Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Rix is about to hyperventilate. She flits around, introducing herself to everyone while Tristan stands back and watches with a smile. The staff fall instantly in love as she helps them unpack the coolers, explaining each dish.
Once Rix is finished with the kitchen tour, we’re ushered into the formal dining room, where I ate dinner with Connor and Meems the other day. Meems is escorted in a minute later by Cedrick.
Her face lights up. “Oh, this is wonderful! It’s been ages since we’ve had a full table!”
I head toward her at the same time as Connor, and her smile widens as he gently skims my arm with his fingers. She takes one of our hands in each of hers and we both bend to kiss her cheek at the same time. Someone snaps a photo.
We guide her to the table, and Connor tries to put her at the head, but she refuses, making him take it. He looks uncomfortable, but also like he belongs there. Meems sits on his left, and I sit to his right.
There are a chorus of hellos and reintroductions.
Meems presses her hand to Connor’s cheek, her smile wide. “Now you know why I wanted you and Dred to move in here.”
“So you could throw dinner parties?”
“And so I can get to know all of your friends, dear.”
He opens his mouth, probably to say something about them being my friends, but I cover his hand with mine and squeeze. “Thank you for opening your home to all of us.”
“Thank you for loving my grandson.”
My heart breaks a little at the tic in Connor’s jaw, and the reminder that none of this is real for anyone but Meems. But she’s happy, and that’s what matters.
The staff brings in platters of food, and we pass them around family style. Flip is seated to my right, watching intently as I interact with Meems, like he’s trying to piece together the reasons that brought me to this decision.
“Some of you went to the Hockey Academy with Connor, didn’t you?” Meems asks.
“Us three.” Dallas points to himself, Tristan, and Flip.
“It’s lovely that you’re all still so close after all these years, and playing on the same team.” Meems looks to Connor. “For a punishment, it certainly turned out to be a good thing for you, didn’t it, dear?”
“Hard to be a bad influence on my sisters when I wasn’t in the country,” he agrees.
Flip’s eyebrows rise. “The Hockey Academy was a punishment for you?”
“There was another program in Europe that I’d been invited to attend that summer, but my parents felt I didn’t deserve the opportunity, so they sent me to the Hockey Academy instead,” Connor explains. “If they’d known they were giving me exactly what I wanted, they would have made a different choice, I’m sure.”
I file that away with the other pieces of Connor I’ve collected.
“You didn’t belong behind a desk.” Meems pats his hand. “Now, how did all of you become friends with our Dred?”
Flip raises his hand. “I’ll take credit for that.”
Connor sits back, listening and watching while my friends—our friends—weave a story that pulls us all together, including him. He seems to soften over the course of the meal, especially when Lexi and Roman jump in with praise for him.
He’s accustomed to being the media’s scapegoat for his team when they’ve had a bad game. He’s not used to having friends or being accepted exactly as he is.
Neither was I until Flip came along.
I tentatively cover Connor’s hand with mine.
His eyes dart to me in question. I offer him a reassuring smile, and he returns an uncertain one of his own. He turns his hand over, curving his fingers around mine. Warmth works its way up my arm and moves in a slow wave through my body, pooling low in my belly. That same warmth settles in Connor’s cheeks. I can feel our friends’ eyes on me, trying to figure it all out.
They’re not alone. It’s the same for me. Maybe for Connor, too. Our goals might not be the same, but they align, and we feel like an unlikely team.
After lunch and a promise to Meems that our friends will be back soon, Connor and I walk them to the front door—I’m doubtful any of us would have found it without him as an escort. All the boxes have disappeared, probably waiting for me in my bedroom, wherever that is.
I collect hugs, tucking them into my heart to keep it full once they leave.
“I’ll call you later,” Lexi promises.
And then it’s just me and Connor and a whole lot of awkward tension with my shields gone.
“Let me show you to your rooms.” He opens the elevator door and ushers me inside.
“Okay.”
Three walls are mirrored, providing an unparalleled view of Connor’s regal face and cut body.
He pulls the wrought-iron gate closed and presses the button for the second floor. The temperature seems to rise several degrees in the confined space and his proximity. He’s so tightly wound, his emotions locked down most of the time—unless he’s on the ice. Then all that tension and aggression are unleashed. And in rare moments, like with Callie and Meems, I see the soft side of him.