Page 23

CHAPTER 23

THAT FINGER BELONGS TO ME

KAYDEN

Mom watches us from the second the elevator doors open. The worry is plain in her eyes, but she doesn't say a word, not even when I force my mouth into the weakest smile I've ever given anyone.

For the rest of the morning, Mom retreats to the peripheries while Emory and I cook. Every once in a while I feel her attention on me, like a fan leaning closer to the glass to get a better look, but I ignore her just like I ignore them. Each time she gives up after a few seconds and turns back to the floats parading by on the television.

Someday I may be able to forgive her. But not today.

Today is for pretending. Pretending I'm fine when my teammates come over, pretending Mom didn't rip open old wounds when she showed up, and pretending I have a perfect relationship with Emory.

I wish that last one didn't come so easy for me.

It doesn't take long to settle into a routine with Emory. Dancing wordlessly around each other in the kitchen as we add the finishing touches—and more butter than I'd normally use in a month—to the dishes. The comfortable silence makes her sudden yelp and the crash of the roasting pan onto the stovetop even more jarring.

"What is it?" I yank her away from the stove before the roasting pan even finishes clattering.

She lets out a frustrated groan. "The towel slipped, and it turns out hot pans are hot."

I spin her around, and my eyes immediately go to the finger she's clutching awkwardly. There's a thin line of angry red skin down its length.

"We need to get that under running water." I don't wait for her to agree before I walk her to the sink, wrapping my arms around her from behind and holding her hand under the cold running water.

"This isn't the first time I've been burned. I can handle it myself." She tries to pull her hand away, but I don't let her.

"You didn't have me the other times," I whisper. "Besides, that finger belongs to me."

She stiffens, her quick breath audible above the running water, then goes still. "Belongs to you?"

I press closer against her back. "That's my ring on that finger, so I'm going to take care of it." I try to pass it off as a joke, but even to my ears, the words sound serious.

She holds her breath for a second too long but then relaxes her hand in mine. I hold it under the running water until my fingers are numb and I'm sure hers must be too. But even when I let go and turn off the water, I'm not able to step away from her.

"I think you can let me go now." Her words are breathy, not at all like what I'm used to from her. My mind tries to imagine what it might mean, but I shut it down before it gets a chance.

It doesn't mean a thing. No matter what I want, it never will.

"Yeah… I should let you go." As difficult as it is, I take two steps back. Still close enough that my body holds the feeling of her against me, but I'm afraid even one more step will cause me to lose it.

Even without me holding her in place, Emory's only movement is the subtle rise and fall of her breath. I wish I could brush my lips along those shoulders. Along the sensitive skin where they meet her neck. I don't know how I'll survive the next four days, having her within arm's length and never being able to touch her the way I want .

But this new contract is more important than anything else, and this is what I have to do to get it.

I don't know how long we stand motionless until the tiny sound of the elevator's chime shatters our tension. Emory walks to the stove like we hadn't both forgotten about the turkey, transferring it to a cutting board and pouring the drippings into a fat separator. I wait for her to say something. To look at me. But I might as well not exist.

It's fine, I tell myself as I leave the kitchen to welcome the first of our guests—no, my guests. Everything today is just completely fine.

Naturally, I find Poppy and his husband Zachary shrugging off their winter coats as they step off the elevator. They're always the first to arrive for everything. But I didn't expect to see Sammy Roy with them.

His family lives in Michigan, but when I invited him to join us today, he told me he had other plans. "I didn't expect you, Sammy." I clear my throat, trying to mask the lingering flatness of my words. "Plans fall through?"

He glances up for just a second, then his attention falls right back to the tile floor. "I guess it was wishful thinking. Should have known better."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

He shakes his head. "I'd rather be here anyway." He pastes on a smile that couldn't be more fake. "Hope that's okay. I brought candied sweet potatoes. Just pop them under the broiler to brown the marshmallows on top."

"You know you're welcome, dude." If he can pretend to be in a good mood, I can too. "The more the merrier, especially when you bring sugar disguised as a vegetable."

"We brought whiskey." Poppy holds up the black and gold bottle.

I sigh as I shake my head. "There's just something wrong about a man from Russia bringing whiskey."

"We are not all stereotypes, Bouche. Besides, this is not just whiskey. It's Springbank 25."

My eyebrow goes up as I look more closely at the bottle. "Excellent choice. But Sammy still wins. A casserole dish of sweetness always beats a two thousand dollar bottle of whiskey."

"So predictable." Poppy shakes his head as I lead them all into the house. "We'll spend our time with Emory. We like her better anyway."

"You barely know her!"

Sammy pats me on the shoulder as he walks past. "And we already like her better than you. What does that tell you?"

"That you're all traitors, and I'm never inviting a single one of you back here ever again."

The three of them ignore my threat and walk to the kitchen. Mom is up now and pulling the squash casserole from the oven, but Emory has just vanished. It's irrational, but for a half second I wonder if she left rather than having to sit through this dinner with me.

"I know I saw all three of you after the game last night," Mom grins at them. "A girl doesn't forget three handsome faces like yours, but help me with your names."

The normally silent apartment is filled with noise as the boys all introduce themselves to my mom. In turn, she points out each of the dishes Emory and I have spent the morning making, and I wonder if I should introduce myself to her as well. This isn't the person I've known for the last sixteen years.

But before I can move, Emory sweeps into the kitchen like the wind. Her leggings and sweater are gone, replaced by a long taupe dress that clings to every curve and heels she could use as a weapon. Her hair is still piled up in the same loose bun, but now, playful tendrils of auburn hair frame her face. I've never seen anything like it. She's breathtaking.

"You're staring." She slips an arm around me, and it feels like she's holding a live wire along the small of my back.

I force myself to blink, but it's still several seconds before I can do anything but stare at her. "You're?—"

"I know." She gives me a wink before turning to the boys in the kitchen. "It's great to see you guys again! So glad you could make it to our Thanksgiving."

Our Thanksgiving .

My entire life, I've been so afraid of a real relationship that I've never even let myself consider the possibility. But now I'm standing in the middle of my kitchen wondering what it would be like. Imagining a relationship with a woman who would never want me.

"Hello?"

I gasp as Emory pinches me.

"Sammy asked if you're ready to carve the turkey. Do you want me to do it?"

She turns to face me, her palm gliding from my stinging back to my waist. "Are you okay?" Her voice is so low only I can hear. "I'll pretend to be sick, so we can send them all home if you need to be alone."

I lean forward until my forehead kisses hers. The touch reminds me of walking outside to catch the first flurries of the season after a long summer and fall. The snowflakes catch in my hair and on the shoulders of my jacket, and I can finally breathe again.

I draw in a long breath. "I'm good. Really. But thank you."

I let myself linger for another second before I turn to the others. Mom is directing the boys as they arrange the food on the counter. "Hold up, we have to put Sammy's casserole under the broiler."

"It's not really mine. I got the recipe from a… well, a sorta friend." Sammy's face turns as red as if he were under the broiler.

"Oh, you have a 'sorta friend?'" I tease him as I turn on the oven. "Tell us about her."

"Yes, as teammates, we must decide if this woman is good enough for you. Or maybe she is too good for you, like Emory is for Kayden." Poppy glances at me from the side of his eyes, like he expects a reaction. But he's not going to get one. Emory is too good for me.

"You don't even know that she's a woman," Sammy protests.

"Well, we do now," Emory says as she tosses me an oven mitt. "So tell us about her. "

"Okay, she is a woman. And too good for me—that's the problem. But it's not like you guys think. We're not dating. Apparently, we're not even friends anymore. It's just… it doesn't matter. I'll be at the table." He walks out of the kitchen, leaving everyone dumbstruck. This isn't the Sammy any of us have gotten to know in the last year and a half.

"Someone needs whiskey." Poppy grabs the bottle from the counter and follows Sammy.

Zachary trails right behind him. "Baby, I don't disagree, but you're obviously just looking for an excuse to open that bottle. You wanted a shot this morning because you slept on your elbow wrong."

Mom tsks as she shakes her head. "I'd better go make sure those boys don't drink the whole bottle."

"Mom, we're hockey players. We're going to drink that whole bottle."

For the first time in years, Mom and I share a laugh. When it dies away, leaving just her smile as she turns toward the dining room, I know the moment isn't lost on her either.

"Hey, is fire a bad thing?" Emory catches my eye and points into the oven.

I whip the door open and hurry to blow out the flames. The top layer of marshmallows are shiny and black and perfect. "Just like the best s'mores," I tell her.

"You're one of those people?"

"Who like my marshmallows perfectly blackened? Oh yeah, I'm one of those people. Stick with me long enough, and I'll convert you." I say it without even thinking, but I know exactly how long she's going to stick with me. There's a little over two months until the wedding. Until this all ends.

"Maybe. I'm willing to give it a try, but only if you—" She holds up a finger as she takes her vibrating phone from the counter. "Tara? Happy Thanksgiving! Oh… Yeah, I can be there in fifteen minutes… Right. See you then."

My stomach drops as I listen to her side of the conversation because I know what it means. "You have to go," I tell her. It's not a question. She has the same look every one of the boys gets before we take the ice for a game.

"There's an emergency. You understand?"

I follow her to the elevator as she grabs her coat and bag. "Of course I understand." What else am I going to say? I can't beg her to ignore whatever is going on just so I can have this one shot at a normal holiday. But knowing that neither of us has a choice doesn't help put my stomach back in place.

"I'll save you some perfectly blackened marshmallows. And hey," I catch her hand, "whatever it is, you've got this. You're incredible."

"I know I am." She winks at me as the elevator door closes, and even with everyone else here, the apartment suddenly feels empty.