“So yeah, last night was pretty much the hottest thing that has ever happened to me,” I confess softly. “And also the most out-of-control and out-of-character thing I have ever done.”
“Yeah,” she agrees quietly and turns her eyes to the street, focusing on nothing. “Believe it or not, it took me by surprise too.”
“I don’t regret it,” I tell her honestly. “I probably wouldn’t have fixed things with Jordan as quickly if it didn’t happen. I think I have a different perspective now. Or at least I’m trying to.”
She starts to giggle self-consciously. “All that from a blow job? Damn, I’m good!”
I burst out laughing at that. Her giggles turn to full-fledged laughter too. “I should tell the U.S. military about you. You could probably stop terrorism.”
She’s blushing and tears of laughter are swimming in her beautiful brown eyes. I put my hand to the back of her head and kiss her forehead gently. I make sure to let her go quickly and step away so the gesture is friendly, nothing more.
“Have a good trip. I expect a goal a game, Garrison. Nothing less,” she commands.
“I’ll do my best,” I promise her as my airport car pulls up behind her. “If you need anything while I’m gone or you’re bored or whatever, call me or text me.”
It’s weird. I have never told her that before. And I know I don’t have to tell her now. If the house burned down or something happened to Conner or whatever, she would get in touch with me. I guess now I’m reminding her it’s okay if she wants to talk to me without a disaster attached to it.
As fucked up as last night was, she pulled me back from the edge of complete self-destruction. I don’t know how far I am from that edge, but it’s farther than I was before last night. I don’t want to slip back.
She nods and winks. “And remember, when in doubt—cold shower.”
I laugh and slip into the backseat as the driver loads my bag into the trunk. I watch her climb the steps to the front door and admire the swing of her narrow hips and the perfect round shape of her ass. Then I give my head a shake as the driver heads toward JFK.
Chapter 25
Callie
The next night I sit alone in the living room with a glass of Pinot and a big bowl of my favorite pepper Parmesan pasta and watch the Barons–Ice Dogs game. My eyes follow the puck on the TV as Devin skates with it down the ice, making a picture-perfect pass to Donahue, who takes a screaming shot that hits the post. My phone vibrates on the coffee table with a text from Jessie. She wants to know how things are with Devin and me. As I text her back and tell her we’re all good and just friends (again), nothing to worry about, the captain of the Hamilton Ice Dogs scores so they’re now leading 2–1. There are only seconds left in the second period. A goal like that is a real morale killer. I swear under my breath as the camera shows a close-up of Devin skating to the bench with a hard scowl on his face.
In the third period the Barons come out full of intensity and get an early goal to tie it up. Devin has an assist on the goal, which makes me clap and bounce on the couch. By the end of the third it’s still tied. Halfway through the five-minute overtime, Devin intercepts a Hamilton pass and makes a break for it. He’s so fast and determined I know, even before his stick pulls back and slaps the puck, that it will sail easily through the goalie’s legs and hit the back of the net—which is exactly what it does. I squeal and jump off the couch.
Later that night as I brush my teeth, my mind is on Devin. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been thinking of him more than I should be since he left on this road trip. I’m worried about him but I’m also still a little flustered about that whole shower thing. We seemed to leave things on good, friendly ground again, like I told Jessie, but until we go about our normal daily routine—with both of us under the same roof again—I won’t know for certain that things are okay.
I crawl into bed and send him a text message. You didn’t score in Montreal but the OT game winner in Hamilton makes up for that. However if you don’t score in regulation in Ottawa, don’t come home. ;-)
Before I can even put the phone back down, he’s responded. Typical Callie Control Freak, telling me how to play. FYI—I’ll score twice next time.
I laugh.
Two days later, after the Barons win in Ottawa, the theme to the horror movie Halloween slices through the darkness of my room at three in the morning and I fly from my bed, suddenly wide awake. Fuck. It’s November. I keep forgetting to change that damn ring tone. I snatch my cell from the nightstand and see Devin’s number lighting up my screen.
“Holy fuck, you just gave me a heart attack,” I say breathlessly as I fall back onto my rumpled bed.
“Sorry. I’ll let you go.” He’s slurring his words and I can hear a slight echo.
“No. It’s okay!” I respond quickly. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No.”
I feel my body tense. “Where are you?”
“In the bathroom of my hotel room,” he admits. “Contemplating a cold shower.”
I smile. “Are you alone?”
“Loops is passed out in the hotel room,” he replies, still slurring. “But yeah. I’m alone. You’re still the only girl I take cold showers with.”
I laugh. “What happened, Dev?”
“Ashleigh called. And I told her…” He takes a deep ragged breath. “I think we’re going to get divorced.”
“I think you are too,” I reply honestly.
“So I failed.”
“She failed you. You failed at nothing,” I argue softly.
“I failed Conner,” he mumbles in a whisper, and I know he’s close to tears.
It breaks my heart and I feel tears prick the corners of my own eyes. “Failing Conner would be staying with a woman who doesn’t think you are the single most amazing human being on the face of this earth. Because that’s what that kid believes you are and he would want whoever you are with to believe it too.”
He says nothing. I hear nothing but his uneven breathing.
“And Conner deserves to have two parents who are loved just as much as he is, even if it’s not by each other,” I explain and roll onto my side and curl into a ball, the phone wedged between the pillow and my ear. “Conner will survive divorced parents. You and Ashleigh both love him. And his uncles and aunts love him. And his grandparents love him. As long as he is loved—and you love yourself enough to do what’s best—the kid will not feel like a failure and not think of you as a failure. I promise.”
“You’re amazing,” he whispers.
“I am,” I say with a smile. “And I didn’t even have parents! Remember that.”
He laughs. It’s tiny and weak but it’s better than nothing. “You had my parents. They love you like a daughter.”
“I know. And I’m eternally grateful.”
“You deserve it, Cal,” he replies quietly. “You deserve love.”
I feel suddenly panicked. I don’t like where this conversation is headed. It feels like it’s taking a turn I’m not going to like. “You going to take that cold shower or what?”
“Not as much fun without you,” he murmurs. I think he may be starting to fall asleep.
“Devin, honey, go to bed.”
“Mmm…are you in bed?”
“Yes.”
“Are you wearing those cute pajamas? The ones that get see-through when they’re wet?”
Oh my God. I go from zero to completely turned on so fast I should have whiplash.
“No. I’m wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants. It’s cold tonight,” I reply quietly. “And there’s no one here to warm me up.”
“I wish I could warm you up,” he mumbles.
I have the distinct feeling he may not even remember this conversation tomorrow—but I will. “Well, maybe I should just warm myself up and think of you while I’m doing it.”
There’s a pause. “Yeah. You should,” he agrees in a husky voice.
“Go to sleep, Devin,” I command again.
“Mmm. ’Night, Callista.” He uses my full name and it feels intimate and special. No one ever uses it. I had no idea he even knew it.
“’Night, Devin.”
I hang up.
Holy shit, what are we doing? I sit there reeling, trying to calm down and ignore the dampness in my panties. Fifteen minutes later I give up the fight and let my mind wander to thoughts of him as my hand slips into the front of my pajama pants to work myself to a release.
Chapter 26
Devin
As I walk up the driveway, I feel like I might throw up from nerves and embarrassment. When I woke up this morning, my head was pounding and my brain was foggy, but as I got ready to meet the team and get on the bus to head for the airport, my memories became clearer.
Last night after Ashleigh’s phone call I got obliterated at the bar. There were puck bunnies everywhere, as is usually the case in Canadian towns, and a short, perky redhead was following me around like a puppy. I talked to her a little bit and a part of me wanted to take her back to the hotel and fuck her senseless. But I didn’t.
Both Loops and I stumbled back to the hotel room with just each other and looming hangovers. He pulled off everything but his underwear, left it in a heap on the floor, and was snoring loudly before his head hit the pillow. I stripped into my underwear and I took my cell and headed into the bathroom to call Callie.
I didn’t remember much of the conversation when I first woke up this morning. I could recall talking about maybe getting divorced. As I showered I started to remember what she said about Conner. Her words made sense and they alleviated a lot of the guilt I was feeling—not all of it, but enough that my chest no longer felt like it was in a vise and my shoulders weren’t so tight.
And then I remembered the end of the conversation. As soon as the words replayed in my head—“I wish I could warm you up” and “Well, maybe I should just warm myself up and think of you while I’m doing it”—a wave of desire rippled through me and I was instantly hard.
I envisioned her lying in my guest room, her hands in her panties playing in the wetness caused by thoughts of me…I had no choice but to jerk off right then and there in the middle of my morning shower or I would have had to get on the team bus and the airplane with a rock-hard cock. Blue balls at twenty-five thousand feet? No, thank you.
Now I’m freaking out at the prospect of seeing her again. I feel like she’ll know what I did—and I don’t know if I can look at her innocently and not think about what she might have done last night. And the more I think about it, the more my dick twitches in my pants, which does nothing to keep me calm.
I hold my breath and open the front door to the brownstone. I’m greeted by the sound of music. Old music—seventies music. I leave my suitcase in the hall and follow the sound into the kitchen.
It’s a band my parents used to listen to on actual records in the den when they were feeling nostalgic. Fleetwood Mac. “Don’t Stop,” I think the song is called. I turn into the kitchen and stare at the sight before me.
Callie and Conner are dancing around the room. She’s singing along with the chorus of the song at the top of her lungs, barely in tune. He is humming along completely out of tune. They’re both holding wooden spoons that are dripping with remnants of cake batter. Full cupcake tins are sitting on the counter by the oven and a dirty mixing bowl is on its side in the sink.
There are globs of batter on the counter and the floor where they are dancing, but neither of them seems to notice or care. I don’t either. I happily take it all in unnoticed. She’s smiling brighter than sunshine at Conner, who is clearly having the time of his little life.
Finally she notices me and her smile gets even brighter. “Hey! Daddy is here!” she tells Conner. He spins, drops his spoon with a splat on the floor and runs to me. I bend down and let him climb into my arms, not at all concerned about the chocolate batter his fingers are smearing across my suit. If it were Ashleigh, she would freak out and tell him to stop. But I don’t care. I have other suits. This moment is once in a lifetime.
“Daddy, we bake cupcakes and lick batters and dance!” he tells me in an excited rush.
“I see that,” I reply and kiss his sticky cheek.
The song starts to fade out as Callie bends and picks up his spoon. She’s in a pair of yoga pants and a gray tank top with the Rolling Stones tongue on the front, and her long wavy hair is pinned up on her head in not one but two knots. It makes her look like a punk Princess Leia or something. She smiles sheepishly at me, hurries to get the cloth from the sink and starts wiping up the mess.
“Ashleigh dropped him off. Said she wanted to save you the trip,” she tells me with a look that says it’s way more than that. “I promise to clean up the mess. Sorry we got carried away.”
“Don’t mind in the least,” I tell her honestly and walk over to where she is about to put the cupcakes into the oven. “What flavor?”
“Devil’s food cake.” She winks.
“Of course.” I laugh. It was her favorite flavor when we were younger and my mom always made it for her for her birthday.
She dips the tip of her spoon in one of the cups of batter and lifts it to my mouth. I taste it but don’t take all of it and she promptly bops me lightly on the tip of my nose with the spoon. A dollop of batter splatters across the bridge of my nose.
I give Callie a mock scowl but Conner squeals with laughter. The beginning chords of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” start to rift through the stereo. She places the cupcakes in the oven and then she closes her eyes and sighs.
“Best song ever!” she declares and spins away dancing by herself and singing again.
I put Conner down and he runs to join her. I can’t believe how happy I am in this moment. I don’t honestly remember the last time I ever felt this content. Callie Caplan is the best thing that ever happened to me.
Chapter 27
Callie
Devin!”
It’s been happening all night. It’s what is supposed to happen at these things. Rich Brooklyn Barons fans drop a ton of money on tickets to hobnob with the players and get drunk on free booze and fat on free appetizers. Well, maybe they weren’t doing the second part, but I sure was.
I grab a cream cheese crab puff off a passing tray and wash it down with a swig of Champagne. Devin asked me to come to the Annual Barons Winter Mixer and keep him company because all the players were bringing their significant others and he didn’t want to stick out. Plus, he said he needed the positive reinforcement. I agreed because I love a party, and if Devin needs me, I’ll be there.
Devin smiles brightly at the large man with a ring of fuzzy gray hair who called his name. He’s marching toward us with an overly primped woman with giant Southern belle gray hair and dark red lipstick on her thin lips. When they reach us, the man shakes Devin’s hand powerfully and grins.
“Good to see you again!” he says to Devin.
“You too, Mr. Kensington.” He turns to the woman and smiles even more brightly. “And you, Mrs. Kensington, are looking more beautiful every time I see you!”
I’m amazed at how comfortable he seems to be in this role of being on display and schmoozing these people. All night he’s been relaxed and friendly and he’s never had to ask a single person’s name, even though I know he only sees these rich hockey fans maybe twice a year at events like this. And all his inner turmoil, which I know is still brewing, is not at all evident. On the cab ride over here, he told me he told Ashleigh he’s hiring a divorce lawyer. When I asked how she took it, he said there was crying and accusations. Apparently now he’s the one ruining everything. I wanted to get out of the cab, walk to Ashleigh’s and kick her in the teeth. That woman was beyond delusional.
I know that’s the hardest decision he’s ever made. I know he thinks it means admitting failure even though I keep telling him repeatedly it doesn’t. But I also know that he knows, failure or not, that it’s the best decision possible.
Mrs. Kensington is delig
hted with the compliment and she giggles like she’s twelve. “Oh, Devin! You are too sweet. Isn’t he too sweet?”
She’s looking at me now. I swallow my mouthful of Champagne and nod. “Yes. He is pretty fabulous.”
You can tell by their expressions that they are trying to figure out who I am. They’ve probably seen Ashleigh at these events in the past and there is no mistaking I am not her. Besides the fact that Ashleigh is blond and taller than I am, she would also never wear this dress. I’m in a black, one-shouldered micro-mini dress with a layer of gauzy black chiffon that also goes over the shoulder and hangs off one arm, creating a sort of wide sleeve effect. It’s Zac Posen and it cost me an entire paycheck, but I love it. It’s a total Callie dress. An Ashleigh dress would be high-necked and to the floor.
“Where is your wife tonight?” Mr. Kensington finally asks.
“She wasn’t able to make it,” Devin says without a moment’s awkward hesitation. “This is Callie Caplan. She’s a family friend.”
They both shake my hand but I can see skepticism in their eyes. I pull out the secret weapon that has been quelling everyone’s doubt all night.
“I grew up with the Garrisons in Silver Bay.” I smile softly with wide, honest eyes. “And my sister is marrying Devin’s brother Jordan this summer.”
“Oh! How delightful!” Mrs. Kensington says and I’m not sure if she’s delighted by the fact Jessie is marrying Jordan or by the fact that I’m clearly not the husband-stealing whore she thought I was a second ago. Either way I honestly don’t care. We chat with them for a few minutes more and then politely slip away when Mitchell and Tara Lupo start chatting with them.
“This is tiring,” I whisper to him as I grab two more Champagne flutes off a waiter’s tray and pass him one. He takes a big gulp and crinkles his nose as the bubbles overpower him. I smile because he looks freaking adorable.
He notices my grin and gives me a quick, soft smile that makes him look like a kid, not a man who has just gone through some of the roughest stuff anyone could go through. “You’re making it manageable, though, Callie. Thank you.”
The Final Move Page 11
