Page 34 of You Make It Feel like Christmas

N ICK PARKED HIS TRUCK on the street in a seen-better-days-but-not-the-worst neighborhood of Seattle. Getting out, he looked up at Maisie’s faded brick building. He could still feel the phantom pain in his chest—a hollow ache—from his sister telling him she’d left. Without a goodbye.

Nick had grabbed the scrap of paper with Maisie’s address from the counter and ran into Colt on his way up to pack his things.

Colt had calmed him down, helped him through the panic that crowded his chest and seized his lungs, and when he could breathe right, made Nick scrawl a note of his own.

By then, Nick was thinking straight and decided to give Maisie a day of space.

It was all he could handle. Which was humbling as hell to admit.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know his career would come to an end one day; he just didn’t spend much time thinking about it. In the back of his mind, he’d always known he’d settle where Ellie was. Or, he thought, looking around, within a couple hours of her and Asher.

He’d ask Maisie how she felt about other areas of Seattle after he told her exactly what he thought of her leaving without saying goodbye.

Yeah. He was a hypocrite but this felt different.

He was on the sidewalk, heading toward the couple of stairs to her apartment entrance when someone walked past him, did a double take.

The guy, with an almost completely shaved head and a full beard, vape in one hand, stopped, stuck his other hand out in front of Nick.

“Nick King. Cool, man. Watched you in the Stanley Cup last year. One of the best games I’ve ever seen,” the guy said.

Nick shook his hand. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

No feelings of dread or tightening of his chest. Nice.

The guy tipped his chin up, looked around like maybe Nick traveled with an entourage. “You live here or something?”

Cause he’d tell him if he did?

“Nah. Just visiting a friend.”

“Cool. You back for the next game? That hit didn’t look that bad on TV but you been out awhile.”

Everyone had an opinion. God. He loved his job but standing there, when all he wanted was to get to Maisie—how the fuck could he miss her after one day—was killing him.

“That’s the plan. Nice to meet you. I gotta go.”

“Sure. Yeah. Of course. Cool to meet you, man.”

He waited until the guy walked ahead and turned the corner before stepping up to Maisie’s apartment door and buzzing her number.

“Come on up,” she said.

Worry and a low-key hum of urgency just to see her had him yanking open the door, hurrying to the elevator.

He didn’t love the fact that she didn’t even ask who it was.

She’s taken care of herself for a long time.

Still, he couldn’t help the protectiveness simmering in his blood.

He cared about her. More than cared, if he was honest.

The ride, quick as it was, gave him long enough to wonder if she’d want to see him. Ellie wasn’t sure if Maisie left the address for her or for Nick. What if she was just done with him and leaving was her way of getting back at him? That’s not Maisie. He knew it in his bones; that wasn’t her style.

The second the doors slid open on the third floor, he turned left out of the elevator, heard a door open, and watched her step into the hall. His heart lurched like it’d been flung from a slingshot.

“Nick,” Her eyes went wide, her arms up against her chest, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater so just her fingers showed.

Nick closed the distance between them until he was practically pressed against her and she had to tip her head back to see him.

All of his words and feelings crashed around inside of him like his teammates fighting up against the boards, piling on, getting out of control.

He needed a referee for his damn emotions. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come but I couldn’t stop myself. You know, you shouldn’t just let anyone up here.” Really coherent, man.

Her brows and nose scrunched in tandem. It was cute as hell so he had to stop himself from leaning in and taking the kiss he desperately craved. Answers first. Kissing later. Lots of kissing.

“What?”

Nick pointed to the elevator like it was exhibit A. “I buzz, you say, ‘come on up’? I know you can take care of yourself but you have to know that isn’t safe.”

Her chin dipped. “That’s why you’re here?”

He shook his head. “No. Of course not.” Putting a hand on her hip, he breathed in, his pulse settling just from the scent of her soap and being so near.

Maisie pushed her hand against his chest lightly then turned and walked into her apartment. “I was waiting for food. I thought you were the delivery guy.”

He closed the door behind them and she turned his way, feeling better that she wouldn’t let just anyone in.

But he’d known that about her all along, hadn’t he?

Maisie Smart didn’t let just anyone into her heart and he knew, in his gut, that she’d let him in.

Now, he needed to figure out if she’d let him stay.

Shrugging out of his jacket, his breath evening out, he used the act of hanging his coat on a little peg to remind himself to relax.

To stay calm. When he focused on her, really let himself look, Nick caught the wobble of her lips, the flash of emotion in her gaze, and couldn’t take it anymore.

Walking to her, he pulled her into his arms. She didn’t resist.

“Part of me thought you left to get me back,” he said, feeling her stiffen.

He rubbed his hand up and down her back, easing the tension out of her shoulders as he held her to him.

“But that’s not how you operate. Then, I ran into Colt and he told me what happened.

” Nick pulled back just enough to look down at her and see her face. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

One tear slipped from her eye and he caught it with his thumb. His chest tightened.

She sniffled, resting her hands on his lower back.

“I wanted to but I had to get out of there. I didn’t think I could handle it, especially in that moment, if you’d just said goodbye and I had to face that what we had wasn’t what I hoped it would be.

It was too much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left and I’m sorry if I hurt you. ”

In the quiet, dim light of her hallway, Nick’s heart began to beat properly again for the first time since he’d learned she’d left. Putting a finger under her chin, he lifted her gaze to his. “What did you hope, Maisie?”

He saw the stubborn determination in her features.

His sweet, sweet Maisie didn’t want to overplay her hand.

Nick put both hands to her hair, brushing it back from her face so he could see as much of her as possible.

“Did you hope that I was falling for you, too? That the week wasn’t enough for me either?

Were you wishing to wake up with me wrapped around you again?

Because I was hoping all of those things, too, baby. ”

Her gaze filled with tears, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt.

“Nick. I was, I am , hoping all of those things, but your life is so different from mine. You live in San Jose. You’re on the road all the time.

Jesus. You’re a famous hockey player. I’m no one.

” Her voice broke on the last word and his heart cracked right along with it.

How could she think that when she was everything ?

He scooped her up in his arms, spotting the couch in front of him and walking them straight to it.

He sank down, pulled her close, locking his arms around her like a vise and just held her there.

Just breathed her in and absorbed the feel of her body.

Something buzzed. He lifted his head, looked into her gorgeous, tear-streaked face. “Your food?”

She nodded.

“Buzz them in. I’ll get it. You go clean up. We need to talk.”

“You’re very bossy.”

He narrowed his eyes, boosted her off his lap, his lips twitching, almost curving into a smile when she walked away.

He opened the door and waited, much like she had. A twenty-something guy with long, stringy hair came off the elevator with a bag of takeout. Like the guy on the street, he did a double take.

“Dude. You’re Nick King. You in town for the game this early?”

“Something like that,” Nick said, paying him, tipping generously.

“Good luck.” He turned and headed back to the elevator.

Nick locked the door behind him and carried the food into the kitchen, which was to the immediate left of the door.

Through there was the living room, and now that he wasn’t looking at Maisie, he took a minute to take it all in.

Cute place. Brick fireplace across from a decent couch.

Bright, colorful throw blankets on the couch and the oversize gray chair.

He set the food on the tiny, round table and walked toward the photos on the mantel.

Three black-and-white photos in thin black frames, each about eight by ten, lined the plank of wood running across the face of the brick. He lost his breath looking at them.

In the first, a woman had her knees pulled to her chest, her dark hair spilling in soft waves over her hands which she’d wrapped around her knees.

Most of her face was hidden. How could something without a full view of the face evoke so much emotion?

In the background, people milled about. Their faces were blurry, keeping the woman as the center of attention. She was alone in a crowd of people.

The second photo was the interior of either a torn-down building or one that wasn’t completed. Maisie had photographed the rough-hewn A-frame of wood close up, so every rugged, imperfect groove was visible. It was raw and real. Beautiful even in its lack of beauty.

The final photo showed two hands: a small, child-size one reaching for a larger one. In the background, there were trees and greenery but the hands, the way they almost touched or maybe just missed each other, called to him. Made him ache.

“Hey,” Maisie whispered from behind him.