How much time went by? The minutes dragged on, the room filled with the low drone of hushed conversation. She finished her tea and stared into the empty cup, idly wondering what she should do with it. Something changed in the air around her, a subtle shifting of energy as conversation drifted to a stop. Savannah raised her head, her eyes falling on the newcomer entering the room. He walked over and talked to the man with the green eyes for a few long minutes then turned and walked out. The man with the green eyes said something to someone else, who said something to the man next to him. On and on, the hum of conversation growing a little louder with each passing second.
But Savannah couldn't hear what was being said, couldn't make out the words. Her heart lodged in her throat as the man with the green eyes walked toward her. She tightened her hands around the empty cup, squeezing until the cardboard collapsed in her grip.
Brooke and Isabelle stirred beside her, waking as the man stopped in front of them. Savannah dropped the cup to the floor as two pairs of hands grabbed hers, seeking reassurance.
"He's fine. Nothing is broken and he only has a mild concussion. They're keeping him overnight for observation." A grin curled the man's mouth, there and gone in a flash. "You can go back to see him now."
The girls squealed in excitement and jumped from their chairs, halfway across the room before they stopped and ran back to her. Isabelle grabbed her hand, tugging her from the chair. "Miss Savannah, come on."
She hesitated, not knowing what to do. She wasn't family. Didn't they have rules about those sorts of things?
But nobody seemed to care as she followed the girls across the small waiting room and through a set of double doors. A nurse led them down the hall, then paused in front of a partially closed door and smiled at Savannah.
"He's all yours. And he'll be good as new in a day or two, if not sooner."
Savannah blinked. Did the nurse think they were—? She must, if the sparkle in the woman's eyes meant anything. She opened her mouth, ready to correct the nurse's assumption, but she was already walking away.
And the girls were already running into the room.
Savannah followed them, her steps much slower as she entered the dim room. Aaron was propped up in the bed, his dark hair tousled around his head, a hospital gown stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. An IV line ran from the back of his left hand to a clear bag hanging from a pole next to his bed. His mouth curled into a brief smile as the girls ran toward him.
"Daddy! You're okay!"
He winced then patted the bed next to him, motioning for Isabelle to climb up. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. "Of course, I'm okay. Just, um, just use your inside voice, okay?"
"Are you really okay, Dad?"
"Yeah, I really am." His glance darted to Savannah then moved back to Brooke. He shifted, wincing with the movement, then patted the bed on his other side.
"Dad!" Brooke drew the word out, giving it three syllables. "I'm not a little kid like Isabelle."
"I know you're not."
Brooke hesitated for only a second then made her way over to the bed. Savannah bit back a smile as the young teenager climbed up next to Aaron and hugged him.
She stood there for a long minute, watching the three of them. Isabelle, her eyes already closed, her small arms holding onto her father like she was afraid to let him go. Brooke, curled up on his other side, doing her best to act like she didn't care. She could have pulled it off, too, if not for the way her lips trembled.
And Aaron, his strong arms wrapped around both of them, his eyes closed as pain and weariness pinched the features of his face. Savannah hesitated, feeling like an intruder, not sure what to do. Should she take the girls home now? If she took them home, was she supposed to stay with them? Call Aaron's mom? But Carol was sick, in no condition to babysit.
Or maybe the team had someone to do that, someone to worry about and take care of the details. Which meant she should probably leave. Go home and finally get some sleep and try to forget the horror of this night and—
"Hey."
She looked up at Aaron's soft whisper, blinked to bring his face into focus. He watched her for a long minute, long enough that she could tell he was in more pain than he had let on with the girls. Then he raised his hand and held it out to her, palm up. She hesitated, took a slow step toward him. One, then another, then another, not stopping until she stood by his side.
His hand closed over hers. Warm, comforting. Big and solid. He pulled her even closer, raising her hand to his mouth and brushing a soft kiss across her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.
"You okay?"
"Me?" Savannah almost laughed. "You're the one in the hospital."
"Maybe. But you look like you're ready to collapse."
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"You should sit down before you fall down."
"I've been sitting all night and—"
"Please."
There was something about the way he said it—the soft plea in his voice, the quiet need in his eyes. Or maybe Savannah was simply so exhausted, she was seeing things. It didn't matter because she lowered herself to the cushioned chair next to Aaron's bed, his hand still wrapped around hers.
Savannah glanced over at the girls to see if they were watching, if they saw the way she was holding their father's hand. Both girls had their eyes closed, their breathing deep and steady. Asleep? Maybe. It had been a long night so it was possible.
She looked back at Aaron, studying him, looking for signs of pain or discomfort. Could he read her mind? Or was it simply because her worry was that evident on her face? Maybe both, because he squeezed her fingers and gave her a small smile that was meant to reassure.
"I'm okay."
"Are you sure? They said something about a concussion—"
"Just a mild one. Not the first time I've had one."
"But you weren't moving for so long."
Aaron laughed, the sound quickly morphing into a brief moan. His mouth pinched tight and he closed his eyes, taking a quick breath through his nose. He shifted then reopened his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling into a quick grin. "That's because I had the wind knocked out of me. It was a hell of a hard hit."
Savannah knew he was leaving a lot out. Because of the girls? Probably. "But you're sure you're okay?"
His gaze caught hers, the brown of his dark eyes swirling with warmth, with unspoken messages she was afraid to read. He tugged on her hand, pulling until she was leaning across the bed, her face close to his.
"I am now." He caught her mouth in a gentle kiss, just the barest brushing of lips. Then he closed his eyes and rested his head back with a soft sigh.
Savannah shifted, turned her head to the side and caught Brooke's gaze. The young girl watched her for a long minute, those deep blue-green eyes so intent on hers that Savannah felt herself blushing.
Brooke glanced at Savannah's hand, still clasped in Aaron's larger one. Savannah started to pull away, worried about what the girl would think, worried about creating more tension between father and daughter.
But Brooke simply smiled then rested her head on her father's chest and closed her eyes.
And Savannah stopped worrying.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Welcome back, Pops." Ben tapped Aaron on his thigh with the blade of his stick, earning him a glare and a grunt. If Aaron heard one more person call him Pops, saw one more smug smile sent his way, he was going to start slamming bodies into boards.
Not that he hadn't expected the comments or the teasing. This was his first practice back. Of course, he was going to get a fair amount of ribbing. But fuck, he'd been on the ice for a grand total of five minutes and already he was fucking tired.
Nine days. He'd been out for nine days because of the fucking headaches. It shouldn't have taken that long, would have never taken that long a few years ago. But protocols had changed—
And so had his body. He didn't recover as fast, not like he used to. It wasn't
just the headaches—his entire body felt like he'd been hit by a freight train.
Probably because he had been.
The hit had been hard. Too fucking hard. He hadn't said anything in front of Savannah or the girls, but he'd had a hell of a lot more than just the wind knocked out of him. He hadn't moved after Krasnoff knocked him flat on his ass and slid him into the boards because he was afraid to, afraid he'd punctured a fucking lung because it hurt so much to breathe. Afraid he'd snapped his neck or cracked something in his back. No, he hadn't said anything to anyone, not even the guys on the team, but there had been a few terrifying minutes where he'd been afraid he might not play again.
Apparently, he hadn't been the only one who had been terrified. His chest still got all tight when he remembered the expressions on the girls' faces, the glimpse of fear when they had bounded into the hospital room, followed by the pure relief shining in their eyes.
And Savannah—yeah, she'd been scared. They hadn't talked about it, he hadn't asked her. He didn't need to, not when he could see what she'd gone through in the reflection in her hazel eyes. Even now, more than a week later, he would catch a glimpse of it, whenever she thought he wasn't looking.
But there had been a few good things come from it. Brooke seemed to have done a complete turn-around. No more arguing, no more shouting or stomping, no more attitude. Well, mostly—Aaron figured the occasional attitude was probably normal, since she was thirteen. And her attitude toward Savannah had changed, too. They actually talked now, the beginnings of a tentative friendship.
Christ, he hoped so. He wanted that more than he would have thought possible, even a month ago.
Because he wanted Savannah. Not as a neighbor, not as a friend. Not as someone he was simply dating. He wanted her in his life. In the girls' life.
Long-term.
He just needed to work up the courage to talk to her about it and hope like hell she felt the same way. He thought she did. Maybe.
Christ, he hoped so.
Maybe this afternoon, when he got home from practice. He could run next door and figure out a way to bring the subject up. And maybe they could make time for things other than talking.
An image of Savannah, naked, straddling him, popped into his mind and he closed his eyes, savoring it. The sway of her hair against her shoulders as her head tilted back. The long column of her throat, the pulse beating fast against her delicate skin. Firm, round breasts, dark nipples pulled tight with excitement.
He swallowed back a groan and shifted his hips, trying to adjust the length of his hard cock against the binding of the protective cup. Fuck. What the hell was his problem? He knew better. God help him if any of the guys even so much as suspected what he was thinking right now.
But nine days had gone by. Nine long days. He'd seen Savannah nearly every single one of those days—
But they hadn't had so much as five minutes alone.
Which meant he was pathetic. He'd gone longer than nine days before. A hell of a lot longer.
But that was before Savannah.
He slid to a stop in the corner, bent over at the waist, and stretched his back. Two laps around the ice and he was covered in sweat, the muscles of his legs already burning.
It wasn't just nine days without alone time with Savannah that had taken its toll on his body. Nine days off the ice, nine days without working out at all, had left him feeling shaky and weak.
Maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but hell, he was definitely feeling it.
Which meant he just needed to push himself a little harder because he wasn't ready to call it quits just yet.
Aaron made one more lap around the ice then headed over to Coach Kroncke, who put him through a conditioning routine that left him drenched in sweat and sucking in gulps of air. A quick break then he was back on the ice, running through drills, getting his second wind.
Ignoring the good-natured teasing of his teammates. Focusing on the feel of the stick in his hands. The precision of weight balanced on the blades of his skates. The sharp bite of metal cutting into ice as he raced from one end to the other. Back and forth, dodging and weaving. Passing. Receiving. Shooting.
Ready to pass out when the whistle finally blew, signaling the end of practice.
Aaron skated over to Coach Torresi, met the other man's steady gaze and held his breath, waiting. The man looked him over, studying him with those piercing green eyes.
"How're you feeling?"
"Good."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah. A little tired but still good."
The other man finally nodded, just a small up-and-down motion of his head. "You going to be ready for Saturday's game?"
"Yeah, I'll be ready."
Torresi nodded again. "I'm going to take you at your word, Malone. You've been around long enough to know better than to bullshit about something like that."
"I'm good. No bullshit."
"Alright. Go. Get out of here."
Aaron nodded then headed off the ice, hurrying back to the locker room to change and clean up. He was tossing the small duffel over his shoulder, ready to leave, when Harland stopped him.
"Hey, I meant to give you this when I stopped by the other day and forgot."
Aaron looked down at the rolled-up plastic bag in Harland's hand. He could see the bottom of the Bombers' logo emblazoned on the wrinkled surface, recognized it as one of the bags from the arena's concession stands.
"What is it?"
"No idea. Courtney found it under one of the seats after the Bridgeport game and told me to give it to you."
Aaron took the bag and started unrolling it, thinking maybe it belonged to one of the girls. Another bag was inside the first one, this one carefully rolled up as well. He shoved the empty bag at Harland then unrolled the second and reached inside. His hands closed around a wad of material and he pulled it out, surprised to realize it was a jersey.
He shook it out, saw his name and number on the back, and grinned.
"I thought the girls already had your jersey."
"Yeah, they do." He held it up so Harland could see the size. "This isn't for them."
"You think it's Savannah's?"
Aaron's grin turned into a full-blown smile. "Must be."
Harland glanced at the jersey then looked at Aaron and burst into laughter. "Yeah, you've got it bad. No doubt about it."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Savannah had just stepped out of the shower when she heard the knock on the door. Steady. Insistent. She grabbed a towel and quickly dried off, wrapped it around her hair, then grabbed another one to wrap around her body. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told her it was too early for Tessa to be here. Her friend wasn't due for another forty minutes. Of course, Tessa was always early so maybe it was her.
God, she hoped not. Savannah still had to pack. She was running behind, had lost all track of time as she put the finishing touches on the new presentation she was giving to her client tomorrow morning in Philly. Packing wouldn't take long—just a change of clothes and toiletries—but Tessa would still tease her about being distracted.
Savannah didn't need the teasing, not when she knew Tessa was right—she had been distracted.
Worrying about Aaron as he recovered, trying not to go overboard and smother him when all she wanted to do was never let him out of her sight. Helping around the house, listening as his mother shared stories of his childhood and early career. Helping the girls with their homework. Listening as Brooke shyly confessed to her crush on some boy she had met, the brother of some girl in her class.
Analyzing her feelings, trying to convince herself she wasn't in over her head when she already knew she was.
Just like she knew it wasn't Tessa at the door.
She hurried down the steps, tugging the towel tighter around her. Tessa wouldn't be knocking because she had a key. She'd just rap her knuckles against the door then walk in, like she always did. And the knocking was coming from the back door, not th
e front.
Savannah almost slipped on the bottom step, had to brace her hand against the wall to catch herself at the last minute. She readjusted the towel, trying to push away the anxiety pummeling her. If the knocking was coming from the back door, that meant it had to be either Aaron or one of the girls. Today had been Aaron's first day back at practice. Had something happened? Was he okay?
She slid the curtain across the patio door and unlocked it, stepping back as Aaron walked in.
"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" The words fell from her in a breathless rush.
Aaron opened his mouth then snapped it shut, frowning as his gaze traveled from the top of her towel-wrapped head down to her bare feet then back up again. "Why are you answering the door wearing nothing but a towel?"
"I thought it was Tessa. Then I thought something might have happened and I—" Savannah stepped back, finally noticing the flare of heat in Aaron's eyes. She looked away, her skin burning, and saw the bag in his hand. "What's that?"
"You left it at the game the other night." He pulled the jersey from the bag and held it up, his eyes smoldering as he moved toward her. "I was going to ask you to model it for me. Wanted to see how you looked wearing nothing but my name and number but I think I like the towel better."
He tossed the jersey to the side then quickly closed the distance between them. One arm snaked out and closed around her waist, pulling her toward him as he reached up with the other and eased the towel from her head. Savannah swallowed back a groan, heat pooling between her legs when she felt the hard length of his cock pressing against her.
He tilted his head, his mouth claiming hers in a hot kiss that robbed her of breath. He dragged his mouth from hers, kissed her neck, her shoulder. She dug her hands into his arms, to keep herself from collapsing, and swallowed back another groan.
"Tessa will be here soon. She's—" She gasped as Aaron nibbled her ear, sending a tidal wave of sensation crashing over her. His breath was warm against her skin, his voice a soft whisper of need.
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