Cross Crease (On The Edge Book 3)

by Elizabeth Hartey

  “Shut up!” I need him to stop talking. I need to process this.

  “What did you say?” His chest heaves like a raging bull who’s about to attack.

  “I said, shut the fuck up.” I put my arm up to hold him back. “Are you saying I didn’t fuck Alison that night?”

  “Are you deaf as well as stupid, dickhead? I just told you. You fuc…you slept with my sister that night. And I’m going to fucking ki—” At the sound of my maniacal laughter, he swallows his latest threat.

  “What the fuck are you laughing at? Have you completely lost what little mind you had?”

  I’ve never kissed a guy before, but there’s a first time for everything. I grab Dak’s pretty boy face between my hands and kiss him smack dab on the lips.

  “What the fuck?” He pushes me away from him and swipes the back of his hand across his lips. I’m surprised he doesn’t shout ‘yuk, dog germs’ and spit on my floor, Lucy-style. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Andersen, my man, in the past forty-eight hours I have been called a jackass about five hundred times, five-fifty if you count the guys I’m not even friends with. But at this moment, I could kiss every single one of them.”

  “That’s great. Now that you’ve slept with almost every woman in the country, you’ve had a mid-life revelation concerning your sexual proclivities?” He smirks.

  “No, bruh.” I laugh and walk toward him. He steps back and holds his hands out to keep me away.

  “Thanks, but I’m good,” he says with a nervous stutter.

  “You’re adorable, dude. But only one kiss per friend.” I snicker at his apprehension. “What I’m trying to tell you is, I never slept with Alison!” I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas morning when he finds out the spirits saved his nasty ass.

  “Oh yeah? So, what is it? Like a miraculous immaculate conception?” Dak sneers and shakes his head at me.

  “I’m pretty sure Alison is no immaculate anything. But if she’s pregnant, it sure as shit isn’t mine. The only time I slept with her—I thought I slept with her—was at your wedding. If it was Heaven, then the baby can’t be mine.” I’m gonna do a cartwheel right here in my foyer. Wait. Do I know how to do a cartwheel? No. No, I don’t.

  “Let me get this straight.” Dak pushes his fingers into his temples and shakes his head like he’s clearing cobwebs. “You’re a professional hockey player, with a gazillion dollar contract and just as many women comin’ in their pants for you and you didn’t have Alison take a paternity test to make sure the baby was yours? No. Wait. To make sure she’s even pregnant?”

  I grimace and raise my shoulders. “I assumed she…”

  “For fuck’s sake, Wolfe. You put everyone through this, especially Heaven and you…”

  “Holy shit, Heaven! I took her virginity and…I’m going back to Dalt’s. I have to see her.” I turn in a circle looking for…something. What am I looking for? I look down. Right. Clothes. I don’t have anything on but sweatpants.

  “Hold up, dude.” Dak puts his hand up traffic-cop style. “I’m not letting you go over there and break her heart again. According to Nik, she hasn’t stopped crying since you were there this morning, and we’re supposed to be taking her out for her birthday tonight.”

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “What the fuck do you care? There’s no way I’m letting you ruin her birthday any more than you already have.”

  “Dude.” I chuckle. “It’s so damn cute how you think you’re going to keep me away from Heaven now that I know the truth.”

  “You think so, asshole. I’ll show you cute.’ He comes at me again. This time I take the first punch, and he lands on his ass.

  “Sorry, brotha. But just because I let you get in a few cheap shots protecting your sister’s honor doesn’t mean I’m going to let you keep doing it. Besides, it’s my job now to protect her honor.”

  “What?” Dak leans back on his elbows and looks up at me, all dazed and confused.

  “That’s right.” I reach out to help him up. “Whether you approve or not, I’m going to be protecting and loving her for the rest of our lives.” Dak latches onto my hand, and I tug him up. “If she’ll have me. Now, come have a kiss-and-make-up beer with me and tell me where the hell the birthday celebration is.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Heaven

  “We’ll have a round of Passed Out Nakeds for both tables,” Nik yells to the waiter, over the music and the current girl performing. It’s Karaoke night at the Flying Puck. Nik, Dalt, Dak, Tracey, Batt and half the Santa Ana Winds team decided it was the perfect place to celebrate my birthday. Not sure why the heck the Winds’ players are here. Maybe Dalt invited them—every player except the only one I want to see—the one I told a few hours ago I never wanted to see again.

  “Oh no, Nik. I’m not drinking those.” I don’t even want to be here, let alone drinking shots which are potent enough to remove paint.

  They insisted I had to come out and celebrate. I’m in no mood for celebrations. But Nikki can be very persuasive when she wants something and when she has Tracy as her sidekick, it’s a done deal.

  “Ah. Yes, you are, girlfriend. After the night I drank Jäger shots at the Thirsty Whale and went crazy on Dalt in his car in the parking lot, I swore I would never drink it again. That was three years ago, and I’ve kept my promise. But I’m breaking the moratorium just for you, in honor of your birthday.” Please don’t do it for me. I’ve recently learned my tolerance for alcohol is somewhere on the level of a premature, newborn mouse and results in catastrophic behavior.

  “That’s right,” Trace adds her two cents. “We are getting shitfaced tonight, and then we’re going to sing our little hearts out.”

  “Yeah. Come on, sis. Join the party. Karaoke is your favorite thing. And it’s your birthday,” Dak reminds me for the forty billionth time. How could I forget? It’s the day which will go down in my history book as the Birthday from Hell.

  The waiter shows up with two trays of the toxic shots made from equal parts Bacardi Rum, Cuervo Gold, Jägermeister, Peppermint Schnapps, and trouble with a capital T.

  He places one tray down on our table and brings the other to the table next to us, the table where the Winds players are seated. Seriously. Why are these specimens of God’s creative abilities here? They’re pretty but as lethal as the shots being raised in cheers around our table.

  I’m following Nikki’s lead and declaring a moratorium, not on Jäger—although that’s not a bad idea. I’m reinstating my resolution to stay away from all people who wear hockey pads and are deficient in an X chromosome.

  “Happy birthday to the best sister in the world!” Dak raises his glass. I know he’s feeling sorry for me if he’s toasting me without one sarcastic remark. I can’t take everyone treating me like a baby bird with a broken wing. I just want everything to be normal.

  When everyone calls out my name in response to the toast, I look from face to face. I get a sharp pain in my chest. My heart actually hurts because the one face I want to see isn’t here. I find myself wondering if anything will ever be normal again.

  I thought this was going to be the best birthday I’ve ever had because I would be spending it with Wolfe. Still, I can’t deny it’s sweet and comforting to have my family and friends around me doing whatever they can to help me get through this.

  “Oh, what the hell.” I raise my glass and down the venomous swill. Jesus. It burns! But by the time Tracey raises her toast to me—the third toast and round—the sluice goes down fairly smooth, and I’m feeling pleasantly numb.

  “Time for a birthday performance,” Nik calls out. I sit there—a stupid-drunk grin stretching my lips—waiting to see which one of my Jäger-happy friends is going to volunteer. When everyone starts chanting the name Heaven, I look around to see where this Heaven person is they’re encouraging to sing. Oh yeah! Silly goose. I’m Heaven. They want me to sing. And yup, you guessed it. I am more than ready to sing my lungs out. />
  I saunter my way to the stage…at least I think I’m sauntering. At this point, I can’t feel my legs. Remembering to get the mic and tell the guy in charge of the music what I’m going to sing, I take center stage. Whistles and catcalls reverberate off the walls. I tug up on the skintight, body-hugging white dress the girls insisted I wear. It has off the shoulder straps for sleeves. Its demi-push up cups are dangerously close to allowing my girls to spill out the top.

  “Now, now. All you naughty hockey boys out there need to quiet down,” I purr into the mic, which only causes them to whistle louder. “That’s right, ladies. We have been blessed with a plethora of hot Santa Ana Winds’ players here tonight.” The room explodes with cheers and swooning oohs and ahs. “Oh. But don’t be fooled, ladies. Stay far, far away. These guys are like Foxglove…really. They’re beautiful, but they will destroy your heart.” The whistles coming from the Winds’ table morph to hisses and boos. “Wow. How quickly they turn on you.” I chuckle. “Look at me, being all Mrs. Maisel up in here. Maybe I missed my calling.” That gets the audience laughing again and the chant “sing, sing, sing” sweeps through the room. Okay. I’ve got this.

  When the music starts and the lyrics to Dua Lipa’s New Rules roll across the karaoke screen, I begin singing like I wrote this song, like I can feel the words right down to my soul. By the time I’m finished strutting around the stage—or stumbling, depending on your perspective—and belting out the song like my life depends on it, everyone in the bar is on their feet chanting “encore,” and I’m feeling pretty freaking good about myself.

  Until another song, which I did not choose, begins playing and a familiar voice, behind me, starts singing the lyrics to I Say A Little Prayer. The room goes wild, especially the hockey players. I turn slowly, certain this is a Jäger induced hallucination. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Apparently, Passed Out Naked shots contain the same liquid Alice drank when she fell down the rabbit hole.

  I turn back toward the audience. Why are my friends cheering and clapping? Even my overprotective brother is freaking smiling!

  My tormentor walks up next to me, looking right at me as he sings the bridge to the song telling me he loves me and there’s no one else but me. I blink and shake my head to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. I’m angry as hell D showed up here when I asked him to stay away from me. At the same time, my broken heart skips a joyous beat.

  “What are you doing?” I loud angry whisper over the deceitful lyrics.

  He moves the mic away from his goddamn beautiful lips and says through a smile, “I’m vibrating higher, singing to you. Singing with you.”

  “I’m not singing with you. I told you to stay away from me.”

  D ignores my comment. He continues to mesmerize me with that damn smile and bewitching eyes. The words to the chorus roll across the screen and D closes the space between us. He looks down at me. I’m consumed, absorbed into his magnetic quagmire.

  “Sing with me, Pip.”

  I can’t pull my gaze away from his as I raise my mic and the lyrics fall from my lips. But after a few too many ‘forever and evers’ and ‘together togethers,’ and excessive cheers from my soon-to-be ex-friends, I’m jolted from my hypnotic state. I remember I can’t be singing love songs with him, professing our eternal love. He belongs to someone else.

  I run from the stage. I don’t know where I’m going. Anywhere to get away from D. I end up running down a back hallway which leads to offices and stock rooms.

  “Pip, wait.” My tormentor catches up with me and tugs me back.

  “Leave me alone. Why are you doing this? Get away from…”

  He pushes me against the wall and crashes his lips onto mine, interrupting my fuming protests. I ball my fists—one of them still clutching my mic—and pummel his chest. “I hate you,” I cry into his mouth, but I don’t stop kissing him.

  “I love you. Always,” he whispers against my lips.

  “Get away from me. I don’t want you to kiss me,” I groan against his soft lips.

  “You’re a little liar.” He smiles and swallows my lies. He grinds his erection against the spot I can’t keep from wanting him. My body moves with his. And then I remember. No. I can’t do this. He isn’t mine. He’s marrying someone else.

  “And you’re an asshole!” I push his face away from mine, but he keeps my body pinned against the wall with his.

  “In so many ways,” he agrees while clutching his hand over his cheek where my nails gouged his god-like face. “But not in this one. Alison isn’t pregnant.”

  ***

  Damon

  “How lucky for you. You dodged a bullet—this time. But I still don’t want you kissing me or touching m…”

  “Goddamit, Pip! Will you shut up and listen to me? I never fucked Alison!”

  “Are you seriously yelling at me after…wait. What did you just say?”

  “I said I never fucked Alison. She lied about having sex with me, being pregnant. The only time I slept with her…thought I slept with her was the wedding reception night.” I soften my voice and touch my forehead to hers. “But it wasn’t her, was it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t remember. You thought it was someone else,” she breathes in a hushed, apologetic tone.

  “Jesus, Pip. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry it was…I thought it was a dream. I dreamt about you so many times before.”

  “Does this mean you’re not going to marry Alison?”

  I put a finger under her chin and tip her head back. Her liquid blues pierce my soul. I’m drowning in them, and I never want to be rescued.

  “I’m not going to do anything with Alison or anyone else ever again. The truth is I haven’t been with anyone else since the night we…since the night you introduced me to Sheldon and Hal.” It’s like every muscle in her body uncoils when she drops into my arms. I can feel her stuttered breath as she lays her head against my chest and cries silent tears.

  “And don’t forget Wolfe, the turtle.” Even through her tears, I can hear the smile in her words.

  “I haven’t forgotten Wolfe, the turtle. And I get it. You named him after me because he was another lost being hiding inside his broken shell.” She doesn’t acknowledge my deduction, but she doesn’t deny it either.

  “Listen to me, Pip.” I keep her wrapped up in my arms and stroke her hair as I try to put into words all the things I want her to know. “I think I’ve been searching my whole life for something that was missing. No matter how much I did, no matter how much I had, it was never enough to get rid of that empty feeling. Except when I’m with you. It’s like you bring colors to my life I’ve never seen before. And even when I’m not with you, you make me smile. You’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep.” I repeat the words she said to me only a few hours ago. “You’re all I think about every minute of every day.

  “I love your compassion for all the broken things—especially me.” She giggles in between her tears. “I love how you beat me at every damn game we play and tease me about it afterward. I love the way you eat the crust off your pizza first because it’s the best part and you don’t want to be too full to eat it. I love how you call me out when I’m being an ass but stick by me through all my crazy. I love how you can’t pick a favorite color because you think there are too many beautiful colors in nature to decide on just one. I love how you cry at animated movies like Bambi or Dumbo. I love your cheesy pick-up lines. But most of all, I love the way you let your love for me grow in slow baby steps until it was certain and strong. While I, on the other hand, was too stupid to see what was right in front of me. I had to have everything burn and crash down on my head all at once to realize what I had and what I almost lost.”

  I take a step back and cup her face in my hands. I want to drink her in. “I know I don’t deserve you. But marry me anyway.” I pull the ring I was getting ready to toss into the ocean from my pocket. “I bought this whi
le I was away. I was going to give it to you when I got back.”

  I open the velvet box to offer her the three-carat blue diamond ring. “I chose it because it reminded me of your eyes, only not as beautiful.” The eyes I’m referring to go wide in shock and glaze over with tears—hopefully, happy ones. “Stay with me forever, Heaven. I love you. Let me spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you I can be the man you’ve always seen in me.”

  “Oh, D.” She throws her arms around my neck and holds on as if she’ll never let go. And that’s just fine with me. My heart is hammering inside my chest to the point I’m sure it’s going to break through my ribs and lay itself down at her feet.

  “But you’re wrong.” Oh shit. She’s going to say no. She’s going to walk away from me, and I’m going to be lost without her; inside my broken shell forever. “I didn’t love you in baby steps.”

  She tilts her head back to look at me. I brace myself for the knockout punch to my heart. “My love for you crashed down on me the first time I met you. From that day on I belonged to only you, completely. So, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.” She peppers kisses all over my face with every kiss. I pick her up and spin her around.

  A lifetime of weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’m sure in my elation we’re going to lift off the floor and take flight. But my excitement is distracted when somewhere in the distance I hear thundering applause, cheering, and whistles. And then I hear my name being chanted like my hockey bros do when they’re cheering for another bro.

  Only then do I realize Heaven still has the damn mic clutched in her hand and the entire audience in the Flying Puck heard every word we said—every word I said. I will never live it down.

  But I give zero fucks. My teammates can break my balls from now until forever because I’m the lucky SOB who gets to love Heaven Lee Andersen and I’m good with everyone in the world knowing it.