Chapter 28
twenty-eight
INDIGO
As much as I wish I was doing a better job of hiding my nerves, I don’t think I’m succeeding. Bash may not know that my stomach is doing a full-blown gymnastics floor routine right now, but there’s no way he’s missed my quick, shallow breathing or the way my hand has gone clammy in his.
You are not playing this cool, Indigo.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Bash squeezes my hand as he steals a glance at me before returning his attention to the road. “I know it’s late. It’s okay if you’re tired.”
Tired? Ha. I’m more wired than I’ve ever been. Pretty sure even a horse tranquilizer couldn’t knock me out right now.
“I’m not tired. I’m good, I promise.”
His lips twitch, but he fights the smile. “If you say so, Rosebud.”
“Just drive.”
Sebastian barks out a laugh as he navigates what I’m sure are beautiful neighborhoods. But it’s dark, and I’m distracted by his touch and thoughts of what I hope is going to happen tonight, so I don’t really notice.
Trying to calm myself, I quietly fill my lungs. It’s almost a mistake, because it means I get a deep breath filled with whatever cologne Sebastian wears. It’s spicy and masculine, and I’m tempted to ask him what it is so I can buy a bottle and spray it all over my pillow like a weirdo.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, slowing the car in front of a beautiful Craftsman home.
I stare at it as he pulls into the driveway. This is his house.
“No,” I say, a bit breathlessly. “I’m not hungry.”
At least not for food. Suddenly, I’m hungry to learn everything there is to know about the last ten years of Sebastian’s life. When did he buy this house? Did he decorate it himself? Did anyone ever live here with him, or has he lived alone all this time?
Some stupid, masochistic part of me wonders if this is the house we would have chosen if we’d stayed together? Would we have toured just a few, or would we have argued over things like how large the kitchen is and whether we need that extra guest room?
“This is me.” Sebastian’s quiet words pull me out of my head. He pulls into a two-car garage and turns off his SUV.
I’m stuck in place. The what-ifs are so heavy, I’m glued to the seat.
Sebastian’s eyes bounce across my face when he opens the door for me.
He nods at whatever it is he sees and, leaning into the car, he unbuckles my seat belt for me.
My breath catches as his cheek brushes mine, and when he turns to look at me, our lips meet.
He doesn’t kiss me, though. What he does do is smile and whisper, “Are you going to stay in the car or come inside with me?”
My cheeks heat as he chuckles and presses a kiss to my forehead before straightening to his full height and offering me his hand. I take it, allowing him to lead me into his house and toward whatever comes next.
Heart hammering, I find myself in a large, modern kitchen when Bash flips a light switch.
The cabinets are navy blue with gold hardware, and both the countertops and backsplash are a clean, gleaming white.
A fancy espresso machine is tucked into a corner of the counter, and a bowl of fruit rests on a decently sized island with a butcher-block top.
“Sure you’re not hungry?” he asks again, kicking off his shoes and toeing them into a little nook by the door to the garage. I follow his lead and take off mine.
“I’m sure.”
“Then let me give you the tour.” He waves the hand not holding mine with a cheeky smile.
“This is the kitchen, through here is the dining room. I don’t use it much unless I have the guys and their wives over.
” He leads me into a large formal dining room with a long table in the center.
The walls are a slate blue, and a modern brushed-black light fixture hangs over the table, while small black sconces add ambient lighting along one wall.
I soak it all in as he leads me through to a cozy-looking living room.
The same slate blue continues here, but the walls are covered in black and white framed photographs of Sebastian and his teammates.
Some are action shots on the ice, others are intimate candids.
A life lived well. A life I could have been a part of, but wasn’t.
The thought sends a pang through my chest, but I do my best to push it away.
Thinking about that won’t change anything.
“This is the living room.” Bash watches me take it all in. The large, overstuffed white sectionals, the distressed wood chest that functions as a coffee table, the fireplace and built-in bookshelves beside it that are filled with books, knickknacks, and framed photos. But no TV. No gaming systems.
“There’s a bathroom through there.” He points to a short hallway with two doors that leads to a dark room. “That’s a closet, and if you keep going, you’ll end up in the mudroom. There’s a door to the backyard and the deck through there.”
“It’s really pretty,” I say dumbly.
“Thanks, Rosebud.” He grins at me. “I’m glad you like it.”
I really do. It’s cozy. Everything here is thoughtfully arranged, the colors are beautiful, and personal touches fill every room. It’s the kind of house you’d be excited to come home to, and I can’t help imagining what it would be like to share a space like this with him.
“Come on, I’ll show you the upstairs.”
Stomach flipping, I hold on to Bash’s hand as he leads me up a set of gleaming wood stairs to the second floor. The walls up here are a light sage with a darker green wainscoting that spans the entire length of the hallway.
“This is my office.” Bash nudges the first door on the right open and turns on the light.
It’s a smaller room with a desk and bookshelves covering three of the four walls.
These are filled with books and photos, too, but there are also models and painted miniature figurines on them.
I want to go in and snoop, but he turns the light off and tugs me down the hall.
“This one is a guest room. The bathroom is there. Another guest room. And this one is mine.”
He pushes open a door at the end of the hall, and the house holds its breath with me as we step over the threshold.
When he turns on the light, I’m met with a large, open space.
A jute rug covers the gleaming hardwood floors in the center of the room.
Three walls are a neutral cream, but the far one is a deep navy that contrasts the blonde wood of the massive bed’s headboard perfectly.
The king-sized bed is covered in a soft-looking down comforter that matches the cream of the walls with coordinating pillows lining a bench at the foot of it.
“Wow,” I whisper, dropping Sebastian’s hand so I can walk the perimeter of the room.
A closed door that must lead to a closet is on the wall to the right when you walk in, while another door is open and leads to a large attached bathroom.
There’s a dresser on the wall facing the bed with a circular mirror over it.
Photos of Sebastian’s family create a collage in one corner of the room with an overstuffed gray armchair.
I grin as I study each image. His brothers are so big now.
Though I suppose that makes sense. Ten years have passed, after all.
His parents look older but the same. There’s a group photo with all of Sebastian’s extended family too.
Everyone is smiling brightly, arms around each other in an easy affection that makes my heart pang.
And on a little circular side table next to the armchair is a framed photo.
I pick it up, expecting it to be a candid of Bash and his teammates.
But that’s not what I find at all.
“Oh,” I whisper. My eyes fill with tears as I stare at the photo, but I don’t let them fall. Not even when Bash’s chest presses against my back and his arms wrap around my middle. Not even when his chin comes to rest on my shoulder and he says something that both breaks me and fills me with hope.
“I’ve always kept you with me. Even when I couldn’t find you.”
My fingers trace the teenagers in the photo slowly.
Reverently. We must have been sixteen? I had braces and blonde hair that hung down to the middle of my back.
It was frizzy from a day spent at the beach we were standing on, windblown and sun-bleached.
Sebastian’s dark eyes sparkle, his black hair ruffled and messy, his skin that deep golden color that came from days spent outside together.
I look positively ghostly beside him. But I always burn to a lobster-red before it fades and I’m right back to the same shade I was before.
His arm is around my shoulder in the photo. Our heads tilt toward each other, and my arm is wrapped around his waist. We’re both laughing, and neither of us is looking at the camera. Because we’re looking at each other.
I don’t remember that specific moment, but I remember the summer. We had so much fun. Every day was a new adventure, and I was so in love with him. It was an immature teenage love, but it was love.
“I can’t believe you still have this,” I choke out.
“Really? I can’t believe you’re surprised. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to find you, Indie.” His arms tighten around me and he presses a kiss to my neck. “And then you show up out of nowhere at my game. I couldn’t believe it.”
My throat tightens. I set the photo back on the little circular table and lean back, allowing myself to bask in the warmth and strength of the boy I loved and the man he’s become. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should have run.”
I don’t resist when Bash turns me in his arms. I don’t resist when he nudges my chin with his knuckles, silently asking me to look up at him. For ten years, I’ve resisted him, and all it did was bring us both pain.
I’m done resisting.