Page 11

CHAPTER TEN

“Coulton!”

Coulton pulled up short when he walked out of the elevator and spotted Evelyn waiting in the hotel lobby for him.

Shit.

“Evie,” he said, giving her a hug. The Stingrays had traveled to Vancouver yesterday for tonight’s away game. Evelyn had texted him when he was on the plane, asking when he’d be arriving and if he had time to get together. For the first time ever, he let her text go unanswered, hoping he could get in and out of Vancouver without seeing her. Things between him and Ainsley were too new, too tenuous, and he didn’t want to do anything to risk upsetting her.

Usually, he was the one who made contact with Evelyn whenever Baltimore traveled to Vancouver, but this time, he’d been too wrapped up in the arms of a beautiful bartender to remember to reach out.

“Thought I’d surprise you,” she said as they parted.

“I, uh…I was just going to have some breakfast.” Coulton gestured toward the hotel restaurant. “Then I need to get ready for the game.”

“That’s okay,” Evelyn said, not picking up on his reticence. “I’m used to these hit-and-run visits. And as luck would have it, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Great,” he murmured, unwilling to hurt her feelings, but wishing he was anywhere but here.

Ordinarily, Coulton didn’t mind the nights spent on the road, but the last couple of weeks, he’d started to resent them. Especially since traveling with the team meant leaving Ainsley.

Monday night had been one of the best of his life, as Ainsley—despite her earlier hesitation—had fully embraced the night out with his friends. His teammates had all made a point yesterday to tell him how awesome she was, including Tank, who, up until he’d met Ainsley, had insisted that Coulton not tie himself down so quickly.

Falling asleep with her in his arms after they’d left Pat’s Pub had felt so right, it had been next to impossible to climb out of bed the next morning. But he’d had no choice, as he had an early flight. Ainsley had woken up with him, watching as he packed his bag. She’d started to get dressed so she could leave when he did, but he’d convinced her to crawl back under the covers and sleep in. Then he’d spent most of the flight imagining her in his space, eating breakfast in his kitchen, drinking the coffee he’d left in the pot for her, showering in his bathroom, using his bodywash and shampoo.

The idea of her wearing his scent when she went to work, making him way too happy…and hard.

So yeah. Leaving her yesterday had sucked, and the only consolation he could find was that at least this was a short trip. He’d be back in Baltimore tomorrow morning, and even though it was Thanksgiving and his parents would be there, he was bound and determined to see her at some point during the day. There was no way in hell he could wait until Friday.

He grinned to himself, perfectly aware he was acting like a teenage boy with his first crush.

Coulton and Evelyn followed the hostess across the restaurant as she led them to a table. Along the way, they passed several of his teammates, as well as McKenna, who traveled with them. Most of his buddies had met Evelyn before during their away games in Vancouver, but this time, he noticed the looks of surprise on both Blake’s and Victor’s faces when they saw him with his ex. They knew he was still friends with her, so their reactions reiterated what he already knew. Having breakfast with his ex was a bad idea.

“Why don’t we join my friends?” he suggested, prepared to use his teammates as a buffer.

Evelyn rejected the idea. “Nope. They get you all the time. It’s my turn.” Once they were seated, Evelyn leaned back, studying him for all of ten seconds before she said, “You’ve met someone.”

Coulton snorted. “How the hell can you tell that just by looking at my face?”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, Moore. Plus, if that smile gets any brighter, I’m going to have to put my sunglasses on. Who is she? Tell me everything.”

Coulton rolled his eyes, but there was no denying Evelyn. When she wanted to know something, she was like a dog with a bone.

“Her name is Ainsley Hall. She’s a bartender. Well, actually, she runs her family’s tavern. And she’s amazing. Beautiful and smart, a talented artist,” he tacked on, recalling the drawings in her sketch pad.

Evelyn clapped her hands, delighted. “Oh my God. I’m so happy for you. How long have the two of you been going out?”

“I met her at the beginning of the month and…” He sighed. “I gotta be honest, I’m feeling a little guilty for sitting here with you.”

“Ah,” Evelyn said, the light finally going on. “Guess I see why you didn’t text me back. And why you wanted us to sit with the guys.”

“I’m falling for her, Evie. Hard. I know it’s fast, but…”

“There’s nothing wrong with fast, Coulton, especially if she’s the one.”

“I really feel like she is,” he admitted. The fact that he could talk to his ex-girlfriend about his new relationship like this drove home something he’d come to realize over the past two years since their breakup. He and Evelyn had always been better friends than lovers. Not that they didn’t love each other, but he’d never felt the same passion, the same heart-racing, cock-thumping need for Evelyn that he felt for Ainsley.

“You gotta invite me to the wedding,” she demanded.

“Jesus. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Neither one of us has even said the L word, and I’m not sure Ainsley is quite as sure about me as I am of her.”

“No woman could be with you and not love you,” Evelyn reassured him. “It’s just not possible.”

“You have to say that,” he pointed out. “You’re one of my best friends. She’s had some rough breakups, so she’s struggling to believe this could be real.”

“So you put in the work until she gets there.”

“Okay. I will.” He’d already decided to stay the course, wooing Ainsley until she had no choice but to fall head over heels with him. Then he intended to spend the rest of his life loving her right back.

“Let me know when it gets to the engagement ring stage, because I want to help you pick one out. I have impeccable taste.”

Coulton shook his head, but damn if he wasn’t sitting here imagining himself standing at the front of an aisle, watching Ainsley walk toward him in a long white dress.

“You’ll be the first to know,” he promised. “Now, what about your love life?”

“I’m seeing someone too. It’s been a few months, and he’s a great guy. I’m trying not to get too carried away, but I have high hopes. He’s a doctor at Mount Saint Joseph Hospital.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“Now, let’s clean up the mess I just made.”

“What mess?” he asked, as Evelyn raised her arm to wave the waitress over.

“We’d like to join that table,” she said, pointing to where Victor and Blake sat.

Coulton grinned. “Thanks.”

Coulton, Evelyn, and his teammates spent an hour eating and joking around. McKenna stopped by as they were finishing up their breakfast. He introduced her to Evelyn, explaining they were old friends and that she lived in Vancouver.

“Can I take a picture?” she asked the group.

The four of them pushed their chairs closer together for the shot.

“Thanks,” McKenna said.

Once they’d paid the tab, he and Evelyn hugged goodbye, and he headed upstairs to get ready for that night’s game.

As he buttoned his shirt, he couldn’t help but wonder what Ainsley was doing, and if she was missing him as much as he missed her.

* * *

Coulton rubbed his eyes wearily, shifting in a fruitless attempt to get comfortable.

“Tough game,” Preston said, leaning back against the headrest of his seat. Because tomorrow was Thanksgiving, they were taking a red-eye back to Baltimore so that they could be with their families for the holiday.

“Yeah.” They’d lost in overtime, something Coulton would usually struggle with because he’d been the one to let the puck hit the back of the net, but tonight, he had bigger things on his mind.

“Hate trying to sleep on planes,” Preston bitched.

“Me too.”

If he was smart, Coulton would close his eyes and at least try to get some rest during the flight, but he didn’t bother. For one thing, his frame wasn’t made for modern airplanes, and even with the extra legroom in economy plus, there was no way he could get comfortable enough to sleep.

For another, he was doing battle with himself as he considered Ainsley.

“Heard you saw Evelyn.” Preston hadn’t been in the hotel restaurant, which meant Victor or Blake had mentioned it.

“She showed up at the hotel to surprise me.”

“Yeah, that’s what the guys said,” Preston replied.

Coulton hadn’t mentioned seeing Evelyn to Ainsley yet, wanting to tell her in person, so he could reassure her that he had no feelings for his ex whatsoever. Ainsley wasn’t friends with any of her ex-boyfriends, so he wasn’t sure she believed it was possible for two people who used to date to have a platonic friendship.

It didn’t help that Ainsley was still waiting for this thing between them to fail. Because of that, there was no way he’d keep any secrets from her. He was going to be honest and up front with her about running into Evelyn, determined to do whatever it took to prove he wouldn’t betray her trust. Ever.

“I’m going to tell Ainsley I ran into Evelyn,” he reassured his friend, not wanting Preston to think he was keeping secrets.

“Good. Honesty is the best policy.”

“It is,” Coulton agreed. “And you know me, I’m a straight shooter. I care way too much about Ainsley, so the idea of losing her is… Well, I don’t want to lose her, but we’re still in the early days. She’s been hurt before, so she’s holding me at arm’s length, waiting for me to screw up.”

“That’s rough. You think she’ll react badly to you seeing your ex?”

“I don’t know. I told her Evelyn and I were still friends, and even though I usually see her when we’re in Vancouver, I’d intended to skip that visit this time. Ainsley is still a flight risk, so I don’t want to tell her about Evelyn showing up to surprise me until I’m standing right in front of her.”

“So you can bar the door in case she needs convincing?” Preston asked, only half joking.

Coulton nodded miserably. “Something like that.”

He would come clean to her the second he saw her again. Tell her about Evelyn, and then pray she believed him when he told her that he and his ex would never be anything more than friends.

When the seat belt sign flashed off, McKenna rose, walking back to him and Preston.

“I’m working on social media posts for tomorrow, and you guys are the last two on my list to talk to. I’m asking all the players what they’re thankful for.”

Preston replied first, giving Coulton a couple minutes to consider his answer, and while he suspected it was cliched and common, he simply used the tried and true. “I’m thankful for my parents, my teammates, my Little Brother, Slade, and friends—old and new.”

He didn’t include Ainsley’s name, even though he wanted to, because he wasn’t sure how she would feel about that. She was a private person and, despite the fact he was head over heels, he didn’t know how she felt yet.

“Perfect,” McKenna said, tapping on her phone. “That’s all I need.” She made her way back to her seat, as Preston turned toward him.

“No mention of Ainsley.”

“You think I should have named her?” Coulton asked. “Because God knows I want to scream from the mountaintop that she’s mine. But she’s pretty private and I didn’t want to call her out without talking to her. Putting her name on social media could open her up to some scrutiny from the media and rabid puck bunnies.”

Preston shuddered because they both knew there were women out there who took their hockey hero fantasies way too far.

“Probably a good idea to talk to her first. And I’m glad you’ve finally crossed over to the dark side,” Preston said with a shit-eating grin.

Coulton grinned. “Yeah, Romeo. I did.”

“I’m happy for you,” his friend replied, even as his own smile faded. While Preston had found the woman he believed to be the one, they’d parted after just one night. The rest of the guys on the team gave Preston a hard time for falling in love in a single evening. Hell, Coulton used to be right there with them, but now he understood. The first night he met Ainsley, he’d felt a connection he couldn’t fully explain, but the more time he spent with her, the more it seemed as if he’d known her his whole life. His soul had recognized her right from the start.

“You got plans for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” Coulton asked.

Preston nodded. “Yeah. Tank and I are going to have dinner with Victor, his sister, and Pip.”

Most of Coulton’s teammates—like himself—were Baltimore transplants, so it wasn’t always possible to spend the holidays with family. Fortunately, the Stingrays had formed their own family, always there for each other so no one had to spend a holiday alone.

“Your folks coming to visit?” Preston asked.

Coulton nodded. “Yep. They got into town earlier this afternoon. They have a key to my place, so I suspect my mom has already filled the fridge with all the feast essentials, and at the crack of dawn, she and my dad will be awake and putting the turkey in the oven.”

“Sounds great.” Preston sighed tiredly before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Coulton did the same, but sleep was elusive. Instead, his tired mind jumped from one subject to the next, even though they all had a common denominator.

Would Ainsley be angry he’d seen Evelyn?

Was she safe?

Was she already asleep?

Had she eaten enough today?

Could he convince her to close the tavern and join him and his parents for Thanksgiving dinner?

And most importantly, how long should he wait before dropping the L-bomb on her?

* * *

Ainsley sat in the hard chair, listening to the beep beep beep of the machine the doctors had hooked Mick to. She rubbed her dry eyes, blinking several times to clear the grit blurring her vision. After a glorious night of rest in Coulton’s bed Monday, she’d returned home to her usual nightmarish life. Mick had looked like shit, but he’d insisted she open the tavern Tuesday and last night, claiming she wasn’t going to use him as an excuse to sit on her lazy ass.

Arguing with Mick was always pointless, so she’d gone to work as usual. Given last night was the night before a holiday, everyone and their brother had been at Mick’s Tavern, drinking themselves into stupors. Because Maren was out of town—she spent every Thanksgiving with Nat’s parents in Fairfax—she’d been manning the bar alone. She was on her feet for ten hours straight, and while she’d tried to call Mick a few times, he hadn’t answered. Ainsley hadn’t worried too much about that, since he rarely answered her calls.

Grateful when last call rolled around, she’d limped home on sore feet, her only plan when she got there to drop into bed and sleep.

So much for that.

She glanced at the time on her phone. It was nearly five a.m., and that sleep hadn’t happened yet. Actually, it was looking like she was just going to have to chalk up last night’s rest as a total loss.

One night without sleep wouldn’t kill her.

Maybe.

Glancing at the bed, she was relieved to see at least Mick was finally sleeping. When she’d returned home last night, she’d found him on the floor, wheezing for breath, his chest making a disturbing crackling sound. She knew he was in bad shape when she’d called 9-1-1 and he didn’t protest. Of course, he’d been out of it, delirious with pain and struggling to breathe.

They’d done a series of tests upon their arrival before setting him up in this room in ICU. An hour earlier, the doctor had pulled her into the hallway to tell her all they could do at this point was make him as comfortable as possible. He’d prescribed a morphine drip and offered her a sympathetic smile when she’d asked how long Mick had.

“It could be days, or it could be hours,” the doctor had replied.

He was dying.

Her dad was dying.

She’d known this day was coming for the past year, but now that it was here, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel.

Ainsley had never been close to her father, thanks to a lifetime of abuse and neglect. He’d made it his life’s mission to make sure his kids knew he’d never wanted them, and he resented Mom for dumping them on him. She’d spent the last hour sitting next to him, trying to recall some good memories. Sadly, they were few and far between.

There was the one year he’d remembered her birthday. Things had been going well at the tavern and in a burst of generosity, he’d bought her a birthday cake from the grocery store. She was turning nine, and she could still recall how sweet and delicious that cake was. Ainsley had intended to savor it, only allowing herself a small piece each day so she could make it last.

In the end, she’d only gotten that one piece, because Eli had swiped it from the refrigerator, he and his friends devouring it, despite her protests.

Then there was the night Mick had come home and found her in her room, crying. She’d discovered Tiger’s cheating, and the two of them had just broken up. She’d been devastated and certain she’d never fall in love again. Mick had patted her on the shoulder and told her there were more fish in the sea. It hadn’t been much, but that comforting touch and those words—the nicest he’d ever said to her—had bolstered her.

She thought there must have been other times he was kind, but she was struggling to remember them. Her tired brain—pissed off due to the lack of sleep—taunted her, telling her there were no more good memories.

“Everything okay in here?” a nurse asked softly, walking in and checking on Mick.

Ainsley nodded, and the nurse gave her a soft smile, looking at her as if she would fall apart in the face of losing her dad.

The horrible truth was, her initial emotion when the doctor told her Mick was dying had been relief.

That made her feel like a terrible person, which was the reason why she was sitting here by his bed at five in the morning, desperate to remember something—fucking anything —good.

A grunt from the bed captured her attention. Mick was awake and scowling at her.

He pulled the oxygen mask from his mouth. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a breathless whisper.

“Sitting with you.”

His expression grew even darker. “Get out.”

“Mick,” she started, wondering if she should let him know just how dire his situation was. “The doctor said?—”

“I’m dying,” he said on a raspy gasp. “I want to do it alone. Get the fuck out.” Mick put the mask back over his mouth and turned his head, letting her know she was dismissed.

This man had spent a lifetime hurting her, with fists and words, but this…

Just when she thought he couldn’t hurt her any more, he found a way.

He always found a way.

Ainsley swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, trying to force it down. Trying to force it all down—the pain, the guilt, the sorrow, the resentment.

She’d hoped that at the end, they would find peace, but it looked like she was going to have to figure that out for herself.

She rose from the chair and walked to the door. Every fiber of her being told her to just keep walking, but when she reached the threshold, she couldn’t help but turn to take one last look.

“Goodbye, Dad.”

If he heard her, he gave no indication, his gaze locked on the opposite wall. She waited for a few seconds, but in the end, she had no choice but to walk away.

As she made her way to the exit, all she could think was how much she wished Coulton was there with her.

* * *

Ainsley trudged up the steps to her apartment slowly. When she reached her floor, she paused for a moment, blinking several times to make sure she was really seeing what she thought she was.

The door to her family’s apartment was hanging open. And not because she’d forgotten to close it after the EMTs had carried Mick down to the ambulance. Nope. The door had been kicked in, the frame cracked, with sharp shards of splintered wood sticking out.

“Fuck,” she muttered, reaching into her messenger bag, feeling around until she found the can of pepper spray. Stepping forward, she glanced into the apartment. The quiet stillness told her whoever had broken in had already come and gone, but she kept a firm grip on her pepper spray anyway as she walked inside.

Peering around the living room, she wasn’t surprised to discover the television was missing, as was the old record player Mick kept around for some unknown reason, considering she’d never once heard him play a record on it. The drawer in the end table next to Mick’s recliner hung open and, as she stepped closer, she cursed under her breath when she realized the gun Mick kept there was gone as well.

Excellent. They had armed their thieves.

Glancing into the kitchen, she saw a square of grease on the counter where their microwave used to sit and the refrigerator hung open, the half case of Mick’s cheap beer gone as well.

She pushed the fridge door closed, then braced herself as she walked down the hallway to her room.

Ainsley gasped as she stepped inside, struggling to take in the utter destruction surrounding her. Her initial suspicion when seeing the door kicked open was that some asshole neighbor had seen her and Mick leaving in the ambulance and realized their apartment would be empty.

Now, it was obvious this was the work of Mario and Luigi. They’d finally gotten their vengeance.

And then some.

They’d taken a knife to basically everything in the room—her bed, pillows, curtains. All her clothing was in the middle of the floor, shredded to ribbons. Her beloved Stingrays jersey from Coulton lay on top, slashed and laying in three pieces. As she stepped closer, she wrinkled her nose at the stench, because they’d obviously pissed on everything as well.

Her picture frames, mirror, and makeup were broken, shattered glass all over the place. They’d overturned her dresser and nightstand, smashing them so that now the only thing they were good for was kindling. The handful of books she’d had on her dresser were shredded, ripped apart, and strewn across the piss-covered mountain of her ruined belongings.

It was total annihilation.

A complete loss.

Ainsley wasn’t sure how long she stood there, looking at her destroyed possessions.

She’d thought Mick had delivered the knockout punch back at the hospital, but she was wrong.

This was the true KO.

Walking back to the living room, she perched on the edge of Mick’s old recliner, her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands.

Briefly, she considered calling the cops, then decided why bother?

God, she was tired.

Ainsley remained there, head in hands, for…she didn’t know how long. When she lifted her head, blinking in pain, her eyes drier than the Sahara Desert, she tried to clear the fuzz in her brain, tried to figure out what to do next.

Coulton.

She wanted to talk to Coulton.

Pulling her phone from the bag still crisscrossed over her body, she opened it. It was early, not quite seven a.m. He was getting back this morning, but she didn’t know exactly when.

Several notifications had popped up from her various socials. One from the Stingrays Facebook page caught her eye. Coulton would be way too pleased if he knew she—the self-proclaimed non-hockey fan—had started following the team on all her socials.

She grinned when she saw a picture of Tank in his Stingrays uniform, leaning on his hockey stick in the arena, looking like a total badass. According to the post, he was thankful for ice. When she glanced at the second picture attached to the post, she shook her head. It was of him at Pat’s Pub with a glass of bourbon in his hands, one of those huge single pieces of round ice chilling the liquor.

Sliding down the thread, she realized all the players had a post about what they were thankful for. There was a picture of Blake and Erika together, holding their adorable puppy, Corky. In another post, Victor posed with a tiny girl perched on his shoulders. She assumed this was Pip, the niece Victor was thankful for. It was the greatest picture on earth, because both the young girl and her uncle were missing the same front tooth, and Ainsley couldn’t help the crushing weight on her chest as she wondered how different her life would have been if Mick had carried her around on his shoulders, laughing with her when she was little.

She continued scrolling until she found the one she most wanted to see. Her heart gave a tiny lurch when she saw the photo of Coulton with his hands resting on Slade’s shoulders, the two guys looking at each other with genuine affection. She might have been more moved by the shot, but she was too distracted by the second picture.

In it, Coulton sat with Victor, Blake, and a woman. Not just any woman.

Evelyn.

Ainsley wasn’t proud to admit she’d done a fairly deep dive on Evelyn a week or so ago. It had been a slow night at the tavern, and she’d fallen down the Instagram rabbit hole, scrolling through Coulton’s pictures, soaking in every detail. As such, she’d seen pics of his parents and cousins, loads of him and Slade and his teammates, and even farther down in the timeline, pictures of him and Evelyn. He hadn’t deleted them because, according to him, they were still on good terms.

Once she had Evelyn’s last name, she’d gone into full online stalker mode, checking out all the other woman’s socials, curious about the kind of woman who could capture and hold Coulton’s heart for five years. During her undercover Facebook search, she’d learned that Evelyn was dating a doctor.

Studying the photo again, she realized it was a recent picture, because she recognized the Stingrays sweatshirt she’d watched him pack two days earlier. And because of his beard…

He’d trimmed it more closely than he normally liked on Tuesday morning, because of her . Ainsley had distracted him, perching on the edge of the sink to watch him shave. He bitched when he’d cut the beard too low down on one of his cheeks. Had been forced to even the sides, after which he’d tickled her, claiming it was her fault he’d messed up because she was so damn sexy he couldn’t concentrate.

His beard was wrong in this picture.

That was when another thing hit her.

His away game had been in Vancouver.

Ainsley had been so stupidly drunk on orgasms Tuesday morning, she hadn’t put two and two together.

Coulton had seen Evelyn while he was away. She shouldn’t be surprised by that. He’d told her he was friends with his ex-girlfriend, a concept that felt incredibly strange to her. If she never saw Monty, Jagger, or Tiger again, it would be too soon.

Then she read the post, curious about his answer to the Thanksgiving question. Coulton said he was thankful for his parents, Slade, his teammates, and friends—old and new.

There wasn’t a single mention of her.

And she hated just how much that hurt.