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CHAPTER NINETEEN

MIA

N early a week and nothing.

No word from Jessie.

Last time, he at least read my messages; this time, he’s not even opened them.

I wrap and tie a bunch of red roses, handing them over to a customer before passing them their change.

I wish I could be angry with him for ghosting me because then I’d be able to shake the nauseating dread swirling in my stomach. The more hours that go by without a response from him, the more I worry he’s gone off at the deep end. It’s also impossible to be angry with someone when they deliver a half-dozen heaters to your freezing dorm.

But he didn’t even reply to my thank-you text.

“There’s only a half hour left, and we’re quiet. Why don’t you take off, Mia?” Carly, my boss, pokes her head around the corner of her office door.

“You sure?” I reply.

I don’t mind waiting. Today’s shift has at least somewhat distracted my mind.

Carly holds out a white envelope in her hand. “Here’s your paycheck and a little tip to say thank you . The Christmas period was heavy, but profitable. I wanted to share some of it with you.”

I take the envelope from her hand. “Thank you.”

She smiles at me warmly and closes the door to her office as I grab my jacket off the hook on the back and begin slipping it on.

“Um, are you still open?” A British voice filters in from behind me.

I turn around to see Felicity standing at the counter, a bouquet of pink roses in her left hand.

“I can come back tomorrow.” Her eyes go wide as she recognizes me. “Oh, Mia. Hi again.”

“Hey,” I greet her, walking across to wrap the flowers. “No, we aren’t closed. I was just about to head home.”

She passes them to me and watches as I begin rolling them into white paper.

“I didn’t know you worked at my favorite florist.”

I shrug. “It’s part-time. I pick up hours when I can. Helps to pay the bills.”

As I look up, she nods, her green eyes meeting mine. She doesn’t smile though; her expression is more worried. “Are you okay?”

I snap off a piece of tape from the dispenser, securing the wrap. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It’s then I make the fatal mistake and look at her again. The warmth in her eyes tells me she’s not buying my bullshit, and I blink back the moisture building up on my lashes.

Reaching into her tote bag, she fetches out a fresh tissue and hands it to me.

I figure it’s useless hiding my upset, and I dab at my eyes, smearing mascara on the tissue.

She takes in a breath through her nose and pauses, the silence stretching between us. The only sound is heavy rain pounding the sidewalks outside.

“Look, Mia. We might not know each other that well, but I want you to know whatever it is, it’s safe with me.”

I look down and shake my head. “I can’t say.”

“Is it Jessie?”

My head whips up to her. “Jessie?”

She nods slowly and hands me a twenty. “Don’t be mad. But Kate Jones is my best friend. She mentioned you were round at theirs last week, babysitting the twins with Jessie.” A delicate smile pulls at her lips. “It didn’t come as a surprise that you were seeing each other. I had seen the way he looked at you in the bar.”

“W-we aren’t seeing each other.” I drop my shoulders and sigh. “We shouldn’t even be friends.”

Frantically, I grab a random green ribbon and begin tying it around the bouquet.

She reaches out and places a hand on top of mine to steady me. “I don’t need to know details, but Kate told me that you’ve known each other a long while.”

On a long breath, I finish the bow and look up at her. “We do. But it’s complicated. We aren’t supposed to know each other anymore. The thing is, I’m worried about him. I haven’t seen or really heard from him since he went home to Dallas last weekend.”

Felicity presses her lips together. “Neither have we. He was supposed to be at my son’s game last night, but he didn’t show. He sent a text saying he was sick and couldn’t go.”

My brows knit together. “Sick?”

She nods. “He texted the boys and said he had the flu and that he’d see them at practice tomorrow.”

“He hasn’t replied to any of my texts,” I say, my worry only increasing.

“He probably doesn’t want you to stress about him.”

I huff out a laugh and hand Felicity her change. “A little too late for that.”

“Why don’t you go round to see him?” she suggests.

Huffing out another laugh, I grab my cell and bag from the side and check the screen—still no messages from Jessie. “I would if I knew where he lived.”

She looks genuinely surprised, but doesn’t say anything.

“Like I said, we aren’t supposed to see each other. It’s a long story.”

Felicity takes out her phone and begins tapping on the screen. “One involving your dad, I’m guessing.”

She sets her phone down on the counter, the screen lit up with an address. When she leans toward me slightly, I catch a hint of coconut. “Like I said, I don’t need the details, but I do know the owners of large NHL teams, thanks to a hockey-mad husband.” She nods her head at my paycheck envelope on the side, which has Mia Jenkins scrawled across the front. “I might be reaching here, but would I be wrong to hazard a guess that Graham Jenkins is your father?”

I nod once.

She smiles and taps the screen on her phone with her pointer finger. “This is Jessie’s address.”

I pick up a pen and scrawl the address on a piece of scrap paper. “You don’t miss anything.”

“Lawyer, babe. It’s my job to notice things.”

I set the pen down and smile at her. “Kate didn’t tell you who my dad was? I guess she knows too.”

She picks up the flowers and hugs them to her chest with one arm, adjusting her emerald scarf with the other hand. “No, she didn’t. She only mentioned you when I accused her of eating all my ice cream. There are some things Kate won’t go down for.”

I bark out a laugh and then wince. “Yeah, that was me. Sorry.”

Felicity chuckles and then offers me a warm smile, pulling up the hood on her coat and getting ready to leave. “I won’t hold ice cream against any girl.” She pauses. “Go see him.” Felicity turns to leave, but then stops.

She sets the flowers on the counter between us, and then picks up the pen, quickly scribbling a number next to the address. “This is my contact. If you ever need anything, you know where I am.”

The rain beats against my umbrella as I stand at the entrance to Jessie’s apartment building.

What am I doing? If he wanted to see me, he would’ve replied. He didn’t have a problem texting his friends.

My doubts aren’t enough to stop me though as I walk into the building with a drenched bouquet of flowers being squashed under my arm as I shove my umbrella into its holder.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” the doorman asks me as I continue to frustratingly fight with the umbrella.

“Huh?” I look up at him, my slightly damp, dark hair stuck to my face. I stand straight and smile at him. “Yeah, I, um, have a delivery of flowers for Mr. Callaghan.” I point at the small card with Jessie’s address across the front.

A crease forms between his brow. “I haven’t seen Mr. Callaghan in a couple of days. He might be out of town. But let me try his number.”

My eyes flare wide. “Oh, um … I mean, it’s a surprise delivery. He isn’t expecting them.”

He smiles at me empathetically and walks across to the desk. When he lifts the phone, I watch as he waits a few seconds before speaking and then nodding once.

“Mr. Callaghan says you can bring them right up,” the doorman says, walking back over to me. “He’s in apartment number three twenty-nine on the third floor.”

My stomach twists as I ride the elevator to Jessie’s floor. There’s every chance he knows it’s me coming to check on him, pushing him to see me when he doesn’t want to. But I keep walking anyway, my body refusing to listen to the doubts swirling in my mind.

I get halfway down the hallway when his door number comes into view, and I stop. I could just knock and leave the flowers by the door and then hightail it out of here.

I turn on my heel. Or I could just leave altogether.

“Mia?”

Slowly spinning back around, I see Jessie standing in his apartment doorway. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, and his fitted black shirt clings to his ripped torso.

Awkwardly, I raise the flowers. “Just delivering these. I heard you were sick.”

He smiles, but not his usual easy smile whenever he sees me. He’s trying his best, but I can see the pain he’s in.

As I walk toward him, he looks more like he did that day in the library—pale, washed out. Full of anguish.

“You don’t look well.”

He rests his head on the doorframe. “Want to come in?”

“Sure.”

Jessie’s apartment is exactly like I imagined it to be—a bachelor pad. A large black L-shaped couch sits in the middle of a living space and is the first thing you notice as soon as you enter. The couch faces a stone wall with a fireplace and a huge flat screen TV above it. There’s a coffee table set in front of the couch, which sits on a gray rug, the only thing that breaks up the wood-effect tiles, which run the length of the open living space and into the gray kitchen.

The place is modern and really large.

Jessie points to my coat. “You want me to take that?”

Alternating the bouquet between my hands, I shrug off my jacket and hand it to him, but as he reaches up to hook it on the back of the door, he winces.

“What’s the matter?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Jessie,” I drawl, “I’m going to be really honest with you right now.” I take a deep breath as he looks at me from a few feet away. “I should be really pissed at you for ignoring me all week.” I exhale and tuck my hair behind my ears. “But I’m too busy worrying about you. What’s going on? I heard you’re sick with the flu. You look pale, but it’s not from that, is it?”

Jessie steps forward a couple of paces, taking the bouquet from my left hand. “You’re so pissed at me that you brought me flowers?”

I quirk a brow. “They were more of an excuse to get past security since you weren’t expecting me and they wouldn’t know who I was.”

There must be only a foot separating us when I see the dark circles under his eyes.

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around—me buying you the flowers?” He smiles softly at me.

I shrug and look down at the battered yellow roses. “I saw Felicity at the florist, and she said you didn’t turn up at a game last night. She said you’d texted the boys to say you were sick. But you hadn’t replied to me, and I got worried. So, she gave me your address. I thought about leaving you alone, but I …”

When he brings a palm to the side of my face, I tingle at his touch.

“I’m okay, I promise,” he whispers. “Nothing that I haven’t been through before, Mia. I can handle it.”

“Then why did you go MIA on me again?” I ask. I close my eyes as his thumb strokes my cheek once. “Something happened back home, didn’t it?”

When I open my eyes, his tongue pokes out and slides along his bottom lip as he looks at me.

“What did I say about not pushing red buttons?” Jessie takes a step back, his hand leaving my face.

He turns to head toward the kitchen, but instinctively, I wrap an arm around his waist to stop him.

“Wait.”

Jessie shoots back and groans quietly; he tries to hide his reaction, but I don’t miss the wince as he hisses in response to my touch.

All my alarm bells go off at once.

“Jessie?”

Clearly trying to push past what just happened, he strides across to the kitchen, his hand clamped over his side as he fills up the sink and drops the flowers into the water.

“Jessie,” I repeat, and this time, my voice is serious.

He doesn’t turn around or even acknowledge me as he leans over slightly, bracing his hands on either side of the sink.

I’m across the kitchen and behind him in no time.

As I place my hand over one of his, I whisper softly, “Let me see what’s hurting. Please.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“It wasn’t a request, baby. Let me see.” The nickname I used to call him slips out before I can stop myself.

He drops his shoulders, maybe in defeat. But for once in his life, he doesn’t fight me as I slowly peel up the Dri-FIT shirt.

I don’t know whose gasps they are, but they fill the silent apartment as I take in his black-and-blue torso.

He continues to allow me access, and I peel more of his shirt upward, taking in the marks.

It’s horrific, heartbreaking, sickening. These injuries are the kind only another human could inflict. They aren’t from hockey.

“Jessie, please tell me … was this from your dad?” I don’t sound surprised because I’m not. The nausea swirling in my stomach the past few days was a result of what I’d already known.

He nods once, but doesn’t say anything more, almost like he’s accepted that I’m not backing down. I’ve pushed the red button and seen a glimpse of the real world he lives in. But I’m not pulling away at the sight of his bruises.

My breath catches in my throat as he slowly turns around to face me. The front of his torso is arguably worse. His skin is so black and blue that it’s hard to make out the tattoos I asked him about in my dorm.

“Jessie, you need to see a doctor.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do. I—you?—”

“I don’t go and see doctors, Mia. I never have, and I never will. If I show up looking like this, then they’ll ask questions, and when I don’t answer them, they’ll start talking to the team.”

“But you’re in pain. This looks really bad,” I say, tracing a very light hand over some of the marks.

“This level of pain isn’t anything I can’t handle. I’m used to it.”

“But this could be really serious. I’ve never seen any?—”

His palm lands on my cheek again, cutting off my rambling, and I look up at him with glassy eyes.

“I need to see it all.” I tug upward on his shirt, asking him to remove it. “Take off your top and show me all of it. Everything you’re feeling.”

“This doesn’t scare the shit out of you? Knowing my own family, my own flesh and blood, did this to me?”

I shake my head. “It sickens me, and, yeah, it’s shocking to know your dad could do something like that. But nothing about you could ever scare me. I’m more interested in making sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Tough.”

A cocky smile pulls at his lips. “You can be really stubborn sometimes—you know that?”

His face contorts with pain as he pulls off his top to reveal more of his upper body. Bruises stretch from his waist to his shoulders with some starting to turn yellow, but they’re especially bad across his rib cage.

I shake my head and look at him. “Is this why you didn’t call me? Because this had happened and you didn’t want me to know?”

Jessie continues to stare down at me as I take in his injuries, which have given me more answers in thirty seconds than I’ve had over the past four years.

He huffs out a dry laugh. “I didn’t want you to see me this way, and I was in too much pain yesterday to go watch a game. Even with my pain threshold, the guys would’ve noticed.”

“I don’t see how we can have a friendship if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

Jessie squeezes his eyes shut and leans down to my height. When he rests his forehead against mine, my body trembles at the contact.

“We aren’t friends, Mia.”

My heart drops. “We aren’t? But I thought that’s what you wanted?”

He puffs out another humorless laugh and his breath tickles my lips. “I’ve got plenty of friends in my life, male and female. But none of them makes me feel the way you do. They show up for me, yeah, but I don’t want to show myself to them. Only you. I’ve never shown my bruises to anyone, except you just now.”

I want to tell him the same, but I don’t. Instead, I place a warm palm over his heart.

He reaches up and takes my other hand in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing the tips of my fingers tenderly. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you from the second I found out you were in Seattle. No, from the second I walked out of your house that day Graham caught us. But I’ve never wanted to kiss you more than at this moment right now. I’m sorry for being a fucking idiot and ignoring you. Sometimes, letting in the person who sees you the most is the hardest thing to do.”

He kisses my fingers again and then pulls back slightly, his heart beating rapidly under my palm. “If I said fuck it and took you into my bedroom right now, would you stop me? Would all this be too fast, even after years of being apart?”

My heart races at the same speed as his, reminding me of the last time I felt this way. I’d just turned nineteen, and I was waiting for the boy standing in front of me to remove my bra.

I cast my eyes over his battered but still-beautiful body. “The only reason I’d say no would be to stop you from hurting yourself further. You’re in pain, and I don’t want to be the reason you hurt more.”

He runs his fingers through my hair as he rests his hand at the nape of my neck, drawing me closer to him. “Yeah, it hurts, Sweetheart. But trust me when I say that the pain in my body is nothing compared to the thought of spending another fucking second without touching you like you’re mine.”