Page 18

Chapter

Eighteen

André

Curtis's backyard looked like a winter Pinterest board threw up all over it. Not in a bad way. Andre would never admit that he knew what Pinterest was, but that was the best way to describe it.

Café bulbs glowed overhead, strung through a charming pergola. Adirondack chairs circled a blazing firepit, smoke curling up into the crisp night air. Empty planters lined the far fence, and there were still drifts of snow that hadn’t melted over the past week with the Chinook. André grinned at the half-melted snowman family huddled beside the shed, looking like they'd survived chemical warfare. Barely.

André nursed a beer and let the warmth of the fire sink into his shoulders as Suraj handed him a pulled-pork sandwich stacked so high it needed engineering support. Curtis had gone full hospitality mode and ordered from Smoke Barrel BBQ, and the food was killer—brisket, mac and cheese, ribs, slaw, and cake masquerading as cornbread.

Brett was mid-rant about goalie pads when the air shifted. André’s head snapped up, and there she was. His stomach dropped through the seat.

Grace’s blond hair was pulled into a loose knot, and she wore a thick knit scarf wrapped high over a navy wool coat. Her cheeks were pink from the cold.

His chest tightened, and it was difficult to draw a full breath. Somehow, in the past few weeks, his gravity had shifted. He was no longer pulled to the ice. To home. To the bar or his friends. It was as if those wires had been snipped, leaving him free floating to be pulled fully into her orbit. He was spinning faster and faster, and if he didn’t do something to stop it, sooner or later, he would collide with her head-on.

Jenna popped out of nowhere, cheerful as hell, and greeted Grace with a hug, dragging her into the social vortex. Grace smiled politely and let herself be guided to the food table, where she made herself a plate as if she wasn’t singlehandedly screwing with every wire in his brain.

It was then that he saw what she held folded over her arms.

His coat.

His stomach sank. No. Correction—his entire mood sank. The beer turned to ash in his mouth, his shoulders stiffened. Which was not what he needed, considering his entire body felt like it was on fire, begging for a smoke.

He felt like absolute shit. Brett told him that was a good thing, but since he’d almost bit off Mike’s head for reaching around him at the cooler, he didn’t trust himself coming near this whole coat situation.

What the hell game was she playing? Had their kiss in the locker room scared her that much?

To be fair, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was the hottest five minutes of making out he’d ever experienced, and he hadn’t been able to get it out of his head. He hadn’t checked, but if he had to guess, his balls were most likely a deep shade of purple.

Grace sat down beside Kelty and Sean, and André’s pulse thumped in his ears. He couldn’t look away. She was all sharp angles and smooth curves, looking far too elegant for this backyard barbecue. All of it made his mouth go dry. That coat. That scarf. Those boots. He wanted to strip her out of every carefully chosen layer until she lay under him breathless, promising him she’d only brought his coat to piss him off.

"You going to eat that sandwich or just use it to hone your grip strength?" Country asked, sliding onto the chair beside him.

André ground his teeth. Grace laughed at something Kelty said, and he tore his eyes away. “It was hot.”

Country raised an eyebrow. “The meat? Bud, it’s like, negative fifteen out here. I’m guessing it took about six seconds for that protein pile to approach tepid.”

André grunted and took a bite. Yeah. It was cold. He looked back across the fire. Grace took a sip of hot cider. She was so dainty, taking small bites and setting her fork down while she chewed.

“Oh, sorry. Misunderstood,” Country said through a mouthful of pulled pork.

“What?” André snapped.

Country swallowed. “The whole ‘hot’ thing. I thought you were talking about the sandwich.” He nodded in Grace’s direction. “Might as well knit her a sweater and call it love, eh?”

“Shut the hell up,” André muttered, reaching for his beer.

Country chuckled, but André barely heard it. His coat was draped over the back of Grace’s chair like it didn’t mean a damn thing. The back of his neck prickled. Was she not going to look at him? Not even once? Was she engaged in that conversation or putting on a show to put him off balance?

If it was the latter, she was succeeding with flying colours. That kiss had knocked something loose in his damn chest. Sitting at the same table as her at brunch had taken every ounce of self-restraint. He’d wanted to touch her so bad, his fingers ached. That brief brush of his lips against her cheeks had only been oxygen on coals.

He clenched his jaw and took another bite of sandwich, barely tasting it. If it was the former . . .

What if she was serious? What if this wasn’t a game she was playing? What if André was falling into the deep end and she’d already climbed out of the pool? Here he was with elbows up when it might not be a fight he could win.

That only made him want her more. Just as he was about to stand and try to draw in a full breath, Jenna stood and put her finger and thumb in her mouth, whistling to get their attention.

The chatter around the fire pit died down instantly, and Country crossed to stand beside his wife. "Okay," she smiled, her lip trembling a little. "We just wanted to say something to all of you. Thank you for coming on such late notice. After talking with our lawyer, it’s looking more and more like we’ll be going to court over Hope’s adoption."

A ripple moved through the group. André’s gut twisted as he glanced at Grace. Her eyes were down, focused on her plate.

Jenna didn’t flinch. "We’re okay. We’re doing okay.” She reached for Country’s hand. He stepped closer, their fingers threading together like that was their natural state. "But we don’t want to spend the next few weeks living in fear. We’ve decided—we’re not focusing on the what-ifs. We want to soak up every second. Every laugh. Every cuddle. Every diaper blowout."

A few people chuckled.

Jenna continued, "You’re all part of our family. You’ve shown up for us in ways we’ll never be able to repay. And if you’re able, we’d love for you to be part of this with us. However much or little you can. Just . . . be there."

André’s chest felt like it was cast in cement. Country was a brother to him, and Jenna a sister. He loved these people. He’d bleed for them on and off the ice, and it cut deep to know there was nothing he could do to fix this.

Jenna reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "We made a list. Things we want to do. Starting with the tournament this weekend in Edmonton. We want to hit West Edmonton Mall—Hope’s first aquarium visit, maybe even the wave pool."

Country grinned beside her, squeezing her hand. “We’ll send the whole thing to the team chat or text it to you or whatever.”

A few of the guys called out support, clapping, nodding. Someone raised a drink. André’s throat burned, and then his heart stuttered as Grace stood. She crossed the snow-dusted patio and wrapped her arms around Jenna, whispering something too quiet for him to hear.

And then she left.

Just like that.

Didn’t look at him. Didn’t say goodbye. Just left his damn coat draped on the back of the chair and rounded the side of the house.

André didn’t think. He set his plate down on Country’s chair beside him and stormed after her. The snow crunched under his boots, cold air biting at his face, but it did nothing to cool the fire crawling up his spine.

He barely registered the holiday lights twinkling along the edge of Curtis’s garage, or the wreath on the gate. All he saw was Grace’s figure disappearing down the walkway, her scarf trailing behind her.

He didn’t know what he would say, and he was already berating himself for making this about anything other than Country, Jenna, and Hope, but he couldn’t let her walk away. Not like this.

"Grace," he called, his voice low and sharp.

She slowed, then turned after passing through the gate. "What?"

He jogged the last few steps, exited the side yard, and stood under the golden glow of the street lamp. "You forgot something."

She frowned, glancing at her purse. "Pretty sure I didn’t."

"For someone with such a strong sense of decorum, this is kind of disappointing."

Grace looked annoyed. “Look, I’ve got to go, so?—”

“You weren’t even going to hand it to me?”

She bristled, mouth tightening. "You looked busy."

He laughed. “Nope. For you to make that assumption, you would’ve had to at least glance my direction. Which you didn’t.”

Grace’s eyes flicked toward the fence. “I’ve got a lot on my plate, André. I need to focus on work. On the lawsuit. As soon as that’s finished and the building is renovated, I’m going home.”

André considered this. “Home to what?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean home to what?”

“It seems like you’re doing fine working remotely, so what’s waiting for you there?”

She scoffed. “Friends. Family.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t you come out here to help Tyler’s dad before he passed? Your ex?”

“Someone’s been doing their research.”

“Why would you do that? If you had a life you loved back home, why would you come to his rescue?”

She turned toward her car, which was parked on the curb. “I don’t have to explain my relationships to you.”

He followed a few steps behind. “Are you with someone right now?”

“I just told you, I need to focus on work and?—”

“Then what are you going home to, Grace?”

She spun, her eyes flashing. “What are you going home to, André? Are you with someone right now?”

“I’d like to be.”

“Mm. So all this—you pointing out how my life is cold and empty, how I’m uptight, a workaholic, that’s your idea of flirting? Making me realize how desperate I am? Maybe this won’t make sense to you until you’re a bit older, but women don’t typically jump into bed with you after being criticized.”

He faced off with her across the hood of her car. “I’m not criticizing.”

“Really? Then what are you doing? Are you pissed because you’re not getting exactly what you want?”

André laughed. “Yes. Absolutely. You piss me off more than any other woman I’ve met.” She started to give a curtsy, and he held up a hand. “Don’t take that as a compliment. Here you are, a gorgeous woman, funny, smart, and you’re so scared shitless?—”

“Is that your only play? Tell me I’m scared, and I’ll fall weeping into your arms?”

“No. We’d probably need tacos for that.”

Grace opened her mouth, then snapped it closed and straightened, dropping her eyes as the gate behind him swung open with a creak. André shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, I thought you left.” Brett and Penny walked up to the curb, all smiles.

André exhaled. “Yeah, no, just talking for a second.” Why the hell was Brett always showing up at the most inopportune moments?

They looked between Grace and André. Brett grabbed Penny’s arm, probably seeing the rage flickering behind André’s eyes. “Well, we were just heading home. Hope you both have a good night.”

Brett gave him a sidelong glance which André ignored. When they were out of earshot, André rounded the hood and planted himself in front of Grace, keeping his voice low. “You can’t run from everything that scares you.”

She looked up, her jaw set. "And you should know? What are you going home to, André? Hmm?” When he didn’t answer, she yanked on the driver’s side door. “You spend your life playing hockey—working what, ten hours a week?—and holding on to teenage invincibility with every cigarette you smoke.” She threw her purse in the seat. “You know, someday you’re going to have to grow up, and maybe then you won’t judge those of us who have.”

Grace dropped onto the seat and slammed the door. André stepped back onto the curb, his blood rushing hard enough he was lightheaded. He waited until she peeled away and disappeared around the corner before storming back to the walkway, slamming his hand against the fence.