Chapter 16 Colt #2
The server takes everyone else's orders too, then looks at me. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll take a basket of the wings, too. Thanks.”
As the server leaves, Declan’s eyes are back on me. “So… Colt Lane from the Leopards, huh.”
His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep up and down my body.
“Yep. That's me,” I counter, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere near ‘mildly constipated.’
Declan leans his forearms on the table.
Dammit. Gabe was right. They are huge.
“So,” I say, reaching for my beer. “You guys all play for the same team, right?”
Beck nods, his sharp features softening a fraction. “Beachside Bears. New expansion team set up by the beach. We’re the… founding members, I guess you could say.”
“No shit?” I take a swig. The beer is cold, crisp, and perfectly distracting from the glare burning from across the table. Declan still hasn't looked away from me. “I've heard the buzz around your new franchise. Sun, sand, and slap shots, right? How’s life by the beach treating you?”
Mason chuckles. “It’s a bit different than here. Instead of snow, you get ocean spray. Instead of mountain bars like this…” He gestures around The Leopard Lounge. “You get beachside shacks that serve fancy drinks with little umbrellas in them.”
I glance at Zoey, a grin tugging at my mouth. “Fancy drinks with umbrellas? Sounds like your kind of place.”
Her eyes meet mine, sparkling with amusement. “What, you don’t think I can rock a tiny umbrella?”
“Oh, I think you could rock anything you want, baby,” I say, the words slipping out before I can filter them.
Zoey’s laugh is soft, and for a second, the noisy bar fades away.
Then Declan clears his throat and his fingers tap harder against his glass.
Beck clears his throat. “So, Colt. Zoey tells us you’ve been… helping out at the bakery.”
My mind flashes to the notebook, to the busy mornings, to the way she cried in my arms in a locker room.
Helping out. Right.
That’s one way to put it.
"Trying to," I say, keeping my tone light. "Mostly I'm just really good at dropping stuff. Right, Zo?"
Zoey snorts into her beer as Mason laughs. Beck almost smiles, and Declan? His finger just keeps tapping that beer glass like he's counting down to something.
"He's actually getting pretty handy," Zoey continues, and there's a warmth in her voiced. "He can almost pipe a cupcake now."
"Almost," I echo, raising a brow. "She insults me. Publicly. In front of her brothers."
Zoey’s knee presses against mine under the table, and more drinks arrive, followed by two massive baskets of wings glistening with sticky, golden sauce. The smell is insane… garlic, honey, a hint of chili.
We dig in, and for a while, it’s just normal guy talk.
Hockey, training, the differences between West Coast and East Coast play.
They ask about my recovery, about Gabe’s hit, and I give them the PG version, leaving out the part where I wondered if I’d ever think straight again, or the fact that their sister wouldn't leave my bedside until I regained consciousness again.
For the next hour, we just… chat.
Mason and Beck are easy to talk to. Mason’s got a steadiness to him, and I see a lot of Samuel Voss in him, while Beck’s sharp humor keeps the conversation moving so it's never too awkward.
And then… there's Declan.
Declan mostly listens. He eats wings in a way that’s somehow ultra-intimidating, sucking the sauce clean off the bone like Fred Flintstone without ever looking away from me.
Halfway through my third beer, a roar goes up from the bar. Silas has just sunk three shots in a row on the pool table, and Theo is waving a fifty-dollar bill around, claiming victory.
Mason's head snaps toward the commotion. "No shit he made that. Beck, I need to see this."
Beck slides out of the booth and collects his beer. "Declan, you coming?"
Declan doesn't move. "Nah. I'll hold the table."
Mason and Beck exchange the kind of look brothers share when they're leaving someone behind to do the dirty work, and disappear toward the bar.
Zoey squeezes my knee under the table.
"I'm just gonna run to the restroom before we head out." She kisses my cheek, then glances at Declan. "Be nice."
Declan picks up his beer. "I'm always nice."
Zoey gives him a look that says I mean it, then disappears toward the back.
Suddenly, I'm all alone with Declan.
He sets a clean bone on the pile between us, wipes his fingers on a napkin, and leans back. The leather of the booth creaks under his weight, and for what feels like an eternity, he just watches me, his face unreadable.
I clear my throat. "So. The Bears. You guys liking the beach life, or—"
"Cut the shit, Lane." Declan leans forward, shoulders blocking out the entire damn lounge.
My heart stutters. “Excuse me?”
There's nothing friendly in his face anymore. "Now I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to think before you answer. Because I'll know if you're lying."
I nod, my throat dry.
“My sister,” he says, voice low enough to freeze the beer in my hand. "What are your intentions?”
My pulse kicks up a notch. “With Zoey?”
“No, with the fucking honey sauce," he growls. "Yes, with Zoey.”
I take a slow sip of my beer, buying a second to think. “My intentions are to make her happy. To be there for her."
He nods, like he expected that answer. “And have you thought about what happens when your season kicks into gear?”
The question hits right in the gut, because it’s the same one I’ve been asking myself all day.
“Of course I’ve thought about it,” I say, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s gonna suck. I’m gonna miss her like crazy. Morgan, too. But I’ll make the time. I’ll call. I’ll text. I’ll fly them out for games when I can."
He studies me with narrowed eyes, but I force myself to hold onto his gaze.
"Look, man," I say, treading carefully. "This isn’t a fling for me, Declan. I’m in this.”
"You sure?" He studies me, his eyes searching for any hint of bullshit. "Because my sister has been through enough. That ex-husband of hers… he left her with nothing but a kid and a mountain of self-doubt.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“Good. We don’t wanna see her gettin’ hurt again. She doesn’t bounce back like she used to. None of us do. Because if you hurt her…" He studies me, his gaze so intense I feel it in my bones. "…I’ll make what Gabe did to you look like a love tap.”
I swallow hard, nodding.
Declan holds my stare, then just as he opens his mouth, probably to load up another threat, Zoey returns, slipping back into the booth.
She glances between us, sensing the shift in energy. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” Declan says, his voice back to its normal rumble. He tosses the basket of wings to me across the table, slightly aggressively, like he's saying this isn't over.
“You have the last wing, Lane. You're gonna need the strength. You've got a little girl to keep impressing, and I hear the bar gets higher every day."
I paste on a smile, picking up the wing.
Across the bar, Mason and Beck are now deep in conversation with Silas and Theo at the pool table, laughter booming over the clack of balls.
The rest of the Snow Leopards have lost interest in my personal hell too, absorbed in their own drinks and stories with the town's newest guests.
Thank God.
Zoey studies my face for a second longer, then sighs, gathering her purse. “I should get going. Morgan’s with Avery, but I promised I wouldn’t be late.”
“I’ll walk you.” The words fly out of me, desperate for an escape route.
Declan’s eyes track me as I slide out of the booth. He doesn’t say a word as he hugs Zoey goodbye and squeezes my hand way too hard, bidding us farewell on the way through the door.
The night is crisp, stars punched through black velvet above Main Street. Zoey loops her arm through mine, her warmth seeping through my jacket.
“You’re acting weird,” she says softly after a few steps. “Did Declan say something to you?”
I glance back through the Lounge’s frosted window. Declan’s moved over to the bar now, leaning into a fresh drink Lars just served him.
“Nothing important.” I pull her in against my side. “I’m fine. Just… really happy to be with you and meeting your family.”
She stops walking, turning to face me under a glowing streetlamp. "Colt—”
I don’t let her finish. I lean down and kiss her, slow and deep, pouring every bit of the fear and want churning inside me into it.
When we break apart, her breath is warm against my lips.
“Well, now we're finally alone, I can tell you about tomorrow night,” she whispers, her voice suddenly a low, erotic promise that goes straight to my gut.
“My brothers are taking Morgan to that new monster truck show before they fly out the next day.” Her lips brush my ear.
“So I was thinking… that means we have the whole night, Mr. Lane… All. To. Ourselves.”
Heat flashes through me.
“Oh really?” I growl against her skin. “So that means you'll be at at my place, say… around seven o’clock then?”
She laughs and kisses me once more before heading toward her car.
I watch her go, my heart pounding.
But underneath the lust, Declan’s words echo. She doesn’t bounce back like she used to.
He’s right.
And the terrified, four-year-old inside me, the one who learned love is conditional, whispers the same damn thing.