Nova
“And this,” I say to Ella, “is my famous—or soon to be famous, anyway—cranberry and cinnamon mule.”
I present the glass to her with a flourish.
She picks it up, sniffs delicately, and takes a small sip.
I wait with bated breath, our Christmas celebration fully underway. Lake’s house is crowded and noisy, things he’s tolerating because I asked if we could have a get-together.
Because my grandma used to have a party on Christmas for all her friends that had become family, a raucous celebration that was less about gifts and more about games and spending time together and—
Lake needed that.
The Sierra are winning games again, but it’s not fun.
So, he—and his teammates, the non-asshole ones, anyway—need this time to cut loose.
With flights of my special mules.
Cucumber and raspberry. Cranberry and cinnamon. Hibiscus and jalapeño. Strawberry and mint.
Ella sets the glass down. “Not your best.”
I groan.
And, because I can’t ever seem to top it, I pass over her honey and rosemary mule.
No point in fighting it.
Honey and rosemary tops all.
I move on to my next victim—I mean, friend—and I set Leo and Jolie—a woman he met at Ronnie’s not long ago, who has nearly as jerky of an ex as George—up with their flights of mules.
Jolie is beyond sweet, declaring them all her favorite, while Leo stands protectively at her shoulder and only drinks the honey and rosemary variety.
I sigh.
“God,” Ella says, setting her glass on the island and stretching her neck from side to side. “My arms are so sore.”
I reach for her, start rubbing at her tight shoulders. “That’s because your boss makes you work too much.”
Jolie frowns. “How much is too much?”
Ella starts to shrug that off, but I’ve been here in the present. I’ve been watching her and keeping tabs.
So, I don’t let her minimize it.
“Eight to ten hours a day, six days a week.”
And I’m glad of Jolie’s gasp of outrage on her behalf—she’s a fellow hairstylist. “That’s not okay, Ella. Not at all.”
“I mean,” Ella says on a sigh. “I can’t exactly tell my boss no when the clients are booked and another stylist flakes. I won’t do them dirty like that.”
“I get wanting to keep your clients happy,” Jolie says, leaning back against Leo. “And I get being busy—hell, this season has been a disaster with this”—she lifts her casted arm, a break that her asshole ex was indirectly responsible for—“but there’s also such a thing as too busy.”
Riggs nods.
And I haven’t missed him hovering around my friend.
Watching her every move.
“I’m okay.” Ella smiles and it’s tense. Edgy. “I promise.”
“Well,” Jolie says, “if you come into the market for a new job, I’m looking for another stylist at my salon.”
“I—”
“Yes! That’s right, baby!” Knox calls, tossing the remote onto the couch and sweeping Steve into his arms. My pup eats that up because he loves Knox and his antics.
Hell, he loves all of this.
The activity. The noise. The people giving him cuddles. The opportunities to scarf down food he shouldn’t be eating.
Steve kisses Knox as Ivy—a personal trainer Riggs, Knox, Leo, and Lake all work with—scowls, having ended up on the wrong side of the Mario Kart battle.
Our little family.
None of us related by blood.
But making our own memories.
Living in the present.
Eating. Drinking. Playing games. Being silly and ridiculous.
Then packing them off into Lyfts when the mules hit hard and the night grows late.
“Come here, butterfly,” Lake murmurs after I finish with the dishes, my feet sore and my cheeks aching from smiling so much, my arms heavy after lifting my camera so much, trying to document as much of the night as possible.
I toss the towel on the counter, move over to him, settling on the couch.
Pride and Prejudice is playing in the background, the Kiera version, which is my favorite, and Steve is passed out on his bed in front of the fireplace, his paws in the air, his snores almost drowning out the pretty, pretty words of Mr. Darcy.
“What’s up, honey?” I say, curling into him.
“You happy?” he asks.
I glance at the TV then smile back at him. “Incandescently happy.”
He taps my nose lightly, mouth tipping up. “Good.”
Then he surprises me, not by stealing a kiss, not by coaxing me down the hall to the bedroom. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box.
My throat goes tight.
“Lake,” I rasp.
“No need for the open road, butterfly,” he teases lightly. “It’s not a ring.” A beat. “Not yet, anyway.”
My eyes flash to his.
But the blip of panic in my heart is there and gone in a second—because I want the ring. I want him.
Forever.
“Open it,” he orders.
My hands are shaking, but I follow the command, pulling the lid of the black velvet box back and—
Immediately, my eyes fill with tears.
“Lake,” I whisper, barely able to see it with my vision so glassy.
Barely able to see my butterfly charm, fully repaired, all the way down to the missing diamond.
Sniffing, I launch myself into his arms, hold him tight. “God, I love you.”
He rests his head atop mine, hugs me back. “I know, butterfly.” Fingers through my hair, his warm body pressed to mine. “Because you show me that every single day.”
The road is bumpy.
Surrounded by snowbanks and dangerous blind turns.
But my wings are free.
And for the first time, I feel safe enough to fly.
* * *
Ella
I plaster a smile on my face as Nova and I sit in the stands, cheering on the Sierra.
That’s one of the perks of having a professional hockey-playing brother.
Free tickets to pretty much any home game I want.
Access to all manner of hot and sexy hockey players.
Except the one I’m actually attracted to.
Not my brother, in case that addendum is needed for clarity’s sake.
But one, Riggs Ashford.
He’s tall and thick, with strong thighs, a great ass, and a broody personality.
My personal kiss of death when it comes to the opposite sex.
Unfortunately for me, Riggs is a good guy.
Strait-laced. A bit uptight. Way quieter than any man I’ve ever met.
And…he doesn’t like me.
How have I come to this brilliant conclusion?
After throwing myself at him on Christmas, and being firmly—and a little roughly (also my personal preference)—shut down.
So, while I love watching my brother play hockey and while I love spending time with my best friend Nova, who’s mooning over her boyfriend (also on the ice), sitting here while trying to feign that I’m happy and comfortable and not slowly dying inside of embarrassment…
Is a losing battle.
It makes me want to pick up the drink sitting in the cupholder at my feet, and down it.
But that’s something else Riggs doesn’t like about me.
He thinks I drink too much.
And maybe I do.
Maybe I drink so I don’t have to think—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I jerk and look up from the tempting cocktail, seeing that Lake is standing in front of the glass, smiling at Nova, who—swear to fuck—just seems to blossom under his gaze.
Bright and beautiful, showing the world the gorgeous person she is inside.
She lifts her camera and fires off a couple of shots, causing Lake to wink before he skates off to finish his warmup.
My brother is on the far side of the ice, stretching and stick handling, getting ready for the game in a sure-minded focus that he doesn’t have many other places, and they all involve hockey—off-ice training, studying tape, hitting the gym to be strong and explosive, practice and games and extra time at the rink.
I’ll get my goofy Knox back after the game.
Right now he has laser focus.
“I’m going to sneak up to the bathroom,” Nova murmurs.
“I’ll hold the fort,” I tell her, getting a smile before she starts making her way up the long concrete staircase.
My gaze goes back to my drink, mouth watering, throat so freaking dry.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I jerk my head up again, expecting it to be Lake wondering where his woman went.
It’s not.
Riggs is standing on the glass in front of me—brown eyes deep pools of chocolate, beard just long enough to give a woman ideas.
“What?” I mouth.
He holds up his gloved hand and I frown.
“I don’t need a puck,” I say, shaking my head.
I grew up with enough of them all over the house and yard and, hell, I probably have more than a few of them in my apartment even now.
Riggs can’t possibly hear me, but maybe he reads my lips because he bangs his fist against the glass and holds the puck up again.
I sigh, stand up, and hold out my hands.
I don’t know a lot about Riggs, but I’ve seen his stubborn streak.
Experienced it firsthand.
So…might as well get it over with.
He nods, makes the toss…
And the puck lands with a smack in my open palms.
I force another smile, start to shove the puck into my purse—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Freezing, I glance up.
He nods toward the puck and I drag my brows together.
“What?” I mouth again.
He looks at his hand, pretends to flip something over.
Brows dragging together, I frown, but I mirror his miming, glance down at my hand, and—
Flip the puck over
My mouth drops open, my eyes go wide, my head jerks up—
He raises his brows in question.
I look from the puck to him, back down to the scrawled-out words on the black rubber. “I—”
But I don’t get further than that because he winks and skates off.
I stare down at the words, my belly heating because—
Holy shit, had quiet, strait-laced Riggs Ashford just written that?
* * *
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed Nova and Lake’s story as much as I loved writing their happy ending! Ella and Riggs will get their chance in CAUGHT FROM BEHIND
CLICK HERE TO READ CAUGHT FROM BEHIND NOW>
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And if you enjoyed OVER THE LINE, you’ll love finding out what happens to Rome Dawson in BROKEN LACES, book 1 of my new series, the Eagles Hockey series. This team of misfits and bad boys are going to puck you in the best possible way.
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