Page 5

CHAPTER FOUR

Coulton lifted the griddle, giving it a quick swish with his wrist to flip the pancake. He kept an ear out for his overnight guest, anxiously waiting for her to join him.

Last night had started out as a waking nightmare. Walking into that tavern and seeing those two men attacking Ainsley had stolen ten years off his life.

She’d been fighting with everything she had—and as much as that impressed him, he’d known she wasn’t going to win.

He had tossed and turned most of the night, thinking about what would have happened if he hadn’t stopped by Mick’s.

Because he’d walked in and…

Fuck.

He should have taken her to the hospital, and he should have called the cops. He wasn’t sure why he’d let her talk him out of it.

“I smelled bacon.”

He turned at the sound of her voice. Ainsley stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms crossed, looking decidedly rumpled and maybe even grumpy. She was dressed in her jeans but still wore his T-shirt. He liked seeing her in his clothing.

What he didn’t like was the dark bruise covering nearly her entire right cheek.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said as cheerfully as he could muster, despite the murderous thoughts racing through his brain of what he’d do if he ever ran into Mario and Luigi.

She grunted. “Oh God. You’re one of those morning people, aren’t you?”

He was, but he didn’t bother to admit it. Instead, Coulton chuckled as he slid a couple of pancakes onto a plate and set it in the same place she sat last night. Then he carried over the platter of bacon he’d fried. “There’s butter and syrup, but if you want something else, let me know.”

Ainsley looked at the plate like it was a snake. “You made me breakfast?”

“Of course, I did. You want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” she said, looking like a dog begging for a treat.

He grabbed the pot and filled a large mug. “Cream or sugar?”

She shook her head. “Drink it black.”

Coulton handed her the mug. “Me too.”

“What time is it?” she asked.

Coulton glanced at the clock on the stove. “Eight thirty.”

“Jesus Christ. How are you functioning?” Ainsley didn’t wait for a response as she slid onto the stool, buttering her pancakes.

Coulton joined her, adding bacon to his own plate. It was nice having her here. He’d never shared breakfast with a woman in this kitchen.

Ainsley hummed her appreciation after the first bite. “Mmm. These are so good.”

He smiled. “Glad you like them. I packed up the rest of your salad from last night. It’s in the fridge if you want to take it home for lunch. Figure it’s better for you than those damn pizza bites.”

She gave him that confused look he was becoming familiar with, the one that had him convinced no one had ever done anything thoughtful just for her. He hated it, hated thinking that she’d lived so long without a simple thing like kindness.

“How old are you?” he asked, suddenly curious.

“Twenty-four. What about you?”

“Thirty-two.”

Ainsley continued eating. Fast. Too fast.

He placed his hand over hers just as she was about to shove a third piece of pancake into her mouth before chewing and swallowing the first two. “Slow down, wildcat, or you’ll choke.”

She put down her fork and took a sip of coffee. “I’m just trying to get out of your hair. I’m sure you have stuff you need to do, and I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

“I don’t have anything to do,” he said, determined to learn more about Ainsley. “We have a game tonight, so I don’t have to be at the arena until later this afternoon. My morning is wide open. And you’ll never overstay your welcome.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool.” She glanced toward the door to the kitchen, though she looked less intent on making an escape.

“You feel okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s not the worst beating I’ve ever had.”

Every time she mentioned being hurt before, Coulton’s chest tightened. “Your brother?”

Ainsley shook her head. “Mick. But I don’t want to…” She closed her mouth and looked away.

Coulton let the subject drop there. “I’m glad you’re okay physically, but I meant emotionally. Last night was scary as fuck.”

Ainsley didn’t look at him when she said, “I’m fine,” in a way that told him she was lying. And while he didn’t know her well, he was getting very good at reading her expressions. This one was telling him she was finished talking about the attack.

She proved it when she turned the conversation to him. “Do you like playing hockey?”

“I love it,” he replied. “Greatest job on the planet.”

“I guess you travel a lot.”

Coulton nodded. “We play over forty away games each season, and when you add in exhibitions and playoffs, it’s even more.”

“Must be cool to see so much of the country. I’ve never even been out of Maryland.”

Just like she’d never had a bath. That confession had thrown him for a loop last night. And it made Coulton want to know what else she’d never had, overwhelmed him with the desire to expose her to all the amazing things in life that she’d missed out on.

Like baths and travel.

Coulton rose to grab the coffeepot, refilling her cup and his. “Truth of the matter is, I see very little of the cities we travel to apart from the hotels and the arenas.”

“That’s a shame.”

“What’s a shame is never leaving Maryland,” he replied.

She shrugged, which Coulton was quickly learning was a tell for Ainsley. She shrugged whenever she was uncomfortable.

“I have done a fair bit of traveling, though,” he continued. “During the off-season, I usually plan a nice vacation, either to do some hiking and fishing in the national parks or tour around Europe.”

“Wow. Europe.”

“You ever think about traveling? Have a dream vacation spot?”

She shook her head, her eyes glued to her plate. “No time. Or money,” she added softly before picking up her fork, speed-eating again. This whole conversation had been a minefield.

Rather than risk her trying to cut and run, he changed the subject again. She couldn’t eat if she was talking. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

Ainsley tilted her head. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m curious why you chose them? Like that birdcage. What made you get that one?” Coulton had wondered about that tattoo since first spotting it.

Ainsley bit her lower lip, and he was afraid maybe he’d chosen the wrong subject again.

“I got it when I was eighteen. Because of my mom.”

Coulton didn’t know much about Ainsley’s family beyond the fact her dad was sick, her brother had a gambling problem, and they were both assholes. She hadn’t mentioned her mom.

“She left when I was six,” Ainsley continued, suddenly fascinated by her coffee cup.

“I’m sorry.”

She gave him that shrug. “To be honest, I don’t remember her very well. My memories of her are more feelings than actual events.”

“What do you remember?”

“Just that she was always sad. She cried a lot.”

“Is she still alive?” Coulton asked.

“I have no idea. She didn’t leave a note or tell us where she was going or anything. Mick was at the bar, working, like always. Mom was usually at the apartment waiting for us, but that day, when Eli and I got home from school, the door was unlocked and she was gone. We didn’t know what to do, so we sat there, watching TV until Dad got back late that same night. He was furious when he realized her stuff was gone and she’d left him.”

Coulton would have thought Mick’s first response would have been panic when he realized his young children had been alone all evening, but he was quickly coming to learn that Ainsley’s family didn’t do anything normal. Or kind.

He slid another piece of bacon onto her plate. She was thin, and given the way she’d devoured that salad last night, he was beginning to suspect that her slight frame was because she couldn’t afford to eat much. “Mick didn’t try to find her?”

“No. He just called her a stupid, worthless bitch and said good riddance.”

Wow. Just what every six-year-old girl wanted to hear after being deserted by her mother. Coulton hoped he never met Mick Hall. Then he decided he hoped he did. Because he had some choice words for the asshole.

“I still don’t understand the birdcage tattoo,” Coulton said, returning to the original question.

“It was just a drawing I’d been working on for a few years, and I thought?—”

“You drew it?” he interjected.

She nodded.

His eyes widened, and he blew out a low, impressed whistle, because the tattoo was seriously beautiful. It made him even more curious to see what else she’d drawn in that sketch pad of hers.

“Mom flew away. She escaped. I liked the idea of that. Of being free.”

Coulton reached out and grasped her hand. “You feel trapped?”

For the first time, her gaze lifted to his. “Life is a cage, Coulton.”

He didn’t have a clue how to respond to that, so silence crept in.

Mercifully, Ainsley found a way to break it, because his thoughts were reeling.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nodded. “Sure. Shoot.”

“How come you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Coulton chuckled. “What?”

“You’re obviously loaded, with a great condo, super-cool job, and you have to know you’re not hard to look at. So why are you single?”

“Are you trying to figure out what’s wrong with me?” he asked, amused.

She tilted her head, studying him curiously. “Yeah. Kind of. Because there’s no way you don’t have women beating down your door. Are you gay?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Not gay.”

“Are you one of those swaggering athletes with commitment issues and a revolving door of women going in and out of your bedroom?”

Coulton shook his head. “Nope. I’m not a fan of one-night stands. Prefer real relationships.”

Ainsley leaned back. “Yeah. None of that computes. So you must have a girlfriend.”

“Do you think I would have asked you out if I had a girlfriend?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Most of the guys I know have a side piece.”

“I don’t cheat, Ainsley. Don’t sleep around.”

She obviously didn’t believe him.

“I did have a girlfriend, Evelyn.”

Ainsley glanced toward the hallway in the direction of the guest room. “Is that the pretty blonde with you in the picture on the dresser, in the guest room?”

Coulton nodded. “Shit. I forgot that picture was in there. I don’t go in the guest room much and I didn’t really know what to do with that picture, so I just shoved it on the dresser in there. So yeah. That’s Evelyn. We were together for five years when I played for Vancouver. We did the long-distance thing for a short while, after I was traded to Baltimore.”

“But she wanted to stay in Vancouver?”

“She’s a nurse practitioner, and she works in a good practice in the city. Plus, her entire family lives in Vancouver. It’s where she grew up, so it’s home to her and she didn’t want to leave.”

“When did you break up?”

“A couple years ago, not long after I moved to Baltimore.”

“Why?”

Coulton grinned, pleased by her questions. It gave him hope that she was as interested in him as he was in her. “We both realized splitting up was for the best. She was a born-and-bred Canuck, with zero interest in moving to the U.S.”

“You could have moved there.”

“I could have, but I’m under contract with the Stingrays. And my plan is to play hockey until my body tells me I can’t anymore. I’m hoping that doesn’t happen for a while.”

“Five years is a long time to date someone, only to give up.”

“I wouldn’t say we gave up. We just changed the parameters of our relationship.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means she’s still a very good friend, hence me holding on to the picture. We keep in touch, and she’ll always be a part of my life.”

Ainsley shook her head, as if remaining friends with an ex was a concept she couldn’t wrap her head around, so he sought to explain it better. “We dated a long time, but in the end, I wondered how much of us staying together was due to a sense of familiarity and comfort versus true love.”

Ainsley snorted. “True love? God, you don’t really think that’s a thing, do you?”

Coulton frowned. “Of course I do. My parents have been married over forty years, and it’s definitely true love. You don’t believe in it?”

“Hard to believe in something you’ve never seen.”

Coulton thought about her parents. It was obvious they’d had an unhappy marriage, but what about Ainsley? Hadn’t she ever experienced love? “So no long-term relationships in your past?”

“My record is three years, and that was at least twelve months too long.”

Coulton waited, hoping Ainsley would expound on her comment, but she simply took a sip of coffee then glanced at her phone, a sure sign she was anxious to end the discussion.

“Well, I guess I should be going.”

Coulton wasn’t ready to see her leave, because he’d enjoyed this chance to get to know her better, even if she had only shown him bits and pieces.

Then he considered what was waiting for her at home. She mentioned that Mick would be pissed off about the stolen money, which pissed Coulton off. Her father was obviously as big a douchebag as her brother, and the more he learned about them, the angrier he became.

However, as much as he hated her returning home, the idea of her returning to Cherry Hill while those assholes who’d robbed her were still around sat even heavier on his chest. He didn’t share her confidence that they’d leave her alone now that they’d gotten some of their money. Those men struck him as the type who’d hold a grudge, and the lack of payment was probably lower on their list of concerns now. They’d no doubt want payback for the beatdown.

Which meant Ainsley was in danger.

“Why don’t you stay here a few days?” he offered.

Ainsley was shaking her head before he finished issuing the invitation. “Can’t. Need to go home and check on Mick. Then I have to head over to the tavern to put the furniture back in place before I open.”

“You’re opening the tavern?” He’d hoped after last night’s events she’d take at least a few nights off.

“Of course.”

“Take a few days off,” he insisted. “You’re still healing.”

Ainsley dismissed the idea out of hand. “That’s not an option.”

“What if those guys come back?”

She shrugged as if it wasn’t a real concern, something that chafed. Didn’t she have an ounce of self-preservation?

“Ainsley. Last night?—”

“I don’t want to talk about last night. It’s water under the bridge.”

Coulton scowled. “Like hell it is. You can’t bury your head in the sand on this. Those men were going to hurt you. They were going to?—”

Ainsley stood up abruptly, the stool squeaking loudly across the floor. “Look, Coulton. I appreciate what you did for me, but that doesn’t make you my keeper. You have zero say-so in my life.”

“I didn’t say I did, but?—”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t,” he argued, even though he couldn’t shake the image of her last night. She was fighting for her life, and it still wasn’t going to be enough. “It’s just?—”

“I have my bat,” she interjected. “And Maren is working today.”

He scoffed. A lot of fucking good that bat did for her last night. He started to say just that, but she kept talking.

“Coulton, I don’t have the luxury of not working. I need the money the tavern brings in to pay for my dad’s medical bills, plus rent and groceries and the mortgage on Mick’s, and so on and so on.”

“It’s not safe.”

She plucked at the hem of his shirt, clearly ready to be anywhere but here. “It’s where I live.”

It was a shitty answer, but an honest one. He viewed Cherry Hill with an outsider’s perspective, as someone who’d never lived in a truly dangerous place. Ainsley, however, had spent her life in that neighborhood, so she had adapted to her environment and found ways to survive.

While he might understand that, he didn’t like it. At all.

Ainsley drank the last sip of her coffee. “I really do need to go.”

“Just close the tavern tonight,” he pressed, hating the fact that he had to work and couldn’t protect her. “I’ll get you a ticket to the game.”

She shook her head. “I can’t, Coulton.”

He rose, fighting desperately for something that might change her mind, his heart thudding in panic.

“Thanks for last night,” she said, grabbing her phone, then looking down at herself. “I’ll return the shirt.”

He shook his head. “Keep it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay. Thanks.”

She left the kitchen, Coulton following in her wake as she made her way to the front door. He was overwhelmed by the desire to block the exit, because her returning to work bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Ainsley turned at the door, the sun shining brightly through the window, casting too much light on the bruise on her cheek. “Good luck at the game tonight.”

He frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

She glanced behind her at the door. “Leaving?”

Coulton rolled his eyes. “I’m driving you home.”

“I can get an Uber.”

He shook his head, grabbing his truck keys from the dish by the door. “Come on, Ainsley. Everything doesn’t have to be a fight.”

She pursed her lips but let it go.

The drive to her place was a quiet one, Coulton barely able to keep his temper at bay, which was a new emotion for him. He rarely got angry, but his blood was practically boiling. Not that he was mad at Ainsley, just at her really fucked-up, shitty situation. It also didn’t help that he had a fixer personality, and he couldn’t fix this.

His irritation got even worse when they turned down her street and he took in all the run-down buildings. The idea that she lived in one of them churned uncomfortably in his gut.

“This is me,” she said.

Of course, she pointed to the worst building on the block. The neglected place looked like it should have been condemned twenty years ago, and the desire to drag her back to his condo grew.

Coulton’s anger sparked, not at her but at the situation, as he pulled up to the curb and put the vehicle in park. “Give me your phone.” He didn’t mean to bark, but Ainsley didn’t take offense.

Instead, she took her cell out of her back pocket and handed it to him. He held it to her face to unlock the screen before adding his number into her contacts. Then he sent himself a text so he would have her number.

“Call me if you need…anything,” he said, changing his offer to something vague, because what he really wanted was for her to call him if those guys came back. He had to revise that, aware that if she placed that call when he was on the ice, he wouldn’t be able to help her until after the game. Which would be way too late.

She gave him a funny look but didn’t question what anything might entail.

Unable to resist, Coulton leaned over the console and gave her another kiss on the cheek. He’d done the same last night, pretending he was kissing her boo-boo. Today’s kiss was meant to be just as platonic, but the moment his lips touched her skin, they lingered.

Ainsley didn’t pull away; rather, she leaned into it, her eyes drifting closed.

“I’ll come to the tavern after the game,” he murmured in her ear.

“You don’t have to.”

He tilted her head up with a finger under her chin. “I’ll be there.”

She gave him a gorgeous smile, but it wasn’t enough to calm his unease at leaving her here. “See you later then.”

He watched as she walked into the building, the entrance unsecured, leaving all the residents at the mercy of whoever might walk in off the street.

Coulton sighed, trying to convince himself he was overreacting. She’d lived in this neighborhood her whole life. She would be fine.

Unfortunately, those reassurances refused to stick, so by the time he arrived at the arena that afternoon for the game, he was a powder keg about to explode.

“Damn. Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Tank asked, when Coulton roughly shoved his duffel bag into his locker, slamming the door shut.

“No one,” he grumbled, tempted to call Ainsley to make sure everything was okay.

His teammates gave him a wide berth when he started cursing and struggling with the clasp on one of his pads. “Fucking shit equipment.”

“You okay?” Preston ventured to ask as they started to head out to the ice.

“I’m fine,” he replied, even though he was clenching his jaw so tightly, it hurt. The idea of Ainsley defenseless in that tavern was working on him.

He tried to push those thoughts away when he took to the ice, but he failed. Soon, he was viewing his opponents as Mario and Luigi, taking their shots on goal as personal affronts. He caught every puck that flew in his direction, resisting the desire to shove his stick down someone’s throat, resenting the fact he was here instead of protecting Ainsley.

When the final buzzer sounded, the Stingrays emerged victorious. Not that Coulton gave a shit. He hadn’t let a single goal in, and while his teammates were jubilant, slapping him on the back and congratulating him for a hell of a game, all he could think about was getting to her.

He cut his postgame workout and stretches way too short because he couldn’t relax until he knew she was okay.

He didn’t say a word to anyone as he left the arena and hightailed it to Mick’s Tavern.

Coulton’s gaze drank her in as he stepped inside the dimly lit dive. She was pouring a beer from the tap, rolling her eyes as Maren and some young buck arm wrestled over the counter, several men passing dollar bills back and forth as they bet on the outcome. A cheer went up as Maren won, pounding the guy’s arm down to the surface with a surprising amount of force.

When Ainsley turned to see him standing there—and flashed him that same shocked expression she wore every time he showed up at Mick’s—the pressure that had been crushing his chest all day lifted.

“Coulton!” Petey cried out, using the right name.

“There’s our hero,” Maren exclaimed excitedly.

“You really did come,” Ainsley said.

Given the warm reception he was receiving, it was apparent Ainsley had outed him. Not that he minded. He was thrilled to know she was looking forward to seeing him again.

Coulton approached the counter, exchanging a glance with Ainsley, who gave him a guilty grin. “We watched your game. You were incredible.”

“Thought you hated hockey,” he said, as she put a pint of Natty Boh in front of him.

“Oh, I do,” she said, in a pure smart-ass tone. “Boring-as-shit game.”

He didn’t have a chance to respond as the regulars descended, surrounding him at the bar, giving him the same back slaps and congratulations he’d received from his teammates, everyone offering to buy him a beer.

Coulton didn’t mind the accolades, now that he was with her .

Once he’d answered no less than forty million questions and signed a cocktail napkin for nearly every single person in the place, most of the patrons began to return to their regular spots.

“Ainsley said you came along at just the right time last night,” Petey said, perched on the stool next to Coulton’s.

His gaze traveled to Ainsley, who was serving pitchers to a table of older women. The volume coming from the group told him this wasn’t their first round. Or second. Or third.

Ainsley had made a nominal attempt to conceal the bruise on her face with makeup, but it was still visible, as was the cut on her lip. No doubt she’d had to explain her injuries to the patrons.

“Wish I’d been here,” Petey muttered. “I’d’ve taught those fuckers a thing or two.”

“You’d have gotten in line behind me,” Maren added. “Not that there would have been anything left for you by the time I was done.”

Coulton had been losing his shit all day, and while he was still uneasy with Ainsley working here, he had to admit he felt easier knowing she had Maren and Petey and all the other regulars in her corner.

Not that it had helped her much last night.

“I’m glad I showed up when I did,” he said.

“Shame the assholes got the money,” Petey added. “I know things are tight for her and Mick, what with him being sick and Eli gambling and snorting away whatever he can steal from them.”

“You know Mick well?” Coulton asked.

Petey nodded. “Oh, hell yeah. Been drinking here for going on thirty-five, forty years. Known Ainsley her whole life. Her and her brother used to sit in that booth right over there after school and during the summers, when they were just wee little things.”

Petey noticed Coulton’s frown.

“Yeah,” the old guy continued, addressing what Coulton hadn’t said. “I know it probably wasn’t the best place for little kids, but Mick’s wife split, and he couldn’t afford to pay a babysitter.”

“So they stayed here? Every day?”

Petey nodded. “Yup. Mick has an old couch in the back storeroom. When it got to be too late, Ainsley and Eli would sleep there until close.”

Jesus. What the hell kind of childhood was that?

Coulton wanted to ask more, but Ainsley returned to her spot behind the bar, leaning on the counter behind her.

For two hours, he listened as Petey and Ainsley shared stories about the bar—recounting drunken brawls, some of the more colorful characters who’d passed through, and Mick’s “body count,” which was how they referred to the times Ainsley’s dad bounced someone out on their ass.

Maren hopped in a few times, adding her own stories to the mix.

When closing time rolled around, Coulton’s face hurt from laughing at their tall tales, and the stress he’d felt all day had abated.

Petey and Maren left together, leaving him and Ainsley alone. He helped her clean, then walked out with her, watching as she went through the routine of locking the door and pulling down the gate.

“Talk to your brother yet?” Coulton asked, hoping perhaps her brother would man up and do the right thing, paying off his own debts.

Ainsley shook her head. “Haven’t seen him. Fucker is laying low so I can’t find him. Probably hiding from those guys too.”

“Things go alright with your dad this morning?” Mick’s response to Ainsley’s injuries had been another item on his never-ending list of concerns today.

“He reacted the way I thought. Bitched about losing the money, but he was more pissed at Eli than me, so you know, small mercies.”

“Did he even mention the bruises?”

Ainsley gave him that quizzical look. Growing up with a neglectful, abusive dad had clearly skewed her thinking, made it impossible to see how wrong Mick’s reaction was. Then she grimaced. “Of course he did. That’s why I had to tell him about the robbery. It wasn’t like I was going to volunteer that info unless I had to.”

“And what did he say about you getting hurt?”

Ainsley gave him her shrug/tell. “He said I was soft. Said he raised a couple of pussies.”

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. By then, he’d only just managed to bank his temper. “Come home with me tonight.”

Ainsley frowned. “Why?”

Coulton stepped closer, reaching for her waist. If she gave him even the slightest indication she was uncomfortable or scared, he’d release her.

But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned in, her palms resting flat against his chest, not to push him away but to touch him. Then she lifted her face, her eyes heavy-lidded.

She was begging to be kissed.

“Why?” she repeated, when he didn’t respond, her voice was suddenly breathless.

Coulton lowered his head, his lips a mere inch from hers. “So I can kiss all those bruises of yours better.”

Ainsley grinned. “All of them? There are a lot.”

He leaned closer. “Every.” He gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. “Single.” This time, he placed his lips gently on her cut lip. “One.” This kiss lingered, but he didn’t increase the pressure, waiting for a sign from her.

When her hands found their way to his hair, her fingers tightening around it as she held him close, he knew he’d broken through the first of the many, many barriers she surrounded herself with.

Coulton pulled away. “Ainsley,” he murmured, waiting for her answer.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay?”

“I want to go home with you.”

Coulton closed the distance, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that he’d intended to keep gentle, considering her lip was still sore from the attack.

However, Ainsley had other plans, kissing him back with a hunger that matched the hardcore desire coursing through his veins.

They devoured each other for several minutes until a car passed, blaring the horn, someone hooting from the open window.

Coulton pulled away, his gaze locked on her swollen lips. Had they been like that before the kiss? The twinge of guilt he felt vanished when Ainsley flashed him a sexy smile.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

He nodded as several truths crashed down on his head.

Coulton was determined to be the one man who never caused her a second of pain, the one to introduce her to new experiences.

But even more than that, he wanted to be the man who brought her joy, happiness…

And maybe even true love.