Page 35 of From Ice to Home (The Heart of a Ranger #1)

LUCAS

I t’s late by the time I finally pull into the driveway.

Coach kept me back for an extra round of drills since I missed practice yesterday.

He then sent me to the team physio to make sure everything is fine, and stays fine, for the game tomorrow.

My legs ache, my shoulders are tight, and all I can think about is taking an ice bath and crashing into bed.

As I turn off the engine and step out of the truck, I notice the lights on inside the house. It’s such a small thing, but it hits me like a warm embrace, knowing I have my girl in there…waiting for me.

That thought carries me to the front door, but it doesn’t silence the small voice in the back of my mind. The one whispering that Hannah left me once before. She left when everything between us felt perfect and I didn’t see or hear from her for five years.

I shake it off, pushing the door open and tossing my keys into the bowl by the door. The delicious smell of dinner hits me instantly, and my stomach grumbles in response. The house is warm, alive in a way it hasn’t been since I moved in .

“Sanders?” I call out, the smile on my face growing despite the ache in my muscles.

She steps out of the kitchen, and I forget the ache entirely.

Her golden hair falls loose over her back, catching the light as she moves.

She’s barefoot, wearing black leggings and my jersey.

My Rangers jersey, navy blue with red and white accents, the number seven glowing bright against the fabric.

My chest tightens at the sight, something between pride and awe.

She catches my eyes dipping to her outfit and blushes. She tugs at the hem self-consciously.

“I’m sorry,” she says, biting her lip. “I couldn’t resist.”

Stepping closer, I slide my arms around her and pull her into my chest. The familiar smell of lavender and lilies mingles with the faint trace of my cologne on the jersey, and it’s perfect.

Too perfect.

“Don’t apologize,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It looks better on you anyway.”

She glances up, her cheeks still pink but her smile soft. “I made dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Starving actually,” I admit, glancing over her shoulder toward the kitchen. The smell is incredible—savory and warm, like home in a way I haven’t felt in years.

Her smile grows as she tugs me toward the kitchen. She’s set the island like a proper table, complete with placemats and napkins. It’s simple, but the effort she’s put in is unmistakable.

“I usually eat on the couch,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Watch game tapes while I shovel food in…This is…” I trail off, words failing me.

She glances at me, her green eyes searching. “Is it okay?”

“It’s perfect,” I say, my throat tightening. “Sanders, this is…” I stop again, trying to find the right words.

The truth is, I didn’t think that I would ever have this again after I lost my mother. This feeling…a house that is a home. Someone waiting for me at the end of the day. Without even realizing it, this is what I’ve been longing for—what I’ve been missing.

Yes, I’m a twenty-three year old guy, who’s the star player of the Rangers—and with that comes a certain image or assumption of what my life should look like.

But I grew up a certain way. I’m a small-town guy.

My family has always been the center of my world, and for a while I didn’t even know that was what left this hole in me.

I thought I was fine—living my dream, chasing my goals—but God knew better.

He saw me. He saw her. And He made this happen.

“See I can be a wife,” Hannah says, setting a plate down in front of me, her tone light but her expression a mix of pride and uncertainty.

“I never doubted you, Sanders.” The food smells absolutely amazing, but I pause before diving in. “Let’s say grace.” I hold my hand out toward her.

Her gaze softens as she slips her fingers through mine, and for a moment, I just look at our hands, her small one resting in mine.

Closing my eyes, I begin.

“Father, tonight we come to You with gratitude in our hearts. Thank You for bringing us together, thank you for giving us this perfect moment. We ask that You bless this food to our bodies and keep Your hand of protection over us tonight. Amen.”

When I open my eyes, she’s watching me, her expression hard to read. Then she smiles—a small, genuine curve of her lips that makes my chest tighten.

She picks up her fork and takes a bite, and as I watch her, the strangeness of it all hits me like a sledgehammer.

I’m married. To Hannah.

She made us dinner, and we’re sitting at a table, eating it like normal people.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me. “You look funny.”

I can’t help but chuckle at how well she actually knows me.

“Nothing. It’s just…this.”

“Is the spaghetti not cooked?” She takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Granted I had to move mountains to get it here.”

“I’m sure the spaghetti is fine,” I tell her, smirking. “What do you mean by ‘moving mountains?’”

She waves her fork in the air. “Oh, you know. Finding a way to get food in this house to make us dinner. Remember, I have no car or even an inkling as to what the address is. Still, I’d say I did pretty well.”

I’m about to say something, but she cuts me off.

“Wait. Are you even allowed to eat spaghetti?” she asks, her eyes widening as she looks me over, like she’s looking for signs of imminent disaster.

“Calm down, Sanders. It’s not technically on the menu, but I won’t spontaneously combust from having a bowl of pasta.

” I pause, just to mess with her. “It might slow me down tomorrow, though, costing us the game, getting my contract cut, and having my sponsors withdraw their support. Nothing major.”

Her jaw drops. “Luke!”

“I’m messing with you,” I say, laughing. “Pasta is a big menu item for players. You did good, wife.”

She shakes her head, muttering something under her breath, but I catch the smallest hint of a smile.

“It’s not funny,” she says finally, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Not even a little,” I ask, tilting my head, the teasing tone back in my voice.

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, she takes another bite, and I watch her, feeling the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

“So,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “You were talking about moving mountains to feed your new husband?” I ask, taking a bite of the delicious meal, thankful that she did just that. “What happened?”

She shrugs, twirling her fork in the spaghetti.

“I wanted to go out and get something to cook for dinner, and maybe a few things to bake something for the guys when I meet them tomorrow.” She pauses, taking a bite of her dinner and holding a finger up until she’s done chewing.

“You know, since you have nothing but chips and protein bars in your pantry.”

I wince. “Noted.”

She grins. “But I found myself stranded,” she says with a glint of sadness in her eyes. “I miss my little blue car.”

I frown, guilt tugging at me. “I didn’t even think of that, I’m so sorry.” I straighten up, already thinking through solutions. “I could make a few calls tomorrow and have it sorted by the end of the day. I’ll get you a car.”

She frowns at me.

“What? Is there something else you need?” I ask, looking around the house, silently kicking myself for not thinking about what she might need when I’m off at the rink.

“A key. I’ll have to get you a key made.”

“A key would be great, Luke…” She narrows her eyes slightly. “But I have a car, you know. I was kind of thinking more along the lines of having my brother or someone drive it up?”

“Can you really even call that a car, though?” I raise an eyebrow just thinking about her little blue Honda. I might be holding a tiny grudge against the vehicle, since I had to look at her drive away from me in it. But even back then, it didn’t look too reliable.

Her mouth falls open. “Okay, that’s not nice. And yes you can call it a car.” She sighs, clearly trying to stay patient. “This is something I’d like to handle myself. It’s my car, and I’m fine with it. I just need to make a few arrangements to get it here.”

I shake my head, wondering how her sense of independence has somehow intensified over the years.

“Sanders, I know you love that blue car, but this is something I want to do for you. It’s something I can do for you. That way you don’t have to worry about getting anywhere…and I don’t have to worry about you getting stuck without oil or a busted radiator.”

She gives me a long look, her green eyes flashing with determination as her fork hovers over her plate.

“Lucas, I’ve been with that car for the past five years. Yes, there have been difficult days, but we have an understanding with one another.”

“Sanders,” I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. “I have no doubt that your Honda did everything you needed it to, but I want to do this for you. Let me.”

Her lips press together as she considers, and I add softly, “It’ll give me peace of mind.”

She exhales, sitting back in her chair. “I’ll think about it.”

I smirk. “I think I read somewhere that when a woman says, ‘I’ll think about it,’ the answer is usually no.”

She gives me a small smile before taking another bite of her food, leaving me to figure out if that’s true or not. The silence stretches between us, heavy enough to make me question if I’ve said the wrong thing—or if I’m just overthinking.

“I just want you to feel at home, Sanders.” She’s always managed to make me feel like I’m home by just being near me.

And tonight, coming home to her and everything she did with dinner…

I want her to feel the same with me. I’m supposed to provide her with comfort and security and anything she might need.

Her gaze drops to her plate and her shoulders stiffen. I know I’ve hit a nerve when she looks up, her green eyes flashing with hurt.