Page 24

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Grace

The next morning, Grace stared straight ahead, hands folded tight in her lap. The truck hummed along the highway, snow swirling in lazy gusts past the windshield, the wipers thumping in a steady rhythm. The inside smelled like Hope’s baby wipes, Jenna’s morning coffee, and him .

She couldn’t get a single second from the night before out of her head. The feel of him in the dark. The sound of his voice murmuring against her ear. You with me?

Oh, she’d been with him.

Twice.

Then Grace woke up early and escaped to the breakfast buffet before he stirred. Not that she was embarrassed, she just didn’t know what to say. Had she been thinking clearly the night before? Yes. And no.

All of it had been exactly what she wanted in the moment, but in the light of day, her mind spiralled out of control. What now? Was he going to move on now that he got what he wanted? Was he going to want to do it again? She sure as hell did, and that’s what scared her the most.

Now André sat two feet away, his hand—the hand that had explored every inch of her body—resting on his thigh.

Jenna and Country chatted in the backseat, soft and easy. Hope gurgled between them in her carseat.

Grace couldn’t breathe. They’d slept together. He hadn’t pushed, not in the least. If anything, she’d been the instigator. She’d gone to bed without a bra knowing full-well what that meant. She’d reached her hand to his, touched him first.

Right that second she wanted to reach over and run her fingers down the vein in his forearm. She pressed her nails into her palm instead.

What was in his head? She’d been clear, hadn’t she? André had been the one to suggest they make things fun . She’d only taken him up on his offer.

But that didn’t explain why he hadn’t looked her way once since they got in the truck. Was he pissed she’d left that morning? Had he expected them to wake up and cuddle?

The silence between them crackled while the miles ticked by. Endless highway. A straight shot south to Calgary. Country was mid-story about a player busted for vaping in the locker room at the tournament when he leaned forward and patted the back of André’s seat.

“Hey, proud of you, man. What’s this now? Nine days? Ten?”

André made a noise low in his throat, one corner of his mouth twitching. “Eight. But who’s counting?”

Grace blinked. “Counting what?”

André didn’t look at her.

“Nicotine.” Country grinned. “This guy’s off it. First time in years.”

Grace’s head whipped around so fast her hair slapped her cheek. She stared at him. “Wait. What?”

André kept his gaze on the road.

Jenna leaned forward. “You didn’t mention that?”

“No. He did not.” Grace folded her arms over her chest.

Jenna looked between the two of them. “Kay, I’m a bit confused. Weren’t you saying how you didn’t like kissing smokers?” She turned to André. “I assumed you’d text her first thing, considering.”

“Considering what?” Grace looked over her shoulder, and Jenna winced.

“Brett might’ve told everyone about the locker room?”

Grace groaned, and Country blew out a breath. “Bud, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you were keeping that close to the chest.”

“Extremely close, apparently,” Grace muttered.

André shifted his hands on the wheel. “I told you I would quit.”

“Yeah. You pretended you’d quit in exchange for me going on the waterslide. We made a deal.”

“And I’m sticking to that deal.”

Grace swivelled in her seat. “It doesn’t count! You already started quitting?—”

“Your argument was that I didn’t do things that are hard for me. It doesn’t matter when I started, this is hard. Still an equal exchange, and you loved that slide?—”

“I didn’t love it!”

“You looked like a completely different person at the bottom! Happy, loose?—”

“So I don’t look happy normally?”

André growled in frustration. Grace pushed back against the seat, turning her head to look out the window. Pressure built behind her eyes as his words sank in. A different person? That was why she always found herself sucked into stupid arguments with him. He knew exactly how to push her buttons.

No, it didn’t matter when he started, and yes, she was happy to hear it. But it wasn’t even about the damn slide. They’d lain in the dark talking that first night and she’d asked him about smoking. He told her about his brother—they’d had a real conversation. Why wouldn’t he have said something about quitting? It would have been the natural thing to do, which meant he’d purposefully kept it from her. And then made her believe it was an equal trade.

“Maybe it was time to grow up.” André’s voice was low, each word clipped.

Grace’s heart stuttered. That was what she’d said to him, wasn’t it? Outside Curtis’s house. She’d thrown it like a dart and meant it to stick, to draw blood.

Grace clenched her jaw, fingers tightening on the seat belt strap. She was such a hypocrite. She was lashing out at him for not spilling all his secrets when she’d kept all of her own. She mocked him for the way he played, for being silly, easy, light, when her world felt so heavy. But yesterday she’d watched him launch himself into the wave pool and make his teammates laugh until they cried.

She’d felt like a different person. She liked what André pulled out of her in every way.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want him to grow up. But she didn’t know how to say any of it.

The silence in the truck wasn’t uncomfortable. It was excruciating. She’d hurt him, she fully realized that now. When it started, she didn’t know. At that first game? At Curtis’s? Last night?

She was a terrible person. Her stomach knotted, her throat so tight, she didn’t dare try to join Country and Jenna’s conversation, their obvious attempt to cut the suffocating tension.

At least André got what he wanted.

That thought hit like a slap, cold and cruel. Was that all he wanted? The chase. The tension. The pull.

No. She knew it instantly. If that were the case, he’d be on cloud nine right now. Cocky and relaxed. André was anything but.

This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t casual. And pretending it was would only dig those darts deeper.

Jenna dozed with her head tilted toward the window, Hope sleeping soundly in her car seat between them. Country scrolled through playlists and offered up a running commentary about the Oilers’ odds for a deep playoff run if McDavid’s linemates could get their shit together.

André responded in monosyllables.

Grace said nothing. She sat still, legs crossed at the ankle. When they pulled onto her street, her chest tightened with every passing house.

André turned onto her drive with mechanical precision, braked with calm indifference, and didn’t even glance her way as he threw it into park.

“I’ll grab your bag.” His voice was still low and clipped.

She hesitated. “Thanks.”

The back door opened. Country murmured something she didn’t catch. Jenna gave her a small smile, but none of them had the words to address this.

André didn’t meet her eyes as he dropped the suitcase on the step. No cheek kiss. No hug. No smart-ass comment. No offer to carry it inside.

He turned back to the truck, and Grace’s heart crunched like a Christmas ornament under a boot.

“See you,” he said under his breath.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “See you.”

The taillights flared red as he backed out. She stood motionless as the truck rolled down the street, turned the corner, and disappeared.

Grace dragged her suitcase up the last step. Fumbled with her keys. The lock turned with a click, and the door opened into the familiar hush of her temporary Calgary life.

She stepped inside.

It smelled like lemon cleaner and wood polish. The heating had kicked on sometime before they arrived. The radiator ticked quietly beneath the window.

She dropped her bag. Kicked off her shoes. The door shut behind her, and she leaned her back against it. For a long moment, she just breathed as one voice echoed in her head.

What are you going home to?