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Chapter twenty-eight

Rebecca

“Do you want butter? Sit wherever you want,” Madison says as she hands me a plate with a blueberry muffin on it.

“I’m good. Thanks.”

I take a seat at the table, break off a piece of muffin, and pop it into my mouth. I have to hold back the moans that want to escape me when the sweet, but not overly so flavors, burst on my tongue.

“This is delicious,” I tell Madison when I finish chewing.

“Thanks.” She smiles at me. “I was testing a new recipe, so I’m glad to hear you like it.”

Chairs scrape next to me, and then Holt puts his hand on my thigh, causing me to jolt slightly. He gives it a squeeze before moving his hand. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, but he’s sipping his coffee and talking to Hunter.

“What is it that you do again?” I ask Madison. “I’m sorry. I should know this.” I grimace. I’m pretty sure Sutton told me Madison owns her own business, but I can’t remember what it is.

“No, it’s fine.” She waves off my apology. “I own a cake business—Madison Mae Cakes. But I also help my friend Rachel come up with new recipes for her bakery, hence the blueberry muffin recipe.”

“That’s amazing. You must have a lot of self-control. I don’t think I could be around cakes all day and not sample all of them. ”

“I do my fair share of tasting when I’m trying a new recipe, but otherwise, not so much.” She shrugs. “After so many years being around cakes all day, it’s not really tempting anymore.”

I nod, focusing back on my muffin.

“What are you guys doing the rest of the day?” Madison asks.

“Not a lot. Hadley’s home with Hazel, so I need to go relieve her. She’s got a photography gig in Ocala tonight,” Holt says, setting his mug down.

“We should have a barbecue tonight, to celebrate you buying a house,” Hunter says.

Holt shakes his head, chuckling. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Cap. It’s not a done deal.”

“Fine. But once it’s done, we’ll plan a celebration.” Hunter swings his gaze to me. “You’re invited too, Rebecca.”

“And Hadley,” Madison pipes up.

“You don’t have to organize anything,” Holt says.

“We want to,” Hunter tells him. “You tell us when, and we’ll make it happen.

“Fine.” Holt pushes his chair back. “We should probably get going. Just wanted to pop in and tell you the good news.”

Hunter stands too. “I’m excited to have you in the neighborhood.” He claps Holt on the back as they make their way to the front door.

“Thank you for everything.” I smile at Madison.

“I’m so glad you and Holt are dating. Not that you need mine or anyone’s approval.” She shrugs. “None of us liked Kat. She was a bitch. But you, you we like.”

I stare at her, unsure of what to say. Do I say thank you?

“It’s new. It kind of just happened,” I finally say. “We’re still figuring everything out . . .”

“Well, I’m happy for you, and I hope this means we get to see more of you. We need to exchange numbers so I can add you to the group chat.”

“Sounds good to me.”

She grabs her phone from the counter, and I rattle off my number .

“There,” she says as my phone dings from my purse. “Added you. Now you’ll have all our numbers.”

“Coming, Becca?” Holt calls from the entryway.

“You better go. See you later,” Madison says with a wave.

“Bye,” I mumble and head over to the guys.

The drive back to our apartment building is quiet.

When we get out of Holt’s SUV, I have a weird sensation of being watched.

I look around the parking lot but don’t see anyone who doesn’t belong.

Although I swear I catch movement in a silver car, which is parked at the end of the row, as we walk by.

I peek over my shoulder, but the car appears to be empty.

Probably my imagination. I follow Holt inside the building.

“Thanks for going with me,” Holt says when we’re in the elevator.

“Of course.” I lean back against the wall.

“Want to hang out tonight?”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I have stuff to do around my apartment.”

“Can I convince you to put it off?” Holt asks, stepping into my space and kissing me.

I sigh, pushing gently on his chest. “No.”

“I promised you I’d feed you, and I didn’t get a chance to. Want to come over, and we can order takeout?”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. I have leftovers I need to eat anyway.”

“What about tomorrow? We have a morning skate, but we could have lunch.”

“I already have plans, and I have errands to run.”

His smile falters, and he takes a step back. The elevator door opens on our floor, and I step out, Holt behind me.

“I’ll see you later,” I finally say after we stand in the hallway for a few minutes staring at each other. I pull my key out of my purse, and as I’m putting it in the lock, he comes up behind me.

“Becca.”

He’s standing so close that his breath hits the back of my neck, causing me to shiver.

“Did I do something wrong?” he whispers, his voice laced with so much sadness.

“No.” I frown, turning around to face him. “Of course not.”

He studies me, and I can’t help but shift on my feet.

“I’m sorry. Whatever I said.” He roughly runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

I jerk backward, my gaze flashing over his face. “You’re sorry? What are you talking about? There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. Sutton and I are meeting for lunch, and then I have a bunch of things to do—laundry, grocery shopping. I probably need to clean, too.”

He grits his teeth, looking pained. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Come on, let’s go inside.” He follows me wordlessly into my living room. “Sit.” I gesture to the couch.

He takes a seat, closing his eyes, and I take a moment to study him.

“Talk to me, Holt. What happened?”

He opens his eyes not meeting mine. “I figured I did, or said something wrong, and that’s why you said you were busy,” he whispers.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend.

I’m fucking broken.” His voice rises at the end, and the pain that flashes over his face breaks my heart.

My mouth falls open.

“Why do you think you’re broken?” I finally manage to ask.

“I don’t think I am. I know it. Kat saw to that.”

My heart cracks in two. Madison was right; Kat was a bitch. If she ever shows her face around here, she and I will be having words. Maybe more than words.

“Holt . . .” I whisper.

He’s silent for a few seconds, and I think he’s going to change the subject, but he doesn’t.

“She didn’t want me anymore. If I wasn’t good enough for her, and she’s known me for years, how am I ever going to be good enough for you?

Someone new. I couldn’t keep her attention.

Keep her interested. Keep her from wandering into another guy’s bed.

” He sucks in a deep breath. “How am I going to be good enough for you? It was stupid of me to ask you to date me.” He runs a hand through his hair, roughly tugging on it.

“I second guess everything between us. Wondering if you’re going to be mad at me for something I do or say. The way she would always be. ”

“Holt.” I put my hand on his arm to stop him from ripping out his hair. “Look at me,” I whisper, blinking back the tears that form at his confession. He does as I ask. “It’s not your fault she couldn’t keep it in her pants. That’s on her. Not you.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “We dated in high school. She cheated on me with the captain of the baseball team. Told me she needed someone to warm her bed while I was at practice, but it wasn’t serious between them.

Then I went and took her back, like the idiot that I am, when she showed up here a few years ago. ”

“Why did you break up this time?”

He barks out a laugh. “She broke up with me because I refused to ask for a trade to Vancouver. Her job is headquartered there, and Vancouver’s chances of making the finals were better.

I refused. These guys are my family. My brothers.

I sure as shit wasn’t going to ask to be traded away from them.

We’ve won one Stanley Cup together, and I hope we win another one, but if we don’t, that’s okay, too.

“She didn’t take it well. Told me I was picking the Storm over her.

Which, according to her, was a mistake because I was probably at my peak as a goalie.

She claimed I only had a few good years left.

Asked me if I even wanted to win another Cup.

Insisted she was simply trying to help me by ‘suggesting’ the trade.

She didn’t understand why I got so angry about her ‘suggestion.’” He tips his head back against the wall.

“Then she told me I was useless in bed, and that she wasn’t satisfied.

That she never”—he cringes—“finished. Told me her vibrator brought her more sexual pleasure than I did.”

“What the fuck,” I hiss. “She’s wrong. You have a long time left of your career.

Your body is in great shape. I should know, I am your physical therapist. I can’t attest to the sexual pleasure thing, but I don’t believe her.

If she was unsatisfied, she should have talked to you.

Told you what she liked, and didn’t like. For fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah . . .” He looks away.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Sorry she treated you that way.” I grimace. “I hope I’ve never made you feel the way she did.”

“No. Never, Becca. ”

“I like you, Holt. I enjoy spending time with you, and with Hazel. I want to see where things go with us, but I’m scared. I haven’t dated anyone seriously in a long time. Part of me is afraid I’ll hurt you. Even before I knew what she did to you.”

“I like you, too. I’m sorry I overreacted.” His voice hitches, and he stares down at the ground.

I reach over, cup his chin, and stroke his cheek with my thumb.

My poor broken goalie. I want to protect him and make him feel better.

“Don’t apologize for how you feel.”

He turns his head, kissing my palm. “I know you’re not her. That you won’t treat me the same way she did. I just get scared that I’ll fuck things up with you.”