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17

May

“ Y ou fucking sliced it, Carsey!” Jax hollers.

“Shut the hell up,” Bennett whisper-shouts.

“What’s gotten into you today? You’re typically my scratch partner, but even G is showing you up today.” Jax scowls at me while flipping his brother the bird.

My golf game has gone to shit today. I wasn’t lying when I told Dakota I’d rather go to the spa with them than golf. It doesn’t help that I tried to shoot my shot by asking her out just in time for Jax to interrupt us. I really thought we were getting somewhere, but I should’ve known she wasn’t ready yet.

“Maybe I’m trying to let the man of the hour win, considering it’s his last hoorah,” I quip, shrugging my shoulders.

Jax shakes his head. “I call bullshit. The two of you are almost as competitive with each other as me and Benny. No, that’s not it. . .” He trails off before snapping his fingers at me. “Ah, I know. It’s the fucking nanny, isn’t it?”

Turning my back to him to avoid eye contact, I try to focus on Griff teeing up his ball on the last hole. Unfortunately, Jax is like a dog with a bone now that he thinks he knows what’s eating at me.

“Jax,” I warn.

“Don’t give me that shit. I can tell you’re into her. So what’s holding you back?”

“Well, for starters, when I asked her to go out with me this morning, you chose the perfect time to interrupt our moment by shoving an entire piece of bacon in your mouth,” I bite out, my frustration for playing poorly and being interrupted earlier is bleeding through my tone.

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry, Carse. I didn’t realize.” Jax lifts his hat and scratches his forehead before smoothing it back on his head. “So, I take it she didn’t give you an answer?”

“You think? What gave you that impression?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Probably the case of blue balls and the giant stick you’ve got up your ass.”

“And tell me, Jaxy, how has the giant case of blue balls been working for you over the last two and a half years?”

“Great deflection,” he scoffs. “But I’m not falling into that trap. So what’s the deal with the two of you? You’ve been pretty tight-lipped, but from what I’ve gathered, Dakota moved in with you after New Year’s Eve when Benny brought the two of you to the hospital. Is she divorced now?”

“Yeah, for about a month now. My dad was her attorney. I wanted to give her space to heal, and I’ve been working on myself too. But with the two of us living together, we’ve grown really close. Have you ever met someone and just knew the moment you laid eyes on them that they were meant to be in your life? I’ve been gone for her since the day I met her.”

Jax looks at me incredulously. “I have—you know I had that with Tae—but I never thought I’d see the day where playboy Carse settled down.”

“Who are you calling a playboy? You’re the one with the party boy, womanizer reputation, not me.”

And he is. Ever since Jax and his high school sweetheart, Tae, broke up the week he had to leave for Harvard, he has made it his mission for everyone to see him as this party-hard fuck boy. Those of us that are close to him know the truth. He throws these over-the-top parties just hoping they’ll go viral and it’ll get back to his ex, who is currently on tour for her debut album opening for one of the most recognizable male country artists. I also happen to know that even though Jax is photographed flirting, dancing, and kissing women nonstop, he has an even bigger case of blue balls than I do. From what he told me when we got drunk on my twenty-first birthday, he hasn’t been able to move on even after almost three years. Not just emotionally, but physically too.

“Guess we’re just a bunch of lovestruck fools lusting after women who don’t return our feelings,” he murmurs as he punches his foot down on the gas pedal of the golf cart.

Jax thankfully drops the subject of my current predicament for the rest of the afternoon. We’re grabbing a drink in the clubhouse after our round when Bennett takes a seat next to me at the bar. Griff and Jax went to look at the golf apparel in the store downstairs, so it’s just the two of us.

“How’s it going, Cap?” I ask him, knowing he hates being called that.

“You’re such a little shit sometimes, Rookie .”

“Tou-fucking-ché.”

Shaking his head, he takes a long pull from his beer before setting it back on the bar and turning toward me. “You good, Carse?”

Avoiding eye contact with him, I stay facing ahead as I study the label of my own drink. “Of course. I’m always good.”

Bennett nudges my shoulder, causing me to look up at him. “That would’ve worked on me a few weeks ago. But after witnessing you having a panic attack in our shared hotel room in Denver, I’m having a hard time believing that’s the case. What’s going on?”

My shoulders tense at his questioning, and I look away again. “I told you, it was just a lot of pressure playing in my first playoff series, especially with all of the media attention surrounding me after my concussion.”

“You mean after the car accident you were in with Cadence?”

I snap my eyes back to him and find him shaking his head at me. “Carson, any one of us would be fucked in the head if that happened to us. It’s even more understandable that you’d be affected after what happened to Katie and McKenna. But don’t shut us out, man. The three of us are your brothers, we’ll always be here for you.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “You’re right. We are brothers, and I don’t want to shut you guys out. It’s just I’m used to being the guy others can lean on, not the fragile guy whose most vulnerable moments get broadcast to the world.”

Placing his hand on my shoulder, he gives it a squeeze. “Being vulnerable with us doesn’t mean you’re not also the guy that we lean on.”

Nodding my head, I reply, “I know. But I think I’m on the right path. Dakota set me up with a therapist that I’ve been working with for a few weeks now. I’ve gained some coping mechanisms and strategies to help me process my feelings and work through the anxiety I’m feeling. I feel good about it and am making my mental health a priority.”

That makes a genuine smile spread across his face, which is rare for Bennett Wilson. “I’m glad to hear it, buddy. I think that even though Dakota has clearly knocked you on your ass, she’s good for you. How’s the pursuit going?”

I smile at the mention of Dakota being good for me. “The pursuit is slow-going, but I’m a patient man who knows what he wants. And what I want is her. She’s it for me, man. So whether I have to wait a few more weeks, months, or hell, even years, I’ll gladly do it.”

“Our little Carsey-baby is all grown up,” Bennett mocks.

“Don’t act like I didn’t see the pursuit you were on last night, Benny,” I jest right back, pointing my beer bottle at him. “If I recall right, you serenaded a certain redhead.”

“I was two sheets to the wind last night. I can’t be sure who I was singing to,” he counters.

“Right, right, right. Cool. You definitely weren’t enamored with . . . who was it that you dedicated the song to?” I pause, tapping my chin. “Oh, I remember. Little Red.”

“You know what, the guys in the locker room were right. You can be a pesky little shit.”

“Oh, fuck right off. So what’s her name?”

He chuckles and shrugs. “She wouldn’t tell me. That’s why I had to call her Little Red.”

“Ah, playing hard to get. Did you get her number after your beautiful rendition of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,’ or did she leave you hanging?”

“Nah, she said if fate put us in the same place at the same time again, she’d give me her number. I’m not sure how she figured that’d happen, considering the only detail I know about her is that she was there for her best friend’s twenty-first birthday, and she loves 10 Things I Hate About You .”

“At least she’s got good taste in 90s rom-coms. Now the song choice makes more sense,” I point out.

“Yeah, well, it’s probably for the best. She seems like someone who could easily become a distraction, and we’re not going to win the cup if our team captain is preoccupied.”

“Wow, for a superstitious motherfucker, you sure went there about winning the cup,” Griff quips as he and Jax each take a seat at the bar.

We shoot the shit, sharing our excitement for next season when the four of us will be back on the ice wearing the same jerseys for the first time in seven years. It’s getting late by the time we make our way in the golf carts back to our cabins.

When we walk in the front door of my parents’ place, I realize I’ve died and gone to heaven. My mouth waters as I breathe in the spices of what can only be my favorite meal.

“Holy shit, please tell me this isn’t a dream. Did someone make chili?” I ask, my question echoing down the hall.

Mack slides off the bar stool she was perched on at the kitchen island and runs up to Griff. “I missed you, Hotshot. How’d you play?”

“Surprisingly well, considering your brother choked on the back nine,” he wisecracks.

“Hello? Did anyone hear my question? Do I smell chili? God, it’s like the two of you are getting married or something,” I whine.

“You’re awfully needy this evening, Golden Boy,” I hear Dakota say from the kitchen.

My feet move to her of their own volition. When I round the corner that opens up into the kitchen, I halt so I can take in the sight of Dakota in a white tennis skirt that barely skims her mid-thigh, an emerald green racerback crop top, and one of those neon green transparent visors that those dogs smoking cigars while playing poker wear in that famous painting. She looks so fucking good.

And holy hell, she looks even better when she pinches a dash of salt over the large stock pot that has to have chili in it. I can’t stop myself from standing behind her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders to bring her in for an embrace. “Did you make my favorite meal to try to get me to like you even more? Because if you did, it worked.”

She sets the ladle she was using to stir the simmering chili down and brings her hands up to grasp my arms. “Actually, I made this a few weeks ago for Kenna and Cadence when y’all were in Colorado, and the bride-to-be asked me today if I’d make it again.”

“So this has nothing to do with the fact that the other night when we were watching Bridgerton and you asked me what my favorite food is I immediately said chili and cornbread?” I question.

“It was at the request of the bride, my lord,” she jests as she moves out of my embrace and slips on an oven mitt to take out the most scrumptious-looking cornbread I’ve ever seen from the double oven.

“How soon is too soon to drop to one knee, Austen?” I ask in disbelief.

“I’d say you should probably taste it before you commit to a lifetime with someone who might not even be able to make your favorite meal.”

“What is it I’m tasting?” I waggle my eyebrows. “You should specify. I can think of a few things that could be my favorite meal.”

Dakota grabs the dishrag from the counter beside her and whips my shoulder with it.

“Easy, easy!” I try to exclaim through my chuckles.

“You’re hopeless,” she mutters as she drops the towel onto the counter.

“Hopelessly devoted to you,” I singsong with my arms wide open in reply.

“You should be more devoted to soaking up some of the alcohol that’s clearly got you talking crazy, Golden Boy.” She cuts a small piece of the cornbread and brings it up to my lips. “Here, have a taste,” she suggests, her green eyes twinkling with mirth.

Fuck. Me. She looks so sexy when she’s teasing me.

“A taste?” I ask in a daze.

“A taste,” she repeats, still holding the cornbread in front of me. I lean down and eat the small piece in one bite. She begins to lower her hand, but I grasp my fingers around her wrist and bring them to my mouth. “You’ve got crumbs on your fingers. May I?”

Her breath hitches at my question. “Yes,” she whispers breathlessly, her chest rising and falling more rapidly now.

I bring her pointer finger to my mouth and flick my tongue against the tip of it, lapping up every crumb before moving to her middle finger. When I take the tip of her thumb into my mouth and quickly flick my tongue against it, she lets out a soft whimper.

That noise alone just about does me in before Griff interrupts us, asking if everyone should dish up. The question breaks the tension like a cold bucket of water. Pulling her hand from my grasp, she brings both hands behind her back as if she’s hiding the evidence of what just happened.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was interrupting,” Griff says sheepishly.

“No! You weren’t,” Dakota squeaks.

Knowing she’s about to turn in on herself and not wanting to have this affect the rest of the night, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and give her three gentle squeezes. “Bon appétit, everyone! Dakota made her famous chili and cornbread. If you don’t dish up now, I don’t want to hear shit for eating the whole pot myself.”

Dakota looks up at me, clasps my hand around her shoulder, and returns my three squeezes with three of her own. If only she knew what I was trying to convey to her each time I did that. One day I’ll clue her in. For now, I’ll keep trying to show her through each moment we spend together.