Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
Nova
“Really?” I ask and immediately clamp my teeth together.
Because that response isn’t the least bit professional.
Luckily, Jocelyn just smiles, her brightly painted lips curving upward. “Really really,” she says lightly, shutting my portfolio and handing it back after having spent a long time flipping through it. “I know the tourists are going to eat your stuff up.”
I suspect this statement is good—she likes what she sees.
But I also worry it’s bad—not wanting to hurt Jer’s feelings, so trying to find something she did like.
Such is the life of an artist.
Wrapping my heart up in a bow, presenting it to the world, and expecting everyone to stomp on it.
(And often crawling forward with boot marks on the aching organ after that happens).
Jocelyn glances at her watch. “Let’s make an appointment to sit down next week. We’ll figure out the best shots for prints and what size originals we want to carry. Sound good?”
I nod, barely resisting the urge to say Really? again.
“Sounds good,” I manage instead, grabbing my things and standing up.
We exchange goodbyes, and then I’m walking out of the gallery, my phone buzzing even before I make it to my car. I tug it out of my purse, smile at the screen.
How many are they taking?
My smile grows at Lake’s text.
Complete confidence in me.
That settles deep, alongside the words on the patio at Ronnie’s, and how he holds my hand while we skate, and the cuddles he gives Steve, and the soup he left for me in the fridge before he headed out for the road game he’ll be playing in tonight.
I call him, and he picks up immediately.
And that settles deep too.
So does the conversation and the laughter I coax out of him, even though he’s confided in me that the Sierra’s locker room has been extremely tense of late.
Infighting.
Rumors flying about their coach being fired and the unsavory things the team’s owner has been up to.
And a series of losses.
So, hockey-wise, not the greatest.
The rest of it…us. Well, I have full access to his stash of Twix and become very familiar with all of the various uses of his branch, and it’s been—
Peaceful.
Easy.
Wonderful.
“You still with me, butterfly?” Lake asks softly.
“Yes,” I say immediately.
Because it’s been peaceful and easy and wonderful and I want to be with him.
So why is part of me inching toward the road?
I shove that feeling down, ignore it.
This is perfect. Lake is perfect.
“…and I have tickets for you and Ella in your account. You’ll just need to scan them the day after tomorrow and…”
I dig my toes into the soles of my shoes hard enough that my bones protest.
But I manage to stop the inching.
I manage to focus in on what Lake is saying.
And I manage to keep myself firmly off the road.
Remaining in that peaceful, that easy.
In the love for this man.
I’ve never been to a professional hockey game, even with having a best friend with a professional hockey player for a brother.
Part of that is…moving forward, not stopping long enough to enjoy the spoils of the present.
The rest is something I’m only just beginning to understand.
Fear and hiding, yes. But also…not wanting to impose on Ella. To take her up on her offer of free tickets. To take advantage. Because if I take, if I express what I want, then they—my grandma, my boyfriends, my sister, my parents, my friends—might leave me.
And because of that fear, I sacrificed time and fun with my best friend.
Ugh.
Sighing, I break off a piece of the soft pretzel, shove it into my mouth. It’s salty and delicious and takes my mind off the buzzing in my head.
Too much thinking.
Too much time in my own head.
Not enough branch time.
And not enough time with Ella, who’s been making the trip up regularly, but who also has a life in the Bay Area.
It’s almost Christmas.
That’s one of the busiest times of year for hairstylists—everyone wants to look good for family get-togethers and work events and holiday parties—so she’s been working eight or ten hours a day, six days a week.
Not these next two days, though.
She’s mine.
And Knox’s too, I think with a scowl.
Damn brothers, cramping my style.
“Drinksies!” Ella says, plopping down next to me, carrying two drinks and rosy cheeks.
I frown, taking one of them, thankful that I woke up with my period that morning, that Lake’s and my relationship can keep moving forward without becoming supercharged by a baby. Thankful that I can drink because there’s something weird going on with Ella. “Where have you been?” I ask her.
She rolls her eyes, but I see her cheeks grow a little pinker. “Knox wanted to do his hair.” A shake of her head. “Can you believe that?”
I sip, but there’s something about her tone that isn’t right.
Something that tells me she’s hiding something.
Call it Best Friend Radar.
“No,” I say, holding her eyes with my own. “I can’t believe that.”
More pink, but I don’t have the chance to prod at that tell because the lights go down and the music goes up and the Sierra’s mascot—a giant pine cone skates out on the ice.
The stadium fills with cheers.
The music blasts.
The players come out.
And…the puck drops.
And the night is that perfect mix of peace and easy and wonderful.
Right until the game ends, when I drive back to Lake’s house, and I walk into his house.
Then that urge to hit the open road ramps up.
And takes over.