Chapter 39
LINC
“You’re staying at my place,” I say as we leave behind the burned building in Logan Square. It’s not a request.
Jules looks up at me, her face streaked with tears and her eyes pinched with exhaustion. “Linc, I can’t impose—”
“You’re not imposing. I’ll be out of town, anyway. Business.” It’s not exactly a lie—hockey is my business, even if she doesn’t know it yet. “The condo has top security. You’ll be safe there.”
She doesn’t ask questions, which surprises me. Maybe she’s too emotionally drained to argue, or maybe she trusts me more than I deserve.
An hour later, we’re sitting in my penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline with takeout containers spread across the coffee table. Jules picks at her pad Thai, moving the noodles around more than eating them.
“I’m ready to confront my father about the insurance discrepancies,” I say, trying to fill the silence. “I need to know if he’s involved.”
“You really think he could be behind it?” Her gaze repeatedly flits toward the windows, toward the city where her life went up in smoke.
“I don’t know. But someone with executive access has been using company resources for unauthorized research. The timing with Drecken and those men in the tunnels …” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s very likely connected somehow.”
Jules sets down her chopsticks and pulls out her phone. “There’s something you should know.”
My stomach clenches, making me regret the extra dumpling I ate.
She lets out a shaky breath. “I got this right before you called. When I was standing in front of my burned building.”
Unknown number: Your payments are late. Consider this a reminder.
My jaw clenches.
She swallows. “I think the fire has something to do with my father’s debts … not your father or whatever is going on at Meridian.” She’s quiet for a long moment, staring at the city lights.
“I’m listening,” I say softly.
She fidgets with her chopsticks. “I mentioned he struggled with gambling. That he had an accident that left him needing care. What I didn’t tell you is that his gambling problem meant he owed some very bad people a lot of money.
Instead of inheriting a home like the one we visited in Washington, or anything your father plans to pass on to you, I was bequeathed over fifty thousand dollars in debt to loan sharks. ”
The number hits me like a body check. Fifty thousand might as well be fifty million to someone on her salary.
“I pay every month,” she continues. “Every single month on time. But clearly the terms have changed.”
“They took everything from your neighbors, too,” I point out. “Burned down an entire building just to send you a message.”
“Not everything,” she says quietly. “They left me alive. For now.”
The casual way she says it makes my blood boil with righteous indignation on her behalf. The men in the tunnels worked for Drecken. But the fire was about her father’s debts. Two completely separate threats.
I set down the carton of food and gather her in my arms. “I’m going to keep you safe. Whatever it takes.”
She twines her fingers into mine like she’s afraid. I kiss the top of her head.
After a beat, I say, “Seems like both our fathers had shady dealings.”
“Do you really think it could be your dad?” The question I’ve been avoiding surfaces again.
“I truly don’t know. But it definitely has something to do with Maxine Drecken.”
“What do you know about her other than that she used to occupy your office?”
“Not enough. But I’m going to find out.” I flip my lucky penny absently. “Let’s play it closer to the vest for now.”
“Do you have experience with that?” she asks, looking up at me.
“I just mean I don’t want to reveal anything until I have solid evidence, then I’ll talk to him. If I approach him with any unknowns, he’ll dismiss me like—”
Like he dismissed my mother’s search for the love letters.
We talk some more about Maxine Drecken and look her up online.
Most of what we found is common knowledge and mentions her son working in the arts and entertainment industry.
Though I can’t find specifics. Having changed the subject slightly, Jules’s appetite seems to have returned and she eats some of her pad Thai.
When we’re done, the night sparkles through the windows like scattered diamonds, and I want to forget about hunting for the past and the danger that’s put us in.
I want to pause the future and what could happen to Meridian or how she will respond when she finds out I play professional hockey. I want to talk about us. Here. Now.
“Jules, we kissed,” I say finally.
Her cheeks flush slightly. “We did.”
“I liked it.”
She flaps her hands a little as if nervous. “Linc, we kissed like that.”
I know exactly what she means, but play dumb.
“Huh?”
“You know.”
“Like what?” I ask innocently, though the corner of my mouth lifts.
Her lip juts out in the smallest pout. “Like that. You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” I lean in closer, watching her eyes widen.
She pokes me in the side.
I can’t help myself and ask, “Was it the hand-holding kind of kiss?”
“What do you mean?” she asks this time.
I bring her hand to my lips and press a chaste kiss to her knuckles.
She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile she’s fighting. “No.”
“A friendly peck on the cheek?” I demonstrate, my lips barely grazing her cheekbone.
“Linc—”
“A polite kiss goodbye?” I brush my lips against her temple, soft and quick.
“You’re impossible.” She laughs.
“A dramatic movie kiss?” I dip her slightly, hovering above her mouth.
She steadies herself against my shoulders, her fingers curling into my shirt. “Getting warmer.”
I straighten us both, studying her face. There is that telltale sweetness in her eyes, telling me she wants this as badly as I do. “Sugar eyes,” I murmur.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got sugar eyes, Jules. Sweet and wanting.”
Her cheeks blush deeper. “That’s not a thing.”
“It most certainly is.” I smooth a piece of her hair.
She slants her head slightly as if to challenge me, but it’s also the perfect angle … if I just close the space between us.
Instead, I say, “So if when we kissed like that, as you said, wasn’t one of the kisses I asked about, then what kind was it?”
She tilts her chin up, defiant and playful. “The kind that made me forget my own name.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“That made me forget that we’d nearly died.”
The air shifts between us.
“It was the kind that made me realize that I want—”
“Oh, you mean like this?” I draw her to me and kiss her again, softer this time but no less intense.
Her breathing turns ragged almost immediately, matching the drumming of my pulse in my ears. What starts gently quickly deepens, the kiss growing hungry, demanding. My hands tighten around her, pulling her closer, while her arms wrap around my back like she’s afraid to let go.
The kiss deepens and everything else falls away except for what she said just before our mouths met.
I want …
I want Jules and I have a high rate of confidence that the feeling is mutual.
Eventually, we ease up and the kiss turns sweet again. Her fingers roam along the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. My own hand traces the curve of her hips, slow and deliberate, memorizing every dip and plane.
She lets out a heavy sigh when we break apart, and my gaze strays to the way her lips look slightly swollen from my kiss.
“Linc,” she whispers, and I’m not sure if it’s a warning or an invitation.
“Yes,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to, but she can have anything of mine. She can have me.
The next few days pass in a blur of insurance investigation.
We try to locate the possible four additional desks, sending the photos Jules took to antiques dealers and Abraham Lincoln estate experts.
Meanwhile, I’m staving off the reality that very soon I’ll be leaving for hockey prep while playing house with Jules.
I gave her my credit card to replace what she needs—clothes, toiletries, and basic necessities when really I want to buy her the world.
She insists on paying me back, while I assure her it’s not necessary.
She’s too stubborn to accept outright charity.
I told her not to worry about it. She promises anyway, and I know she means it.
This woman, who has every reason to take advantage of my resources, refuses to accept even the smallest gesture without trying to reciprocate.
All I want is to give to someone who has such a hard time receiving.
For the first time in my life, I’ve met someone who doesn’t want what I have—money, influence, and fame. Rather, she just wants me.
I check Aiken’s social media obsessively, looking for any sign that he’s destroyed the painting he won at the auction—Echo & Answer. No evidence yet, which gives me hope that we might still have a chance at finding those letters.
When my team captain calls about a mandatory event in Ottawa the following weekend, I almost skip it. The thought of leaving Jules alone, even in my secure building, makes my body flood with adrenaline.
I assure myself she’ll be fine here. The place is like Fort Knox. I have the perfect opportunity to tell her about hockey, about my real career, and why I’m going to Canada. Instead, I say it’s business and leave it at that.
Why ruin a good thing?
The reasoning is all wrong and I know that, but what else am I going to do—as I rush out the door, call, Oh, and by the way, I play for the NHL. Byeee?
She’ll find out. But I tell myself we’ll deal with it later.
Walking into the training facility feels like exhaling after holding my breath for months.
The familiar smell of rubber mats and industrial-strength cleaning solution, the swish of skates on ice, the rhythmic thunk of pucks hitting the boards remind me this is where I belong.
It’s like my nervous system finally remembers how to function properly.