by Chantal Mer
The bar erupts.
Dante yells over the chaos. “You okay, Ash?”
I nod and make my way through the sea of back slaps and bodies calling my name. Once in the confines of my office, I collapse onto the worn leather couch and scrub my face.
Well, shit. Now what do I do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Isaiah
Two weeks after my dad’s rant on national fucking television, he’s spotting me as I bench three hundred pounds. The strain of my biceps, the quivering of my core, the sweat trickling down my temple. All of it is welcomed distraction. A distraction from what I should do about Ash. Not that there’s really anything I can do. He was clear that he had no intention of sticking around.
“You finished killing yourself?” Dad helps me lift the bar to the holding position.
I grunt and sit up, unwrapping the tape around my hands. “I’m gonna work on my legs now.”
“You did legs yesterday. They need to rest.”
He’s right, but I need to do something. The restless energy that’s been coursing through my body since my breakup with Ash has multiplied tenfold. Babysitting my rambunctious nieces and nephew, working fifteen-hour days to get my new series together, along with keeping my non-profit going, and working out like a maniac. None of it has put a dent in the constant thrumming of my pulse and the restlessness that have become my normal. “I’ll just do some squats.”
“And give yourself an injury.” My dad pushes my leg with his and I make room as he plops down on the bench next to me. “Have you contacted him?”
“Who?” I know who he’s talking about. And he knows I know, but to his credit, my dad refrains from smacking me upside the back of my head.
“Asher.”
“No need. He made it clear that I read too much into our relationship.” Even though my throat constricts, I manage to get out the words.
This time, I do get a smack upside the head.
“Ouch.” I rub where he cuffed me. “What the hell, Dad?”
“You’re acting like a jackass.” He stands, hands on his hips. When he looks at me, it’s as formidable as when I was ten and had gotten in trouble at school for impersonating a televangelist in the middle of science. “I’ve never known you to give up, Isaiah.”
Elbows on my knees, I sigh at the ground and wish I could sleep through one night without being tortured by dreams of Ash. I’m so damn tired. “I’m not giving up. I’m listening to what he said. He made clear his thoughts on where we were going. It’s better to cut and run now than later when it will hurt more.”
Dad picks up the tape I’ve dumped at my feet and wads it up. “If everything you’ve told me about him is true, could it be possible that he said what he said to protect you?”
I lift my shoulders. I want to believe that, but if I’m wrong… I don’t think I can handle being told he’s not interested for a second time.
“When your mom and I were dating, she broke things off with me.”
I glance up from my feet. This is news. According to my parents, it was practically love at first sight.
He nods. “It’s true. I received an offer to play in L.A. and your mom was getting ready to start her graduate program at Brown. She had some crazy notion that staying together while separated by such a distance would hurt my game. She knew how hard I had worked to be recognized and didn’t want to jeopardize my dream of playing in the NHL.” A wistful smile plays at his mouth. “That woman was so stubborn, still is.”
I meet his smile with one of my own because we’d both be cuffed if Mom was here, even though he’s right. If she feels she’s right, it takes the effort of a tsunami to sway her. And that still may not work.
Dad points at me. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“No, sir.”
The corner of his lip crooks. “So, your stubborn mother tells me some stupid shit about not being compatible, wanting to focus on her career, and whatever else she could come up with. Not gonna lie, I was wrecked. I’d never felt like that about any other woman. When I envisioned my future, she was by my side.” His voice cracks as if tortured by the memory. “Anyway, I acted a fool and stormed off. Went to L.A. and was miserable. But I didn’t call or write or try to reach out because I was hurt, and my ego had been bruised. I kept telling myself the reason I didn’t reach out was that I took her at her word. Then after one particularly shitty game, your Uncle Milo pulls me aside. Wants to know what’s got me so out of my mind. I spill everything to him. And he asks me if I’ve tried talking to her. Asked if there was any other reason she’d say what she said.”
He throws the ball of tape up in the air and catches it. “Long story short, she was trying to protect me and was as miserable as I was.” He looks at me and smiles. “If I had given up like I was going to. If I hadn’t taken the risk, you wouldn’t be here.” The wad of tape hits me in the forehead. “Take a risk, you might be glad you did.”
And with that, my dad leaves me sitting alone in the gym, sweat cooling, and hope warming.
Ash isn’t stubborn like my mom, but he has a protective gene.
My dad is right, I’ve been acting like I’ve given up, and that’s not me.
Time to talk to my man.
But first, I have to figure out what the heck I’m going to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ash
“I don’t understand why you won’t just text him or something.”
March came in like a lion but is leaving like a lamb with its warm breeze. People are smiling, happy to have the sun’s rays shining down on their skin and melting the mounds of dirty snow. Though Cila and I are enjoying our walk, my sister’s constant nagging is wearing on the good mood I’ve been diligently constructing since witnessing Booker’s rant a few weeks ago. Knowing Isaiah has his father’s support, which is everything to him, makes missing Isaiah a little easier.
Unfortunately, Sophie also saw Booker and thinks I should try to mend things with Isaiah.
“Just because his father may have forgiven me, doesn’t mean that the rest of the world has. And with Isaiah’s new show coming up next month, he doesn’t need the complication.” We’ve had this same conversation too many times to count.
“I’m just saying that he didn’t care about any of that before, why would he now? You’re the one with the problem.”
I sigh, and even though she can’t see me, she hears my annoyance.
“Don’t you deep-sigh me, Asher. You’re acting like a big baby. It’s like you won’t allow yourself to experience any happiness, and I’m tired of it.” She sounds like she did when she was seven and didn’t get her way.
“When you stop hiding behind your hair and Mr. Peabody and begin showing the world who you really are, then you can pass judgment.” Maybe it’s harsh, but once Serena died, Sophie seemed to disappear. Like if she was quiet enough, compliant enough, my parents wouldn’t be as devastated. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the day—with me, Sophie is her ornery self.
“Don’t get pissy because you’re mad at yourself for your imbecilic decisions.”
At my building, I hold open the door for Mrs. McGonnegal and her German Shepard, Princess. The eighty-something woman smiles while Princess noses Cila and wags her tail. Cila gives her a quick yip hello then starts pulling on her leash. Tail wagging so fast it looks like a propeller ready to lift her off the ground, she barks and tugs, coughing and choking herself in the process.
“Cila, stop,” I command, but when I scan the lobby, I spot the cause of Cila’s excitement, and my heart starts pumping with the speed of Cila’s propelling tail. “I gotta go, Soph.”
“Wh—”
I hit end call and silence my phone before she can get her question out. She’ll make me pay for it, but the only thing I can think of right this moment is how good Isaiah looks in dark-washed jeans that sculpt his legs and a green checked button-down under a gray sports coat. His dreads are pulled into a low loose ponytail highlighting
the warmest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. In one hand, he’s holding Grinder’s worn leather leash and, in the other, a round plastic container.
“Hi.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. Having him here has my stomach doing figure eights.
The trepidation etched along his mouth, morphs into a lazy smile. “Hey.”
Cila’s yipping intensifies, and Grinder gives a low woof. I drop Cila’s leash, and she scurries to the gentle giant, jumping, wiggling, and barking her greeting while Grinder drops his head, trying to nuzzle my windup toy of a dog.
“I was hoping I’d catch you home,” Isaiah says as he smiles at the dogs before meeting my eyes again. “Can I come up?”
“Sure.” I scoop up Cila, and we walk to the elevator in silence. My body is humming with trepidation and anticipation.
Once at my door, I unlock it and unfasten Cila’s leash. Isaiah does the same with Grinder, and the lovebirds head off like they have to make up for lost time.
I feel you.
“Coffee?” My mouth is sawdust and my throat is a dried-up riverbed.
“I’ve missed your coffee.”
Isaiah follows me into the kitchen while I try to douse the fire ignited in my belly from hearing he missed something about me—even if it is just my coffee. And damnit, but the fluffy feeling is back. “Congratulations. I saw you’ll be doing a series with the Hockey Network.”
“Thanks. It should be fun, and they’re eager to work with me on promoting the work my non-profit does. The partnership could catapult us to the next level.” His thumbs are drumming on the red lid of the plastic container sitting in front of him.
I lift my chin to his makeshift drum while I grind the beans and scoop the grounds into the coffee maker. “What’s that?”
The flush on his dark skin is almost imperceivable, but the way he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth isn’t. Now I’m curious. I’ve only ever seen Isaiah sure, confident, relaxed. Embarrassed is new, and if I’m honest with myself, adorable.
And an adorable Isaiah equals sexy.
I shut that thought process down as soon as it pops up. No use getting excited about nothing.
“I baked you something.” His hands are gripping the container, turning his knuckles white.
The side of my mouth tilts. “You baked?”
Some of the color returns to his knuckles, and his beautiful eyes twinkle. “I tried.”
“May I?” I reach for the baked goods, and my fingers brush his, sending sparks of want, need, and longing spiraling along my spine.
When the heat of his hand covers mine, stopping my progression, I bite back the groan. His skin—yes even the skin of his hands—feels so damn good. I want to lift him to the counter, his legs wrapped around my waist, his chest pressed to mine, his breath hot on my neck. But I halt.
“This was my fourth attempt.” He looks down. “I’m sorry, they kind of suck.” He releases my hand and steps back.
I release the lid from the container, and inside are red frosted blobs that I think are supposed to be cookies. “You made cookies?”
Chewing on his lip, he nods. “They’re sugar cookies.”
I hold one up. “They look…”
“Dense.” His vibrant smile breaks free with such force I stumble back. “I couldn’t get them thin like my mom’s, but this batch didn’t burn. So…”
I take a bite. Correction, I try to take a bite. These have to be the hardest cookies I’ve ever had. After significant force, I manage to break off a piece without damaging a tooth. The frosting is so sweet the sugar hurts my teeth, and I’m confident I’ve had a week’s worth of daily salt intake in this one taste.
As I diligently chew, he says, “They’re supposed to be hearts.”
The cookie becomes a glob of dried cement in my mouth. I choke down the lump and stare at him. He’s watching me like he’s studying the game reel of an opposing team.
“Why are they hearts?” I sound squeaky. I don’t want to sound squeaky and needy, but I do.
Eyes on mine, he moves closer. The scent of his cologne is heaven and hell. The concrete ball I just swallowed has crashed to the deepest depths of my gut.
“I told you I would chase you when you ran.” Another step closer. “That when I caught you, I’d persuade you to stay.”
Another step.
And another.
Hands on my shoulders, bodies a breath apart, his beautiful eyes bounce from my mouth to my eyes and back to my mouth. “I know you think that being together will somehow mess with my career. That my dad won’t be able to get past his anger.” His hands shift and clasp behind my neck, bringing us closer yet. “First, that’s all bullshit. It’s probably because of you that I got the job with the Hockey Network. And second, my dad is coming around.”
Of their own accord, my hands slide onto his hips. To touch him is a gift, one I’m treasuring in case it’s the last time. “I saw your dad go off on Curt Fowlie.” I grin. “He was pretty awesome.”
His foot bumps mine causing me to spread my legs enough for him to put his in between and settle. He’s so close I can see the three stray hairs near his left ear that he missed when shaving today. “Dad’s the one who told me I needed to step up and fight for you.”
“Really?” I can’t hide my utter shock.
“Really.” Warm lips touch my neck. “I should have come for you sooner.” Kiss. “I missed you, Ash.” Kiss.
“Are you sure?”
The soft pressure on my neck that’s making my dick as hard as the sugar cookies Isaiah made is gone when he leans his head back to stab me with his disapproval. “Yes, I’m fucking sure.”
He throws his hands up, but before he can create any more space between us, I clamp my hands more firmly to his hips and tug him closer. “Are you sure your dad’s okay with this? With us?”
The fire sparked by his anger is fanned by something, I’m hoping it’s desire. His hands return to their place clasped behind my neck, using them to press my forehead to his. “I am. But if he weren’t, I’d still want this. Want you.”
“Why?” I ask the question before I process what I’m saying.
I know it’s stupid.
I know I’m insecure.
I know I should just cherish the fact that this amazing man wants me for some inexplicable reason.
But I can’t seem to get past wondering why, me of all people. He could have anyone.
His chest brushes mine when he takes a deep inhalation, which sounds a lot like exasperation. When he spears me with more emotion than I’ve ever been on the receiving end of, I brace myself for anything and everything. Suddenly, I don’t want to know the answer.
“I want you because I love you, you big pain in the ass.”
Marshmallows and the lightest, fluffiest meringue fill me. This feeling, that only happens with this man, is one I want to hold on to.
Indefinitely.
“I love you, too, Isaiah.”
Both brows raise along with the corners of his mouth. “You do?”
Chuckling at his disbelief, I pull him closer. “I do. I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner.” I place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “But I promise to tell you daily how much I adore you.”
“I like the sound of that.” His lips graze the curve of my ear, and a shiver rakes my body. “When do you have to be at the restaurant?”
The heat of his skin sears my fingertips as I work my hands under his shirt. “I think Alejandro can handle things today.”
Brighter than the sun reflecting off a stainless-steel fridge, his face lights up. “I’m feeling under the weather.” He covers his mouth and fake coughs. “I should probably stay in bed for the rest of the day.”
I lace my fingers through his and lead him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. “Let’s get you tucked in. I’ll take care of you.”
Enjoying our silly banter, I glance over my shoulder. The lighthearted look I’m expecting isn’t there. In its place is one of serene ser
iousness.
“And I’ll take care of you, Ash. Always.”
The ferocity of his meaning unleashes and unburdens me in a way that leaves me breathless. In this moment, I know with absolute certainty that I have found a friend, a lover, and a partner in this one incredible man. A man who has taught me about being all of those things.
Tugging him to me, I press my mouth to his, pouring the entirety of my being into the kiss, into him. When we part, I cup his face and kiss the tip of his nose. “Promise me that you’ll always chase me when I get scared and run.”
His hands snake up the inside of my shirt. “I promise.”
The pads of my thumbs smooth over his cheekbones. “And I promise to always chase you in return.”
The intake of his breath is shaky as he nods his agreement. “Stop talking and start taking care of me like you promised.”
I toss my head back and laugh while I drag him to my bedroom. “Only if you promise never to make those cookies again.”
Laughing, he punches my shoulder. “I baked my ass off on those.”
“I know, and I appreciate it.” I spin him into the room and pin him to the wall. “But if you make them again, I’ll think you have a sinister plan to poison me.” Hands on each side of his head, I whisper onto his lips, “I love you.”
Pressing my mouth to his, I take his words before he can say them because I know our love is beyond mere words, and I’m committed to showing Isaiah Blake how much he means to me for the rest of our lives.
EPILOGUE
All-Star weekend – The following year.
Isaiah
“You’re sure about this?” Ash drums his fist against his thigh as he asks the same question for the fiftieth time.
I reach for his fist and uncurl his fingers. Pulling him closer to me, I brush his lips with mine and feel his springlike muscles relax with each pass of my lips. Our fingers intertwine just like our lives have for the last year. Reluctantly, I pull my mouth from his. Not finished, he nuzzles my neck, the scrape of his beard coupled with the heat of his mouth has me seriously reconsidering our breakfast plans.
