15. Blake
Chapter fifteen
Blake
C assy stretches her arm across my bare chest. “He told me you apologized to him, and he also seemed in quite a good mood.”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, staring at the ceiling tiles. “Didn’t think he was going to accept it.”
She shifts beside me, her hair brushing my shoulder. Her voice dips lower, curious. “So, what the hell did you say to him?”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to tell her, but because I told him I wanted to marry her.
“Well,” I say, running my thumb along her hip. “Apart from asking him to forgive me for accidentally punching him—”
She snorts.
“—I also told him that I was in love with you.” My voice is steady and low, because I mean every fucking word. “I think he got it. You know I’ve always gotten along well with and respected your father. Yes, we’ve had our differences over the years, but I understood exactly why he was pissed at me.”
She stills, then nudges closer, curling into me. Her skin’s cold. Bare arms, bare everything. “God, I’m cold.”
I tighten my arm around her for a second. “Come on. Let’s get dressed. And if you want, I’ll give you a lift back to your place.”
Neither of us moves immediately. But then she sighs, and I sit up, hauling my pants off the floor. She scrambles into her clothes, then zips up her pants and boots.
I pull on my jeans, shirt, and sling on my jacket.
Putting my hand in my pocket, my fingers twitch as I remember the ring. It’s sitting in the glove box of my truck. Just waiting.
My eyes flick to her again as she runs a hand through her tangled hair, and God, she's beautiful.
When she’s done, I pull her to me and press my mouth to hers. Slow. Solid. Nothing rushed this time. Just a promise I don’t say out loud.
I hold her for a moment, longer than I should, but not as long as I want.
Then I reach back and flick the lock on the door.
Click.
We step out into the corridor. I shut the light off behind us, and the hallway is bathed in a dim yellow glow, buzzing quietly like the whole world’s still asleep.
She walks beside me, quiet. No heels clacking. No phone buzzing. Just our steps and my thoughts keeping tempo.
And damn, it feels good. There’s a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with the heater and everything to do with the woman beside me.
We stop by her office and grab her purse, then head to the exit. The double doors hiss open, and we step out into the parking lot.
It’s still mostly dark, but the edge of dawn is bleeding into the sky. There’s just enough light to make out her car, my truck, and a few glinting stars that are still stubbornly hanging on.
I reach into my back pocket, grab my keys, and hit the fob. My truck headlights blink, and its tail lights glow red. The beep is the only sound out here besides the crickets and the soft whoosh of the wind.
She yawns, covering her mouth. “Ugh. Sorry.”
“You look tired.”
She shrugs like it’s a compliment and trudges toward the truck. I walk over and pull the door open for her. She slides in, her legs folding up, and the minute her back hits the seat, her whole body relaxes.
I shut the door and walk around to the driver’s side.
When I climb in and start the engine, she leans over, kisses me on the cheek, soft, barely there, and then sinks back into her seat.
And I’m thinking, do I ask her now? On the way? Outside her dad’s place? When she’s more awake? When she’s less… soft and sleepy and perfect like this?
I pull out of the lot, headlights cutting across a few of the trees. We cruise toward the exit, tires whispering over the pavement.
The security booth is up ahead. I catch sight of the night guard inside, scrambling like he’s just remembered he has a job. He tosses his cigarette out the tiny window, sits bolt upright, and gives a lazy salute as the barrier lifts.
I nod back, foot steady on the gas, and we roll out of the lot into the quiet of the almost-morning.
And the ring’s still waiting in the glove compartment.
I ease the truck down the strip, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over like I’m just adjusting the air vent.
But instead, I crack open the glove box and slide my fingers inside until I feel the box.
Small. Square. Heavy in all the ways that matter.
I pop it out, shut the compartment without her noticing, and drop it between my thighs, pressing it down so it doesn’t bounce into view.
She’s gazing out the window, sleepy and quiet, totally oblivious.
I try to pry the lid open, but it’s being a stubborn little bastard. My thumb slips. The thing jolts sideways. I grab it before it hits the floor.
“Did you want to come in for a coffee?” Cassy turns her head toward me like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
My hand jumps off the box like it just caught fire. “Thanks, I’d love to,” I say, shifting in my seat like I’m not hiding the biggest decision of my life under my jeans. “But I think maybe it might be pushing it a bit too far with Coach... I mean your Dad.”
She grins and lets her head fall back against the seat. She doesn’t push it.
I make the turn onto Obannon Drive, the headlights sweeping over the quiet street. Big trees flash by, and a couple of motion lights flicker on like we’re disturbing something sacred. I slow down, then coast to a crawl, pulling the ring from the box and holding it in my palm.
It feels small like this. Just a ring. But it weighs a ton.
I pull to a stop halfway down the block, far enough from the house that I’ve still got room to breathe. My fingers are tight around the metal, my throat dry.
“Cassy…”
Nothing.
“Will you marry me?”
I glance over. She’s curled into the seat, mouth barely open, eyes completely shut.
Seriously?
I blink at her, then down at the ring. Fiddle with it, let it spin once around my fingertip before I sigh and slip it into my jacket pocket.
Okay.
I ease away from the curb and coast the rest of the way to the house. Kill the headlights. Engine off.
She doesn’t stir.
I lean over and nudge her. “Cassy, wake up.”
Nothing. Not even a mumble. Her breathing’s even. She’s completely out cold.
I stare through the windshield. The house is dark, except the porch light just flicked on. And now the front door creaks open, and there he is.
Coach McCullum.
Of course.
I open the door, step out into the early morning chill, and walk around. The passenger side creaks open. She’s a dead weight in my arms before I even think twice. Head against my chest. One boot dangles loosely from her heel.
Carrying her up the path, past the neat, freshly mowed lawn, halfway to the door, she stirs. Blinks. Then twists and jumps straight out of my arms.
“Dad?” She mumbles.
“Coach McCullum,” I mutter at the same time.
His eyes flick between us, and I know he knows exactly what this looks like.
Then he shifts his weight and sighs. “Well… are you coming in?”
I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”
Cassy rubs at her eyes as she steps past him. I follow, not sure if I should walk two steps behind her or right next to her. I settle for somewhere awkward in between. We make it into the hallway, and I hold my hand out to him. “Coach…”
What comes out after that is a mess of mumbled syllables and regret.
He grips my hand firmly, eyes sharp but not cruel. “Good game tonight.”
We move through the narrow hall lined with photos of Cassy as a kid, team shots, and some old hockey memorabilia. Coach carries on talking like it’s not weird at all that I carried his daughter in half asleep a couple of moments ago. “You all showed character.”
We step into the living room. Same as I remember it from years ago. Worn but clean, fireplace cold, couch cushions a little sunken. He gestures to the sofa. I sit, because what the hell else do I do?
Cassy’s already halfway to the kitchen. “Dad, would you like coffee?”
He smirks. “Wow, that’s a first.”
Before she can respond, a woman walks into the room, rubbing one eye and clearly still half asleep. Middle-aged, tired, not someone I recognize.
Cassy turns. “Oh. Morning, Martha. Martha, Blake. Blake, Martha.”
“Hi.” I nod, no clue who she is, what she does, or why I half stood up when I said it.
“I’ll make the coffee,” Martha offers.
“No, it’s okay,” Coach stretches, his back cracking. “I’m going to head back to bed.”
Cassy grabs Martha gently by the elbow. “Come on, I’ll help you make coffee.”
They disappear into the kitchen, and Coach lingers just a second longer. Then he looks at me. “Well… have you asked her yet?”
“I plan on asking her now.”
A rare smile breaks across his face. “Good luck.” And he walks out, the hallway swallowing his heavy steps.
A few moments later, Cassy’s back with two steaming mugs, which she places on the coffee table. She closes the living room door behind her and comes to sit beside me on the sofa, legs curled under her. The quiet hum of the early morning settles in.
I lean back, legs stretched out, one arm going around her. She shifts closer, nestling into my side like we’ve been doing this forever.
My hand slips into my jacket pocket. The ring’s still there.
Okay, here we go again.
I hold it out between us. No speech. No buildup. I’m done with the dramatic bullshit.
“Cassy, will you marry me?”
I hold my breath. Not from nerves, not really. It’s everything, the game, making out like teenagers in a locker room, then carrying her half-conscious up the driveway like some idiot in a romance movie. It’s been a long damn night.
She turns to me, mouth curled up, eyes soft. And she kisses me. Light and warm. Her voice brushes against my jaw. “Yes.”
I’ve faced off against monsters in skates, taken checks that cracked ribs, dropped gloves with guys twice my weight, but nothing, nothing compares to how my heart damn near stopped when she whispered that word.
I slide the ring onto her finger. It’s a perfect fit, and I press a kiss to her knuckles, something in me finally quieting down. “I love you, future Mrs. Mitchell.”
She smirks, her eyes full of fire, and tucks herself even tighter against me. “You know what, Mitchell? I love you, too.”
The end!