18. Wren #2
By the time cleanup is done, I’m sweaty, exhausted, and mad at myself for being both. The equipment room is mostly empty. Donnelly sends me to grab one last bin from the bench area, then tells me I’m done for the day.
“It’s only six,” I say.
“I know it is six, and you’re leaving.”
“I’m scheduled until seven.”
“Great. I’m unscheduling you.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can do anything.” He takes the clipboard out of my hand and jerks his chin toward the door. “Go home, Calloway.”
I want to argue, because the last thing I need is less hours, meaning less money.
Instead, I nod because I might actually cry if someone says something kind to me one more time. I absolutely despise hormones.
The hall outside is quiet. Most of the team has cleared out or moved to the weight room. I make it halfway to the side exit before I realize Kai is leaning against the wall near the doors, bag over one shoulder, phone in hand.
Waiting.
My stupid heart reacts before the rest of me can remind it to be normal.
“You lurking now?” I ask.
He ignores my question as he studies my face. “Can I walk you to your car?”
I should say no, but I nod a yes instead.
His mouth almost smiles.
We walk side by side through the side exit into the evening air. The sky is already darkening, the parking lot lights buzzing overhead. My cramps are still there, dull and pulsing, but the fresh air helps.
Kai slows his pace to match mine.
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to walk like a snail to let me keep up.”
“I’m walking like I have legs longer than yours, and I’m trying not to be an ass.”
That pulls a laugh out of me before I can stop it.
His face changes at the sound, softens in a way that makes my chest hurt.
Once we reach my car, I turn to him. “Thanks for the water. And the snack.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Don’t sound so pleased with yourself.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You’re failing.”
His mouth curves, and the silence stretches between us.
Less desperate, maybe, but still full of everything we haven’t said.
Kai shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “About the other night.”
“My favorite opening.”
“I’m not asking you to define it.” He looks down for half a second, then back at me. “I don’t know what it is either.”
His honesty is almost too much to handle right now, and I can feel the hot sting of tears threatening to break free.
“But I know I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen,” he says.
My fingers curl around my keys.
“I don’t either,” I admit.
He steps closer. “We don’t have to figure it out right now, especially when you’re not feeling great.”
A laugh slips out of me, small and disbelieving. “That’s very reasonable of you.”
He grins. “I can be reasonable.”
“You kissed me in a laundry room.”
He’s less than a foot away now. “Pretty sure you told me to.”
Tilting my head to keep his gaze, I can’t help the small smirk of my own. “I did.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
My whole body goes warm.
The parking lot is not empty enough for this. The rink is still behind us. People could come out at any second. It would be stupid.
Kai seems to know that, too, because he doesn’t move closer.
“We shouldn’t do that at work again,” I say.
“I know,” he replies instantly.
A tiny, ridiculous part of me is offended.
He sees it. Of course he sees it.
His mouth curves. “Not because I don’t want to.”
“Good clarification.”
“Because I know this job matters to you.”
The warmth in my chest shifts into something achy.
I look down at my keys. “Yeah.”
“And you should get to have it without worrying about me making it harder.”
“You did hear the part where Coleson already thinks—”
“Coleson is an asshole, and his opinion is horse shit.”
“True.”
“And he’s wrong.”
“Also true.”
Kai steps even closer then, leaving just inches between us. “I can want you and still respect what you need.”
My breath catches.
There are lines that sound dramatic because someone wants them to. Then there are lines that land hard because they’re simple and true.
This is the second kind.
I look up at him. “That sounds suspiciously mature, Mercer.”
“I’m experimenting.”
“Careful. It might stick.”
He grins again, humor dancing in his eyes. “I doubt it.”
God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him.
A moment passes, then another.
I should get in the car, but my body doesn't seem to get the memo.
Kai’s eyes search mine. “Do you want me to follow you home?”
My instinct is still to refuse. It rises to the surface quickly, because needing things from Kai is a door I have kept locked for years.
But I’m tired. My body hurts. The thought of the check-engine light flickering on halfway home makes my stomach knot.
“You don’t have to,” I say.
“I know.”
“Fine,” I say. “You can follow. But if you make one comment about my driving, I’ll switch out your socks for Weston’s.”
His mouth twitches. “Fair.”
I unlock the car, then pause with my hand on the door.
Kai is still standing close enough that I can feel him. Not touching. Waiting.
Always waiting now.
It makes me brave in the worst way.
I turn back and rise on my toes. He meets me halfway.
The kiss is nothing like the one in the laundry room. It’s brief. Soft. A brush of his mouth over mine that still manages to knock the air from my lungs. His hand doesn’t go to my hair this time. It hovers near my waist, then settles lightly against the car door beside me instead.
I pull back first because if I don’t, I won’t.
Kai’s eyes stay closed for a fraction of a second after mine open.
My chest goes painfully tight.
“Still a bad idea,” I whisper.
His mouth curves, barely. “Doesn’t seem so bad to me.”
I breathe out a laugh, open the door, and get into the car before I can do something reckless, like ask him to kiss me again.
Kai waits until my engine starts, then heads for his car.
As I pull out of the lot, his headlights fall in behind mine.
By the time I reach the first red light, my cramps are still bad, my life is still complicated, and nothing about Kai Mercer has become less dangerous.
But for once, letting someone follow doesn’t feel like surrender.
It feels like maybe, for a few miles, I don’t have to be the only person watching for what might go wrong.