Chapter 13
AYLA
I’m shaking, my insides quivering, my legs weak. And my heart pitches in my chest, which I think is from fear but also could be because Carson was so close to me, holding me protectively, his hazel eyes wide with panic.
I struggle with my snowshoes to stand, falling once again. Okay, drinking all that rum might have been a mistake. But no way am I admitting Carson was right.
“Christ,” he mutters, closing his eyes.
My gaze roams over him in his black outdoor gear. He looks huge in the white snow, his face ruddy from the cold.
“Let’s go,” I say, trying not to sound rattled.
“Yeah.” He blows out a breath and gets to his feet a lot more gracefully than I did. “I should take you back to the cottage and spank you.”
Daaaamn. That gives me a flutter in my lower belly.
“Boundaries, remember?” I snap, setting off through the snow.
“This way, Ayla.”
Shit. Lips pressed together, I turn and follow him.
Going down is both easier and harder, but we finally make it back to the resort. Neither of us say much until we’re back inside the cottage. It’s dusk and Carson turns on the fireplace and I flick on a couple of lamps. Then we strip off our outer gear.
I keep looking at him beneath my lashes. Tension shimmers in the room. He’s still pissed.
Well, so am I.
Sitting on the couch, he sets his hands on his knees and looks at me. “That was stupid.”
Ouch. It hurts because I know it’s true. But there’s enough rum still in my bloodstream to make me argue. “Maybe,” I snap back. “But it’s not your problem anymore.”
His eyes flicker, then narrow. “It’s my problem when I have to rescue you on the side of a fucking mountain.”
I stand.
He stands.
I glare at him.
He glares back and plants his hands on his hips.
I shift my position, knees and hips bending slightly, then lift my hands to shoulder height, my right hand under my chin, elbows close to my sides.
His mouth falls open and he looks mildly horrified. “What are you doing?”
“You wanna fight? I’ll fight. I’ve been learning how to box.” I bounce on the balls of my feet and jab the air with my left arm.
He blinks.
One, two, hook. “Come on.” I jerk my chin. “You know how to fight. You fight on the ice all the time.”
“Not exactly all the time.”
“Well, sometimes. I’ve seen you fight. Come on.”
His lips twitch.
“Don’t laugh at me,” I warn him. “I’ve been practicing.”
He raises his hands as if ready to fight.
That’s hot.
Then he wiggles his fingers to say come at me.
I narrow my eyes, then step forward. I land a couple of jabs and attempt a hook, but with the speed of a puck from a slapshot, he blocks my punch with his arm, then reaches for me.
Before I can even breathe, he grabs me, spins me around so my back is to his front, and takes me down to the carpet.
He straddles my hips, his weight on me, my cheek pressed to the floor.
“What the fuck!” I screech.
I feel his smile, his lips near my ear, his breath teasing me. “Nice try.”
I huff. “Get off me.”
“You’re the one who wanted to fight.” His arms pin mine, one of his hands pulling hair off my face, his face right next to mine. “Come on. Fight me.”
Oh God. My body is betraying me with a hot softening sensation between my legs.
He stretches out over me, his weight pinning me down. We had sex like this—the flatiron position. It’s delicious and erotic. I can’t stop my ass from pushing up against him. He’s hard.
His groan vibrates in my ear. “Fuck, Ayla.”
My breath quickens. If I fought hard, I could probably get free. But I’m not fighting it. I’m melting.
“I should pull down these tight leggings and spank your pretty ass,” he growls in my ear.
“Do it.”
“Christ.”
Yes, I like being spanked, and he knows it.
His mouth brushes against my cheek and he clasps one of my hands in his, still holding me in place. I’m caged by his big body. Excitement twists in my belly and a moan leaks from my lips.
“If you don’t stop pushing your ass into my cock, I’ll have those leggings off and I’ll be doing more than spank you.”
My face burns and I’m filled with a yearning so intense, a small whimper escapes me, imagining Carson’s big cock filling me from behind, his body crushing mine. And I lift my hips again. As far as I can, which isn’t much.
“Jesus.” And with a thrust of his pelvis, he grinds me harder into the carpet.
I can’t breathe. The air is pressed out of my lungs. “Carson.”
His mouth grazes my cheek. Was that a kiss? What are we doing?
I guess he wonders the same, because suddenly, he rolls off me, leaving me a limp pancake gasping for air. Flat on his back on the floor beside me, he closes his eyes. I study his face: his rock-hard jaw, flushed cheeks, and thick eyelashes.
“I’m sorry,” he grates out.
I swallow and wet my lips. “I’m sorry, too.”
He cracks open an eye and looks at me. “Are you?”
I blink. He knows me too well. “No.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Dammit, Ayla.”
I fold an arm under my cheek. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Okay, that’s an egregious lie. I drank all the rum-laced hot chocolate, nearly fell over a cliff, and then tried to challenge him to a boxing match. “Fine. I’m sorry I drank all the rum.”
“Are you still drunk?”
“That’s a hard question to answer right now.” My mind is definitely befuddled.
He sits up and gets to his feet, then grabs my hand, pulling me up, too. His strength has always turned me on. “You need food.”
“Oh. What time is it?”
“Nearly seven. Did you even have lunch?”
“I grabbed a sandwich after my meeting with Norm.”
“Well, that’s something at least. Come on.” He grabs my jacket and hands it to me.
I can’t help but feel disappointed. Unsatisfied. But holy mother of God in a raincoat, I’m lusting over my ex-husband. That is fucked up.
I need an emergency phone call to my therapist. But that will have to wait until tomorrow.
* * *
Yes, it’s awkward as we get dinner, eating in the café. Then we return to the cottage and it’s even more painful. I don’t want to meet Carson’s eyes and our conversation is stilted. Now we have to spend another night together.
I get out my laptop and pretend to review party plans while Carson turns on the TV and clicks through the few channels available here.
He stops on what appears to be some kind of documentary, which is just his thing.
I tune it out as I replay earlier events in my head.
This was not what I expected when I asked Carson to come with me.
I glance at the TV and my chin jerks down when I see a naked couple in a forest. “What on earth are you watching?”
Carson shakes his head and turns off the TV. “It’s a show about a non-profit organization that raises money to support ecology and nature protection.”
Perplexed, I gaze at the black television screen. “Um… how do they raise money?”
“Some comes from donors. But they post videos and pictures and people pay to watch them.”
“Videos of…”
He sticks his tongue into his cheek. “Sex.”
“So it’s basically porn. But for a good cause.”
“Yeah. Fucking to save the rainforest.”
Great. Now I’m thinking about sex again. I sigh.
“I think I’ll go to bed.”
I blink over to Carson. “It’s nine o’clock.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Unless… you want to check out the hot tub?”
Oh, that’s a fine idea. (That is sarcasm.) I blow out a breath. “I guess we might not get a chance for the rest of the weekend.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Okay.” I shut down my computer and grab my swimsuit from my suitcase.
It’s probably playing with fire. Hmmm. That metaphor doesn’t really work in a hot tub. More like… tempting fate. Ooh, skating on thin ice, that’s a good one for Carson the hockey player. Pushing our luck. Throwing caution to the wind.
Courting disaster.
And yet, here I am in a bikini and a towel, and, somewhat bizarrely, a knit beanie on my head, walking along a paved path to the hot tub, goosebumps rising on my skin from the chilly air.
The hot tub is surrounded by tall evergreen trees and snow. Steam rises seductively from the illuminated water. There’s nobody else here. A few chairs are arranged on the stone deck around the pool, and we drop our towels there. I toe off my flip-flops and sprint to the tub to leap in.
I gasp at the heat of the water on my chilled skin.
Carson, dressed in board shorts, walks over to a control panel and turns on the jets. They rumble to life and the water churns around me. I watch him walk toward me, and I could weep with the beautiful perfection of his body. Damn him.
He lowers himself into the water on the opposite side of the tub. There’s even more steam now, and a little mist from the bubbling water, obscuring my view of him. That’s okay. I’d rather look at the stars. I tip my head back and gaze skyward.
It takes me a few minutes to get over seeing Carson’s chest and abs.
Then I do appreciate the view of the cosmos: evergreen trees silhouetted black against the deep blue sky, stars sparkling and winking above us.
My fretfulness about earlier events eases somewhat in the serenity as I let my arms float in the deliciously warm water and lazily shift my body in front of the jets to get maximum massage benefit.
“You must love having a hot tub at your place in Salmon Arm,” I say.
“Yeah. It’s great after a hard workout.”
“Do you still do that ice-bath thing?”
“Not so much. I didn’t really find it helped, and there’s not a lot of evidence to support it.”
“Huh. Interesting. I always thought that was torture.”
“It wasn’t really fun.”
After a short pause, I say, “I remember when I was pregnant, I was so mad because I couldn’t go in the hot tub.”
The air around us shifts. “Yeah. Women sacrifice a lot.”
“Thank you for knowing that. But honestly, nothing really felt like that big of a sacrifice, because it was all for our baby.”
Talking about this is touchy.
“It was all worth it for him,” I add. I still feel sad when I talk about Kane, but not as gut-wrenchingly as I used to.
“You were a good mother,” he says, his husky voice even raspier.
My heart bumps. “Thank you.”
“I remember that time you went out with friends and he wouldn’t take a bottle. And you came home right away and gave up your girls’ night. And you weren’t even mad about it.”
“Yeah. He was more important than a girls’ night.” I swish my hand through the water. “You were a good dad, too.”
He coughs. “Thanks. I feel like I wasn’t around much, though.”
“Yeah, but you were there. We had a whole month before training camp started to just be parents. Lots of people don’t get that. And then things got busy, but when you were home, you changed diapers and gave him baths and played with him.”
He’s silent for so long, I think the conversation has ended, but then he says, “Sometimes, it felt like I was outside of the bond between you and him.”
I shift sideways in the tub so I can see Carson’s face without clouds of steam in front of it. “That’s normal, I think. A mom’s relationship with the baby has to be close. He grew in my body. I nursed him.”
“Yeah. And I knew that.” He meets my eyes. “I didn’t blame you for that.”
“Okay, good.”
“I liked having times with him that weren’t work… Does that make sense? Work, like changing diapers or trying to get him to stop crying. I liked having time that was just us being together. Having fun.”
Something twists in my chest. He never told me that before. “Yeah. That totally makes sense.”
I often think about what might have been—Kane growing up, learning to ride a bike, starting school, peeing on the toilet seat. Does Carson think about that, too? Does he mourn not teaching Kane to skate and play hockey? An ache develops in my chest.
Is it a good thing we’re managing to talk about Kane? Even a little? I don’t know. It feels like progress.
But progress toward what? Our marriage is over.
“Remember the time we were at a party and there were like twelve of us in the hot tub and I started feeling up your thigh? Only it wasn’t your thigh, it was Megan Shaw’s thigh?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. And she said it was the most action she’d had in a while and Shawzy got pissed off.”
I laugh, too. “We had some fun parties.” That’s something else I miss: the other WAGs and the socializing and the camaraderie of the team…
almost like another family. I wasn’t the captain’s wife, who is often the one who coordinates things, but…
I was the one who coordinated things. “Remember the baby shower they threw for us?”
“Are we going on a trip down memory lane tonight?” Carson asks.
“I guess so.” I smile crookedly. “There are bad things to remember, but there are also a lot of good things.”
He nods slowly. “That is true.”
“They wouldn’t let me do anything for the shower and I was dying to know what they were planning. But it turned out to be hilarious.”
He grins. “I liked the drinking out of baby bottles contest.”
“I don’t think it was supposed to be booze in the bottles.”
“That’s what made it fun.”
I laugh. “Then you guys changing the diaper on a doll blindfolded to see who could do it fastest. Oh my God, I was dying. I was afraid I was going to go into labor right then.”
Somehow, we’ve drifted closer together. More memories rush back. Those times in the hot tub at our, I mean Carson’s house in Salmon Arm. We didn’t sit on opposite sides of the tub; I spent a lot of time in his lap. Between his thighs. Bent over the side of the tub.
“I’m getting hot,” I say. “Maybe we should get out.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
I stand and turn to climb out. But the blood from my head rushes downward and everything spins. My vision darkens from the outside edges in and then everything is black.