by Elise Faber
She bit her lip. “I don’t like it. I don’t want to be an adult. I want to binge on Harry Potter and sleep in way too late.”
Blane chuckled at her petulant tone. “Next day off and we are so doing that.”
She laughed and he relaxed, tugging her close so he could hug her tightly.
Eventually, she pulled back. “Thank you for understanding.” A pause, her lips curving as she held up her phone and showed him Brit’s text message. “You’re also apparently an idiot, though not one on purpose.”
He snorted. “There’s my best friend, always standing up for me.” With that, he helped Mandy to her feet. “Should we go back to the hotel?”
“Only if you’re sharing your bed,” she said.
“As if that was in question.” He touched a fingertip to her nose, wanting to tell her how he felt, almost desperate with the need to declare his love for her. But this wasn’t the right time, and he didn’t want what they were building to be tainted by the past. “Anything of mine is already yours, sweetheart.”
She stared at him for a moment, her expression soft, then turned to grab her bag, glaring when he took it from her and slung it over his shoulder.
But instead of protesting, she just sighed, laced her fingers through his, and squeezed.
Three times.
“I need a bath,” she said.
He leered at her, waggled his brows. “Seeing you naked? Now that can be arranged.”
Her giggle made him feel ten feet tall.
Twenty-Five
Mandy
* * *
“Okay, I lied,” Mandy said, rolling over in her bed and handing Blane the remote. “I want to binge watch that flat earth documentary on Netflix. Brit said it’s insane.”
Blane, one arm behind his head, shirtless, and yummy chest on display, took the remote with a smile. “Blasphemy! You promised me magic and really evil wizards. What the hell?”
She climbed on top of his chest, heart full, happier than she’d ever been.
These last two weeks with Blane had been incredible. Also, insane with the extended road trip followed by two games at home. Then there had been a dinner for the Gold Institute—the charity the team supported that funded local sports and education, and then that night was Sara’s gallery opening.
But for now, she was enjoying a PJ Sunday with Blane and bad TV.
His hands dropped onto her hips, the controller pressing into her side.
She snagged it back from him and flopped onto the mattress. “Fine.” Mandy gave her best impression of evil villain laughter. “I take back control of the television then.”
He tickled her side in response then drifted his fingers lower, making her alternatively squeal then groan in pleasure. “How about we watch the documentary later and instead”—a brush of his thumb between her thighs—“we make some magical sparks in the here and now?”
Mandy froze and stared at him, one brow raised.
“It wasn’t that bad,” he protested.
“It was bad,” she replied, smirking at him. “Really, really bad. Cheese ball bad, so awkward it was totally cringe-worthy bad.”
“I—” His objection cut off when she grabbed his free hand—meaning the one that was not currently between her thighs—and brought it to her breast.
“And while it might have been absolutely terrible,” she said. “I’m still willing to make some sparks.”
He snorted then grumbled, “Who’s the cheese ball now?”
Her hand snaked down to his erection, which was doing an admirable job of bursting free of his boxer briefs.
“I want you inside me.” A squeeze to punctuate her statement. “Is that better?”
Blane rolled on top of her, dropping his mouth to hers, kissing her so intensely that Mandy felt as though her heart would beat out of her chest. Her skin went tight, her thighs clenched, and her nipples tingled, aching for him.
God, but could the man kiss, she thought as they broke away for air.
Every time, every single time he pressed his mouth to hers, she was transported, taken away to a place where it was just the two of them in the universe, where the rest of the world couldn’t intrude. Every kiss was special and different and meant something.
There was only one explanation for the way he made her feel.
She loved the man.
Only, how to tell him? How to take that leap when all of her love had always been tied up with the fucked-up shit from her past?
What if she could never say it?
A finger tapped the middle of her forehead lightly. “What’s going on in that big juicy brain of yours?”
She winced. “That I’m screwed up?”
His brows drew down and he rolled to his side. “Sweetheart.”
“No”—she grabbed at his shoulders to tug him back over her—“come back. It’s not like that and plus, you asked what thoughts were in my mind. They’re not always going to be, Blane’s so amazing!”
His expression turned affronted.
“No,” she hurried to say. “Ah geez. I do think you’re amazing. I was—That is—dammit, Blane, I was thinking that I loved you so much and that I had no clue how I was ever going to tell you because I’m so messed up, and—”
He stilled, half on top of her.
Mandy realized what she’d said. “I know it’s too soon, and I—”
His lips pressed to hers, giving her one of those kisses that made her forget all of the bad thoughts swirling through her head and focus on the way he made her feel—cherished, precious . . . loved.
He was smiling when he pulled back. “Had to outdo me, huh?” Blane tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you that I love you for weeks. But I thought it was too soon and didn’t want to scare you off.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I think, based on the facts, you should be scared off by me.”
His eyes rolled heavenward. “Should we just both admit that we’re scary?”
Taking a moment to consider that, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, we should.”
“Okay. We’re scary,” he said. “Also, I love you.”
Yikes. But also, holy shit did that feel incredible. He loved her. Blane Hart loved Mandy Shallows.
And she hadn’t been struck down by lightning or anything.
A smile split her face. “Also, I love you, too.”
“There you go again,” he teased. “Outdoing me in the declaration department.”
Her brows drew together in a frown. “Because I said I love you, too?”
“No,” he said. “Because when you say those words, you make me feel like the most important man in the world. You make me feel like I could climb Mt. Fucking Everest, just because you asked. You make all of those holes in my heart, the missing pieces, the jagged edges disappear.” He brought her hand to rest above his heart. “You make me feel more. With just those three words, I become somebody.”
“You’re somebody, Blane,” she said, feeling his heart pounding beneath her palm. “You’ve always been somebody.”
“Maybe.” His fingers tangled with hers. “But you’ve made me somebody who’s finally living instead of waiting on the sidelines, watching everyone else find their slice of happiness.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I understand.”
Because that was exactly what Blane did for her in return.
Twenty-Six
Blane
* * *
Blane was wearing a suit, and it wasn’t even a game day.
He smiled over at Mandy, who was dressed in a gorgeous dress Monique had brought over that afternoon.
Having been kicked out of the apartment, Stefan, Mike, Spence, and Blane had found themselves at loose ends. They’d ended up getting a beer and watching some basketball on TV at a local bar while the girls had taken over Mandy’s apartment for their own personal version of Say Yes to the Dress.
Yes, he was now intimately familiar with the show.
No,
that didn’t make him pussy-whipped.
Or maybe it did, and he just didn’t give a damn.
Either way, he was propped against a wall, a beer in one hand, his eyes locked on his woman, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned, expecting a fan and was shocked to see his mother.
“Mom?” he said stupidly. He hurried to hug her. “Hi. I didn’t know you were coming into town.”
“Brit invited me.” Eyes similar to his own narrowed. “She invites me to things.”
Blane shook his head. “Nice try with the guilt, Mom. But I believe I extended an open invitation even before the season started, and you told me work was crazy.”
His mom worked for the FBI in a very classified and highly demanding position.
Her lips twitched. “Maybe.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, dropping an arm over her shoulders. “And I like your dress.”
She patted her hips. “This old thing?” But she smiled anyway.
It was odd now, thinking about how hard his mom had worked when he’d been a kid—hell, she still worked insane hours—but he’d never felt resentful of the time she’d been away. She had always tried to come to everything important, to be home for dinner, for games, and school plays, even if she had to return to work afterward.
Why had Mandy’s dad not done the same?
Was it because his dad, whose job was significantly less demanding, had been accepting of the time his mom had spent at work while Mandy’s mom had made it a huge battle with Mandy forced to play a pawn?
They both had similar stories in a way—one parent gone a lot with a demanding career, while the other picked up the slack at home.
Why had his childhood been great when she’d been dealt a shitty hand?
“I can hear the wheels turning, baby,” his mom said, startling him out of his thoughts. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking about when I was a kid.”
“Is it because of Mandy?” she asked.
His eyes flew to hers. “How do you always know?”
“I work for a very powerful government organization.”
He fixed her with a look. “You mean Brit told you.”
A shrug. “Sources are an important part of intelligence.”
“Unbelievable.”
Brit glanced over then and gave an awkward wave. He sent her a glare in return. “Yes, it’s because of Mandy. I love her.”
His mom tucked her arm in his. “Come outside for a minute. I want to talk to you.”
They walked through the exhibit and out onto a patio. The air had a bite to it. When his mom shivered, Blane slipped out of his coat and placed it on her shoulders. God, but the city was beautiful sometimes, or maybe that was seeing it through the lens of Sara’s artwork. She had a way of capturing the buildings and lights and traffic and transforming it into something beautiful.
“Sara’s very talented,” his mom said.
“Yes.” He nudged her arm. “But that’s not why you dragged me out here and stole my coat.”
“You’re a good boy, Blane,” she said. “Always have been, and I’m proud of you.”
Uh-oh.
“Why does that sound like the other shoe is about to drop?”
“Well”—she winced—“kind of because it is.”
“And this is about Mandy?”
His mom nodded. “I ran her.”
“You background checked my girlfriend? What the fuck, Mom?”
She put her hands up. “I background check all of the girls you date . . .”
Which had been pathetically few, but still. “Mom!”
“You never know what some of those women might want. You’re a wealthy man, an athlete. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me?” He scoffed. “And you’re telling me that Brit put you up to this?”
“No. I mean—yes. Yes, she told me you were dating someone and that I should come out and meet Mandy because she was great and things looked serious, but I did the background check all on my own. That wasn’t Brit’s idea.” She lifted her chin, touching his arm. “You’re my baby, Blane. I—”
“Invaded my privacy,” he said, furious. “You did this behind my back.”
“Well—”
“That’s not okay, Mom. I love you. Shit.” He pulled away. “But you don’t get to do that.”
He hadn’t really ever been mad at his parents. Sure, there was the usual teenage strife, pissy about not being able to go to a party or being allowed to spend time alone with a girl. But he’d been too busy and focused on hockey to care all that much.
Especially since they’d let him play hockey as much as he had ever wanted.
So not much room for conflict there.
But this was different.
His mom had delved into Mandy’s life, something that was so painful and vulnerable that his forgetting to meet up with her had dredged it all up again and driven her to tears just a few weeks before.
“Look, Mom,” he said. “Mandy and I have talked about her past, about my past, as boring as that is. I already know everything she’s wanted to share.” He shook his head. “If there’s anything else, then she’ll tell me on her own terms and we’ll get through it. Together. But you can’t do this—you can’t cross that boundary and expect that I’ll be okay with it.”
“Don’t you want to know what I found?”
“No.” He made a noise of disgust and strode over to the railing, clenching it tightly enough that he was half-surprised it didn’t shatter under his grip. “I don’t.”
“I do.”
Mandy’s voice made him panic. Shit. How much had she heard?
Twenty-Seven
Mandy
* * *
She hadn’t meant to overhear. Really.
But when she’d asked where Blane was and had been told the patio, she hadn’t expected to find he’d gone off with another woman.
She’d thought he needed fresh air, a break from the stuffy room.
And she’d wanted to surprise him.
Imagine her surprise at coming up to the door, Blane’s arm laced with the gorgeous blonde.
She didn’t look old enough to be Blane’s mom, but the conversation had quickly transmuted the slice of betrayal she’d been trying to stifle into admiration for her man spending quality time with his mom into shock and horror and . . . so much more admiration.
He’d stood up for her.
Stood by her.
“I do,” she said again from the doorway. “I’d like to know what you found out that was so important it warranted a trip across the country.”
Part of her was furious. How dare his mom do that? Part of her was hurt. Would her parents’ screwed-up relationship never just stay in the past? And part of her was curious. Growing up, nothing had ever been transparent—it was all mind games and hidden meanings and—
Well, she’d rather know all of it. Now.
Both of them had frozen when she’d spoken, Blane turning in almost slow motion, a look of horror on his face.
She crossed to him, grabbed his hand, and squeezed. Three times.
Rising on tiptoe, she whispered. “You know that means I love you, right?”
His lips curved. “Outdoing me again?”
A shrug. “It’s a gift.”
His fingers brushed her wrist. “I’m sorry. I—”
She just squeezed his hand three more times, heart pulsing when he did the same in return.
God, she loved this man.
Then she blew out a breath and turned to face off with his mother.
“Hi, Mrs. Hart,” she said. “I’m Mandy, though I guess you already know that.”
Blane’s mom extended a hand for Mandy to shake. “Allison.” Her tone was, rightfully so, chagrined. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
“Yes,” Mandy agreed. “Though maybe we can skip the formalities just this once, and you can tell me what it was that brought you out here.”
Allison sighed. “Okay. But I do want you both to know that I really did come because I wanted to meet you. I had a conference in the city that lined up with Blane’s schedule, so I wanted to watch him play and meet the woman that Brit has been raving about.”
“But?” Mandy asked.
“But then the background check came in.”
She pressed her lips together. “Yeah.”
“You know your father—”
“Was an alcoholic abuser? That my mom wasn’t—isn’t—a peach? Yeah. I lived through that touching story the first time.”
Allison’s eyes softened. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry you went through that. I”—she sighed—“it wasn’t right for them to treat you like that. You deserved better.”
Mandy sniffed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be nice and genuine. I’m trying to stay mad at you for invading my privacy.”
Allison laughed softly. “I really am sorry. I know that I shouldn’t have done it, but I am glad I did. And not just because I thought I was protecting Blane, but because I found out something that you really should know.”
Mandy glanced up at Blane. He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
Her chin dropped to her chest, and she inhaled deeply. Should she ask?
Did she really have a choice not to?
Dammit.
Because no.
Blane had told her his mom worked pretty high up in the government. If Allison was here saying what she’d found out was important, then it was.
“Tell me.” Mandy straightened and waited for the blow.
“You have a sister.”
She blinked, the statement about as far from anything she could have ever imagined. “Uhh, what?”
“Your dad—”
Mandy put her hand up. “Oh, my God. Sorry, just give me a second.”
Holy fuck, she’d expected money laundering or something, not Jerry Springer type shit.
Blane cupped her cheek. “Are you—?”
