensely,” he said, a broad smile spread across his mouth. “And no one’s ever caught you?”
“Almost, but no.” I shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. “That could have something to do with the fact that I told Levi I was watching porn the last time he almost caught me a couple years ago.”
Chase barked out a laugh. “Oh shit. How’d that go over?”
I dropped my voice an octave, mimicking my brother. “Jesus, Addison. You don’t have to tell me absolutely every-fucking-thing.” I giggled, recalling the look of horror on his face. Priceless. “He hated it, obviously. But guess what? He hasn’t bothered me about it again.”
“You really are a devious little genius, you know that?” He stared down at me, his eyes shining with something that looked an awful lot like love, and my stomach flipped.
His phone buzzed where it sat on the table, breaking the spell between us. He reached for it, holding it out between us—he really didn’t have anything to hide—and I glanced down at it. A text thread filled the screen, the name at the top reading Lindy—Aleksander Lindell, the captain of his team.
Instead of responding to the new text asking how Chase was doing—which was below a string of also unanswered texts from his captain—he tossed the phone onto the table.
Then, he relaxed back into our pillow fort and tugged me into his side once again.
I came willingly, hooking my leg over his as I absent-mindedly traced the tattoos on his abdomen.
I bit my lip, unsure if I should ask this, but the masochistic part of me desperately needed to know where he stood. After several long moments of silence, I finally asked, “You miss it?”
“What?” he asked. “Hockey?” At my nod, he pressed his lips to my temple and murmured, “Yeah. I do.”
I could’ve guessed that was what he was going to say, but I couldn’t deny the splinter that lodged in my heart at the confirmation. I hated that he couldn’t play right now. Hated that he wasn’t busting his ass on the ice with the rest of his team as they fought for a spot in the play-offs.
And a tiny, selfish part of me hated that his love for the game would take him away from me again.
“When do they think you’ll be able to go back?” I asked, barely more than a whisper.
I didn’t want to even voice the question that had been a niggle in the back of my mind since he’d shown up at One Night Stan’s. Part of me was desperate to stick my head in the sand for as long as possible, live in this bubble of bliss where it was just the two of us and nothing could interfere.
The other part of me was preparing for the inevitable crash when he left, worrying that everything would go back to how it had always been—the two of us living separate lives on opposite sides of the country.
“I don’t know. They want me rehabbing it through the season before they’ll even consider another surgery. After that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, leaving everything unsaid hanging in the air between us.
After that…he’d be gone. Back to Vancouver, leading the life of a professional hockey player and all that entailed.
And I’d be here in Starlight Cove, spending my days once again trying not to think about a man I was so head over heels in love with I couldn’t think straight. And spending my nights praying I’d get to see him in my dreams.