Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Storm
“How is she?” Clover whispers as I carry a sacked-out Holly upstairs and into the apartment.
“Okay,” I tell her. “She wouldn’t take the pain medication the doctor prescribed, but I got some ibuprofen in her before she passed out.”
“Good,” Clover murmurs, shifting in front of me to hold the door open. “Poppy doesn’t get enough rest as it is.”
I nod in agreement as I walk quietly across the apartment, carefully settle Holly into her bed and tug up the covers.
“She needs her Gerald,” Clover says, coming over and rooting around inside a basket of stuffed toys. “Ah, here he is,” she adds, pulling her hand out and revealing—
“Jesus,” I mutter at the sight of the stuffed Canadian goose, a royal blue “Gerald” embroidered across its chest.
“We sell them at the Home Ice Classic. Each year we do a different goose.” She tucks Gerald under Holly’s slack arm. “He was our inaugural choice.”
“I bet he sold out.”
“You’d win that bet.” She grins then sobers, smoothing the covers before straightening.
“Thanks for carrying her in. When she woke up crying and asking for Poppy, I knew she needed to be home. Sleepover time is only fun when your mom’s not hurt.
” She kisses her forehead. “Luckily for all parties involved, she fell asleep on the walk over.”
Nodding, I follow her out into the hall, knowing that Poppy wouldn’t have minded being woken up by Holly, that she would have reassured her with patience and hugs and kisses.
But, thankfully, everyone’s sleeping and the reunion can happen at a more reasonable hour.
We move quietly into the family room.
“Was it a very bad break?”
“No,” I reassure her. “It was actually a pretty simple fix, and in four to six weeks, she’ll be good to go. She probably won’t even need physical therapy.”
A relieved breath. “That’s good. Shep was…” She trails off, her cheeks going pink. “Worried,” she finishes softly. “He’ll be glad to hear she’s fine.”
Glad to have an excuse for me to not kick his ass more like.
Not that it’ll stop me.
The next time we get on the ice…
I still for a moment as that washes over me.
The next time we get on the ice.
Like it’s an inevitability rather than something I’m doing my best to avoid.
And that feels…different.
But good.
“I should go,” Clover says softly.
I snap back into myself. “Yeah. It’s late. Are you going to be okay to walk home by yourself?”
This is Cedar Hollow.
But it’s after midnight and she’s a woman alone and—
She sighs, admits, “Shep’s waiting for me.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise.
Another sigh, one heavier and more tired this time. “I can’t seem to get rid of him.”
Laughter in my chest—laughter that I suppress because if looks could kill…
Clover would be committing mass murder.
“If anyone can outstubborn Shep it’ll be you, Clove.”
“Let’s hope so,” she grumbles.
I tilt my head toward the door. “I’ll walk you downstairs.”
“You know, I am perfectly capable of walking by myself.”
“Yes, you are. But I’m perfectly incapable of allowing you to.”
A scowl, but she doesn’t argue further, just spins on her heel and marches toward the door, those Space Buns she likes to sport bouncing with each step.
I wonder if Holly would like her hair to be done like that.
I can French braid, so I can definitely pull off some buns.
Smirking, I follow her down, making sure the door is closed behind me as we move through the bar.
It’s quieted, only a few patrons finishing off their drinks.
Gertie’s left, and Cassie is closing out tabs.
I catch her eye, make sure she knows that I’ll be right back to help her out.
She smiles gratefully, and then I’m trailing Clover down the hall, pushing out into the cool evening air, and—
Glaring at Shep.
He lifts his hands, one holding a truly ugly and misshapen bouquet.
“He insisted on making it for Poppy,” Clover stage whispers.
I nod, know it’s a nice gesture.
But I don’t stop moving.
Instead, I walk directly over to Shep, cock back a fist, and punch him right in the face.
“Storm!” Clover exclaims.
“It’s all right, darlin’,” Shep says, straightening with his free hand pressed to his nose.
“You’re bleeding,” she fusses, searching through her purse and pulling out a wad of tissues. She thrusts them at him then glares at me. “Th-that w-was—” A sharp shake of her head.
She shoves the flowers at me then turn towards Shep, who takes advantage of Clover’s soft side, tucking his unencumbered arm around her shoulders. “He owed me one.” A glance back at me, his brown eyes cooling. “But only one.”
I nod, silently telling him that his message is received.
“He punched you.”
Shep looks down at her. “I’m fine—”
I clear my throat deliberately, gain another glare from those cool brown eyes.
I ignore his displeasure, make a pointed gesture toward his nose, and Shep being Shep (that being quick even when he’s smitten and befuddled by a certain shy, stubborn florist with purple hair and Space Buns), he picks up on my silent cue.
“Actually,” he says. “I think I really could use an ice pack.”
Clover’s eyes go wide and she nods jerkily. “Let’s go back to my place. You can get cleaned up and put some ice on your nose.”
“I think that would be for the best,” Shep says silkily. And before Clover can clock that for the bullshit it is, he adds, “Plus I left my flower crown at your place.”
She stills.
Then…
She laughs.
And I know that for all of Clover’s stubbornness, she’s about to fall victim to the charm that is Shep.
I wait until they walk out of the parking lot and turn onto Main Street, then head back inside.
Cassie’s managed to send off the regulars, so while she cashes out, I start gathering empties.
Then it’s wiping tables and mopping the floor and snagging the spare set of keys before I walk Cassie to her apartment a few blocks down.
By the time I return to Sully’s it’s nearly three.
Maybe I should go back home, make sure I’m around to help Rain with the repairs in the morning considering that I skipped out on today.
Maybe I should give Holly and Poppy space to settle back into normalcy.
But I don’t double check everything’s locked up and walk the couple of blocks to the house I grew up in.
Instead, I slip inside, secure the door, and turn out the lights.
Then I punch in Holly’s birthday on the keypad, let myself upstairs.
I repeat the code-punching on the apartment’s doorknob, wait for the lock to whir open before I push inside.
A quick pit-stop to check on Holly.
She’s sleeping, her breaths even and steady, the stuffed Gerald tucked tightly under her arm.
“Fucking geese,” I mutter under my breath as I slip out of the bed.
Another moment of should as I pause in the hallway.
I should head for the family room, should sleep on the couch.
Instead, I walk down the hall to Poppy’s room, telling myself that I’m just going to check in on her, make sure she’s good.
But when I peek in and see that she’s sleeping, I don’t turn around.
Instead, I linger.
And then I walk across the worn floorboards, not stopping until I’m beside the bed.
More lingering, and I know that if she woke now, I’d scare the shit out of her, standing here, staring down at her like a creep.
Exhaling, I turn, start to force my feet forward.
But before I can take so much as a step, she shifts on the bed. I rotate back, see that she’s frowning, her head rocking slowly from side to side.
I reach for her, intending to check for a fever, but then her face smooths and her lips part. “Storm,” she breathes.
For a second, I think she’s awake.
But then she burrows into her pillow, her eyes staying firmly closed.
Asleep.
And dreaming of me.
Me.
Fuck, the way my chest puffs up, hope and pleasure and pure, masculine joy filling my heart (and dick).
It’s probably pathetic.
But I feel like fucking Superman.
So yeah, I should go sleep on the couch.
Instead, I reach for the blankets, tug them back…
Then I crawl into bed beside Poppy.
And like I did seven years ago, I draw her into my arms.
And like I did seven years ago…
I wake up alone.