Chapter 38
thirty-eight
. . .
Aidan
I wake to a cold, empty bed. Blinking blearily at my watch, I struggle through blurry eyes to find the time. Four o’clock.
Where is she?
I throw back the sheets and stuff my feet into my slippers. The apartment is chilly, even with the heat on, so I throw on a T-shirt too.
The soft glow of light filters under the door, and I pad through the hallway to the kitchen. Ceci sits at the table, wearing my T-shirt and headphones, hands flying across her computer keyboard. She doesn’t look up, completely in the zone.
How long has she been at this? She doesn’t have anything to drink in front of her, and for a self-proclaimed beverage gremlin who requires three types of beverages at all times—water for hydration, a caffeinated drink, and something with bubbles—it’s very unusual.
I cross the kitchen and fill a glass with water, then add an electrolyte packet to it.
She’s been obsessed with the cherry-limeade flavor lately, so I add that in and stir until it’s all dissolved.
It’s late, so she probably won’t want coffee.
I flip the switch on the kettle and retrieve a can of Coke Zero from the fridge.
It still has caffeine, but it’s not a keep me awake drink for her.
She’s also probably hungry. Dinner was tasty, but that was several hours ago, and she’s always good for a middle-of-the-night snack. More than once, I’ve caught her rummaging around in the fridge in the middle of the night, stuffing her cheeks with cheese and cashews like a human-sized chipmunk.
I pull one of the divided snack plates out of the cupboard.
Technically, it’s a children’s plate, but she says it’s her preferred vehicle for snacks because the compartments keep the food from touching, so who am I to judge.
In a few quick minutes, I cut up a cucumber and an apple, peel an orange, then make a turkey sandwich, sliced into triangles with the crust cut off.
There are two sections left, and I fill it with a handful of trail mix and then some potato chips. Sweet and salty, fruits and veggies for fiber, healthy fats in the nuts, and protein in the sandwich. This way, she can sit and pick at it for as long as she needs, and it won’t go cold or stale.
The kettle whistles, and I fill a mug with hot water and add her favorite lemon-ginger tea with a generous squeeze of honey.
Ceci still hasn’t looked up from her computer. She doesn’t even stir when I set the three beverages and snack tray down beside her.
When I drag a chair out across from her, the legs screeching on the floor, she finally looks up and knocks off her headphones. Confusion creases her face. “Hey?”
“You’re up early. Or late.”
“Had an idea. Couldn’t sleep until I sketched it out.” She reaches for her soda, then pauses. “Did you do this?”
“No, the magic snack fairy did it.”
She giggles so hard she snorts. “Thanks, Wish. I appreciate it. What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep either.” The bed felt empty without her there. Too empty. I already have to sleep alone on our next road trip after tonight’s game. I don’t want to do it now; not when she’s here. “How much longer do you want to work?”
She hesitates, biting her lip.
“I’m not rushing you. It takes time for genius. I just want to get a pulse on where you’re at.”
“I need at least another hour. Maybe two.”
“Okay. Will it distract you if I sit here with you?”
She shakes her head, forehead furrowed. “You don’t want to sleep?”
Do I? Yes. I would much rather be in bed, sleeping beside her. But if she’s not ready to go to sleep, the least I can do is keep her company.
“Let me go grab my Kindle, and I’ll hang out with you.”
Her face softens. “Aidan…”
“I like spending time with you. Even when you’re working, I want to be with you. So if you want to stay up, I will too. You don’t have to entertain me or talk to me. Just make sure you hydrate and eat something.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I don’t deserve you.”
I shake my head. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”
I’m exhausted when I finally drag myself off the ice after morning skate. Turns out, staying up for three hours in the middle of the night isn’t conducive to being well rested enough to play hockey. I have no fucking idea how I’m going to make it through the game this evening.
At least I can go home and take my pregame nap. I don’t think I’ll survive tonight without it.
Ryan and I carpooled, so we head back to our building together. Sinclair and Jenkins pull into the garage at the same time, and the four of us hit the elevator.
“I’m fucking dead, man,” Jenkins says as he jabs at the floor panel, pressing the buttons for all of us. “Practice was brutal today.”
Coach was on a tear, ripping us a new one every time someone flubbed a shot or Lewis and Henry let a puck past them. Our penalty kill is sloppy, our power play can’t finish, and don’t get him started on even-strength play.
Basically, we’re a mess. And it’s all my fault. As captain, I’m supposed to lead them. Guide them. And I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to offer encouragement.
“Tell me about it,” I mutter.
Ryan sends me a curious look. He knows I’m not usually so salty. “You good, dude?”
“Just tired. Didn’t get enough sleep.”
He huffs out a snort. “Up late with Ceci?”
“Not like you’re thinking.”
Sinclair arches an eyebrow. “You mean you and your girl didn’t get freaky? If I had someone in my bed every night, you bet your ass we’d be getting it on all the fucking time.”
Well… we did. After we got back from Colt’s, we took a shower together, and she gave me the best blowjob of my life before I went down on her for at least an hour, bringing her to the brink but refusing to let her fall apart.
When I finally let her come, she burst into tears from the strength of her release. Then I held her until she passed out, enjoying the simple comfort of sleeping beside her.
Until she slipped out of bed, leaving me cold and alone.
“She was up working half the night,” I finally say.
She doesn’t need the details of our private lives bandied about like candy gossip. I respect her privacy, just like she respects mine.
“Smart chicks are hot,” Jenkins says with an exaggerated moan.
I glower at him. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
He lifts his hands innocently. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, say less.”
He snickers to himself as we reach his floor, giving us a two-fingered salute. “Later, assholes.”
Sinclair shakes his head as the metal doors close and the elevator surges upward. “One day, he’ll figure it out.”
They’re only two or three years apart in age, but Sinclair has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Whatever he’s been dealing with, he hasn’t shared with me, and I can see the physical toll it’s taken. Dr. Liz has been helping, and I don’t need the details. As long as he’s getting better.
I just don’t know if he is.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Ryan mutters.
I shouldn’t badmouth my teammates, especially not to another. Yet…
“He’s got a lot of growing up to do.”
“You going to teach him?” Sinclair grins, bumping his shoulder against mine.
“Might have to.”
It’s Jenkins’s fourth or fifth year in the league. He’s old enough to know better. I won’t stand for that kind of talk in my locker room, and yes, that extends to the elevator too. That sort of language is not appropriate, period, end of story.
Fuck. Another difficult conversation.
I glance at Sinclair from the corner of my eye. I want to ask how he’s doing, but since Ryan is with us, I know it’s not the time.
Instead, when we reach his floor, I give him a nod. “You good?”
Something passes over his face, and he swallows hard. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“See you,” Ryan says with a wave. Once the elevator closes again, he turns to me. “Okay, what’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“Sinclair is being weird.”
I shake my head. “Not my place to talk about.”
“Captain shit?” When I don’t respond, he nods. “Captain shit,” he repeats. “Well, I hope it works out. For him and for you.”
“Want to play some FIFA?” I ask instead. “Ceci’s at the office today.”
“She’s really spending a lot of time here.”
“I guess. I like when she’s here.”
I hadn’t really thought about it much. Hockey is such a grueling schedule, plus she has her board commitments and charitable work, all on top of her work for the helmet project. We’d barely have time to see each other if we weren’t in each other’s pockets all the time.
The other night, we sat together and gamed for a few hours.
Her hand drew circles on my leg, creeping higher and higher, until I tossed aside the controller and practically tackled her on the couch.
Then she rocked against me until her legs shook, and I carried her to the bedroom and finished the job with my mouth.
If this is what it’s like to have a girlfriend… why did I wait so long to try to date?
From the beginning, I haven’t had any nerves or hesitation. It’s nothing like the other women I’ve tried to date, where I overthought everything and couldn’t perform. That first time, she didn’t judge me or complain when our plans had to pivot. She simply accepted me as I am.
With Ceci, there’s no pressure. I proved there’s a variety of other ways I can get her off, and she doesn’t care. She hasn’t asked me to try, leaving the ball in my court. I want to. I want to so fucking bad. But something is holding me back.
I think it’s because I trust her wholeheartedly. We know each other so well, I’ve never had to second-guess myself. She knows the deepest, darkest parts of my soul, and I know hers.
Sex is sex. But intimacy is a whole other ball of wax, and I’m finally in a place where I can start unraveling who I am and what I need—in a partner and in life.
Ryan gives me a long look, then nods. “FIFA sounds good.”