Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Edie's heel caught on a wrinkle in the red carpet, and she barely managed to turn her stumble into something that might charitably be called a "dramatic entrance."
Smooth, Anderson. Real smooth.
The Emerald Haven Community Center had been transformed for tonight's event—what Sam Kowalski had enthusiastically described as "the annual Enforcers Charity Gala, but make it fun.
" Twinkle lights dripped from exposed ceiling beams. Tables draped in emerald velvet clustered around a dance floor.
A live jazz band played something soft and swinging in the corner, and everywhere Edie looked, she saw hockey players squeezed into suits that barely contained their ridiculous physiques.
She shouldn't be here.
She'd told herself that seventeen times while getting ready in the cramped confines of her camper, standing in front of her tiny mirror and applying mascara with hands that wouldn't stop trembling.
She'd told herself that while borrowing a dress from one of the team wives—a gorgeous emerald number that hugged her curves and made her feel simultaneously powerful and exposed.
She'd told herself that during the entire walk from the parking lot, her heels clicking against pavement like a countdown to disaster.
You're the mural artist. You were invited. This is professional.
Lies.
This was masochism, pure and simple.
"Edie! You made it!"
Sam appeared out of nowhere, resplendent in a silver gown that made her look like she'd stepped out of a vintage Hollywood film. She grabbed Edie's arm with the enthusiastic grip of someone who'd already had at least two glasses of champagne.
"I wasn't sure you would come," Sam continued, steering her towards the bar with the determination of a woman on a mission. "After everything with—well." She waved vaguely. "You know."
"I don't actually know," Edie said, which was mostly true.
She knew something had happened between her and Tarmek, but she still wasn't entirely sure what.
One day they'd been tangled in his sheets, and the next she was packing boxes while he stood there like a statue, saying nothing, doing nothing, basically giving her permission to leave.
The camper's ready whenever you want it.
The words still stung.
"Hmm." Sam's expression shifted to something uncomfortably knowing. "Well, regardless. I'm glad you're here. The community sponsors have been asking about you—apparently the mural has generated quite a bit of buzz. Word travels fast in small towns."
"Right. The mural. That's why I'm here."
"Of course it is." Sam patted her arm. "What would you like to drink? We have champagne, wine, or something our goalie calls 'liquid courage' that I'm fairly certain is just vodka with a fancy name."
"Champagne is fine."
"Excellent choice."
Sam flagged down a server, procured two flutes of golden bubbles, and pressed one into Edie's hand. The first sip went down smoothly—too smoothly. Edie forced herself to slow down. Getting drunk at a professional event was not part of tonight's plan.
Then again, neither was seeing Tarmek.
But she did.
She saw him the moment she turned away from the bar, and her entire body froze.
He was standing near the entrance, surrounded by sponsors and community members who were clearly trying to engage him in conversation.
His suit was charcoal grey, perfectly tailored to accommodate his massive frame, and his long dark hair had been pulled back into a low knot at the nape of his neck. He looked devastatingly handsome.
He also looked awful.
Not in any obvious way—his suit was immaculate, his posture correct, his face arranged into something that might pass for polite attention.
But Edie had spent weeks studying that face, learning its tells, cataloging every microexpression that flickered across his features.
She knew what Tarmek looked like when he was content, annoyed, aroused, or exasperated.
This was none of those things.
This was hollow.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, visible even from across the room. His skin looked ashen, lacking its usual healthy warmth. And his eyes—those intense dark eyes that had always tracked her with such fierce attention—were flat. Distant. Like someone had turned off a light inside him.
What happened to you?
"He's been like that for days."
Edie startled. She hadn't realized Sam was still beside her.
"Like what?"
"Don't play dumb, honey. It doesn't suit you.
" Sam sipped her champagne, watching Tarmek with a concerned frown.
"The boys are worried. He's barely sleeping, playing like garbage—which, by the way, I wasn't supposed to tell you—and when he's not at practice or games, he's just..
. existing. Going through the motions." She paused. "It started right after you moved out."
No.
Edie's chest tightened. That couldn't be right. Tarmek had practically pushed her out the door. He'd fixed her camper and kept it secret. He'd told her it was ready whenever she wanted it—code for please leave so I can have my space back.
Hadn't he?
"He seemed relieved when I left," Edie said, hating how small her voice sounded.
Sam turned to look at her, eyebrows climbing towards her hairline.
"Relieved? That man has been haunting the halls of the arena like a lovesick ghost. He walked past the mural three times yesterday.
Stood there staring at it for ten minutes before practice.
If that's relief, I'd hate to see devastation. "
No. No, no, no.
"He didn't ask me to stay."
"Did you give him a chance?"
The question hit Edie like a slap. She opened her mouth to argue—of course she had, she'd practically waited for it, hoped for it—but the words died in her throat.
Had she?
Or had she been so busy running, so determined to leave before she got hurt, that she'd never actually stopped long enough to let him speak?
The camper's ready whenever you want it.
She'd heard goodbye. But what if he'd meant something else entirely?
Across the room, Tarmek finally escaped his circle of sponsors. He moved towards the bar with the mechanical precision of someone following a predetermined path, and Edie tracked his progress with her heart in her throat.
He looked so tired.
Not the usual athletic exhaustion he wore after a hard practice, but something deeper. Bone-weary. Soul-weary. Like he was carrying a weight that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
And then he saw her.
The moment their eyes met, something in his expression cracked. Just for a second—a flash of raw hunger and desperate longing that made Edie's breath catch—before his face smoothed back into careful neutrality.
But she'd seen it.
She'd seen it.
Oh god. He wasn't relieved. He was—
"Go talk to him," Sam said quietly. "Put us all out of our misery."
"I can't—"
"You can. You're terrified, and that's understandable. But so is he." Sam squeezed her arm. "Someone has to be brave first, Edie. Why not you?"
Before Edie could respond, Sam melted into the crowd, leaving her alone with a half-empty champagne flute and a churning storm of confusion in her chest.
She couldn't do this.
She couldn't.
But her feet were already moving, carrying her across the room like she had no say in the matter. Weaving between tables, dodging servers, closing the distance between her and the one person she'd been trying so hard to avoid.
Tarmek watched her approach.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there with a glass of something amber in his massive hand, his dark eyes tracking her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"Hi," she said when she reached him. Brilliant opening, Anderson. Really inspired.
"Edie."
Her name in his voice did things to her. Awful, wonderful things. Things she'd been trying to forget since she'd walked out of his apartment.
Condo. He calls it a condo.
"You look..." She trailed off. What was she supposed to say? You look like death warmed over and it's destroying me? You look like you haven't slept in a week and I want to drag you to bed and make you rest? You look like someone broke your heart and I'm terrified it might have been me?
"Terrible," she finished. "You look terrible."
Something flickered in his eyes. "Thank you."
"I didn't mean—" She huffed out a breath. "I meant you look tired. Worn down. Not yourself."
"I haven't been sleeping well."
"Why?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it, and Tarmek's jaw tightened.
"You know why."
Do I?
She wanted to ask. Wanted to demand he explain himself, spell it out in clear terms she couldn't misinterpret. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled up with fear and hope and a desperate desire to believe what his eyes were telling her.
He looks like I feel.
The realization crashed over her like a wave.
She'd spent the last week convincing herself that Tarmek was fine. Happy to have his space back. Relieved to be free of her chaos. She'd pictured him in his immaculate condo, finally able to maintain his precious routines without her messing everything up.
But that wasn't what she was seeing.
She was seeing a man who looked broken.
"Tarmek—"
"Don't." His voice was rough. "Not here. Please."
The "please" undid her. Tarmek Stonefist didn't say please. He issued commands, made declarations, communicated through action and stubborn silence. The fact that he was asking—begging, almost—meant something was seriously wrong.
"Okay," she said softly. "Not here."
His shoulders loosened slightly. "Thank you."
"But we are talking. Tonight. After this is over."
He nodded once, short and sharp, then turned away to greet an approaching sponsor.
Edie watched him paste on a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes, watched him shake hands and make small talk, watched him perform the role of team captain with the mechanical precision of someone running on fumes.
And something in her chest cracked wide open.
What did we do to each other?