Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Hailey
I blink at him, stupefied, his words replaying in my mind. I love you, Hailey MacKay.
“You—you love me?” I squeak, still trying to process.
He squeezes my hand, still clasped between both of his, and chuckles softly.
“I do. And when you wouldn’t tell your parents about us and then threw my own words back in my face, it hurt.
Bad. I thought it meant you didn’t have feelings for me.
But I had time to think about it, and looking back, I didn’t actually spell out my real motivation.
I wanted to marry you for the same reason most people want to get married, Hailey.
Yes, your financial circumstances made me jump to that sooner than I probably would’ve otherwise—maybe I do have a little bit of a white knight complex, at least where you’re concerned.
But it killed me to see you struggle, to have you sick in my house, refusing to see a doctor because you didn’t have insurance and couldn’t afford the bill when I could both afford to pay and make sure you have insurance.
I knew you didn’t feel the same way then.
Or at least, I’m pretty sure you didn’t.
But I’d hoped …” He looks down and clears his throat.
“When you let me kiss you and take you to bed, I’d hoped that you were at least headed that direction. ”
“I was,” I interrupt, needing him to know the truth.
“I had a crush on you when I was a kid. That was part of the reason I was always trying to hang around with you and Hunter. Plus, you were always nice to me, even though I was just Hunter’s annoying little sister.
You never treated me like I was a pest.”
He shrugs. “You weren’t a pest.”
“Hunter would’ve disagreed with you.”
“He wouldn’t now, though. If he were here, he’d be proud of you and all you’ve accomplished.”
I can’t help scoffing. “I can’t say I’ve accomplished all that much.”
“You escaped,” he says quietly. “You survived your parents’ neglect, you won enough scholarships to make attending conservatory possible, you made a living playing music—”
“And delivering food. Until my car died, and you rescued me.”
He smiles at that. “I have to say, I think that was the universe bringing us back together. The fact that you delivered my food, and that was the exact moment your car gave up the ghost? It was fate. And I won’t accept any other explanation.”
Laughing lightly, I nod. “Okay. I’ll accept that.
In any case, spending time with you brought that tween crush back in full force.
Which was part of the reason I was hesitant to accept your offer to move in and marry you as a business deal.
While I figured you’d end up finding me annoying and getting sick of me long before I’d be able to make it on my own, I also didn’t know how I’d manage my attraction to you in such close quarters—and with you hugging and kissing me and holding my hand in public like we were a real couple. ”
His smile is small, like he’s trying to hold it back, and he shakes his head. “What a pair we make.”
“What I’m trying to say is,” I continue softly, “I love you too, Jason. Not just because you take care of me, though I do appreciate that even if I might not show it very well, but because of who you are. You’re ambitious and motivated, you work hard at everything you decide to do, whether it’s hockey or your charity work, and you care deeply about the people around you.
You have such strong friendships, and it’s clear to me that you put in effort to make that happen.
You’re not careless with other people, and in my experience, that’s not a universal trait. ”
“And I’m also hot,” he adds with a cheeky grin.
Laughing, I shake my head. “And yes, you’re hot, which is a nice plus, I must say.”
“Oh, it’s just a plus. I see.”
I give him a confused look. “You’d rather that be the main draw? You don’t want me to like you for your non-physical qualities? Because I generally think those are more important, but I guess that’s just me.”
He laughs, tugging on my hand to pull me closer.
“No,” he murmurs, leaning in so his mouth is inches from mine.
“I’m relieved to know I’m not in this alone, though.
” And he kisses me. At first it’s quick and light, but it’s like that gave him a taste, and it’s not enough.
He kisses me again, firmer, longer, one of his hands cupping the side of my neck to steady him—or me. Maybe both of us.
When he ends the kiss, he presses his forehead to mine and pulls in a long, slow breath. Then he says, “Can we go inside? I feel like there are more things to say, but I’d rather say them in a more comfortable place.”
“Of course,” I say on a laugh. “Let’s go inside.”
We climb out of the car and walk to the elevator hand-in-hand, and once we’re inside, Jason pulls me against his side. We kiss briefly, but he breaks away and nuzzles the side of my head, whispering, “We don’t need to give security a show.”
“Right,” I whisper back, my cheeks heating. I hadn’t even thought about the fact that there are security cameras in elevators. I don’t know if someone’s sitting in a room full of monitors watching all the cameras or not, but I agree with Jason that it doesn’t seem worth the risk.
But once we’re back inside his condo, he kicks the door closed, backs me against it, and kisses me like a drowning man getting his first breath of air.
When his kisses inevitably trail away from my mouth and down my neck, my fingers threaded through his hair, I can’t help chuckling a little. “I thought you wanted to talk more.”
He pauses, pressing his forehead into my shoulder. “I do. I know. Yes. I just … it’s been too long since I touched you. And I was sure, at some points, that I’d never get to touch you again.”
I use my grip on his hair to bring his mouth back to mine. “I’m here,” I gasp against his mouth. “I’m not leaving. We have all the time we need.”
He kisses me fiercely and then tears himself away, taking several steps back and rubbing his finger over his bottom lip, not like he’s trying to wipe away our kiss, but more like he’s rubbing it in.
“You’re right,” he says, low, nearly a growl.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Then he sighs, his shoulders dropping a fraction, and that feral light leaves his eyes, replaced with vulnerable emotion.
“It’s so good to know that.” He holds out his hand to me, and I step away from the door, placing my hand in his and letting him lead me to the couch.
After he sits down, he settles me across his lap so I’m cradled in his arms. I can’t help laughing at first because I can’t remember the last time I sat on anyone’s lap, but the satisfied look on his face stops me. And the truth is, it feels good to be held like this.
“There,” he says, settling me more comfortably. “Is this okay? Are you good?”
“I’m good.”
He flashes me a grin. “Good.” His chest and stomach rise, pressing into my side as he takes a deep breath and lets it out with a sound of contentment. “I do plan on taking you to the bedroom shortly, but I don’t feel like we finished our conversation.”
I loop my arm around his shoulders. “What else would you like to discuss?”
“You moving into my room, for one.” When my eyes widen a fraction, he nods. “Yes. You can use your room as a studio, still. Practice. Decorate it however you like—which isn’t to say you can’t add to the decor in my room. Our room. I want it to be our room. Just like this is our home.”
He gives me a second to process that, and I nod slowly. “Okay. I think I can handle that. Anything else?”
“I want you to work as much—or as little—as you want. Play music. Audition anywhere. Everywhere. Take on students if you enjoy teaching, but don’t do it because you feel like you need the money.
Play gigs that make you happy. Play music that makes you happy.
And don’t even think about going back to food delivery. ”
“God, I don’t want to. I was doing it, of course, when I thought you might kick me out soon.”
Shock takes over his features. “You thought what now?”
I shrug, feeling a little sheepish. “You were mad,” I say in a small voice.
“Like, really mad. You said you wanted to cancel the reception. I figured the conversation you wanted to have was you deciding we needed a deadline for me to move out. Or, worst case, tell me I had to be out by the end of the week. Or before you got back from your next away stretch. So I was lining up everything I could to prepare for what I thought was the inevitable ending here. I also organized some things to plead my case, too, in hopes I could convince you to let me stay. To give me a chance.”
His face goes through a series of expressions as I talk—consternation, worry, sadness, and finally curiosity. “You did? What kinds of things?”
I shrug, feeling self-conscious now. “I mean, I don’t need to plead my case, do I?”
“No.” He kisses me as though to erase the thought.
“Of course not. But I am curious what you thought would sway me if you were convinced I’d be ready to kick you out.
” He makes a sound of disgust and dismay.
“God, I hate that I made you feel that way.” Hugging me tighter, he kisses me again.
“I’m sorry, Hailey. Can you forgive me?”
I kiss him again too. “Of course. As long as you forgive me.”
“As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to forgive.”
I make a soft sound of disagreement in my throat.
“I’m self-aware enough to know that I don’t always respond to relationships the best. Which is why I have a track record of relationships that fracture or just dissolve.
So I looked online and found some therapists.
I reached out to a couple today, and once I decide which one I like better, I’ll schedule an appointment.
I saw a therapist for a while through the university, but once I graduated, that wasn’t an option anymore.
Now that I have insurance …” I shrug. “I think it would be good for me. And I’d hoped that if you saw me trying to work on myself, it would help you feel better about letting me stay. ”
“I think therapy would be good. I saw a therapist for years after Hunter died, and I still talk to the team’s counselor and sports psychologist pretty regularly.
Since you never got that when you were a kid—plus all the bullshit your parents have put you through—having someone help you work through that would be beneficial for you.
I want you to know, though, that I love you regardless.
You getting therapy doesn’t change that for me. ”
I smile. “Thank you,” I whisper, tears prickling at my eyes again.
My emotions are raw after talking about Hunter and the aftermath of his loss, and Jason’s tenderness brings all those feelings to the surface again.
The way he treats me is such a stark contrast to the way my parents do.
If they saw me upset, or if I told them I wanted to go to therapy—hell, when I did tell them I wanted to go to therapy when I was in high school—they’d scoff and tell me to get over myself.
“What else did you want to tell me?” he asks gently, and it takes everything in me not to squirm.
“I texted my mom. I told her about the reception, and I said that if they could come and be happy and supportive, then they were welcome. But if they weren’t able to do that, then to stay home.”
“Wow.” He hugs me tighter, kissing me again. “That’s …” Swallowing hard, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to do that to make me happy. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things that make your life worse just to make me happy. Okay?”
I nod, letting out a sigh that’s equal parts relief and sadness.
“It wasn’t just for you, though I will admit that your reaction—the fact that you were clearly hurt and all I did was get defensive instead of explaining my reasoning so you’d understand—gave me a little push.
But I needed to at least tell them. And part of me still wishes they could just …
be happy for me. I don’t know why that’s so hard for them.
” The last part comes out on a whisper, and a tear tracks down my cheek.
Jason makes a pained sound, his hand coming up to wipe away the tear. “I don’t know either,” he whispers back. “I hate that they’re like that, and I wish I could do something to fix it. I doubt me showing up at their place and yelling at them would make a difference, though.”
That makes me laugh a little. “No, I don’t think it would work, either. But thank you for wanting to do that.”
“Did your mom respond at all?”
Shrugging, I pull out my phone and open the texts. “She just said she doesn’t know what to say to that.”
He reads through what I sent and her response, taking his time, then slowly shakes his head.
“We’ll count them as a no, then.” Passing my phone back to me, he cups my cheek with one hand, tilting my face so I meet his eyes.
“For what it’s worth, my mom will be happy to hop in and do all the mom kinds of things with you.
She’s been hounding me since I invited them to the reception, begging to help, asking about what you might want or need.
She hasn’t reached out to you directly because she doesn’t want to be overbearing or overwhelming, but she’s always wanted a daughter.
Not that she’s crazy and will expect you to call her mom or anything.
Unless you want to. Or decide you want to later. ”
I roll my lips between my teeth at his rambling, and he smiles, drawing in a breath.
“Sorry,” he continues. “You get the point. My family—both my biological one and my hockey one—already considers you one of their own. I know it’s not the same as your own parents being good parents.
But you’re not alone anymore, Hailey. You have me and all the people I bring with me. ”
“Thank you.” I mouth the words more than speak them, too choked up to make a sound.
He kisses me and wipes away my tears with his thumb. “I love you, Hailey MacKay.”
“I love you too, Jason Chalmers.”