by Calista Fox
She mulled this over as she located a spare blow-dryer and toothbrush under the double vanity. She freshened up and then went into the bedroom, a plush white towel wrapped around her. There was a roaring fire in the hearth and the heat felt wonderful against her skin.
Scout asked, “You want something to wear from the dresser or my bag?”
Her jeans wouldn’t be dry for hours, unless she had Scout take them down to the laundry room. But he’d tempted her with his offer. She said, “Your bag.”
He dug out wool socks. Then held up two options to choose from. A sweatshirt or a tee.
She eyed them both, then told him, “I want the sweater you’re wearing.”
A navy-colored V-neck that would not only be warm, but it would smell like Scout.
And he’d know that was why she’d selected it. He dropped the others back into the bag and dragged off the sweater. Handed it over. Ciara held the material to her nose and inhaled deeply. Loving the woodsy, virile scent.
She unraveled the towel and dressed. When she turned back to Scout, his gaze was glued to her and desire burned in his eyes.
She tried not to get swept away. It was damn near impossible.
Scout had set out food on the end table between two chairs in front of the fireplace. He’d uncorked a bottle of Sangiovese, her favorite.
He said, “JT needed a brotherly moment downstairs after what could have been a huge disaster on Avalanche Road. It was actually…cathartic. I think we’re all moving into a better space. Even Ham’s seeing things a bit more clearly. Cooking like a banshee, but whatever. There’s a ton of food in the fridge, and the cupboards and pantry are well stocked. Think he’s totally missing his calling in life as a chef. But he’s currently got bigger fish to fry.”
“Ha, ha,” she jested. “Though you’re right. I didn’t know Gaby was pregnant.”
“I’ll let her share all the details with you.”
Scout could always be counted on to keep others’ secrets, never spilling their beans. Didn’t really like spilling his own, clearly.
He said, “I brought you cheese enchiladas or you can split my pastrami sandwich with me.”
The enchiladas smelled heavenly, but the mile-high sandwich oozing melted Swiss made her stomach rumble. She hadn’t eaten all day.
“Everything’s organic, grass-fed, whatever,” Scout said with a shrug.
“You’ve got something against organic food?”
“Just that it’s so…healthy.”
“Well, yes, there is that. So it’s probably not a good idea to mention the deep dish we ate last night. Not a damn thing organic about it.”
Scout chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not really sure where Hamilton picked up this new fetish, but I had vegetable-beef stew for lunch, and I’m reluctant to admit that it rocked my world.”
“I see you brought pie, too.”
“Apple. I know you don’t eat anything pumpkin or turkey related for at least a month before Thanksgiving.”
“My own version of Lent. Makes it so much better when the big day rolls around.”
They settled in and ate in silence. Mostly because she was starving. But also because Ciara was done pushing. It was Scout’s turn to make a move.
Apparently, he wasn’t quite getting there in his mind, though. Frustration nipped at her. She polished off a second glass of wine while he took their empty plates downstairs. Then she snagged the thick throw blanket at the foot of the king-size bed and walked over to the far corner. She was nestled against a mound of pillows in the window seat, watching the snow continue to fall, when Scout returned.
In the reflection of the glass panes, she saw him cross the hardwood floor to her. She had her knees drawn up to her chest and was wrapped in the blanket. Scout joined her.
He said, “You can’t sleep here, babe. Those panes are cold.”
“No colder than the air between us.”
“Ciara,” he said on a long sigh. “Sweetheart.” His fingers grazed her temple as he stared into her eyes and told her, “What happened last night is tough for me to talk about, but—”
“Scout,” she said with sudden angst she couldn’t control. Actually, it was pure torment. “It cannot be any tougher than me saying I love you and you disappearing the first chance you get.”
Damn those tears for stinging her eyes again. She tried to blink them away. No such luck.
Scout’s gaze narrowed. “What? When…?” He shook his head. “When did you tell me you loved me?”
“Afterward.” She sniffled. “When we were under the blankets.”
His teeth clamped down on his lower lip as though he were trying to contain a smile. It took him a second to collect himself. Then he asked, “While I was sleeping?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
“Ciara.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “You can’t be pissed at me for not saying it back or even acknowledging the sentiment when I never even heard it.”
“I don’t know that for a fact.”
“Trust me,” he vehemently said. “It’s a fact.”
“You left me!” she yelled. A complete verbal flare-up that she once again had no control over. Her heart hurt too much to keep it all bottled up.
“I have a reason,” he insisted. “I’ve already told you that I’ll ex—”
“Yes, you’ll explain. When, Scout? What is going on with you? Why did you quit hockey?”
He jumped to his feet. “I did not quit hockey,” he erupted. He stalked about the corner of the room. Whirled around and pinned her with a hard look. “I wouldn’t just quit, goddamn it. How could you not know this about me? I still had several more years left in me!”
“I do know this about you.” She heard the agony and the fury in his voice, loud and clear. “That’s exactly why I don’t understand. What happened?” she demanded.
Ciara had never been one to poke and prod. But it seemed as though the time had come.
“Why did you leave the ice, Scout? Why did you leave me?”
“It was that fucking accident!” he roared, taking her aback. “Everything for the past year has been about that fucking, ironic accident!”
Her stomach coiled. “Scout…”
“I’ve never actually hunted elk, I’ve never actually pulled a trigger and killed an elk. And yet I scouted them for Gramps. And the cosmic force above made one wander out into the road I was on one snowy night in Canada. Boom! It was all over for the elk—and for me.”
This was a peculiar rage she’d never heard from him. First, Scout didn’t normally get enraged. Second…
“You told me that accident was not nearly as bad as the pictures in the papers and on the ‘net made it out to be. A broken wrist, a cracked knee-cap. Bumps and bruises. You were adamant about me not flying in.”
“You would’ve been coming in from New Zealand, Ciara.”
“And you said that you’d be out of the hospital by the time I got to Canada. You lied, didn’t you?”
He paced. Shoved his hand through his hair.
“How bad was it?” she implored. “Because even your mother assured me it wasn’t horrific. She said you told her not to visit as well. You didn’t want anyone to visit, did you? Not because you’d ‘be out of town by then’ and onto your next game, but because you didn’t want anyone to know how bad it was. Am I right?”
“Of course you’re fucking right.”
“Scout!” She threw off the blanket and marched toward him. Cutting off his pacing. “That’s a really crappy thing to do to people who care about you.”
“That’s not exactly how I saw it. I didn’t want anyone freaking out or worrying when I didn’t know for sure what we were dealing with. It was a head injury, Ciara. The first twenty-four hours, I couldn’t see because of all the swelling. I was assured that would change and I’d get my eyesight back once the inflammation was under control. But for twenty-four hours I was just—”
She gasped. “You were blind?”
&nb
sp; He dragged a hand down his face. He’d actually gone a bit pale. “Yeah. And it was scary as hell.”
“Scout.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Jesus. That is precisely why I should have been there. Why your family should have been there with you.”
“You don’t get it, sweetheart.” He stepped around her. Resumed his agitated stalking. “I’ve pretty much been on my own since I was a kid. I deal with shit on my own as best as I can. That’s who I am.”
“But not everything—”
“Hey,” he did an about-face and glared at her. “Do you tell me everything?”
She swallowed hard. Okay, he had her on that one. There was the matter of being homeless and jobless at the moment. Not having a clue as to where she was supposed to or would land.
He pushed a bit more. “It’s not like you told me you loved me before last night, right? How long have you been in love with me, Ciara? Because I’m pretty sure it didn’t just happen over pizza and beers at Tilda’s.”
“I—” She shut her mouth. Shook her head. This was getting turned around. Not that he didn’t have just cause for turning it around, but she said, “We’re not talking about me right now, Scout. We’re talking about you. What made you decide to coach?”
“It was the only choice I had,” he ground out. “I tried to play after the accident. I was even cleared for a couple of games. But there were complications and so I was privately reevaluated and needed a second brain surgery. The result…” He let out a sharp groan. Turned away. “The result was a blind spot in my left eye. Nothing significant—unless you’re a hockey player.”
Her heart wrenched. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.
He said, “I have headaches, too. A triple-combination of headaches that all have very scientific names but all that really matters is that when they hit—I’m totally done for.”
Dread slithered through her veins. “What do you mean?”
“Last night, Ciara,” he said in a pointed tone, “I got body-checked by one.”
“In the middle of the night.”
“Yeah.”
She rested a hand on his upper arm. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because.” He sighed with notable exasperation. “It’s not like waking up with some pinging in your head. It’s…excruciating. Like… Worse than anything I’ve ever known.”
She gaped.
He planted his hands on his waist. “It’s like a million jackhammers going off inside my head. And I—”
He dropped his hands and lifted his arms in the air. As though he held the words on the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t bring himself to say them out loud.
“What?” she quietly asked. “What happens?”
“I throw up.”
“Well, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”
Now, his fists balled at his sides. “I scream, Ciara. At the top of my lungs. Because that’s how much it fucking hurts.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. More tears filled her eyes.
He said, “It’s like someone is taking an ice pick to my skull and splitting it open. And the pain slices down the back of my neck. Down my spine. And sometimes it’s completely blinding. And almost always debilitating.”
She stared up at him. Her body started to shake. The tears fell faster.
He told her, “It’s violent, insidious pain, Ciara.”
She pulled her hand away. “But isn’t that when you would need me the most?”
“You don’t fucking get it!” He turned away. But then immediately spun around. “It’s enough to bring me to my knees, sweetheart. Do you think I would ever want you to see me like that?”
“Oh, my God!” She launched herself into his arms. Sobbed uncontrollably.
He held her tight, with one arm wrapped around her. With his free hand, he stroked her hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against her temple. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. I didn’t mean to hurt you last night.”
“It’s not your fault,” she softly wailed. “You should have told me. I should know all these things about you. Damn it, Scout. I should know these things.”
“It makes it worse that you know.”
She raised her head and glared at him through her tears. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Ciara, my grandfather taught me not to be weak. Not to show weaknesses.”
“William Wood—”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He laughed. A hollow, strangled laugh. But it was a start. “Don’t go there. I already feel like an asshole of epic proportions for ditching you in the middle of the night. And I hate that I can’t ever take that back. I should have left you a note, at the very least. There just wasn’t any time. These things hit fast and furious. And now here I am, making you cry. And fuck!” His arm tightened around her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. “You told me you loved me. All I would ever want to do with that revelation, sweetheart, is to say it right back to you.”
This made her cry more.
“You’re killing me here,” he choked out. “You have to know I love you. We never needed to say the words. What we have isn’t perfect because we’ve had completely different plans for ourselves—it’s been that way our entire lives. But these feelings we have… They’ve been tried and true from the beginning, Ciara. From that first day I found you curled up in a corner of the rink, sleeping.”
“It was a great place to hide out,” she said on a broken sob. “Everyone was either on the ice or watching what was happening on the ice. Not paying any attention to me. I didn’t want anyone to see me.”
“You were eight years old. You shouldn’t have needed to hide out. From anyone.”
She nodded. “Habit. If my mother didn’t see me, she didn’t have to be revolted by the sight of me. By the fact that Delaney St. James’s daughter was ugly.”
“You were never ugly.”
“I wasn’t pretty.”
“Maybe not in the cover-model sense In the World According to Delaney St. James. But, yeah, Ciara. You were pretty. You were always pretty. It’s just that your mother kept telling you that you weren’t…and you believed her over everyone else.”
“Well,” she sniffled. “You did see her when she was alive. Difficult to argue with someone who made her living off of being beautiful by global standards.”
“Sweetheart.” He let out a long breath. “Two people could not be more fucked up at this very moment. But the best part is… We’re fucked up together.”
This got the waterworks going again.
Scout lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the chair by the window seat. He sank onto the cushion and grabbed the blanket within arm-shot. Draped it over her.
She huddled close to him. Told him in a quivering voice, “What I said at Waylon’s is the God’s honest truth, Scout. You will always be a hockey legend. And coaching will only keep that legacy alive. You’ll find the right place for yourself. Just take your time and—”
“I already did.”
Her head popped up. “What? You haven’t mentioned finding anything in particular that got you jazzed.”
He simply shook his head, as though still trying to mentally reconcile it all. His past, his present and his future.
And damn it, she actually had to kiss away a tear from his cheek over the whole Come to Jesus Moment. Which really ripped her soul apart. Because this was what Scout had dreaded the most—showing his weakness.
“Hey,” she said. “You have to be happy about it before you make a decision.”
He gave her an earnest look. “I’m not ever going to be happy that I had to give up my career prematurely. But something came up last night. When I was at Waylon’s. Before Hamilton came in to tell me about Gaby.”
“What happened?”
“I was with Coach E., remember?”
“Right…” She drew the word out slowly, not catching onto his meaning.
A shadow of a grin touched his lips. “So, apparently
, he’s retiring. After this season.”
Her heart nearly burst wide open at the silent implication. “Scout!”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m thinking of coaching. Here in Plymouth Rock.”
“That would be so perfect for you,” she said on a heavy breath. “I mean, the NHL will be short one seriously amazing coach, but then again… You could never just be a coach, could you? You need to be a mentor. You need to be like Coach E. and like Sully. That guy who gets out there and tries to redirect the pee-wees from making a slap shot into the wrong net. The guy who gives guidance and understands what it’s like to love the smell of the ice and the roar of the crowd. A true god of the arena.”
“Well…” He chuckled. A bit more naturally this time. “I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart. But, yeah. I might be able to make a difference to some of those kids. And no offense to Coach E., but his team hasn’t won a championship since I played. Maybe I can help turn that around.”
“Wow.” Her arms circled his neck again and she hugged him fiercely. “That’s all pretty incredible, Scout Winchester.”
He seemed to get as caught up in the embrace as she did. For a few moments. Then he eased her slightly away and asked, “Do you forgive me?”
Her eyes watered again, while he was whisking away drops on her cheek with his thumb. She said, “Yes. Of course.”
“And you know that you are the only woman for me? Always have been. Always will be. No matter where you are?”
“Oh, um… About that.” She snuggled a little closer to him. Brushed her fingertips over his bare chest. “I’m sort of out of work at the moment. The magazine just folded.”
“Wow.” His fingers tangled in her hair and he gently coaxed her to look up at him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, me, too. I’ve been with them for a decade. It’s like the end of an era. A little painful.”
“I can relate.” He gave a half-snort. Then he got serious. “Do you need money?”
“Oh, God, no. I have my mother’s estate that still boggles the mind. Tilda’s isn’t any smaller. And… Well. I have the house.” She shook her head. Tried to accept that the huge Colonial on the outskirts of town—at the base of this very mountain—was all hers. “I’ve been nonstop intimidated by it. By owning it, specifically. What does one person do with a ginormous house like that?”
