Page 18

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Jett

Fable Winthrop has four gold medals, in my opinion—one for pairs skating, two for individual, and one for getting right up under my skin and living there.

She does it without even trying.

She leaves me breathless, my cock aching and my heart pounding.

And I’m a willing victim.

I still can’t believe how bright the torch I carry for her burns after all these years. I thought—shit, I prayed—that I wouldn’t feel a damn thing when I saw her at the funeral, but my thoughts and prayers went unheard. Instead, with each day that passes in the presence of my ice princess, the torch I hold for her burns ever brighter. I never had these feelings for anyone else. I’ve dated, I’ve hooked up, hell, I’ve gotten close to thinking about proposing to someone I thought I could be happy with, but nothing and no one compares to her. All these feelings I thought I had repressed over the years are back, front and center in my brain. They make me want to be reckless and admit everything to her. I have this need to give in to the greedy thoughts and devour her the way I’ve always wanted to.

I almost did. I almost leaned in and took her pretty mouth with mine. I needed to feel her hips in my hands as I tasted her for the first time in my life. A taste I’ve been obsessed with and craving since I set eyes on her. She may put on an indifferent front with everyone else, but I can read Fable Winthrop like the most complex hockey drill. I know when she’s anxious, when she’s overwhelmed, or when her brain is going at speeds she can’t keep up with. I know when she’s excited, happy, and hyperfocused.

As a young man, I had to learn body language to make sure Mom and I were never in the way of my dad. I used what I learned by staying out of his way to learn everything about Fable instead. I memorized her body language, and though life has a way of going on, even when she’s not around me, I never allowed myself to forget a single thing about her.

Each day, I learn something new about adult Fable. But learning what she looks like turned on is something I wasn’t ready for.

I’ve seen some really great things, I’ve scored some pretty sick goals, I’ve held her over my head with ease, but Fable turned on is the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.

I thought I spotted it that time she saw me shirtless when Dean was too close to her for my liking. How her eyes moved along my body, her lips parting slightly as she drew in deep breaths. But when she told me “She grew up,” yeah, no way in hell could she hide that she wanted me. It was all over her face, obvious in how she leaned in toward me and how each word that left her mouth dripped with hunger. She didn’t even say much, but I was ready to come from the sounds and sights she was rewarding me with. She turns me on in all the ways I crave, in ways no one else could even inspire. But with her, it’s natural.

It’s her.

I still can’t fathom that anyone could make her feel like anything less than a goddess. I know her parents are assholes, but a guy she chose to be with made her feel less-than? That’s not okay. It infuriates me to know men have put it in her head that she’s a robot, because she’s not. Even from a young age, she had to keep everything she felt inside because her parents made her feel bad for being herself. I saw it many times, and even though I was younger and didn’t really know how, I tried to protect her. I’d distract her; I’d try to keep her from riding with them, offering rides with my girls and me. I wanted so desperately to make her unlearn what her parents pounded into her. In some ways, I think I did help. I know for sure if it weren’t for Kitty and Phillip, Fable wouldn’t have developed into the stunning, strong woman she is now. They never tried to keep her in a gilded cage, unlike how her parents wanted her to be.

How they still want her to be.

Even a week later, I can’t forget the way that Elena looked at me. Like I was the snot falling from a bear’s nose in her precious forest. It’s unfair how that one look knocked me back to when I was a confused, scared young man. Once more, the feelings of not measuring up to the expectations they have for the person who would be with their daughter hit me square in the chest. The many times they warned me to stay away from her outside of the ice still haunt me.

What was wrong with me? Hell, even now, why would I be so bad for her? I have had only her best interests in mind. I loved skating with her, yet I wasn’t good enough. I’m pretty sure they paid off their “friend” who was my coach in Ohio so that he’d take me. To break apart two people who needed each other. As a teenager, that fucked with my mind. Made me feel worthless.

As an adult, I’m just fucking annoyed.

I may not be able to give her the luxury her parents gave her growing up, or what she’s accustomed to, but I can make her happy. I know I can. This week has only reinforced that for me. I can’t let her family win anymore. I have to fight for us. I didn’t when I was younger, probably because I thought she thought the way they did. But that’s not the case anymore.

She wants me.

I want her.

But I’ve been keeping my distance.

Call it self-preservation if you must, and I feel like a damn idiot for it. We still go at it about things for the Thistle, but I don’t hang around anymore like I had been, just to be in her vicinity. When she’s coaching, I don’t allow myself to act like I have something to fix just to watch her, and when I saw her at the game last night, I didn’t go up to the table.

Bea made sure I knew Fable was pissed about that, but I ignored her, needing the sanctuary that my apartment gave me after the game. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t watching her, drinking in her tight black leggings and how adorably the ribbon in her hair fell along her temples. But I kept my distance. I hate letting people control my feelings. Well…I take that back. I like the feelings that Fable inspires, but allowing her parents this hold over me, yeah, it’s fucking torture.

And I’m tired of letting them have so much power.

The buzzing of the tattoo gun settles my mind as Hazel drags the machine along my back. She’s touching up a few spots, and I welcome the sting of the needle. My arms hang beside me as I lean my face into the table she has here. I’m the only one she’ll still tattoo since she closed up shop. She’s been dealing with arthritis in her hands and doesn’t feel her work is up to par. For me, her work is as stunning as she is, but she doesn’t listen.

As she moves to my shoulder, I lay my face on the table and watch her. Like me, Hazel is covered neck to toe. Her hair is pulled back in a high bun as she concentrates, her brown eyes trained on the skin she holds and works on. I take in all the tattoos she has, and I smile. When I was younger, she made me my own tattoo gun out of pens and would let me draw all over her. My grandfather did all her work, and she did his and mine. When he wasn’t doing drugs, he was the light of her life, but addiction is a disease no one can understand unless they come face-to-face with it.

Mom told me once that Hazel isn’t the mom she had, that losing her husband ruined her, but all I see is a woman who loves me more than anything in this world. She has always been in my corner, and her love has never faltered. I know she wanted me to follow in her footsteps when I came back after my injury, but I have the artistic abilities of a three-year-old.

Hell, a three-year-old may draw better than me.

But instead of being upset, she supported my goals for the Ice Thistle.

I let my eyes drift shut as she drags a cloth along my skin, loving the pain she causes me. It almost distracts me from thinking of Fable.

Okay, it doesn’t, but I can at least try to act like it does.

“You’ve been quiet, my dearest.”

Even with all the hectic thoughts swirling in my head, my lips tip up at her endearment. She’s always called me that, and I don’t know why I love it so much, but I do. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

I don’t answer right away as she continues to run the gun along my shoulder blade. I swallow hard, relishing the pain of the needles along the curve of my skin.

“Or better for you, who’s on that mind of yours?”

I grin at that, and I don’t have to look back to see her smirking. “I almost kissed her,” I admit, and the gun stops. “But Elena interrupted us.”

She tsks, and when the gun starts again, she mutters, “I hate that woman.”

“She said that Kitty needed her, but then she dropped Fable off at the Thistle like three minutes later. Elena gave me a look I swear her face only forms for me, somewhere between disdain and disgust, and I know she was going at Fable.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know what we looked like, but I wanted to kiss her and she wanted the same. I’m sure it didn’t look innocent.”

Hazel giggles softly. “You’ve always looked at her like nothing in this world could compare.”

“Because nothing can,” I admit softly, feeling very exposed. “But Nana, I could see it all over Fable’s face. She was pissed at her mom, but then she looked at me with guilt in her eyes. Like she knew I would never be enough.”

I’m surprised how easily that confession rolls off my tongue. Being under Hazel’s needle is therapeutic for me, and I need her advice. I have friends, but the relationship I share with my girls is something special. Hazel tsks again, shaking her head. “That’s not true.” Hazel rubs the cloth along my skin once more. “She isn’t pliable anymore, JT. She got out from underneath them.”

“And left.”

“But she’s back.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “But what if I’m not good enough for her?”

I’m met with silence, and when I look over my shoulder, my sweet grandmother is glaring at me. “In whose eyes? Theirs, hers, or yours?”

I press my lips together and admit, “All three?”

“Jett Thomas, come on.”

“What?” I ask incredulously. It’s not her fault I’m in my feelings, but she’s always been my safe space, and I allow the resentment into my voice. “What can I offer her? She has a life outside of this place, and she’s leaving. The only reason I keep her attention is because she’s forced to stay here.”

Hazel doesn’t seem convinced, and she comes around to look down at me. While her brow is set in a hard line, her eyes are full of love for me. Pride and understanding. “It could never be that she’s attracted to you, huh? That’s why you have her attention.”

“That’s a given. I’m not hard to look at.”

I flash her a smile full of teeth, and she laughs. “No, you’re not. But I think she’s attracted to way more than your looks.” When I shrug, she wipes my skin again. “And I’ll tell you what you can offer her—your beautiful heart.”

“Nana,” I murmur, rolling my eyes. “You sound like Mom.”

“Where do you think she gets it?” she asks, grinning. “You two aren’t kids anymore. Twenty years have gone by, my dearest. Leave the past where it belongs and explore what could be between you two now. Work with her. You two have always been the best together, not apart.”

I press my lips together. I know I sure as hell could offer more emotionally than the idiots she’s been with. I would never allow her to feel like she’s a robot or use her therapy against her. I adore how unruly she can be. It gets me harder than steel. I love how her brain works, how even with a guide in the form of the notes and Post-its she’s written, she still confuses herself and gets off subject. Never knowing what I’m about to get is a thrill only she can give me.

I think Fable Winthrop is perfect, just as she is.

Hazel waits for an answer or maybe for me to confirm that I will work with Fable, but a knock at the door captures our attention. I bring in my brows as Hazel lays down her gun before going to the door and pulling it open. When she looks back at me, her brown eyes are bright and knowing as she beams at me. “Fable, such a welcome surprise. Are your ears burning?”

Hazel is met with silence as I shake my head in amusement. “No. Are they red?” Fable asks.

Hazel just laughs, and I can’t help but chuckle too. Fable enters the room in a pair of black leggings and an oversized Ice Thistle shirt. The green of the material makes her moss eyes shine brighter than any forest I’ve ever seen, and I find myself drooling at the sight. Her hair is back in two little braided pigtails, looking entirely adorable while still sexy as fuck. Her thighs strain the fabric of her leggings, and I know if she turned around, I’d have to fight back the urge to bite her thick ass.

Even with my need for her, though, I furrow my brows. Hazel may not notice, but I can see how tense Fable’s shoulders are. How she is trying to make herself look smaller. She’s looking anywhere but at Hazel. Even her hands are shaking.

Something is up.

“Oh, then I don’t know why they’d be burning,” she says, hugging my grandmother. I sit up and watch as Fable looks my grandmother over before glancing at me. “Oh, are you busy? I can come back.”

Hazel pulls off her gloves. “No worries. I’m done.”

Fable uncrosses her fingers and crosses them once more. “I need to get you to do a tattoo for me.”

Hazel’s brows pull in. “A tattoo? On you?”

Fable’s face breaks into a grin, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, and my mind is firing off.

Twenty tattoos, six piercings.

I don’t know which of those numbers I want to trace with my tongue first, but the number of piercings is in the lead. I’m convinced she has her belly button done twice and then two in each nipple, but a part of me thinks that my ice princess may be a naughty queen and her pussy is pierced.

I will die.

D.E.A.D.

If the latter is the truth.

Or that’s what I would have thought would happen because, without warning, Fable pulls her leggings down a bit, showing off not only her ink but a lacy string that is barely there along her hip. My mouth goes dry, and I know this is the moment I perish. At the sight of Fable showing off parts of her ass and hip.

Parts I so desperately want.

Hazel leans in, sounds of excitement and awe leaving her lips as she runs her fingers along Fable’s skin.

And just like that, I’m jealous of my nana.