Page 15

Chapter 15

Crosby

I ’m loading the last dirty plate into the dishwasher when my doorbell rings. I glance at the clock on the microwave, noting it’s too early for Gus to be here recounting his exploits from the night. Plus, he’d never ring the bell, and I don’t have any texts announcing his arrival.

I dry my hands on a towel, push the start button, and head down the hall. As I pass Dad’s picture, I tap three times without thought. The habit is so ingrained I would feel more weird if I didn’t do it. He’s been on my mind a lot the past few days. Ever since Violet asked me about my family. I don’t know why I faltered when she asked about them. My dad isn’t a topic I seek out to discuss, but years of therapy have helped me be okay with talking about him when asked.

After she divulged she was also raised by a single father, a commonality I wasn’t expecting, I still clammed up. My story doesn’t end as happily as hers. It ends with the night of my senior year championship game in high school and my father dying in a car accident on the way there. But something in Violet’s quiet understanding, her permission to move on from a topic I was struggling with, makes me feel like I can tell her.

The doorbell sounds once more just as I look through the peephole. Violet is standing on my porch, bundled into a peacoat and scarf. November nights have officially started ushering in winter, with the temperatures sinking low after dark.

I’ve barely opened the door before she barrels into me, cold arms wrapping around me and holding firm. I shut the door behind her and cuddle her close. The chill from outside threatens to send a shiver down my spine, but I just hold Violet tighter.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” I ask, rubbing my hands along her back and up and down her arms.

I want to chase the cold away, but I’m also happy for the excuse to touch her. Every thought since leaving her room has been how to hold her again. It took all my strength to avoid riding the elevator to her office after our skate today. But it didn’t keep me from looking up to the glass windows I’d never paid attention to before, searching the panels until I found the one with the brunette and a little red phone booth statue next to her.

She looked so beautiful from where I stood, leaning against the boards. She was focused, staring at her computer while she worked, then smiling when she turned to talk to Leah from accounting at the opening of her cubicle. Violet had a happiness and lightness unlike what I had seen from her during her time with the team. As I lapped Tex in warm-ups, I hoped I may have had a part in bringing it to her.

Now, Violet is huddled against me, holding on tightly like I’m an anchor designed to keep her from floating away from whatever worry radiates off her. Carefully, I lead her back a few steps away from me and further into the warmth of the house. She finally lets me go, looking up at me with a little smile that won’t reach her eyes. She begins to unbutton her coat, a silent question to stay, answered when I hang it in the entryway closet.

She still hasn’t responded to my question, but she doesn’t need to. I can tell from the way she holds my hand as I lead us to the living room that it’s more than worry she’s grappling with. There’s sadness and regret mixed into the emotions flickering in her eyes when we sit on the couch.

“Talk to me,” I begin, reaching for her. She came to me for a reason tonight, and I’m feeling driven to make sure I’m exactly what she is looking for. I settle into the corner of my plush couch, guiding her to sit on my lap. She comes willingly, nothing sexual in the way she sits astride my hips, her warm center on my lap. There’s just a sad, sweet smile on her lips when I cradle her face to look at me.

“Sparks, please.” I run my thumb along the rise of her cheekbone. I make sure to put enough of a plea in my voice that she will answer. Her eyes glass over, the tears threatening to spill, and I’m willing my blood pressure to hold steady. Something has her rattled. It’s setting my teeth on edge but coiling like a snake about to strike won’t help her right now. Catching the first tear that falls will.

I do just that, sweeping it away and leaning forward to give her a soft kiss. She allows it; a gentle reminder that even if we haven’t started anything conventional between us, I’m here for her. Her lips tremble slightly under my own, the saltiness of past tears staining my tongue before I pull away. She snuggles down into the crook of my neck, hand drawing lazy shapes on my chest while I hold her.

“I studied statistics. Both at Brown and in London. When I finished my master’s, I signed on for a one-year internship in my field to give me more real-world experience. The school worked with a set rotation of companies, but my adviser notified me I was being matched with a new firm. They had, of course, donated a lot of money to establish more scholarships for women in STEM, and I fit the requirements they were looking for.” Her voice is quiet but steady. I start a pathway with my fingers along the outside of her thigh. Light and reassuring, I let my touch tell her I’m listening. “I was flattered. The position was everything I could have dreamed of. I would be keeping stats on a hockey team from Sweden while helping the firm’s owner set up the London office. When I wasn’t traveling to watch games, I was helping use the data to build contracts or analyze potential new players from scouting reports.”

Violet pauses. Her fingers stop moving along the top of my pectoral, and she drops her hand to wrap as far around me as she can. She still hasn’t lifted her head. As much as I’m desperate to see her face, watch her as she speaks to catch a better hint of what she’s feeling. I think this is the only way she can get through it. I pause my own movements, curling my hand around the back of her leg, giving an encouraging squeeze. The span of my palm takes up almost half of her thigh. The visual, coupled with the vulnerability in the secret she shares with me, makes Violet feel so much smaller than she is.

“There was a player on the team. Right winger. My boss was his agent.” She exhales against my throat. Her breath is hot, but from the way Violet tenses on my lap, her emotions are getting hotter. “He was good. Probably the best in Sweden. And off the ice? He was dazzling.”

I stretch out my hand. I didn’t realize I had started gripping her so hard. I swallow slowly, having an idea of where her story goes.

“It didn’t take very long before we were involved.” There’s a touch of shame in the way she says it, disappointment lacing through the memory. “Our relationship lasted for months. He promised me… everything I could have wanted. I was getting ready to tell my dad on his next visit that I wasn’t planning on coming home. I was going to live in London permanently, and I had found the love of my life.”

She sits up, searching my face for a moment. Her eyes have cleared, and there is a determined look on her face. Whatever melancholy her story brought on has cleared. I hold her hips to keep her steady, my fingertips sneaking a little under the hem of her sweater and pressing against her soft, warm flesh.

“He was the lie of my life, Crosby.” Violet holds my face now, keeping me still while she finishes her story. “He never wanted me . His agent—my boss—knew who I was as soon as he hired me and my paperwork cleared HR. They manipulated me. It nearly broke me when I caught him talking to my boss about how I had finally agreed to let him meet my dad. He was finally going to ‘have his in’ with the NHL, and all it took was ‘fucking the little numbers girl.’ to get it. All he ever wanted was what I could give him access to. He used me.”

Anger, searing and sudden, courses through me. The tension I’ve fought off through her story snaps taut up my spine. I squeeze my hands, Violet wiggling a little in discomfort. I soothe the sting by rubbing gently. She’s watching me carefully, releasing my face and resting her hands on my chest. She rubs them up and down my sternum. It grounds me, leaching out the rage I rarely feel.

“I needed you to know,” Violet says. “I quit my internship immediately. I informed the school I needed to be reassigned, and they were amazingly supportive. I finished my assignment working for a British soccer team. It wasn’t my dream, but it was far away from hockey and gave me the space I needed to mend my broken heart. Ultimately, I knew the best way to stitch myself back together was to come home and swear off all hockey players.”

There’s a little knowing smile she gives me at that. It eases the ache in my chest as much as her roaming fingers do.

“I only really succeeded at one of my two goals by coming back.” She leans forward, kissing me sweetly. Her mouth is hot and welcoming against mine. The smallest nip of her teeth on my bottom lip tells me to grant her more access. I open for her, a gentle stroke of her tongue coaxing mine to kiss her back thoroughly. Just as our breaths are blurring together, Violet pulls back. Her lips are plumped from our kiss, her pupils large, nearly covering the blue of her irises. She leans back a little, rubbing ever so slightly against me.

I groan at the sensation, my dick has become very aware of her proximity over the last few minutes. Violet sneaks a glance down at my lap, a pretty pink blush filling the apples of her cheeks.

“Sorry. Just ignore that. Happens a lot where you’re concerned,” I say. I lift her, adjusting her until she sits beside me with her legs draped across my lap. My boner will have to find a way to calm himself down because I refuse to be the asshole who takes advantage of an emotionally vulnerable woman. She gives me a little laugh, intertwining our fingers and setting them atop her legs. “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine how painful it must have been. Your ex sounds like a real dick. It’s a good thing he plays halfway around the world.”

“He signed with Portland. He’ll be on the ice for your next game,” Violet says with a flat tone. It feels like my eyebrows have taken residence in my hairline. I angle my face to look down at her. Violet nods her confirmation.

“Is that so?” My voice comes out steely. There’s nothing soft in me right now. The rage that had receded crashes over me again like a dangerous high tide in the ocean. I’m not usually a violent person on the ice. I play hard, physical, because the game requires it. But I’ve always tried to keep out of the penalty box since it meant less time on the ice, keeping my skills off the radar of the coaching staff. I couldn’t move up the lines if I were catching a reputation as a goon. Now, for the first time in all the years I’ve played, I wonder what it would be like to leave someone’s blood on the ice.

“You going to tell me his number, Sparks?” I have an idea, but I need confirmation. Obadiah’s mood and mysterious phone call before the Columbus game comes back to me.

“Seven.” Violet doesn’t hesitate. If she’s put off by the change in my demeanor, she doesn’t show it. “He wears his lucky number. He’ll be on the third line.”

“Luck won’t save him from me.”