He hadn’t pursued her in some preplanned, heartless scheme like Drew was suggesting, though. Leila had shown up at his door commando, for crying out loud.
Commando.
He was a man, not a saint.
“Fine,” he said slowly, his hand shaking as he set the spatula down, and took off the apron. “You make her feel-better eggs, since obviously I am incapable of doing something nice without it ending in an invitation to my bedroom.”
Drew shoved the apron back at him. “Henrik, I was just making a point.”
“That I am an untrustworthy bastard. Message received.”
“That’s not what I meant. She just doesn’t need another complication in her life right now.”
He knew Drew read the volatile look on his face, because he winced and immediately started backtracking. “Okay, I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
He held up his hands in surrender and threw the apron on the counter. “Don’t worry, this complication is going home.”
“Henrik—”
“No, you had your say.” He grabbed his sweatshirt off the table and headed for the door. He couldn’t help but think about Leila, standing there with that look of desperation and fury on her face that would forever be cemented in his memory. Then he remembered the panties. The panties she left just for him. So he wouldn’t forget.
Drew had it all wrong. Leila wasn’t a mess because of Derek. She wasn’t some heartbroken and vulnerable damsel in distress. She knew exactly what she wanted when she showed up that night. She’d always been that way. Strong. Independent. Something was definitely going on with her, and she needed their help, but keeping him away from her wasn’t what she wanted right now. He had her panties in his room to prove it.
He paused in the doorway, turning around to look back at his brother. “You know, maybe you should ask Leila what she needs instead of just assuming it for her. I heard assuming everything is what shitty brothers do.”
Drew ran a tired hand through his hair. “I never said you were a shitty brother.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He slammed the door as he left, angrier with himself than with Drew. It was his own fault his brother and everyone else thought those things about him.
He abandoned his mother, smothered Drew, and betrayed Austin.
All he had left was Leila. He had to get it right with her.
Only, he had no idea how to do that.
Chapter 6
LEILA’S THANK YOU
The Midtown skyline was breathtaking, or maybe it was the cool November chill in the air that made it hard for Leila to breathe. She’d crashed at Drew’s apartment for the past two days, confused about how to even begin living her life again. She’d shoved her black bag into the bottom drawer of the night stand in Drew’s guest room, determined to do the same with the memories that filled it. She could avoid reality for a while.
Reality was overrated, except when Henrik Rylander was involved. Then, fantasies had a lot to live up to all of a sudden.
She pulled the oversized shirt she’d stolen from Drew tighter around her shoulders as she pushed her billowing hair away from her eyes. The wind in the city was treacherous, and it instantly caused that familiar homesick pain in her stomach. The wind in Minnesota had a mean bite too. It had been almost a year since she’d been back to St. Paul to see her parents, not because she didn’t miss them, but because Derek would never take the time to go with her, not even in his off-season.
She would go back. Just not yet.
She refused to show up at their house an emotional wreck. They didn’t deserve to have that kind of burden placed on their shoulders. She had to get her life back together.
Find a job. Get an apartment. Be free.
When she finally made it back home, she wanted to do it on her own two feet and prove she didn’t need help.
She almost laughed at the thought as Drew’s shirt fell off her shoulder again. She had to get out of the apartment and at least go buy herself some new clothes. Showing up at Derek’s to retrieve hers was out of the question. She could do that much, she assured herself. Shopping was supposed to be fun.
Then why did such a simple task sound so daunting?
She stood at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk signal. The city bustled and chirped with horns and sirens. Everyone had somewhere to be, and they were in a hurry to get there. When the signal turned, she didn’t move. Instead, she stood there, allowing the cold to bite her cheeks so she could pretend she felt something again. She reached up and touched her nose.
Numb. Just like the rest of her.
A gust of wind blew, bringing her attention and dulling willpower back to the signal. The seconds ticked down, and she only had ten left to decide if she wanted to turn around and go back. She might have done just that if it hadn’t been for the scene she’d walked in on in the kitchen that morning. She could smell the scorched eggs all the way down the hall, and she knew Drew could barely make cereal, let alone attempt an actual meal, so she’d been concerned. Drew dumped the black eggs in the garbage when she walked in, the smoke from the skillet thick in the air. She was surprised by the explanation he gave her.
Henrik made her eggs. Feel-better eggs, no less.
Just as the last seconds ticked away on the signal, she darted across the street, eliciting a few honks from impatient motorists. If it hadn’t been for those eggs, she might have turned around. She needed to talk to Henrik, though, and since he’d apparently left the apartment in a huff, she knew exactly where she’d find him.
The team’s morning skate ended two hours ago, and the gym he and Austin liked to frequent on their off days was a half block down the street. It was common knowledge that the best way for an athlete to work out his issues was with a little hard-earned sweat.
She was disappointed to find he had already been to the gym and gone. The girl at the front desk said she’d missed him by twenty minutes. She found herself on the sidewalk again, looking around, wondering where an upset hockey player might go after a workout, and that was when her eyes fell on the bar across the street.
There was only one other logical step in his routine. After listening to Austin complain about the new training diet they were trying out the previous day, it only made sense that Henrik would do what came naturally to him.
Rebel.
She crossed the street and entered the bar, only to find it empty. She walked up to the bartender, his graying hair thick and polished as he busied himself assembling silverware sets at the counter. “Are you a Rangers fan?” she inquired.
The bartender looked up, his interest piqued. “Do I look like an idiot? I run a bar in New York. Of course I’m a Rangers fan.”
“Good. Then you can tell me if you’ve seen one today.”
The man studied her for a moment, and then smiled. “Any particular reason why a pretty thing like you is looking for one?”
She shot him her most charming smile. “He made me feel-better eggs this morning, and I just wanted to tell him thank you.”
The old man laughed and pointed to the partition that separated the bar from the restaurant in the back. “He’s in his usual spot. Back table to the left.”
“Thanks.” She smiled and made her way through the bar into the restaurant. She found Henrik, leaned back in a chair, his feet stretched out in the seat across from him. He absently watched the TV on the wall and circled his fork in the empty plate of something she was positive wasn’t on his new training diet. He still wore his workout clothes, a Rangers hoodie and a black pair of sweatpants.
The boy could stop traffic wearing a potato sack. She hated that he could manage to look so handsome without trying. He probably picked those clothes up from his floor that morning, but sadly, no amount of wrinkles could deter your attention from those vibrant, blue eyes that today looked grumpy and misguided. He was catnip for ovaries.
“Henrik,” she whispered, catching his attention.
He immediately sat up, brin
ging his feet down. “Hey.”
It was obvious he hadn’t expected to find her there, and his surprise made her oddly sad for him. Or maybe it was guilt she felt for yelling at him the other night, and divulging her best friend’s secret. Either way, she needed to make it right.
“I didn’t mean to bother you, it’s just—I wanted to say thank you for the eggs.”
He half smiled, and she was ashamed by the giddy feeling that crept into her chest. “Drew told you?”
“He almost burned the place down. He really didn’t have much of a choice.”
His smile grew, and it took a lot of effort for her not to return it. She wanted to hate him—in fact, she needed to hate him. It was the only emotion she was capable of anymore, and she couldn’t let it go. “I also wanted to apologize for screaming at you the other night, and outing Drew like that. That was definitely wrong. I’ve slept since then, and I realize I may have been a little harsh.”
“You were a little harsh.” He scooted to the edge of his seat. She flinched, annoyed that such a simple gesture set her on edge. “But you were right. I wasn’t exactly helpful, or welcoming. At least, not in the way I should have been.”
“It’s not your fault,” she admitted, looking away from him as her embarrassment finally flooded her cheeks. “I mean, what were you supposed to think after the last time I showed up at your door?”
“About that…” he started, but she threw up her hands.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She could barely think about it without her face turning twenty different shades of red, and then her stomach turning to knots.
“Leila—”
“Not yet,” she amended, knowing how stubborn he could be. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, or stop pretending it was just some ridiculous fantasy she’d conjured up after downing a half bottle of wine. “I just wanted to thank you for the breakfast I didn’t get to enjoy, and apologize for the way I acted the other night.”
He blew out a breath, causing his lush lips to round into a pout that almost made her change her mind. “Okay. Well, you’re welcome for the eggs, and I deserved the criticism, so your apology isn’t necessary.”
He was studying her, and she could feel it. It wasn’t sexual, nothing like it had been at his apartment the night she showed up. No, this time he evaluated more than just her physical features, and that made her nervous. “How about a truce?” he offered, flashing his best megawatt smile. “Come to my game tonight. I’ll get you a ticket. You can sit with Drew.”
She immediately panicked. “That’s a bad idea.”
This was her first time out of the apartment, and she still felt a nagging urge to turn and run back. Something about being outside, in the public view, made it all seem so real. It caused an empty ache deep in her core. Not to mention the physical toll it seemed to take on her body. The doctor had warned her to be careful and not push her limits. She didn’t want to black out and wake up alone and scared again.
“I’d like it if you came,” he said softly, leaning forward to catch her line of vision. She winced, knowing he’d noticed the tormented looked etched across her face. “Just think about it.”
She nodded, trying to calm her fears. “Well, first I need to go buy some clothes. Drew’s going to kick me out if I keep stealing his stuff.”
“Where are your clothes, Leila? Why did you show up at my place freezing to death in those shorts and my jersey if it wasn’t to drive me crazy?”
She gave him a pointed look. She’d told him she didn’t want to talk about it. She needed time to get her own thoughts and emotions in order before sharing them with anyone else.
He merely rolled his eyes at her, though. “Fine,” he conceded. “Go buy some clothes. Come to my game.”
The confidence in his voice made her back snap straight. Always so self-assured. “You say it like I’d be there to watch you. You do remember my brother is on your team too. If I go tonight, it will be to watch him.”
He scoffed, shooting her that familiar, superior grin. “When have you ever been to a game to see Austin?”
She might have laughed if it weren’t so close to the truth. She wrinkled her nose at him as if to say what he suggested was disgusting. He only laughed.
Cocky bastard.
“It’s nice to know I didn’t permanently scar your ego,” she spat.
She remembered why it was so difficult to be around him, and why she avoided it for so long. Henrik somehow managed to be irresistible even when he was purposefully being a jerk. It was an intricate part of his allure. He could always make you want what you knew you could never actually obtain.
He grinned at her and stood, and she felt her breath hitch. He was tall, the memory of him looming over her, his lips brushing against her skin came like a flash, and she had to turn away from him to regain her composure. “Come on, I’ll walk with you,” he told her, oblivious to her reaction. “I need to head back to the Garden anyway.”
She merely nodded, stumbling away from him like a newborn foal. She followed far behind him as he went to pay his bill, avoiding the temptation to get too close, afraid of the memories it might elicit. When he finished, she hurried to the door, eager for some fresh air, and pushed it open. She flinched when the wind rushed in, stinging every inch of exposed skin.
“And add a jacket to that list.”
She peeked over her shoulder just in time to watch him slip his sweatshirt off, revealing the sleeve of tattoos down his left arm beneath his t-shirt. He’d always been so clean cut, and she was admittedly curious as to what inspired the design she’d been so desperate to get a closer look at that night. She practically had to force herself to look away so she wouldn’t stare.
“No, Henrik,” she fumbled, moving further out onto the street. “I’m fine. I’ll buy a jacket first.”
He pushed the sweatshirt toward her, cupping his hands around hers with authority. “Then just appease me until you do,” he instructed, his voice rough, but light. “You know how much I like it when you wear my clothes.”
Even with the teasing in his voice, she wanted to refuse. He wasn’t allowed to be nice to her. She couldn’t hate him if he was nice. “Thank you,” she stated begrudgingly. “I’ll give it back to you.”
“No need. I have about a hundred of those. Just add it to your collection.”
She shook her head, laughing now. “Just because that jersey has your number on it, doesn’t mean it belongs to you.”
He shrugged, smirking sideways at her. “Same difference.”
“Are you really that stuck on yourself?” She groaned, slipping the sweatshirt over her head.
It was still warm, and smelled of him. It was just to help fight off the chill of the wind, she promised herself, but she was already inhaling his scent again before she even finished her thought.
“Confidence is everything.” He grinned over at her.
She rolled her eyes dramatically, but couldn’t help but laugh. It was in that moment she first forgot about the looming uncertainty of her future, even if it was only for a moment, and it made her heart feel a little lighter.
Feel-better eggs apparently worked.
As they walked down the street, their easy banter continuing, she wasn’t ready to admit that maybe it wasn’t the eggs that made her feel better.
Chapter 7
LEILA’S GAME
The rink was chilly and musty, a familiarity Leila had grown to love. It was either learn to love it, or spend her entire childhood in misery. She’d seen every ice-covered piece of property in the western hemisphere over the years. A revolving door of teammates who all looked the same. Nameless faces that changed every season. Austin skyrocketed through the ranks so fast she stopped trying to remember the name of the team, let alone his friends.
Then, freshman year of college, it all changed. She spent the entire morning studying for her first mid-term, because she promised Austin she would attend his game that afternoon. She hadn’t been to any of his colle
ge games, since living five hundred miles away had been an acceptable excuse, but now that she was on campus, her brother expected his biggest fan to make an appearance.
So she had thrown on a jacket, grabbed a book off her shelf, and started across campus to the rink. It started off as any other night of hockey. She found a seat center ice, across from the home team bench, propped her feet up, and prepared to enjoy two hours of reading and random cheering, depending on if Austin was having a good night.
The team hit the ice, a blur of green helmets and cage masks. She spotted Austin and waved in her customary fashion. It wasn’t until halfway through warm-ups that a different player caught her attention.
She was reading when she heard someone frantically yelling in her direction. “Heads up!”
She put her book down just in time to see a puck clang off the metal seat in front of her, and miss her face by mere inches. “Sorry about that,” the same voice called out, though it hadn’t sounded apologetic in the least. She turned around to watch the guilty player remove his helmet.
Henrik Rylander.
She had no idea who he was at the time, only that he was breathtakingly gorgeous in that ‘make you drool like an idiot’ kind of way. It was before the tattoos and the Armani suits. He was just a bright-eyed, overgrown kid, with a smile so charismatic she immediately forgot he’d come two inches from giving her a concussion. His smile widened, and she realized too late that she was gawking instead of responding like a normal person.
“It’s okay,” she finally managed, feeling a blush flush her cheeks. “I mean—I’m fine.”
“Good.” He grinned, already skating backward toward the goal. “Maybe you should watch the game instead of your book.” He winked at her, and a lump formed in her throat.
She tried desperately hard to read her book that night, but Henrik was a constant distraction. A six-three center, he was faster than any she’d seen play, and he had three assists, two of which were to Austin, by the end of the second period. She’d been mesmerized by Henrik that night, and as she glanced around the rink at Madison Square Garden, her heart racing in her chest, she was beginning to think maybe nothing had really changed.
The Girl With Hearts (Midtown Brotherhood #1) Page 5
