Page 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A rwen lets out a little squeal when I walk through the door.

She’s so animated, her eyes bright and wide as she signs, Mommy is so pretty! I want hair like that.

I snort as I pick her up, kissing her cheeks. She giggles as I sit her on the counter and sign back, But you have such pretty dark hair. I love your hair.

It’s my daddy’s and Aunt Ingrid’s hair, she says proudly, and I give her little nose a boop.

Very true. How are your ears?

She grimaces. Baba put a towel on them, and they feel a little better.

Maeve shrugs, her own frown on her face. “She’d started to complain when we were shopping. So when we got home, I thought it’d help.”

I appreciate that she signs and talks, but then, it’s her normal. I tuck Arwen’s hair behind her ears. “I might take her back in. I was hoping it would stop hurting by now.”

“I’m sure it will. Give it another two days of antibiotics before you get worried,” Mom says, wrapping her arms around my waist. She hasn’t stopped touching me since I got home, and I understand. I’m the same with Arwen. Mom runs her fingers along the ends of my hair. “I love it, so much better than that poop brown.”

I snort at that as Ingrid nods in agreement. “I told her the same. She isn’t made to be all dark and broody.”

That has Mom and Maeve laughing since all of them, including Arwen, are dark-haired and gorgeous. Maybe that’s why I dyed my hair dark, so I could look more like them. Not that they ever made me feel like I wasn’t part of the family.

“No, she’s the pink diamond in our black diamond family,” Mom says softly, and I put my arm around her. When I look down, though, I notice that Arwen is wearing designer house shoes. I perk a brow at my mom as she walks around me to lean on the counter to tickle Arwen.

“Jesus, how much did you guys buy today?”

“Everything,” Maeve answers honestly. “If she wanted it, she got it. Her room is fully furnished with everything a printsessa could want. From toys to clothes to shoes.”

I point to the Louis Vuitton shoes and shake my head. “I see that.”

“Ah.” Mom waves me off. “You can’t be upset about that. They are tradition. She needs her own house shoes, here and at my house.”

Figures she’d use the old Russian tradition of always having your own pair of house shoes at a house you are regularly invited to as an excuse to spoil Arwen. But really, why do I care? Let them spoil her. She’s theirs just as much as she’s mine.

“It’s not that I’m upset,” I say with a frown. “It’s that I don’t want her to love you guys more because you buy her everything.”

Maeve flashes a sneaky grin. “That’s a given.”

“We’re babas—we’re automatically the best,” Mom adds with a playful look on her face. She’s so happy, which, in turn, makes me so happy.

But really, these two are going to drive me nuts. Not that I expected anything less.

I roll my eyes playfully as Mom says, “Also, I bought a pair for her to keep at Thatcher’s, though we weren’t sure if she’d go there since he is staying here.”

Hell, I don’t know that yet either. “I saw that he came out of Arwen’s room this morning, in his clothes from last night,” Ingrid says, and I flash her a dark look.

Very aggressively, I sign, Wow, thanks for throwing me under the bus.

Ingrid just beams at me, showing me all her teeth, as Arwen signs, Aunt Ingrid, it’s not nice to throw people.

Ingrid nods. How rude of me. I’ll never do it again.

I give her a look. “Liar.”

She flashes me a grin as she moves to the fridge, and I notice that Mom and Maeve are watching me. They are begging for information, and while I know Thatcher had said to leave it to us, I can’t help but put them out of their misery. “Arwen didn’t want him to leave.”

Maeve beams as Mom gives me a wary look. “Did you want him to stay?”

Yes. “It didn’t matter. Like you couldn’t say no and bought Arwen everything she wanted, I can’t say no to her either.”

Mom eyes me but doesn’t say another word about it. It’s Maeve who says softly, “He’s missed you so, my love. I hope you know that.”

God, I miss you.

I’m right here.

Not the way I want you.

My stomach twists at the memory of his words. How his hat hung low over his eyes. A pair of brown orbs that captured mine in a heated hold. He towered over me, licking his lips while he looked directly at me. It made me feel like I was on top of the world. Like he never wanted to look at anyone but me. But surely that’s not true. He could have anyone he wanted. He has, and I never faulted him for it. Was I jealous? Beyond belief. But he wasn’t mine.

And when I wanted him to be, it blew up in my face like a bomb of epic proportions.

I look away, pulling at a string on Arwen’s little pants. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Maeve says gently. “Do you guys know what you’re going to do? Will you live together like before, with Arwen?”

After that night, I swore to myself I’d never live with him again unless I was his. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to live with him?” Mom asks. “It’s okay if you don’t.”

That’s the problem; I do. “I don’t know, Mom.”

“Have you two discussed anything?” Maeve asks, and Ingrid flashes me an “I’m sorry they’re intrusive” look.

“No,” I admit. “It’s been really busy with Arwen and coming home.”

Mom nods in understanding, taking my hand. “You should sit down and talk. We can watch Arwen.”

“Especially since he’s leaving for a week,” Maeve says, and I hate how my stomach drops at that. I’ve let myself forget that he’s a professional hockey player and it’s the middle of the season.

That he leaves.

Fuck, he’ll be gone.

Why does that make me want to cry?

I swallow hard as I nod, but it’s Ingrid who says, “I’ll schedule a time since neither of them will.”

Maeve snorts at that, while Mom sighs. My gaze volleys between the two of them. “What?” I ask, and Mom gives me a small smile.

“It’s just that you two are very frustrating.”

I cock my head at her. “How so?”

Maeve chuckles. “Well, the fact that you two have been in love since you were kids but never acted on it and denied it at every turn is a start.”

“Then you two get together, fight, and you run,” Mom adds, giving me a look. “Not surprised, though. God forbid you allow yourself to be vulnerable to the one person you call your best friend.”

“How do you know we haven’t?” I ask incredulously. “You know nothing, only what you observe.”

I don’t miss the way they look at Ingrid, and I glare. “Once more, tossing my ass under the bus.”

Ingrid holds her palms up before she starts to speak and sign, “In my defense, I only said Thatcher hasn’t admitted how he feels and takes only what you’ll give him.”

I scrunch up my face. What the hell? I would give him everything. Anything.

I glare at the three of them as annoyance burns through my body. “And also, no one actually read what I wrote in my letters. I told you guys not to blame him, that it was my choice and I’m just as much at fault.”

Maeve’s unsmiling expression hits me in the gut. “It was very hard to accept, and he wouldn’t budge on what happened. It was easier to blame him, even if it was wrong.” I see tears welling in her eyes, and I feel awful for bringing it up. “We just wanted you back.”

“And he wouldn’t tell us anything. Only that he’d fucked up and that he’d make it better,” Ingrid adds. “It was hard, Audrina. We didn’t understand.”

“And we were hurt,” Mom says, and my stomach feels hollow.

“I really am sorry,” I whisper, the emotion thick in my throat. “But it’s not all on him. I hurt him before he hurt me, and while it’s all really messy, I do want to figure it out with him.”

Well, look at me, being vulnerable.

But not to him…

“As you should, at your earliest convenience,” Ingrid demands, her eyes pleading with mine. “All we want is for you two to be happy. And as crazy as it may seem, you are happiest together.”

“Especially now that Arwen is here,” Maeve adds, and Mom nods, pride shining in her brown eyes.

Unsure what to say, I’m thankful when Don and Dad come in through the door from the garage. They greet everyone before they both come over toward me. But to my surprise, instead of my dad kissing my temple or hugging me, he hip checks me to the side.

“What the hell, Dad!”

He ignores me and cups Arwen’s face. With a loving look that I thought he reserved only for me, he signs, We got you something.

Don nods, signing, For our favorite girl. Her daddy’s number.

Don pulls out a black-and-red IceCats home jersey that’s outlined in a shimmery silver thread. My heart catches at the way Arwen’s eyes light up when Don turns it around to show Thatcher’s last name and his number 37. It was his dad’s number, and you can tell how proud Don is to see it on the IceCats jersey.

To be giving it to his granddaughter.

Arwen squeals as she makes gimmie hands, and Don chuckles before he helps her stand. Dad puts a hand at her hip to hold her steady while Don slips it over her head. It’s a little big, but she looks too cute for words.

Mommy! I have Daddy’s jersey , she signs at me, bouncing on her toes as the biggest grin imaginable comes over her face. The kind of smile that completes me.

She’s stunning.

I’m breathless, or maybe that’s just a lump the size of South Carolina in my throat. Thatcher won’t ever have the cute photos of Arwen in his jersey as an infant. The Instagram-worthy ones that make anyone, even men, swoon at the sight of a hockey player with his child. I stole that from him. From Arwen. All at once, the guilt eats me alive as I watch everyone fuss over Arwen in her little jersey. She looks so happy, and I didn’t allow her to have this sooner.

I thought I was enough.

Tears burn in my eyes, and my nose itches as I lean into the counter. I almost make a run for it, to go hide in my room, but before I can do that, the door from the garage opens, and Thatcher comes through it. He’s freshly showered, his hair still wet and curling at the back of his neck. I can see the wet spots on his hat, letting me know he just threw his hat on without drying his hair. He’s wearing an oversized IceCats sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that are borderline indecent. Or maybe they’re only indecent because my eyes zoom in on his cock that is settled against his thigh.

Jesus Lord above, thank you for making gray sweatpants for men.

I watch as his eyes scan the room, and I assume he’ll go right for Arwen in her Orlov jersey, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to look until he finds me. I’m unable to draw a breath, given how intensely he looks at me. Like I’m a four-course meal, he licks his lips, and then they slowly curve up into a wicked grin. Before I can even register the heat between us, he is heading right for me. I freeze as he closes the distance between us, the toe of his sneakers hitting the toe of my boots. He reaches out, capturing a piece of my hair in his fingers before he holds it between us, his grin going feral.

Holy moly, God above.

His eyes move to mine, and then he lets go of my hair, trailing his hand down to cup my jaw. With his eyes consuming mine, not letting me look away even if I wanted to, he turns his hat backward and then leans in toward me.

I almost think he’ll kiss me—shit, do I want him to kiss me?

Aw fuck, I do.

But instead, he presses his lips to my cheek, and my eyes fall shut at the mere closeness of him. His fresh soap smell, mixed with a spicy cologne and then everything Thatcher, hits me like a bucket of pucks. God, he smells good. A heartbeat later, his lips move against my heated flesh as he whispers, “There you are.”

And with that, I’m surprised I don’t faint like my mother.