Page 8
CHAPTER 8
Farren
I wake to the muffled hum of voices drifting down the hallway to my room. The smell of fresh coffee wafts under the door, and I groan, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I roll over to check my phone on the nightstand. No missed calls, no texts, but who exactly did I think would be texting?
I swear I’m not disappointed there’s not something from North.
Rafferty and Tempe are awake, their easy laughter filtering through the condo. They sound good together, like they’ve found their rhythm, and for once, the thought doesn’t make me roll my eyes. Instead, it makes me smile. My brother deserves this kind of happiness even if it’s not something I’m interested in.
I stretch out under the covers, my body aching in all the right ways. Last night was something else. North took me home after we left Stevie’s, as promised, but not before we’d played darts and pool with the others. I couldn’t help but watch him—how he moved, how he smiled, the way he pulled people into his orbit like it was effortless. He’s attractive on a cellular level without even trying, and I hate how much I liked it.
North’s so different from me. I’m sharp edges and hard walls. He’s warm. Easygoing. But not in a way that feels false or shallow. It became clear last night, watching him be himself that he’s deep-down genuine. The kind of guy who helps a stranger without a second thought and operates with zero pretense.
And I’m starting to like him.
That realization sends a prickle of unease through me, and I shake it off. It’s just sex , I remind myself. Fun, meaningless, incredibly satisfying sex. That’s all it is. That’s all I want it to be.
I reach for my phone again, and as if conjured by my thoughts, it buzzes in my hand. My heart does a ridiculous little leap before I can tamp it down.
It’s North.
Of course, it’s North.
The text is simple, just a picture of his front yard blanketed in fresh snow. Do you want to build a snowman? Come out and play with me today.
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Play? In the snow? Like we’re kids again? It’s ridiculous. Silly. Completely off-brand for me.
Has nothing to do with sex.
For a split second, I picture it—running around like a maniac, pelting North with snowballs, laughing until my sides hurt. It’s kind of appealing. But the idea twists something in me that I’m not ready to face.
That kind of carefree intimacy feels dangerous, like it could unravel everything I’ve worked so hard to keep locked down.
I shake my head and type back something safer. I can come over, but I’d rather spend it in bed.
His reply is instant. Come on over. The roads are clear.
My stomach does another annoying flip. I toss my phone aside and stare at the ceiling. What the hell am I doing? This isn’t me. I don’t play. I don’t let myself get swept up in wonder or possibility. But I can’t deny the pull to see him again. To have his hands on me, his body over mine, that sense of freedom he makes me feel.
I swing my legs out of bed, shoving my hesitation aside. A quick shower later, I’m dressed in jeans, a warm sweater, and my favorite outdoor boots. My winter parka hangs over my arm as I step into the kitchen where Rafferty and Tempe are sitting at the table, mugs of coffee steaming between them.
“Morning,” Tempe says, her face lighting up with a warm smile. She nods at my coat. “Big plans for the day?”
“Job interviews,” I lie smoothly, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Checking out a few bartending jobs, then maybe meeting some friends later. ”
The corner of Rafferty’s mouth lifts. “Or you could get admissions material from some of the local colleges.”
“Or,” I drawl sarcastically, “you can mind your own business.”
Rafferty barks out a laugh, looking unrepentant. He’ll never stop pushing me to go to school. “Good luck. Let me know if you need a reference.”
“I will,” I say, smirking. “Thanks.”
Tempe’s eyes linger on me, her expression curious, but she doesn’t say anything. I throw on my coat, wave them off, and call for an Uber.
By the time my driver pulls up in front of North’s house, the sky is bright blue, and the sun is shining leaving the blanket of snow sparkling like it’s crusted with diamonds. He’s sitting on the front porch in a dark green winter jacket, a large thermos and two mugs sitting beside him and a mischievous grin already tugging at his lips.
I step out of the car, turning to thank the driver, when a snowball whizzes past my head.
I spin around and catch one right in the sternum. “Are you kidding me?” I yell, laughing despite myself.
The Uber driver pulls away and I take in North, his grin widening as he walks down the sidewalk freshly scraped of snow.
He bends over, gathers another ball of the white stuff in his gloved hands. “You better start dodging, Abrams. You’re in my domain now.”
“Oh, it’s on,” I murmur, dropping my purse to the ground and scooping up a handful of snow.
The next few minutes are chaos. We sprint around his front yard, ducking behind trees and bushes, hurling snowballs with reckless abandon. Laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, each hit and miss fueling the growing exhilaration.
North is a professional athlete and his aim is ridiculously good. Any that I manage to land, I suspect he lets it happen to make me feel good about myself.
Just as I wind up to let one loose, he barrels toward me like a charging bull. I scramble backward but he picks me up, spins me around and then we collapse back into a snowdrift, breathless and laughing.
North grins like an idiot. “You’re terrible at this game, by the way.”
“I let you win,” I lie, brushing snow off my face.
“Sure you did.” He leans back on his elbows, his breath visible in the crisp air. “So, you always this competitive, or am I just special?”
I roll my eyes but can’t stop smiling. “You might be special. Don’t let it go to your head.”
He chuckles and then jumps up, looking every bit the kid as he does so. He hauls me up and we walk to the porch where he motions for me to sit.
“What’s in the thermos?” I ask as he unscrews the cap.
“Mexican hot chocolate,” he says, pouring a fragrant mug for me.
“Ooh, fancy,” I murmur as I inhale the scent of chocolate, cayenne and a little bit of cinnamon before taking a tiny sip. I feel the slight tingle from the pepper on my tongue and groan with appreciation.
North pours himself a cup and we sit side by side in comfortable silence, watching kids a few houses down making snow angels.
“You ever do this growing up?” he asks, glancing at me.
I nod, surprised by the flood of memories. “Yeah. Rafferty and I used to build snow forts in the backyard. We’d spend hours outside until we couldn’t feel our fingers anymore. You?”
North’s gaze softens. “I don’t have siblings, but we had a ragtag group of kids in my neighborhood. Love the snow days.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, sliding down memory lane, the warmth of the memories tugging at something buried deep. “I don’t do stuff like this anymore. Feels silly, I guess.”
“It’s not silly,” he says quietly. “It’s living.”
Something in his tone makes me look at him, really look at him. There’s no judgment in his expression, just a quiet sincerity that makes my chest ache .
“Living, huh?” I murmur, more to myself than him.
“Yeah,” he says, his smile soft. “And you should do more of it.”
I don’t answer, but his words stick with me as we finish our hot chocolate and start to build a lopsided snowman. He tells me stories about his childhood in Laval, about cracking his mom’s kitchen window with a snowball that was a little too hard packed, and how no matter the trouble he got into, she was always there making hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
And for a little while, I forget to be afraid.
We work diligently, trading stories of how we grew up in the same country, but on opposite sides, discussing some of the differences in culture, food and weather.
North steps inside to grab a hat and scarf to put on our snowman and I find some rocks for his eyes and mouth. North uses his gloved hand to brush stray snow off its misshapen body. The grin on his face is easy and boyish, the kind of smile that makes you forget that he’s a professional athlete and not just some guy who’s too good to be true. He catches me watching him, and his grin shifts into something softer, something that tightens inside me.
“You know,” he starts, his voice warm despite the cold, “we leave for Atlanta tomorrow. Quick trip—Atlanta, Washington, then we’re back Saturday night.”
“Don’t worry, Paquette. I’m going to make sure you get enough sex today to hold you over.”
“Yes, you are,” he says in a low rumble that causes goose bumps to prickle on my nape. “But I was talking about plans when I get back.”
“We’re making plans now?” I tease, adjusting one of the stick arms on our snowman.
North nods, crouching to scoop a handful of snow, rolling it idly between his palms. “Yeah. Foster and Mazzy are throwing a New Year’s Eve party that night. Should be a good time. You going?”
I glance at him, his blue eyes brighter than the sky overhead, and for a fleeting second I imagine it. A festive party, the laughter of the Titans family filling the air, champagne glasses clinking as the countdown begins. And then, when the clock strikes midnight, North turning to me, his eyes alight with something deeper, leaning in for a kiss under a lingering sprig of mistletoe. I imagine the faint taste of champagne on his lips, his hands at my waist as the twelve o’clock toll sounds. It’s an image I can almost feel—the warmth, the anticipation, the closeness.
Then the memories hit, a sharp, sudden assault, like the snap of camera flashes.
Flash. Spinning around the dance floor, the hem of my pale blue dress swirling as I laugh, the sound ringing out like a promise. His hand is warm on my waist, steady, guiding.
Flash. His lips brushing against mine for the first time, a featherlight touch that makes my heart pound. My first kiss, sweet and intoxicating, leaving me breathless and dizzy.
Flash. The heat of his whispered words against my ear, words that make me feel wanted, desired. The first flicker of something awakening inside me , a mix of nerves and excitement.
Flash. His gentle coaxing, his hand resting on mine, guiding me as I fumble to slip out of my panties beneath my dress. His voice low, soothing, telling me it’s okay. That I’m safe. That he wants something to remember me by, so I don’t hesitate to hand them over. I’d do anything for him.
Flash. Bright light, so blinding it sears into my brain. A cacophony of laughter, jeers, the sound of my name shouted like a punch line. My stomach dropping into a bottomless pit as I clutch at my dress, at my shame, as I realize none of it was true.
Flash. My feet pounding against the gym floor as I run, the noise chasing me, the walls tilting and spinning as if the whole world is mocking me. A cruel prank aimed right at me. The ache is so sharp, it feels like I might shatter.
The images slam into me one after another, a merciless slideshow of humiliation and betrayal, leaving me cold and breathless. The New Year’s Eve fantasy crumbles into ash, leaving behind the harsh truth I’ve lived with ever since.
I can’t. Not with him. Not with anyone .
I force myself back to the present, to the snowman standing lopsided in North’s yard, his crooked smile almost mocking me. I feel the hurt physically and I have to swallow past the lump of bitterness in my throat.
I focus in on North’s handsome and earnest face, his expression open and hopeful. For a moment, I want to tell him everything. To let it spill out, messy and raw, so he can see the jagged edges of what’s inside me and the reason why this can’t ever be anything more than sex.
Plastering on a coy smile that feels paper thin, I step into him. “I’m thinking we should go inside and get warmed up.”
His hand circles the back of my neck, heat sizzling in his eyes. “We will. But what about New Year’s?”
My stomach sinks as I prepare to lie to him. “I actually have plans that night. Some friends are doing a thing.”
His brows lift slightly, and there’s the smallest pause before he says, “Sounds fun.”
“It will be,” I say confidently, envisioning myself sitting in pajamas in front of the TV, eating potato chips and drinking a beer to ring in the new year by myself.
North stares at me and I note the easy smile is still there, but there’s a flicker of something behind it—disappointment. He’s trying not to let it show, but I see it in the way his gaze drops to the snowman longer than necessary, his hands brushing along its lopsided edge .
I hate that I notice. I hate even more that it stirs something in me, this gnawing need to explain myself, to make him understand why I can’t let him or anyone else get closer. But how do you explain a secret so old and so buried that it feels like part of your DNA?
I fumble with my gloves, trying to distract myself. “You’ll have fun, though. Foster and Mazzy probably throw an amazing party, right?”
“It will be awesome,” he says, his voice steady, but it doesn’t carry the same warmth as before. He shakes his head lightly, brushing it off. “It’s no big deal. I just thought it might be nice. You know, ring in the new year with some good company.”
His words land softly but carry weight, and I know he’s not talking about just anyone. The idea of ringing in the new year with North sends a thrill through me, but it’s the same thrill that warns me I’m getting too close to the edge of something I can’t control.
I want to tell him. I want to say, I can’t do this because I don’t trust myself not to get hurt. Because once, a long time ago, someone made me believe I was worth something, and then they shattered it into a million pieces for everyone to see . But the words don’t come.
Instead, I force a smile and say, “Maybe next time.”
North tilts his head, studying me for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read between the lines. Then he nods, his expression neutral but kind. “Yeah, maybe next time.”
He tosses the snowball into the yard, dusts off his hands, and turns his attention back to the snowman. “You think it needs anything else?” he asks, his tone light again.
I let out a breath, grateful for the shift. “Have a corncob pipe, by any chance?”
He laughs, and the tension eases, but I can’t shake the ache of the moment. The unspoken truth hangs between us, and I know it will ultimately be our demise.
Just like it’s ruined every other relationship I’ve ever tried to have.