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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Dozer

Marissa’s staring at me like I just popped out of the ground like a gopher, and that isn’t really helping me sell the idea that I should’ve been expected. She obviously didn’t expect me. Did I not make it clear that I was coming? I remember saying, “I’ll be there. See you soon,” right after she told me where this little shindig is being held. What else could that mean?

Her douchebag of an ex looks uncomfortable when I bare my teeth, and he’s surreptitiously trying to shake out his hand after I squeezed it a little harder than strictly necessary. I want him to be clear that I have Marissa’s back, and whatever bullshit he was spewing at her before I walked up? He’s done.

I only caught the tail end of what he was saying—something about her hoping to mess things up for him—but I could tell from their body language and the expression on her face that he definitely deserves to get his teeth knocked in. I know we’re not in an arena, so I can’t just drop my gloves and challenge him in the straightforward way I’m used to. But by the time we’re done, he’ll know not to fuck with Marissa.

She finally clears her throat, blinking a few times, and pulls herself together. “I’m glad you finally got here.”

“Sorry again,” I tell her, pointedly ignoring Peter Pecker over here. “Traffic was murder getting out of the airport, so it took longer than I expected.”

The smile she gives me is one hundred percent genuine. “I’m glad you were able to make it.”

“Yeah,” Peter puts in, apparently feeling the need to insert himself where he is very much not wanted. “Thanks for coming, man. Sorry I didn’t see your name on the guest list. What is it you do?”

Marissa rolls her lips between her teeth, stifling either a laugh or a smile, or maybe both. “Uh, Peter doesn’t follow sports much,” she says like it’s an aside only for me, but her voice is pitched so Peter hears her perfectly.

“Really? Not even football?” I ask.

Peter’s brows draw together, and he looks between Marissa and me again. “Uh, do you have something to do with football? Sorry, I don’t recognize your name …”

Still grinning, but more like a hyena about to pounce, I shake my head. “Nah, man. Not football. Hockey.”

He blinks but doesn’t appear to be phased by my pronouncement. “Oh? Are you any good?”

Marissa loses the fight to stifle her laughter, a snort escaping, and she slaps a hand over her mouth.

I don’t bother covering my own chuckle. “Some people think so.”

Peter’s smile turns arrogant and condescending. “Like who?”

“Well, my coaches as a kid thought I showed a lot of promise.” Peter snorts, and my grin grows wider. “So did my Junior league coaches when I played in high school. Getting drafted to the big show probably clinched it, though. I play for the Seattle Emeralds.”

It takes a second for him to connect the dots, but when he finally does, it’s priceless. “Oh, wow,” he eventually says. “That’s, uh, wow. Good for you. That’s really?—”

He keeps talking, but I’m bored of his blabbing already, and I barely even met the guy. With one last wolfish grin, I give him a little salute and steer Marissa away.

She cranes her neck, looking behind us. “That was kinda rude,” she whispers.

I arch an eyebrow at her. “So? He wasn’t being rude?”

Tilting her head back and forth, she breaks into a grin. “He was being a huge dick.”

“Which is probably the only kind of huge dick he has going for him,” I murmur, and she lets out the start of a cackle, once again slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Grinning, I shake my head. “Dude’s got little dick energy written all over him. No wonder you dreaded seeing him again. What a pompous douche. And what right does he have to be so condescending anyway? He’s a mechanic.” When she raises her eyebrows, I hold up my free hand. “No shade on mechanics. You and I both know I couldn’t do that job. But it’s not exactly the type of career you expect someone to be that much of an arrogant asshole about. Doctors? Yes. Lawyers? Sure. CEOs? Absolutely. Mechanics?” I shake my head. “They’re usually pretty cool. What happened to that guy?”

She shrugs and shakes her head. “I’m not sure. He wasn’t always like that, but I guess being tapped as Dad’s heir-apparent after Lance decided not to come home gave him an inflated sense of self-importance.” She chews on her lower lip for a second before continuing. “I think it was added to by the fact that Dad clearly preferred him over me, and when he let me help in the shop, he got a kick out of the sense of power he held by controlling my access to the thing I wanted to do.”

“God, that’s fucked up,” I breathe. Because yikes.

Meeting my eyes again, she gives me a wan smile. “I don’t think I’d actually articulated that before, even to myself.”

I give her a second to finish processing these new revelations, staying quiet until she meets my eyes again.

Clearing my throat, I lean in close so I can pitch my voice low. “I hope I didn’t overstep by coming here. You said you wished?—”

“God, no,” she interrupts. “You didn’t overstep at all. I did wish you could be here. I just didn’t expect you to make that wish come true.”

Pulling her in front of me, I gather her close. “I’ll always make your wishes come true,” I murmur. “As much as I can, anyway.”

She grins at me, looking happier and more relaxed than when she was talking to that tool bag, and I dip my head for a real kiss. God, it feels good to have her in my arms again.

A throat clears off to the side, and Marissa startles, breaking off the kiss and turning to face the newcomer.

It’s a classy-looking short woman in flowing black pants and a matching top with her silver hair shot through with darker steel cut in a chin-length bob. She curves her lips in the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. “Marissa, dear. Would you like to introduce me to your friend?” There’s the slightest bit of hesitation before the word “friend,” which only serves to emphasize her word choice.

Marissa’s chewing on the inside of her cheek in an effort to hide her smile. “Of course. Mom, this is Dozer. My boyfriend. Dozer, this is my mom, Elizabeth Kane.”

I release Marissa so she can stand next to me and extend out a hand for Marissa’s mom to shake, giving her my most charming smile. “Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

She doesn’t look terribly impressed with me, but she takes my hand and shakes it slowly. “I’ve heard about you,” she says, giving Marissa a meaningful glance. “I guess I hadn’t realized things had … progressed.”

“It’s recent,” Marissa puts in before I can respond. “I was planning on telling you, but I didn’t want to distract from all the festivities.”

Part of me wonders if that’s the real reason. I don’t think she’s embarrassed by me, and I know that coming back here has been a source of stress for her. But I’m not sure what to make of her keeping me quiet. Though the fact that she’s happy to remain tucked under my arm goes a long way toward reassuring me that it’s more to do with her own comfort with sharing things with her family and not anything to do with me.

Another young woman who looks a lot like Marissa slides in next to Elizabeth. She has the same long, sleek dark hair, the same twinkle in her eye that shows she finds something especially funny, the same curve of her lips as she tries to hold back her smile. “Hello. You must be Dozer?” She leans forward and offers her hand.

I take it. “I am. And you’re the little sister?”

She laughs lightly. “Once upon a time, I’d have been upset as being referred to only as ‘the little sister.’”

“Sorry.” I give her a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid I can’t remember your name.”

“Gabby,” she supplies. “Well, Gabrielle if we’re being technical, but I’ve always gone by Gabby.” She wrinkles her nose to show how she feels about her real name.

“I’m Benjamin if we’re being technical, but I’ve been Dozer for too many years to remember to answer to anything else.”

“Benjamin,” Elizabeth repeats, sounding much more satisfied. She looks me up and down again. “In a suit like that, Benjamin seems much more fitting than Dozer.” She says my nickname like it’s something distasteful, and I shoot a glance at Marissa, who’s rolling her eyes.

“Mother!” she scolds. “You can’t just tell people you don’t like their preferred name.”

Elizabeth sniffs, uncowed, and Gabby rolls her eyes and shakes her head too. From what I can tell, this is pretty typical behavior for their mom.

“My mother will be happy to hear that you approve of her name choice. But even she’s only ever called me Benjamin when I was in trouble.”

“Where do your parents live?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

“Michigan. That’s where I grew up. I get to see them when my away games take me back there, which is pretty often.”

She glances between Marissa and me. “I see you’re a long way from home in Seattle too.”

I shrug. “I’ve been away from Michigan since I was sixteen, so it’s pretty normal.

“So young!” Elizabeth tuts. “I had a hard enough time letting my babies leave when they went to college. Marissa staying was my only saving grace, and now she’s gone too.”

“Competitive hockey is a different world,” I put in. “I’ve always been able to stay with them when my schedule takes me to their neck of the woods, though, so I get to see them frequently.”

“Is that why you don’t feel it’s important to visit them for Christmas?”

Smiling, I shake my head. “Normally I would, but my mom’s always wanted to go on a Christmas cruise, so I got that for them as their gift this year.”

“I didn’t realize that,” Marissa murmurs next to me, and I glance down at her with a slight shrug.

“Oh, that’s touching,” Elizabeth says, sounding sincere for maybe the first time this whole conversation. Then her brows crimp together. “What brought you here, though? Marissa didn’t mention anything about you coming.”

I suck in a deep breath, glancing at Marissa, trying to gauge how much I should say. “Well, Marissa left before I got back from my last week on the road. And I missed her so much that I decided to surprise her. I apologize for intruding on your family holiday. I’ve already booked a hotel to stay in so I don’t put you out.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth says. “The more, the merrier. We don’t have a spare room at the house with all the kids home, but you’re more than welcome to spend your days with us while you’re here. How long are you planning on staying?”

I shoot another look at Marissa. “Well, I booked an open-ended ticket because I wasn’t sure how long I’d be welcome. I’d hoped to stay as long as Marissa, though.”

She grins at me, and that’s all the answer I need. Even if Marissa’s parents aren’t thrilled about me being here, she wants me here, and that’s what matters to me.

“Of course,” Elizabeth says after a slight hesitation. “We’re thrilled to have you.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can contribute while I’m here.”

That seems like it was the right thing to say because Elizabeth’s smile, though small, is more genuine than the one she was giving me before. “That would be lovely.”