Page 15

Chapter 15

Mr. Charming, Mr. Feel-Good, Mr. Center-of-Attention

Wade

It’s killing me to see Gabe like this.

I have no words of solace to offer her raw, reddened eyes or blotchy complexion from hiding her tears. I wish I could tell her I understand better than anyone what it’s like to be left behind and never heal from those scars.

I don’t let her ignore me, slipping my fingers between hers on our short walk back to Terry.

He claps his hands together before standing. “Let’s visit the plant babies.” His focus moves from his daughter to me. “I have an extra pair of boots for you.” Terry peeks over his shoulder while walking to the door. “You can show Wade around and do your quarterly inspection.”

Our hands remain clasped through the wet grass, rubber boots squeaking on the moss-covered pavers leading to the nursery.

Steel framing and the curved top of the opaque structure make up the classic hoop house.

Each of us ducks as we enter, the six-foot door slightly too low for our height. Hot, humid air greets us with a hiss.

“Welcome!” Terry beams.

Tropical plants and trees in crooked rows and irregular-shaped groups line the inside. Hoses attached to water barrels stretch across the length.

“We’ve got the palms over here, ferns and philodendrons over here, then the broad leaves like these giant elephant ears next to them. But monstera are more popular these days.” His hand grazes over strawberry-shaped leaves that look clipped. “Hibiscus, plumeria, gardenia over there…”

It’s so beautiful, the fragrance so sweet I almost can’t breathe.

Like Gabe.

I turn to her, the growing ache in my chest needing relief, but she lets go of my hand, knocking the air out of my lungs.

Her steps take her to the furthest white flowering bushes, leaning down every so often to inhale.

Gardenia. Her favorite, like Indi said.

Terry sets his hands on his hips. “She’s a tough one. My daughter will never admit it, but she loves this place as much as her mother did.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. Until I met her, I did lawns, hedging, some basic maintenance. She was the one who loved flowers and tropical foliage. Said they reminded her of home. She taught me everything I know about them.”

The name, Terra Bella, finally clicks. It’s their names together.

He tilts his head to the left, motioning for me to follow him.

“And you kept it up?”

He blows a breath through his nose.

“Whenever I want to feel close to my wife, I come here and do what she loved. It’s like having another day with her.”

The man is hopelessly devoted. Gabe deserves that, too. What I lack in qualifications and experience, I can make up for in determination. I’m getting really good at faking the relationship. Maybe she’ll accept the real thing.

“Watch this.” Terry crouches next to a potted fern and sweeps a finger across its fronds. They close at the contact. “Sensitive plants. Bela called them ‘touch-me-nots.’”

“Do they ever re-open?”

“Yes, but it takes time.” He glances across the space toward Gabe.

“I can be patient,” I say softly.

For her, I could be anything.

“Good,” he adds with a chuckle as he straightens. “You’re gonna have to be.”

He shows me around some more, and I help Terry move some larger trees, straighten askew pots, and set up a misting hose. An hour passes.

Gabe clips yellowing and browned leaves from a palm. A serene smile graces her face. She’s too lost in the practice to notice our approach.

“Bala?” Her dad interrupts. “It’ll be dark soon. Wanna go in?”

“In a minute.”

“I’m gonna make tea. Will you have some?”

Gabe hums mindlessly. “What kind?”

“Ginger with honey.”

“Sounds good.”

“What about you, Wade?”

“Sure, thank you.”

He claps a hand to my shoulder and winks as he leaves. The door snaps shut behind him.

“He’s gone,” she says, still collecting wilted and dead leaves. “You can stop looking at me like that now.”

“How am I looking at you, Freckles?”

“Like you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t?—”

“Save it.”

My tongue clicks as I look skyward.

Time. Patience.

I give her space, too, trailing behind as we make our way back to the house. He puts on a kettle, and I excuse myself to the porch, citing a need to take in the twilight sky from the front steps.

Speckles of stars appear alongside a crescendo of chirping crickets.

I don’t mean to overhear.

“You sent the poor guy out?” Terry lowers his voice to an audible whisper. “Are you two fighting?”

“He went on his own,” she answers. “And we’re fine.”

My next sip hides my smile.

An unsure groan sounds out.

“I’m serious, Dad. He knows how important it is for me to have time with you. Alone.”

“And I appreciate that, but…” There’s a dull thud of a mug against wood. “I wanna get to know him, too.”

Me?

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Wanna know who’s keeping my girl happy. He is keeping you happy, isn’t he?”

I watch Gabe’s cheeks pink through the screen door. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

I wouldn’t say happy, but I’m doing something, and if the thought of whatever I am makes her blush? I can live with that. A knowing smile splits my face, and I set the mug down on the porch before jogging to the greenhouse to haul hay bales to fill the gaps in its outer perimeter.

An hour later—and after a cold shower—a rustle beyond the washroom door piques my curiosity, and I open it, gripping my toothbrush in my cheek.

Big mistake. Gabe’s perfect ass appears above her jeans as she pulls them down.

My jaw loses its hold. The brush sags, sliding quickly.

She snaps, jolting me from the hypnotic trance. You’re staring , she mouths.

How can I not?

Through tight, pursed lips, she silently motions for me to get back to the sink. Meanwhile, she steps into pajamas, her endlessly long, toned legs and aforementioned perfect ass now hidden.

I whine and gargle before switching spots with her, then go lie on the mattress, searching for answers on the closed washroom door.

Physical confrontation on the ice? Got it.

Emotional confrontation, anywhere? I clearly have no idea what I’m doing.

She faces away when joining me on the bed. Expected. I wait a moment for her to get comfortable. While I could admire the angles of her shoulder blades forever, I need to do this.

“Gabe?”

She sighs. “What?”

I lower my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“About your mom.”

“Because I didn’t want to have this conversation with you.”

My eyes go cartoonishly cross-eyed as the heel of my hand bounces off my forehead.

Of course, why didn’t I think of that?

She really thinks I’m stupid. Can’t blame her, though. I am a total idiot for this woman.

“Makes sense,” I surrender. “Am I allowed to spoon you?”

A long pause follows.

She answers without looking back. “Only if you keep your dick away from my ass.”

“You’d like that too much,” I mutter.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

Loose waves move aside at my hand, and I nestle up until our torsos and legs line up. Gabe’s cool, exposed skin gives me goosebumps. I wiggle my hips.

“Will you cut it out?”

“It exists, okay?” My arm tightens around her waist. “Can we sleep?”

“Fine.”

Her breaths grow deep and slow in the next few minutes, but I can’t sleep a wink.

All I can think about is how Gabe’s wearing a mask, too. Hers is the opposite of mine: poised, perfect, held together for her dad. Protecting herself from any more hurt. I’m dying to know what’s underneath the athletic accolades and career wins, and imagine what I’d do if she ever let me see it.

Teary goodbyes in the morning have the pit of my stomach growing.

I stand by the Rover, literally kicking rocks. Watching them feels like an invasion of privacy. I curse to myself while averting my eyes, drawing my attention to the unkempt lawn and land surrounding the greenhouse. In the daylight, it looks worse than the night before, despite my best efforts to tidy the line of hay bales.

The initial leg of the drive back to Toronto is eerily quiet, except for Gabe’s typing. She switches between checking the connection on her phone and drafting emails on her laptop. The GPS breaks the monotony by announcing there’s traffic ahead on the 401.

“Ouch.” I move the screen to view our route: a crimson line nearly the rest of the way. “Since we’re trapped together for an extra hour, wanna try to have a decent conversation?”

“That probably requires decent company.”

I give her a suggestive smirk. “Oh, I see. You wanna be indecent?—”

“Shut up, Wade.”

“No can do. You gonna tell me what happened with your mom?”

She snaps her laptop closed, shooting poison darts through an angry glance. “You don’t know anything about me, Boehner! Quit acting like you do.”

My heart clenches. She’s not wrong. I gulp.

“And what’s your deal? You went sullen and distant the minute we got there.”

Not wrong at all.

Nothing like seeing a loving relationship with her dad to serve as a painful reminder of the father who wanted nothing to do with me.

Gabe continues her rant. “You’re always Mr. Charming, Mr. Feel-Good, Mr. Center-of-Attention otherwise. You couldn’t keep things light instead of the annual sobfest my dad tries to make it?”

I don’t reply.

“So much for decent conversation.” It’s her final jab before we spend the remainder of the drive in total silence.

She works through her phone. My jaw ticks every few minutes, holding back everything I want to say. How amazing it is that she has a dad who gives a shit. That I know better than anyone how deeply rooted her anger and grief are because I go through it, too. That I’m fucking trying my best to get through to her, but I’ve never done that for anyone, and I’m failing miserably.

“I’m flying Air Canada.” Her mindless statement comes without eye contact.

The line of cars backed up at every terminal due to holiday travel doesn’t stop the paparazzi. There are cameras already waiting for us at the curb.

I know we signed up for publicity, but if it didn’t give me all of these chances to get close to Gabe, it’d be so fucking annoying.

My tongue wets my lower lip as I turn to her. “Kiss me goodbye, Freckles.”

Her mouth hangs open, eyes pulling into a furious glare. “ Excuse me?”

Insolent brat. My impatience gets the better of me.

I notch my hand around her throat, drawing her to my mouth. “They’re watching. Now kiss me.”

I might die if you don’t.

She responds by mirroring my position, her palm squeezing my neck more firmly than my grip. Our lips crush together, heated and hateful, groaning and moaning every emotion between us. It’s as if she’s simultaneously trying to drain the life out of me with her hand and bring me back with the ferocity of this kiss. We battle in tongues and teeth and Gabe wins, releasing me with a rough bite to the lip.

And I live on.

Three days. I’m out of fucking sorts after three days of no contact with Gabe.

She didn’t cover yesterday’s game here at home and only reacted with a thumbs-up when I asked her if she made it to Dallas.

Did I watch her coverage of that game alone at home later? Yes. Do I care if that’s pathetic? Hell no.

Thank God, Calgary played like shit, and our d-men handled anything that got past center ice because my head was not attached to my body. It was up in the clouds dreaming of Gabe Finch’s perfect body riding my cock until I tore the headboard off.

My focus is so poor that Landy got a puck past me at scrimmage.

He taps my helmet with the blade of his stick when we get to the lockers.

“What’s up with you, Boner?”

I huff while escaping the cage of my mask. “I’m in a mood.”

His eyebrows rise, and his eyes widen as he sputters. “I heard. The girls are best friends, they talk. What do you expect?”

Sweat-soaked strands stick to my forehead. I slough the hairs away by ruffling my hand through it. “Did you know Gabe’s mom died?”

“Don’t pull me into this, man. Indi already gave me shit for you being an ass to Terry. Like, how is this my fault?”

“I wasn’t an ass. I was trying not to get in the way.”

“Doesn’t matter, ‘cause that’s not how it came off, apparently.”

“She’s lucky she has a dad.”

“Whoa.” He holds up a reeking glove before throwing it off. “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”

“Yeah, well…Some of us are fucked up.”

Landon tuts while I unlace my skates. “We’re all fucked up. We’re all traumatized. Still not an excuse to be a jerk.”

The ceiling comes into view as my head hangs back. “She won’t talk to me.”

“You could go apologize in person. She’s back in town.”

“She is?”

She’s been ignoring me? She’s been ignoring me!

“Jesus, do you two talk or what?”

Knife. Twist.

“Last night,” he confirms with a confused nod. “If she’s as pissed off as I think, don’t tell her I told you. I like my balls attached to my dick, thank you very much. I overheard Indi canceling their barre class plans, which will start” —he squints at the analog clock on the wall— “in an hour. I’ll text you the address.”

A map link to Barre None appears in my messages.

“Hey, I know that place. We went there during dry land.”

I haul ass in the Rover to the studio, giving absolutely zero shits that I’ll probably be the sacrificial lamb in Gabe’s forthcoming murderous rampage.

After buttering up the desk staff with a few selfies and autographed jerseys, they let me into the studio.

Gabe extends her endless leg on the handrail at the teacher’s instruction, and my mind goes right down the gutter. As if it could be anywhere else when her leggings and cropped top show off every curve and line of her incredible body.

I’m a lost cause, already imagining all the filthy ways I could have her, here, like this. Me on my knees, her ankle high up on the barre, or knee hooked over my shoulder, wet cunt on my mouth, then pulsing around my fingers and cock.

Her eyes enlarge with surprise and narrow in rage.

The size of my grin at winning her attention makes my cheeks hurt. I stride towards her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she says under her breath.

My hand reaches for hers, mouth hungry to kiss her knuckles, only leaving a sliver of space between our bodies before my lips brush over the hard ridges. Hushed sighs and aww ’s fill the background.

“Surprising my girlfriend,” I whisper back.

She rolls her eyes closed before the glower returns.

“And it doesn’t have anything to do with how much you’re enjoying all these women fawning over you?”

“Which women?”

All I see is you.

“The ones who are tittering and falling over themselves.”

I shift, molding my free arm around her hips. “Who cares about them?” The shell of her ear wafts my hot breath back at me. “I’m only interested in you falling apart for me.”

She wears a fake smile and dryly laughs with her shoulders. “Whatever.”

I dig my chin into the crook of her neck.

“Hey, Miss Diana,” I greet the older instructor. Gabe shoots over a look of disbelief as she lets go of our embrace. “What?” I shrug. “The goalies train here sometimes.”

“Here? At the barre?”

“Gotta stay limber during the off-season. Mind if I join the class?”

Miss Diana frowns, pulling her wrinkles downward. “I’ll allow it.”

I wink in thanks before facing Gabe’s back.

The instructor continues with her directions.

I use the handrail to maintain balance while stretching my leg up and keeping it there. “Miss Diana is a hardass.”

“ Shh !”

After the series of battements ends, I try again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back in town, Freckles?”

“Onto the wide leg bends!”

She groans through her teeth. “Why do you insist on annoying me?”

“Plié!”

“Why won’t you answer my question?”

“Plié!”

“Why do you keep answering questions with other questions?”

The volley of whisper-yells gets us in trouble.

“Out.” Miss Diana points to the door, her body straight as a pole. “Both of you.”

Gabe goes red. I’m jealous it’s not for the reasons I want it to be.

We gather our things without another exchange, and she lets me walk her to the car, smiling politely behind her sunglasses. This time, she pulls me in for a short, chaste kiss. She keeps me close, nails digging into my nape, donning a sinister, saccharine grin.

“Leave me alone. And for fuck’s sake, don’t follow me.”

The feathery stroke of her fingers against my cheek has my cock aching as she gets into her car and drives off.

I’m going to have to send her my therapy bill.

I stop by Au Lait and treat myself to a double espresso, a far cry from the Timmies double-double’s I’ll have to endure over the next couple of weeks. Driving through Ottawa has become so routine that I don’t even realize I’m already in my building’s parkade when my phone beeps with an unknown alert sound. It’s the security cameras at the penthouse.

Suspicious activity?

Instinctively, I grab a paddle from my gear bag in the trunk, ready to beat the living hell out of whoever or whatever is in there.

Sneaking into my own place was not on my bingo card for the day, but here we are. The notifications keep beeping, and I tsk, silencing the phone so as not to alert the intruder.

A gust from the ventilation system slams a door shut behind me. I jolt.

The living room is untouched, and no one’s in the kitchen, but a strange noise sounds from my closed bedroom.

The fuck?

“ Oh, God,” the voice moans.

I press my ear to the door.

Gasps. Whimpers. Buzzing.

Oh, my fucking God.

I fumble to unlock my phone to open the security app.

Lo, and behold. I can hardly believe it, but the camera doesn’t lie.

Gabe Finch is playing with herself on my fucking bed. And she isn’t alone.