Wrapped Up In You (A Chicago Rebels Holiday Novella)

by Kate Meader

  WRAPPED UP IN YOU

  A Chicago Rebels Holiday Novella

  Kate Meader

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kate Meader

  Cover by Michele Catalano Creative

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Instacrush

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kate Meader

  Get wrapped up in a Rebel this holiday season ...

  The holidays are coming and hockey player, Cade “Alamo” Burnett knows exactly what he wants for Christmas: an assurance that his happily-ever-after with Chicago Rebels general manager, Dante Moretti, stays that way. But festive gremlins are conspiring to throw a wrench in the forever Cade and Dante fought so hard for. With their personal and professional lives clashing, can they find their way back to each other—or are they destined to find coal in their stockings come Christmas morning?

  Chapter One

  “Only a Texan would rent a car in New York.”

  “And only a New Yorker would get all bent out of shape about it.”

  Cade Burnett slid a glance to Mr. Big Apple Know-it-all himself, then reached out to squeeze his muscle-bound thigh. Sometimes he couldn’t believe he got to do that to Dante Moretti, former NHL pro, general manager of the Chicago Rebels, and Cade’s sexy AF boss. His boyhood crush, too. Was this real life?

  “I know you’re nervous.”

  “Yes, I am,” Dante clipped back. “You’re behind the wheel in one of the most congested cities in the world where offensive driving is an Olympic sport and every other driver glories in being an asshole. We should have gotten a car service.”

  “I like driving. Don’t do enough of it being a VIP and all.” Cade rarely drove the sporty roadster he paid an exorbitant monthly fee to garage back in Riverbrook, just north of Chicago. Dante usually drove them both into the Rebels’ practice facility and home again after games. But then Dante liked to be in charge in pretty much every area of his life.

  Maybe Cade should have let the poor guy take the wheel today so he could feel some semblance of control. Visiting your family after a year of painfully obvious absence would play havoc on anyone’s mental health. Dante’s sisters and their husbands were accepting of his sexuality, but his parents had iced him out over twelve years ago when he came out after his NHL retirement. Trips to visit his sisters were timed to ensure Dante didn’t cross paths with his parents, but proximity to his old hood made him twitchy.

  This year was no different. Having checked into a hotel in midtown Manhattan, they were headed to Brooklyn, a one-night flyby before continuing on to Philly for a Rebels away game. Yesterday’s Thanksgiving with Cade’s dad in San Antonio had been wonderful. Tucker Burnett adored Dante (sometimes, it seemed more than Cade himself) and Cade was thrilled to be able to give him the comfort of a loving family.

  Cade focused on not crashing on the FDR. It was not unlike Lake Shore Drive back home except faster, crazier, and featuring more obstacles than a Mario Kart course.

  “We should stop and get wine when we cross the bridge,” Dante said, checking his phone presumably for the nearest liquor store in Brooklyn.

  “Your sister said not to bother. And it’s not like we’re arriving empty-handed.” The trunk was filled with gifts for everyone—early Christmas presents because they probably wouldn’t be making their way back here in a month. Cade had enjoyed shopping for the nieces and nephews. One of his favorite things about the last time they’d visited was watching the kids go wide-eyed as they ripped open their presents.

  “That’s Moretti code. ‘Don’t bother’ in my family means ‘make sure it’s Italian and costs more than thirty bucks retail.’ Which my father would then criticize because we should be buying wholesale and storing it in our imaginary wine cellars.” He looked out the window, a moodier-than-usual cast to his expression.

  Dante preferred his feelings remain buried ten feet underground. He didn’t believe in talking about things he couldn’t change. His father’s views on homosexuality were implacable, his mother’s followed her husband’s, and their son’s personal and professional success wouldn’t be changing hearts and minds anytime soon.

  It wasn’t as if the man was unfulfilled: he was the general manager for a Cup-winning hockey team, he’d smashed ceilings and blazed a trail in pro sports, and he had Cade, a guy who loved him to pieces.

  Cade was fine with being on the receiving end of Dante’s hurt, but there was still a hole there that not even Cade could fill. Complaining wasn’t in Dante’s nature and opening himself up to the possibility of more pain wasn’t, either.

  So Cade would have to take this on—not just being there for his guy but taking a proactive step to fix this. Just as Dante had done for him over three years ago right before Cade came out to the world. It was going to be an interesting 24 hours.

  Parking was a bitch, but within fifteen minutes of crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, and after a brief stop for wine, they were finally slotted into a spot a block from the house of Dante’s oldest sister.

  Dante put his hand on the handle.

  “Hold up,” Cade said.

  The most gorgeous guy on the planet turned his head, one eyebrow raised in query. At close to forty, Dante was still in peak physical condition, a mountain of taut, unyielding muscle. Midnight black hair framed the face of a dark angel, all hard planes and hewn edges. But it was the man’s eyes that made the most impact. Ice-chip blue that turned to a summer sky when his passions rose.

  He didn’t ask why Cade was delaying, probably because he didn’t mind the wait. The two of them here together in a rental car on a Crown Heights side street was about as perfect as it could get.

  No words were spoken while they reached for each other. Their mouths connected, their breaths became one, and Dante’s moan found an answering response in Cade’s. It had been like this forever—a kiss between them always meant so much more. And Cade’s forever had started that night Dante crossed the line in his living room, taking what Cade offered so willingly.

  Here, I’m yours. We begin tonight.

  Cade coasted his hand down Dante’s chest, the muscles hard steel beneath his fingertips through the fine wool sweater. He rubbed as he went, soothing as much as inciting, and cupped his guy’s half-erect cock. The sound Dante made turned Cade hard, ready, and aching.

  “Cristo.” Dante’s fingers returned the favor, stroking hard just the way Cade liked it. “Every time. You wreck me.”

  Wet, deep kisses sizzled to every extremity, ratcheting up exquisite pressure in Cade’s balls. Well, that had backfired. He hadn’t meant to let it go this far, to the point where there was a good chance he was going to shoot in his pants like his fourteen-year-old self, gazing at this man’s poster on his bedroom wall back in San Antonio.

  Ther
e was a hot symmetry to it, he supposed.

  Scrambling for balance, he pulled back and placed his hand over Dante’s. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Can’t take what you’re doling out, polpetto?” The question might be sarcastic but not the endearment which meant meatball. It shouldn’t have been sexy but Cade loved when Dante used it.

  He’d only intended to relax his guy and take his mind off the day ahead, but he hadn’t reckoned on the man’s stamina. Less than an hour ago, they’d showered together … for a long and very mutually satisfying time.

  “I was trying to help,” Cade said breathlessly.

  “What’s that saying about helping those who help themselves?”

  “It’s up there with a road to hell and good intentions.”

  That made Dante smile. His strong hand restarted the torture through Cade’s jeans. No more kissing, just Dante’s blue-flamed gaze boring into Cade’s sex-fogged skull.

  “Oh, fuck, that’s so good. But—”

  “But? I love a good but.”

  Cade’s eyelids shuttered and he struggled to open them. “This was meant to be me doing something for you.” There was nothing stopping him from continuing his holy work on Dante’s impressive erection, except his focus was shot. He could multitask on the ice, in the kitchen, playing video games, but when it came to sex with Dante, his cock was one-track.

  Dante unzipped Cade’s jeans and shoved his briefs down with practiced efficiency.

  “You’re close, baby,” he murmured, his breath coming fast, each hot inhale spurring Cade on. “I should leave you hanging and punish you for thinking you were in control here.” He squeezed the thick head of Cade’s cock. A steady leak of pre-cum dribbled over his fingers, and Cade almost lost it.

  “Or maybe I should take you into my sister’s bathroom and fuck you over the sink.” He licked the corner of Cade’s mouth. “But only after you’ve sat through antipasti, two pasta courses, secondi, dolce, and every damn word about the damn planning permission for the damn house extension.”

  That sounded both torturous and amazing. “What kind of pasta?”

  Dante laughed. “Smart ass.”

  “It’s why you love me.”

  The Italian’s eyes softened. “No, I think it’s because you know exactly what I need.” And then he dropped his head and took Cade into his mouth to the root. Three lusty sucks was all Cade needed to buck, blow, and barrel his load down Dante’s throat. The surrender felt so powerful, so right. Giving Dante this control was exactly the right move.

  Zipping up, Cade watched Dante, waiting for him to make the brain switch. Even though his sisters accepted him without reservation, Dante showed them a different person from who he made available when it was just the two of them. With the Morettis, he walked a razor’s edge between his tough guy upbringing in Brooklyn and the out and proud man he’d become. Not hiding, but not fully turning his face to the light, either.

  Cade hoped this visit would change things.

  “Ready?” Dante asked, his voice even, his manner cool again. The man who could manage anyone and anything, including his messy feelings, was back.

  Cade nodded. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Two

  Dante’s hard on had mostly subsided by the time he rang his sister’s doorbell. Cade had a big, doofus, Texan grin on his face and why not? He’d just come like a rocket. For Dante to indulge was a little too close to home. This way, he could be cranky for a different reason than visiting his nearest and dearest.

  He heard Sofia before he saw her, shouting to one of the kids upstairs about getting their shit out of the living room. She opened the door with her mouth gaping mid-yell.

  “Jesus, we can hear you all the way down the street, Sofe.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.”

  She pulled him into a hug and he pretended not to like it even as he squeezed tighter. It had been too long, but sometimes the logistics of avoidance weren’t worth it. Sofia was forty-one, looked forty-five, and could employ guilt tactics expertly like the Catholic-raised girl and mama she was.

  Releasing him, she studied his face. “There is a God. Two years younger than me but you still look older.”

  “I work harder than you. It’s all the travel.”

  “I’d think this one would keep you young,” she said, jerking a thumb at Cade. She patted Dante’s stomach and commented, “But now you’ve landed him, you’ve let yourself go.”

  Without waiting for a response—and Cristo, what would be the point—she pushed him aside and hugged Cade hard.

  “As for you, cowboy, you’re looking extremely fine.”

  “Run away with me, Sofia.”

  A blood-curdling scream above them was followed by a crash and the inevitable crying. “And leave this paradise?”

  Laughing, they followed her inside. “Where’s Jerry?”

  “Picking up supplies.”

  Dante’s brother-in-law, Jerry, was probably the most tight-lipped guy he had ever met. How the man ever managed to say “I do” was one of life’s great mysteries. He owned a hot dog stand in Crown Heights and spent all his spare time at the cash-n-carry.

  Jerry had it figured out.

  “When’s Allie coming over?” Alicia, his other sister, was just a year older than Dante. They’d been inseparable as kids, both of them united in defying their father.

  “She should be here any minute.”

  “Alamo!” A blur of boy energy burst into the room—and ignored Dante. His nephew, Mario, was thirteen going on twenty and thought the sun shone out of Cade “Alamo” Burnett’s admittedly amazing ass. He and Cade did some complicated handshake thing that aged Dante on the spot then folded each other in a manly hug. “You were awesome in the Nashville game, man! Fifteen blocks!”

  “Eighteen, but who’s counting?” Cade scrubbed a hand through his copper-tinged brown hair. “How’s practice coming along? Getting ice time?”

  “It’s all good,” Mario said, his attempt at cool warring with his excitement at seeing Cade, one of his favorite players in the league. Having an uncle who was a former defenseman, now general manager didn’t carry quite the same cachet. “I got to play a few shifts at last Saturday’s game.”

  “Yeah, your mom sent me some video. Some nice cuts at the puck there.”

  “You think?”

  “Of course, you’re a natural. Now—”

  “Don’t mind me,” Dante muttered, at which Mario laughed and came in for a hug. Dante was glad to see he did it without hesitation—he’d been worried that as his nephews and nieces got older, they’d lose that unquestioning acceptance of people who were different.

  “Was that your sister I heard crying up there?”

  “Nah, it was Luca. He’s such a baby.”

  That prompted Sofe to scream at the top of her lungs. “Get the hell down here now! Your uncles are here.”

  Dante exchanged a grin with Cade. They both liked that, Cade being considered an uncle. Sofia and Allie had nothing but affection and acceptance to offer the man Dante loved, and it checked his heart every time he witnessed it.

  In the company of a fake Christmas tree that was up much too early and a Nativity scene with Daleks for wise men (don’t ask, Sofia said) they spent next thirty minutes catching up with the kids. Luca was nine and more introverted, preferring to read, so books were a good gift. Eleven-year-old Gina was a K-pop fan, so she was pretty easy to please as well. By the time Allie joined with her brood—ten-year-old Gianni, six-year-old Greta, and the latest addition to the famiglia, four-month-old Cosmo—the house was loud enough to shake the foundations.

  Dante set a glass of wine on the side table beside Allie and gestured for the baby. “Let me hold my nephew while you contaminate your breast milk.”

  “Half a glass won’t kill me—or him! And please don’t say breast milk again, baby bro.”

  He smiled as he took charge of Cosmo and a seat beside her on the sofa. Greta sat on his other side, readin
g something aloud about a caterpillar who couldn’t find the right shade of lipstick. Probably a metaphor about loving yourself, which seemed to be the message of all children’s books.

  Cosmo lay quietly in his arms, his big blue eyes taking it all in. “Is he usually this good?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. The other two were terrors—still are—but he’s the calm one.”

  “How’s Peter?”

  Allie’s husband Peter was currently deployed in Iraq. This was the second Thanksgiving he’d been overseas.

  “We skyped yesterday. He wishes he could be here.”

  “And how are you?”

  His sister looked tired, her navy-dark eyes a little less lustrous than usual. “Surviving. Mama helps out with—” She shook her head, guilt overcoming her features.

  “It’s okay, Allie. She’s their nonna. She loves them and they love her.”

  He understood the compromises they made. While they didn’t agree with his parents acting like he had died, they still had to live their own lives. Find childcare. Share family dinners. He would never expect his sisters to cut his parents out of their grandchildren’s lives in protest. They’d found middle ground. Dante could visit and his parents wouldn’t come over that day.

  They had to know he was in town. Were they sitting at home six blocks away waiting for the all-clear, ready to jump out as soon as Cade and Dante sped off back to Manhattan?

  He brushed lips against Cosmo’s head. That baby smell—people talked about it like it was Chanel No. 5. For Dante, it was an infant’s warmth that got his heart racing. All that pulsing energy and potential wrapped up in a cute little package. He could do or be anything, no path was closed to him.

  Allie took a sip of wine and savored it for a second. “They’re getting old,” she said, warming to the topic of his parents now that he’d intimated it was safe territory. “Papa should really be retiring from the restaurant.”