Lake
“Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows.”
My heart does that Nova thing, pulsing, squeezing, reminding me it belongs to her, and I roll to my side, fussing with my phone in order to get it positioned correctly, to keep the camera on my face as I rub discreetly at the ache in my chest.
She’s at home in my bed, Steve at her side, her hair piled on top of her head, cheeks pink from the spiked hot cocoa she’s drinking and also probably from her excitement of showing me some of the photographs she took that day.
So far, our conversation had been carefully light, both of us aware of the events of the day before last.
Or maybe that’s just me.
She’s as bright and beautiful as normal.
Only…she’s also holding herself carefully.
Expecting me to push her away.
So, I know this question is a test—though I don’t think she realizes it. There’s nothing calculating about her tone or expression.
Nothing but that cautious way she’s holding herself, and how she’s clinging to Steve.
As though her pup will keep her safe from me.
Fucking hate that.
“I like Twix,” I say, going for easy-breezy.
Her mouth curves and the tightness in her eases slightly, shoulders dropping, grip on Steve gentling. The pup huffs out a breath and, swear to fuck, he glances into the camera with thanks before settling down to snore away in her lap. “I think I got that from the size of your stash in your pantry.”
I grin, waggle my brows. “I think you like the size of my stash.”
She giggles, but I don’t push us onto another conversation, don’t use light and breezy to keep her out.
Not again.
Not ever again.
“I never wanted to be a hockey player,” I admit.
A gasp that disturbs Steve, if his groan is any indication. “Really?” she asks.
I nod. “I mean, I love the sport, love what I do, and I’m fucking thankful that I’m able to do it for my job, I just…” I sigh and sit up, bringing the camera with me, shoving a hand through my hair, bracing myself as I admit, “For a long time, I loved it because it was my only escape. My mom didn’t like coming to the rink, and if she did, she couldn’t get to me. I could hide out in the locker room or the gym or on the ice, could leave her bullshit behind.”
“Did your dad—” She breaks off with a shake of her head.
“He didn’t come to my games.”
“At all?”
“No,” I say gently. “He basically abandoned my siblings and me. Yeah, he lived at home, paid the bills, but he wasn’t there, and he sure as fuck didn’t intervene on our behalf with my mom. He just let me and my siblings take care of her.” I shake my head. “I know it’s nothing like what you went through, butterfly.”
“Don’t,” she whispers.
I focus on her through the screen on my phone.
“Don’t discount your pain,” she whispers.
My lungs loosen, air I didn’t know I was holding inside sliding out on an exhale.
Her next question is soft. “Where are your siblings?”
“My brother is married and moved to Canada,” I tell her. “My sister lives in Arizona.”
“And your parents?”
“Connecticut.”
She presses her lips together, releases them. “So, you’ve all gotten as far as possible away from them.”
I take another breath, let it out. “Them by choice. Me by chance.”
“Are you guys close?”
“No.” I exhale, rub at my chest again. “I think…well, I think it’s better that we’ve all gone our own way.”
“And are they still together?”
“My parents?”
She nods.
“Yup,” I say, rolling my eyes. “For God knows what reason, since they hardly ever spend time together.” I huff out a laugh that’s nowhere close to amused. “My dad works more than ever, so my mom tries to find ways to fill her days—and that’s usually by creating chaos and drama, and spending money. I love her despite all of her shit, but swear to fuck, what I wouldn’t give for her to find a charity or something that would dominate her life. Instead, it’s all about shopping and filling the house with shit and redoing the rooms over and over again, and then, when she remembers me, it’s about driving me fucking insane for short bursts of time before she forgets and goes back to her life.”
“And your dad?”
I sigh, unable to hold her eyes through the camera. “Same shit, different day. He doesn’t come to my games, missed my brother’s wedding, never met my nephews.”
“Asshole.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I come by it naturally, apparently.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Hush, you.”
A lightness slides through me—and somehow despite the conversational topic, I’m amused. “I could maybe forgive him for the shit growing up—”
“I can’t,” she mutters, causing my eyes to shoot back to hers, seeing they’re filled with fury.
That amusement fades. My heart squeezes hard. “It’s not just forgiveness, though, and I’m not delusional. He’s shown us all who he is over and over again, and I can’t absolve him of the shit he pulled. But, after all this time, any good opinion I’ve had of him is shattered forever.”
“Honey,” she whispers.
I swallow hard.
She sighs. “I wish I was there with you.”
I force a smile. “It’s all good, butterfly.”
She falls quiet for a long moment. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”
“Got any other skeletons you want to disclose?” I ask with false lightness. “Or interrogation questions you need to ask?”
“Now’s the time to press you?” Her voice is gentle. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yup.”
Her head tilts to the side, expression soft and hitting me hard in the heart. “Considering that, I think this is the time for me to admit that I ate the last Twix.”
I still.
Then I throw back my head and laugh.
This woman…
She’s fucking perfect.
* * *
“Are you going to help?” she asks testily a few days later, standing on a stool and lifting the curtain rod toward the brackets I just finished installing.
The Sierra are off today.
Tomorrow, I have to get back to the rink.
Today, though, I can spend time with Nova, with my woman who hasn’t held my idiocy against me, who’s slowly unfurling and showing me the beauty of her.
Today, I can eye the tight jeans covering her from ankle to waist, the tee that’s risen to give me a glimpse of silken skin I licked my way across earlier this morning, after I returned from the away game, and shake my head. “Naw, butterfly, I can admire you much better from here.”
Her head whips around, eyes coming to mine, voice husky and clearly reading my intent when she asks, “Are we not putting up curtains?”
“We can put up curtains,” I say softly, prowling toward her. “But I also would be fine with breaking in the console table.”
I now know what a console table is.
A pointlessly skinny piece of furniture that’s supposed to hold China that I don’t own.
Nova showed it to me on that website, and her eyes lit up, and…I understood exactly why Jer had given in about the floral curtains.
Now that table has a place in my house.
Now—
“Oof,” I grunt in surprise as Nova launches herself off the stool and into my arms, somehow having secured the rod—okay, not somehow. As I was staring at her ass, she hung the curtains, and now—
“Let’s break in the console,” she says.
I have my woman in my arms, those curtains framing my window, and a table I don’t understand the point of.
And I can’t help but think that life is pretty fucking perfect.
Especially, when she shoves her hands between us and flicks open the button on my jeans.
Perfect…
So long as I don’t do anything to fuck it up.