by Lily Kate
First order of business is to swing by my new reporter friend’s office. I met Diana for one of my first ever interviews earlier this week, and she’s prepared a little something in return. It could either be an ingenious solution to my problems, or it could completely backfire and ruin everything.
I’m crossing my fingers for the former.
“Thanks again for doing this,” Diana says as I swing by her office. She’s short, her skin a gorgeous shade of mocha, and she’s wearing a bright shade of pink on her lips. “I’m really excited to share this with everyone. I hope I did the story justice.”
I take a look at the bundle in my hands, nod and smile. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Diana. Oh, and one more thing?”
“Anything.”
“Where did you get that lipstick?”
***
Two hours later, I’m running late to the game, hoping my tardiness is worth it. I’d decided that tonight, of all nights, called for a colorful occasion—and since I didn’t own many colorful clothes, I took Diana up on her suggestion and hit the mall.
There, I’d found a summery yellow dress that hung to just above my knees, tapered through my waist, and fluttered in wispy sleeves high on my shoulder. It wasn’t exactly appropriate attire for a hockey game, but I wasn’t focused on the game; I was intent on making sure the evening which followed it went perfectly.
When I arrive at the arena, the emptiness of a line outside makes it clear that I’m running behind. I hand over my car to the valet, hustle inside, and find my seat. I’m halfway through scanning the seats for a familiar face, when my eyes lock on the one face more familiar than any other.
Boxer gives a wave from down on the ice. He’s waiting for his name to be called, and he must’ve been scanning the stands relentlessly to find me so quickly. My breath hitches at the realization that it’s me he was waiting to see.
I feel a little like a neon highlighter standing amid a sea of black sweaters and hug my dark shawl closer to my chest. Then, I wave back.
The game kicks off with the typical fanfare, and the first two periods fly by with such intensity I don’t even have the chance to consider my sitting here alone. It’s not until a familiar voice calls my name that I realize there’s only a few minutes left in the game.
“Good one, huh?” Duke nods at the rink below. The score is tied one to one. “Boxer’s having a fantastic game. Wonder if he’s showing off for a special someone?”
I glance at my shoes—also new, very cute pumps—to hide the blush in my cheeks. “Showing off for future agents, I’m sure. You heard the news about him signing with Rumpert, I suppose?”
To my surprise, Duke shakes his head and worms his way into a seat next to me. We sit in silence for a long moment, whistles blowing in the background. “You’ve changed.”
“Me?” It comes out sounding a little squeaky. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Your cheeks are doing that thing where they go all red. Never used to do that. I say Boxer’s name, and you light up like a Christmas tree.”
“Sorry.”
He clears his throat. “Was that an apology? You’re going soft, Jones.”
I let my eyes slide closed for a second, alone despite the roar of the crowd. “He’s ruined me.”
Duke reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Any good man, or woman, will.”
I feign a smile. “I haven’t ruined him, at least.”
Duke barks laughter. “Are you kidding me? The man’s putty in your hands. I’ll bet the only reason he’s playing so hard today is to prove to himself he’s not turning all googly eyed with love.”
“So?” I offer a truce of a smile. “How’d you guess?”
“I know these things.” He crosses his arms. “Sounds like you had a nice weekend in New York?”
“We did.”
“Thanks for the endorsement lead. I’m going to take the missus on a quick trip to Palm Springs. We’re renewing our vows the week after I retire.”
“Congratulations.”
“Nah, it’s an excuse for a vacation.” He blows it off, but I can see there’s a hint of happiness underneath that hard exterior. “She deserves to be spoiled a bit.”
I laugh. “I guess she’s ruined you, too.”
“Suppose you’re right. So, give me the details. What happened with Andy?”
I bob my head to either side. “I’m still not sure.”
“How did that happen?” Duke seems genuinely shocked, and more flatteringly, quite confused. “The man’s a jackass.”
“Yeah, well... don’t count me out just yet.” I sigh, cross my legs, and gaze at the ice for a second. “I think I have a way to fix it.”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t completely lost your touch.”
We both turn to face the rink, the clock ticking down from a minute.
“Hey, Duke,” I start. “What do you think—”
A collective gasp from the crowd mutes my next words. I turn back to the ice to see what’s happening just in time to see Boxer’s body sailing through the air and into the boards.
He lands with a crash, the sort of crunch of bones hitting surface that causes an entire room to cringe. Without realizing it, my hand reaches for Duke’s and squeezes—so tight I’m not sure circulation can get through. My heart nearly stops. My breathing becomes painful.
I fly to my feet. “We’ve got to get down there. How? Duke! Get up! We need—”
“Sit down, you’re not getting anywhere,” Duke says. “You’re pale as a ghost, and I’m not carrying you if you pass out.”
“I’m not...” I see stars, and I quit speaking once more. I can’t feel Duke’s hand squeezing me back, or his voice telling me to come with him. I just sit. Still.
Still as Boxer, who hasn’t moved once since he hit the boards and then the ice.
“What happened?” I manage to gasp as medics approach him. “Is he alive?”
“He’ll be fine,” Duke says. “It’s hockey, men get banged up.”
But there’s an antsiness in the crowd that doesn’t accompany all injuries, the sort of car wreck anxiety that at once has people unable to look away and brimming with sympathy all in one.
“But what if... is he unconscious?” I ask. I glance to Duke for the first time, really seeing him, and there’s a note of worry there that undercuts everything else. “You’re worried! What’s happening with him?”
“Let’s get out of here,” he tells me. “Come on, he won’t be finishing this game.”
“But—”
“Come on.”
We squeeze into the hallway with a few others struggling to leave before the rush of the final moments. As luck would have it, I recognize the man squeezing out right next to me.
“Jocelyn,” Rumpert says. “Hello, Duke.”
I’m too distracted to respond, but Duke mumbles something more sensible.
“I can handle this,” Rumpert says. “Y’all can go on home. I’ll head to the hospital with Boxer.”
“Shut up, Rumpert, and go the hell home,” Duke snaps. “You don’t have to ‘handle’ anything.”
“The hospital?” I murmur more quietly.
“I’ll go to the hospital with you,” Duke says as he sends Andy packing with a murderous glare. “Boxer clocked his head good, and I imagine they’ll want to check him out. I won’t leave you alone with Rumpert.”
“No, it’s okay, I have to go.” I find myself speaking hollow words, as if it’s a voice outside of my body that’s speaking, and the rest of me is just listening. I turn to Duke. “Are you sure he’s going to be okay?”
“Boxer? Yeah, the man’s a wall of brick. He’ll wake up, they’ll poke at his bruises, and we’ll all be on our merry little way.”
“Then I... I can’t make it to the hospital right now. I have to be somewhere else.”
“Where the hell else do you have to be on a Friday night when your boyfriend’s injured?” Duke asks, scanning my face for answers. With a jolt of understan
ding, he sees exactly where I’m headed, and he nods again in agreement. “Go on,” he says more gently. “He’ll appreciate it.”
“Promise you’ll call me with any updates.”
“Only thing I’ll be updating is Rumpert’s nose. Flatten it a little, and...” He shakes his head as the dream fades. “I will, kid. Get going.”
I climb in the car and cruise away from the rink.
There is only one person in the world who might need me more than Boxer. I point my car in her direction and press the pedal to the floor.
Chapter 43
Boxer
“My damn head hasn’t hurt this bad since college,” I moan. Someone’s thrown me into a hospital bed, and I’ve got some beeps and buzzes and lights peering at me. “I’m alive, I’m fine. Let me out of here.”
“Soon enough,” Duke growls. “Stop being a princess and sit still.”
I listen to his voice; I’m used to following orders from Duke. He has a no bullshit policy, and it has never led me astray.
The doctors and nurses finish up whatever they’re doing, and I motion Duke over. While he approaches, I glance behind him. Through the door, I can see the shiny helmet that’s Andy Rumpert’s greasy hair, and the image makes me want to vomit. Or maybe that’s the concussion.
“Why the hell did you let them bring me to the hospital?” I ask. “I’m fine. You know I’m fine.”
“Red tape,” Duke snarks. “Give them a few more hours, and I’ll personally drive you home.”
“My car?”
“At the rink.”
“Great.”
“It’s fine, I’m sure there’s someone who’ll be happy to drive you back when you’re not cross-eyed.”
There’s an ache inside that has nothing to do with my injuries at his insinuation. “Is she here?”
“No.”
A hot flash of anger burns through me, along with a shred of hurt, but my reaction is interrupted as the doctor whisks me away for a few more exams. They poke and prod and whatever they do, while the only thing I can do is to sit and think.
Where is Jocelyn?
By the time I manage to free myself from the hospital, it’s nearly morning. Save for a lingering dullness in my head and some instructions to take things easy for a few weeks—yeah, right—I’m free as a bird.
Duke pulls the car up to the hospital door, and as I slide into the passenger seat, he shoots me a questioning glance. “Did you figure it out in there?”
“Jocelyn? Yes.”
“Good. Don’t fuck this one up.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“I’m serious, she’s a keeper.”
“You don’t think I know that?”
Duke raises his eyebrow in response, and that’s the rest of our conversation for the duration of the car ride. When we pull up in front of my house, I thank him and slide out.
“Hey,” Duke says. “Congratulations. I want an invitation to your big day.”
I shake my head, a smile toying on my lips, but it’s too painful to continue, so I stop.
Duke pulls away from the curb, his old sports car too loud for my neighborhood at this time of night. Either that, or it’s my head—hard to say. I’m just glad to be home.
The door creaks open to the darkened house. It’s nearly five in the morning. Marie had planned to stay over in the guest bedroom, but I’d told her that if Jocelyn beat me home, she could take off early.
I duck back outside to check the hiding spot underneath the potted plant, but the key’s still there. Either Marie let Jocelyn inside, or I was wrong, and she’s not here at all.
I ease through the front door, not bothering to turn on the lights as I head straight to the staircase. Up I go, peeking into the open door of the guest bedroom as I pass it. Nothing, not even a ruffle on the bed.
I continue on, my heart thumping loud enough to wake the dead as I reach Charli’s room. Her room is always my first stop when I come home late from a game.
I push open the door, as quietly as possible, and there is the answer to all of my questions. Jocelyn is curled on the bed with Charli, both of them fast asleep. Charli’s little arms are wrapped tight around Joss’s neck, her lips turned into a little pout.
Charli’s curls bounce across Jocelyn’s blonde strands, the two intermingling on the pillow, straight mixed with curly. I take a step into the room to watch them both for a long second, my heart constricting until it might very well explode.
Whatever love I’d confessed for her this weekend in New York seems already small, insignificant to what I’m feeling now. I want more than anything to tuck her in my arms and carry her to bed with me. To be mine, forever.
But I can’t possibly break up the sleeping beauties, not when their faces look so peaceful. Surely they’re dreaming of fairytales, of long-haired maidens dropping their hair out tower windows.
I take one step back, but I’m so intent on watching them sleep that I miss the squeaky floorboard, and under my weight, it sounds like the house is breaking in half.
Charli hardly stirs, but Jocelyn’s eyes fly open, and she brings a hand to her forehead, brushing hair back from her face.
“What? I...where—oh.” She glances first at Charli, then at me. “Boxer, oh, I’m so sorry. I hope you don’t mind I came here—”
“Come with me.” I extend my hand, clasp her soft fingers in mine. “Please.”
I guide her through the house, feeling like a ghost of myself, until we reach the bedroom door. Pushing it open, I lead her into the room and pause, letting her scan the surroundings, her vision adjusting to the bright room washed with moonlight.
“How are you? Your head, your injury.” She presses me into the room without a second thought, urging me onto the bed. Her hands stroke through my hair, her fingers cool and gentle, and it feels glorious. “I came here because I figured Charli would be worried, and you’d wanted me to relieve Marie, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t be at the hospital for you.”
“No, thank you. Thank you for everything.”
She inhales a breath and glances at the open door. I’m trying to tug her in for a kiss, but she’s hesitant. “Charli.”
I solve that problem by sliding out from under Jocelyn and locking the door.
“But your injury,” she says.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I’ve had worse.”
“You need rest.”
“No,” I rest a hand on her shoulder. “I need you. Stay here tonight?”
“Of course, but—”
“Stop,” I tell her. “Whatever you were going to say can wait.”
“But—”
“It can wait.”
“You’re injured,” she says again, stroking her hand across my face.
“Not so injured that I don’t want you.”
“Believe me, I want you too.” She pauses for a tender moment. “But for now, let’s just be together.”
I groan aloud, but I know she’s right. So I settle for tugging on the yellow fabric fluttering high on her thigh. “By the way, you looked beautiful in the stands tonight. I love this dress on you.”
“It doesn’t look silly?”
I close my eyes for a long moment. “Silly? You never look silly. Stunning, perfect, feminine, maybe. Never silly.”
“Do you have a t-shirt or something I could borrow? I didn’t know if packing an overnight bag would be presumptuous.”
I move to my closet and pull out an extra-large t-shirt that’s old enough to be worn soft. “Will this work?”
“Thank you.”
“If I had my say, you could just put that overnight bag in my closet and let it stay,” I tell her. “You could even stay here with it.”
“Are you asking me to move in with you?”
I give what I think is a seductive one shoulder shrug, but I probably look like an idiot. “If that’s not too forward.”
She strips out of her yellow dress, turning half sideways, as if that would do anything to keep
my eyes off her. At my sharp inhalation of breath, she shoots a flirtatious smile in my direction that has me shedding clothes like I’m on fire.
“You’re injured!” She tells me for the umpteenth time. Then she looks down, and her mouth parts in surprise. “Jesus, Boxer. You just walked out of the hospital.”
“You have a way of making me crazy.”
“Wait. Before anything else, I have something to show you.”
I blink in surprise. “Show me?”
“Yes,” she says. “I promised you I’d take care of things, and I need an opinion.”
“Now?”
“Yes.” Her fingers shake as she tugs my shirt onto her body. “Tonight.”
I harden just seeing her in my clothes. I never want her to leave them. Or me. Or this house. To be here together, forever, is a dream.
“Okay,” I agree. “But I can’t possibly imagine what’s more important than this.”
When she blinks, confused, I finally pull her into my arms. The scent of her holds me hostage there, captive, and I plan on staying still until she pushes me away.
My fingers explore underneath the edge of her shirt, her soft bottom the perfect fit for my hands. Then I tease upward, playing with the edge of the lace panties. It’s like a treasure chest just waiting to be opened.
“Boxer,” she says, once my fingers begin to dance under the edges. “I have something to show you.”
“Right.” I clear my throat and pretend I’m not about to explode like a firecracker. “Business, then pleasure.”
She smiles up at me. “If it weren’t important, I wouldn’t bother you with it now, but it’s time sensitive.”
“Fine,” I tell her. “I’ll behave. But for the record, in this house, we eat dessert first. Then business.”
Her cheeks go pink, and she looks down at her hands. “Well, I think that sounds perfectly un-backwards.”
“While you run downstairs, I’m going to jump in the shower quickly.” I lean in, kiss her gently on the cheek. “And then you can show me whatever it is you have to show me.”
Chapter 44
Jocelyn
After a brief trip downstairs to grab my purse, I return to Boxer’s bedroom, pausing only to peek into Charli’s room on the way back and ensure she’s still sound asleep.
