Page 32

Chapter

Thirty-Two

Grace

The deck was soaked in gold from the porch light. It glinted off the railing and blanched the bare branches overhead. The Chinook swept in earlier that afternoon, softening the edges of winter. Now the air was strangely warm for March.

Grace still shivered as she stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her. She’d barely made it two steps before André turned.

He looked wrecked. His dark hair was messy, his jaw locked like it might snap. His black thermal shirt clung to his shoulders, sleeves shoved up his forearms, veins taut beneath his skin.

“I can’t do this,” he said.

Grace blinked. “Okay. Do what?”

“This in-between.” He stepped closer, voice low and rough. “I’m walking around like a guy who got clipped mid-shift and doesn’t know which way is up.” Her breath caught. “You don’t owe me anything. Not sex. Not staying in Calgary. But I need to know if I’m the only one who felt like last weekend meant something.”

The wind shifted. Warm and gentle, sliding across the porch and lifting a lock of her hair. She didn’t move. Of course he wasn’t the only one. Every moment of the weekend was branded into her. She was different because of it—changed.

André was like a whisk thrust into her perfectly graduated life, mixing everything up until it was unrecognizable.

“You told me you needed to let go,” he continued. “I get that. I get needing an out. But what I feel with you . . . ” He broke off, dragged a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t an escape, not for me. That was a damn lifeline.”

Grace’s throat tightened. “André?—”

“I’m not done.” He stepped closer again. Inches separating them now. His body heat permeated her sweater. Grace’s heartbeat roared in her ears. “I want you. And not just in my bed. I want to hear your voice in the morning. I want to argue with you about stupid reality TV shows and takeout and apparently shit-near everything because that’s what we do. I want to fight with you about whether we should paint the bedroom or buy another bookshelf. I want you to tell me that I’m young and stupid. I want to win and I want to lose, and hell if I don’t want to make up after every damn argument.”

Despite herself, she let out a half laugh, half broken sob.

André looped a finger in her jeans and tugged. “I want all of it. You in my life. You with your silky blouses and legal pads and your over-prepared suitcase and your mouth—” He hissed a breath and dragged a hand over his face. “That mouth.”

Her skin flushed like fire.

“But this isn’t a decision I can make for you, Grace. I can’t tell you to stand at the kitchen counter and eat. I can’t make a deal with you to get you onto the waterslide.”

“That wasn’t a deal.”

“It was a deal because I quit so you wouldn’t taste smoke on me?—”

“I didn’t taste it. In the locker room.”

He laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Are you arguing with me right now? I’m telling you I quit smoking for you and you’re telling me I didn’t have to?”

Grace pursed her lips. “Sorry. Continue.”

André chewed his lower lip. The silence stretched. “Tell me what you want, Grace.”

What did she want? That question was so foreign, she didn’t know how to begin to tackle it. What did she want? It had never been about that. She’d done what she was supposed to do, wanted the things everyone would want—a good job, great income, and a husband. She’d done everything right, and that house of cards had collapsed around her.

What did she want? She wanted to be safe. She wanted not to hurt. It sounded trite, but it was the honest-to-goodness truth. The idea of allowing herself to want more than that . . .

A tear slipped onto her cheek. “If I let myself want—” She sucked in a breath. She couldn’t finish the sentence. It would hurt too much not to get it .

André’s words cracked her heart open just enough to envision it, but admitting it? Asking for it?

Her life was predictable. It was safe. She’d built a situation that gave her exactly what she wanted theoretically.

What are you going home to?

Grace turned and looked through the window at Country taking Hope from Jenna, kissing her cheek as she and Elodie washed the dishes.

Spending time with the Snowballs was like unwrapping a present layer by layer. She saw it now. They were a family. A team. But all her life she’d felt like that gift had never been for her. Not that her parents hadn’t tried, they were wonderful. But she’d always known—always accepted—that she wasn’t quite a part of it.

How did one step into a family? How did you simply believe the gift was for you?

“How do you do it?” she whispered. “How do you play on a team? Trust they won’t let you fall?”

His eyes wandered over her face as he considered. Finally he said, “I don’t.”

Grace blinked.

“I don’t trust they won’t let me fall,” he clarified. “That’s not how it works.” He pulled her closer, slipping his hand around her waist. “I trust that if I fall, someone’s going to be there to throw a glove. That they’ll drop whatever they’re doing and haul ass across the ice. And if they can’t?” He shrugged. “They always have a damn good excuse.”

Grace stared at him, heart thudding.

“You know what makes a great teammate?” He leaned closer, his stubble rubbing against her cheek. “They’re the ones who don’t skate away when the play gets messy. When things go sideways, they dig in. They don’t have to score the goals, but they’re always in the right spot when it counts.” He slipped his hand up the inside of her shirt, and she gasped when his cold fingers met bare skin.

“I thought you said this was my decision.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight dirty,” he whispered, his fingertips pressing against her spine. “A good teammate calls you on your shit. They don’t care about our ego, they only want you to get better.”

Grace swallowed, the air sticking in her lungs. “Is that all?”

He dipped his head, brushing his lips over her neck. “They look amazing naked.”

“Hey, we were in the dark. You haven’t seen me naked.”

“I was talking about Tyler.”

Grace laughed out loud, sucking in a breath as he nipped at her collarbone. He straightened, his mouth brushing her temple, then her cheek, then lower—hovering just beside her lips. “Tell me to kiss you,” he murmured, “or tell me to walk away.”

She trembled. Tell me what you want, Grace.

That crack he’d started split wide open. She wanted him. Not just in the aching, breathless way that kept her up at night—but in the slow, terrifying, life-altering way that made her bones shake. She wanted his energy and excitement. His grin and his grit. She wanted Sunday mornings with coffee, weekends at the rink, and tacos in the kitchen. She wanted something bigger than safety. Bigger than predictability. She wanted to drop through the floor and have André scoop her into his arms at the bottom.

Maybe she couldn’t expect him to always catch her when she fell. But she’d seen him haul ass across the ice more than once. And every time he missed, he had a damn good excuse.

It’s called living, Grace.

She wrapped her hands around his neck. “Kiss me.”

André was excellent at doing what he was told.

Grace’s breath caught in her throat as her back hit the porch railing. Her fingers curled into his shirt, and André moved like he’d already mapped this moment in his head a thousand times. Like he knew exactly what he wanted to touch. To taste.

He was everywhere. His right hand slid up her arm, rough knuckles grazing over the soft inside of her wrist before he cupped her cheek. His other hand gripped her waist, firm, anchoring her in place like he wasn’t sure if she’d bolt.

She whimpered, and as soon as the sound escaped her, he growled low in his throat, pressing her harder into the railing. His palm slid into her hair, fingers tangling in the strands, tilting her head so he could have access to more of her.

Then they were moving, André’s hand wrapped around her wrist. She blinked, dazed, as he tugged her down the stairs. “And where exactly are we?—”

“Silo.”

“What?”

“I need you naked. In bed. Now.”

He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her across the yard, through the spring-wet grass.

“André,” she hissed. “Isn’t that someone’s rental?”

“Not tonight.” He set her down in front of the door and pulled out his phone, thumbing a quick text.

She laughed. “You can’t just break into a?—”

“I’m not breaking in.” He crouched, flipped a paver stone, and plucked the spare key from beneath it. “I’m letting us in. Huge difference.”

Grace crossed her arms, still catching her breath. “And if someone’s booked it?”

He held out his screen.

André

Please tell me silo #1’s empty

I’ll pay a cleaning fee

Country

Don’t break anything or this conversation never happened

André flashed her a devil’s grin. “Permission granted.”

Grace’s heart fluttered at her throat. “I didn’t bring anything, I wasn’t?—”

“I’m fully prepared.” André unlocked the door and shoved it open, his breath coming in quick bursts.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Don’t act like you’re surprised.”

Grace scanned the room. The silo was cozy—wood-paneled walls, a round bed with a ridiculous number of pillows and one of those fake fur throws. “Are we those people? We only do themed rooms now?”

André chuckled, and the second the door shut behind them, he was on her. “Do you want to be in control tonight, Grace?”

Her pulse thudded in her ears, a wild, staccato rhythm. “No,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

“Good.” His hands slid around her waist, gripping tight, and she gasped. His mouth brushed her jaw, her ear, down the side of her throat, and her knees buckled. “Let me take care of it,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

Grace didn’t realize she was shaking until he pressed her back against the wall and cupped her cheek, thumb dragging slowly across her bottom lip.

André pulled back for the briefest second, gaze locked on hers like he needed the green light. Her lips parted. Her heart screamed. “One hundred percent,” she murmured, then reached for his shirt and yanked.

That was all he needed. His mouth crashed into hers, and she was consumed by the heat of him. His weight, his scent. He kissed her like he’d earned it. Like she was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Her clothes disappeared—she didn’t know how, didn’t care. Every time she tried to think, his hands dragged over her skin and wiped her mind clean. She let him lift her, carry her, lay her across the bed like she was fragile glass and then immediately prove she wasn’t.

“You always try to stay so quiet,” he whispered against her collarbone. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”