"We don't get to choose who we fall for," I murmur.
His look to me is filled with understanding. Real understanding, because Zack knows that more than anyone. "Preach it, man. Fucking preach it."
--
I'm just flipping off the late-night news when Hensley comes walking into the living room. I push up out of my recliner, give her a glance, and then do a double take. She's dressed in one of my old T-shirts that she must have kept after I moved out, and that's all. While the shirt comes down to cover most of everything, it still hits only at the top of her thigh.
I roll my eyes with irritation, because it's inappropriate.
She ignores it and says, "Thank you again for letting me stay the night."
I shrug and turn my back on her, grabbing my empty water bottle from the table. "No biggie. I leave so early tomorrow that it's just easier this way."
Walking into the kitchen, I can hear her following behind me. I do my best to ignore her as I put the bottle into the recycle bin and move to the dishwasher. It's become my habit to unload it every night before I go to bed.
"It was odd that Miss Brannon came by the house today," Hensley says conversationally. She's moved to prop herself up on one of the kitchen stools that sits at the center island.
My shoulders tense but I'm hoping the movement of me transferring glasses to cabinet covers my unease. "Not really. Just being a concerned boss."
She doesn't say anything so I think the subject is closed. However, she makes me uneasy just sitting there watching me, so I hurry up my movements, dumping cutlery into the drawer without separating it.
"How is it having a female general manager?" Hensley asks curiously.
I slam the drawer shut a little harder than normal. "Look, Hensley...you and I don't make small talk. We can talk about the girls if you want, but my career and job are off-limits. Small talk with me is off-limits."
Fuck, that was harsh.
And I didn't mean it to come out that way, but I'm irritated my daughter is lying upstairs with a broken arm. I'm irritated my soon-to-be ex-wife is staying in my house and prancing around in one of my T-shirts, and I'm irritated as shit that the woman I want isn't in my house prancing around in one of my T-shirts.
"Patric dumped me," Hensley whispers, and I go absolutely still.
"Dumped you?"
She nods and looks at me with clear eyes. "Traded me in for a younger model, I guess."
I'm going to hell because part of me wants to ask her how it feels, but the more mature part wins out. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," she says simply. "You knew this would happen. You knew that train wreck of a relationship was never going to work in the long run. I destroyed our marriage because I was vain and flattered by his attention, and I gave up everything to chase it."
I'm stunned by her words. She sounds hurt, ashamed, and lost. For a brief moment, I have a connection with her, because I know how that feels.
I know how she fucking feels and I hate that it gives us common ground, because it was easier going about my life not having to consider Hensley in any form or fashion past the part of her being a good mother to our kids. But you can't be married to someone and watch her bear your children without having some degree of care left. Despite all the pain and betrayal, I never want to see Hensley hurt.
"I really am sorry," I tell her again. "You don't deserve that."
Hensley pushes up off the stool and walks around the counter to me. Her eyes are serious, her smile sad. I'm frozen in place when she walks right up to me and places a warm hand on my chest. She looks up at me and whispers, "I do deserve it, which makes me seem super pathetic that I'm asking you to perhaps consider trying to work things out between us."
I stumble backward, dislodging her hand and feeling guilty as shit.
Guilty if I in any way led her on to believe I'd want that, and now all of a sudden guilty I'm letting a woman stay in my house who just made a move on me while I have feelings for another woman.
"Hensley," I say with a degree of moderate chastisement. "We're divorced."
"No, we're not," she says calmly. "The decree hasn't been signed. We're still legally married."
"Maybe legally, but not emotionally."
"If you could just learn to forgive me for what I did, we could work through this," she says with urgency. She takes a step closer and I hold my hands up.
"Just don't," I tell her. "This isn't a conversation I want to have right now."
"Then when?" she presses me.
I clasp both hands on top of my head and look up at the ceiling in frustration. I blow out a huff of air, then level my gaze at her. "I don't know that I want to have this conversation ever."
Something flickers in her eyes and she catches me off guard. "Is there someone else you're involved with?"
I lie to her face. I point-blank lie. "No."
"Even if there was someone," she says with challenge, "I'd still push to try to make this work between us."
"Regardless if there is or not, I've moved past this. I've moved past you. You need to realize that."
Tears fill Hensley's eyes, and fuck...I'm not good with tears. Her lip quivers. "Don't you care about me at all? I'm the mother of your children."
My heart clenches in both guilt for what I'm about to say and fear that maybe I shouldn't be saying it. "I do care about you. But only because you're the mother of my children."
A single tear slides over her cheek and more guilt presses onto my shoulders. As the only person who has been solidly there in my daughters' lives for the past eight months, I know without a shadow of a doubt that they both would want their mom and dad back together. Ruby still asks about it all the time, and while Violet doesn't, I know it would make her happy. Their idea of happiness is to have both their mom and dad together and around at all times.
And fuck...should I even be considering this?
I look at Hensley. She's gorgeous. She's good to our girls...when she's got her head on straight. She's only guilty of getting off track, and isn't everyone entitled to a second chance?
Should I give her a second chance?
The answer comes to me immediately. Like a tidal wave of truth pouring over me, putting my conscience at ease.
Hensley and I are done. I don't have any desire to try to make our marriage work. I've truly moved on and I don't believe staying married to someone just to appease the children is the right thing to do. In fact, I think it can set a bad example, because when there's not true love and dedication between two people, children know it. They are sharp and intuitive creatures, and they just know.
"I'm really sorry you're hurting and lost right now, Hensley," I tell her carefully. "But I'm just not interested in giving this a go. It's not the right thing for me or the girls."
Her face falls and her shoulders sag. I steel myself for a meltdown.
Instead she says, "I want to move here to Raleigh to be closer to the girls. I want more visitation."
"If that's what you want, I fully support that," I tell her cautiously. "We can amend the divorce decree."
"Or we could just pull it now and make the changes," she suggests.
"No," I tell her firmly. "We can't. I won't agree to that, but we can talk about arrangements to get you moved down here if you really want that. There are some nice houses in this area you can look at."
"Until I find I house?" she asks hesitantly.
"You can stay in a hotel," I tell her pointedly. "Tonight is an exception."
"Okay," she says placidly, but I can just tell. I know Hensley well enough. She's not giving up on this idea, and it pisses me off. Pisses me off because it's one more stressor for me to deal with, and also because this is only reactionary for her. Right now she's hurt and lonely, and she's trying to reach out to something that will give her comfort and stability.
I'm going to have to tread firmly but sensitively around her.
"Do not involve the girls in this," I warn her. "I'm going to be very pi
ssed if you try to use them."
"I won't," she says quickly, and I hope to God she's telling me the truth. I will go berserk if she thinks she can use the girls to get back together with me, because that would just be setting them up for heartache.
I rub at my temple, as a headache has just started throbbing. It's been a hell of a few days, and the one person I want to be with right this very minute can't be because maybe our paths just aren't supposed to merge.
Chapter 18
Gray
I tap lightly on Ryker's hotel door with just the knuckle on my middle finger. I look left and right about ten times in the five seconds it takes for him to open up, terrified that someone will see me lurking here. I still haven't gotten over the sick feeling in my stomach that occurred when Zack and Kate pulled up in Ryker's driveway yesterday morning and may or may not have seen us. I have no idea because I haven't talked to Ryker since then, other than a few short texts checking in with each other.
He seemed a bit preoccupied, and I just figured things were a bit crazy for him with Ruby's injury. This drove me batty, because when someone you care for is under stress, you should be able to be there for him. And in my mind, I know I should quit bitching about this because there's just no way around it at this time. If I have to order my priorities, right now my career and reputation take first prize.
The door swings open and the butterflies swarm when I look at him. He's had time to get out of his suit and put on a pair of workout shorts, and his hair is still damp from the shower he took at the arena after the game. God...that chest. Those arms.
Mmm. Those eyes. I could get lost.
Shaking my head, I step in quickly and he swings the door shut.
He looks tired. Really, really tired.
But not so tired that his hand doesn't immediately come out to cup behind my head, pulling me straight to his mouth. He gives me a sizzling kiss that electrifies me from the inside out. I've never had this type of physical reaction to a man before and I know exactly why. It's because I've never had true intimacy with someone.
Sure, I've had sex, and over the years since I became an adult, I've not been shy about it. I like sex. It feels great. Orgasms may be one of the best things ever created about the human body. If it didn't feel so good, our species would have died out long ago.
But with Ryker, everything is intensified, and I am brilliant enough to know that comes from my having true feelings for him and the fact that he's such a good man. It increases my attraction to him and makes every part of my body super sensitive to just the barest touch from him.
His kiss morphs...turns more erotic. His other hand comes to my hip and pulls me forward so he can press his erection into me. My blood rages as I kiss him back.
He pulls away from my lips, only to move his mouth to my neck, still just holding me by the back of my head with one hand and my hip with other. I'm amazed by his strength and determination...he seems like a man on a mission. But then I remember the fatigue I saw in his eyes and my concern pushes to the forefront of my mind.
With a tiny push against his bare shoulders to get his attention, I ask, "How are you doing?"
He lifts his head and stares down at me. Eyes darkened with desire but still no mistaking the ravages of stress on his face. "I'm fine, why?"
My hand comes to his face. "You had a rough few days with Ruby's injury."
For just a brief moment, his eyes soften and I think he might even give me a smile of gratitude for being intuitive about him, but then I see indecision war deep within. "I'm good," he says, and dips his face back toward mine.
I lean back to avoid his kiss. "You look troubled. Want to talk?"
"I want to fuck," he says determinedly, and jerks me into his body. Reaching down, he pulls my skirt up to bunch around my waist, and then he's lifting me in his arms. My legs automatically tighten around him and his hands go to my ass. "It's been too goddamn long and I want to fuck you."
Okay, fine...if I must.
Ryker kisses me again as he walks me toward the bed where he unceremoniously dumps me on it. I bounce slightly, but then he pins me to the mattress with his body, his hand going immediately between my legs. This is new, this almost urgent manner in which he's handling me, and it causes me to worry more. Not that he would hurt me, but that he might be hurting himself and trying to drown himself in distraction.
Is that all he needs from me? Or maybe he's just taking that because he thinks that's all I can give to him right now?
He pulls my panties to the side, slips his fingers in. My hips punch up, seeking more contact. With his face buried in my neck, he strokes me to life, making me hot, wet, and achy.
My breath hitches when he lifts his hips, takes his hands from in between my legs to push his shorts down, and the next thing I know he's pushing into me. I'm wet so I can take him, but there's still a bite of pain over his quick invasion. It's immediately soothed by his second stroke, and then he's all-out fucking me hard.
Face pressed back into my neck, his hips pistoning fast, he uses my body well. It feels so good.
My hands come up to thread my fingers in his damp hair and my pelvis flexes to meet each thrust.
He groans, bites down into that muscle that runs from the base of my neck to my shoulder, and drives into me harder. My orgasm ignites, flares, bursts so fast that I cry out in stunned surprise and my fingers pull at his hair involuntarily.
"Fuck yeah," he groans, and slams into me one more time as he starts coming.
I hold him tight while both of our bodies shudder with relief. I revel in the euphoria of my orgasm, but with every heartbeat that I start to come down, my worry starts to increase. While that was amazing--absolutely fucking amazing--sex, there was purpose and need within it. I'll never withhold that from Ryker, but I have to know the drive behind it.
Ryker rolls to the slide, slipping out of me before collapsing onto his back. This is also different, because he normally takes me right along with him. He's a cuddler...a man who likes to touch and stroke long after he's gotten off. I turn my head to the side and see him just staring at the ceiling.
His shorts are still pushed down his hips a bit, his sated cock still wet and lying along his left hipbone.
My skirt is bunched up around my own hips with my panties pulled to the side.
That was the extent of our undressing, and while I'm all for some hurried, urgent, can't-wait-to-get-inside-you sex, this isn't sitting right with me.
This seems detached.
I push up on my elbows so I can see him better. "What's wrong?"
He looks at me distractedly, tries to focus, and says, "Nothing."
I repeat in a firmer tone, "Tell me what's wrong."
Ryker reaches down and pulls his shorts up. Doesn't look me in the eye when he lies to me. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"You're full of shit," I tell him as I roll away, right off the bed, and pull my skirt down. I start marching for the door, realizing that my shoes never even came off.
"Where are you going?" he calls out.
"Back to my room."
I'm not sure how he accomplishes it--quick goalie reflexes I'm thinking--but he's on me in a flash. He grabs my elbow and turns me toward him. "Wait a minute. What's wrong?"
Brows furrowed, lips drawn. I find it ironic he's worried about me at this moment.
"What's wrong with me?" I ask with a laugh. "What's wrong with you? There's obviously something bothering you and you lie to my face point blank when I ask you to share it."
Ryker lets out a huge sigh and he nods his head in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry."
I step into him, put my hands on his shoulders, and gaze into his face. "Is it me? Us?"
"No," he says quickly, and brings his arms around my waist. "Not at all."
"Then talk to me," I urge him.
He smiles at me then, with just his eyes alone. "Okay. But first let's get naked and get back in bed. I want to hold you."
I hadn't realized how fearful I was over
Ryker's seeming detachment until he said those words. My body almost sags with relief to hear that demand, and I don't argue with him. Within moments, we're both stripped and under the covers. We lie on our sides, facing each other.
For a moment, he just stares at my lips, and one might think he was contemplating a kiss, but I know he's collecting his thoughts.
Finally, he talks. "It's been a rough week."
"Let me see if I can sum it up," I say, because I want him to know that I think about him. That I worry about him. "Ruby breaks her arm, you had probably the biggest scare of your life. You watched your daughter suffer. Frank Lessier, in his role as Cold Fury management, wasn't supportive of you at all. You had to miss a game and you love hockey--not as much as your daughters, granted, but it's damn close. You had to watch while another goalie that many fans and some of the management want to see back in the game play amazingly well coming off an injury, so your starting goalie status is in question. You had a loss tonight, which is only going to fuel the debate about you and Max. And finally...finally, I can't be there for you fully, so you don't even know how to go about sharing this stuff with me because the boundary lines of our relationship are muddied."
Ryker drops his gaze back down to my lips for a moment, then looks back up to me with such seriousness in his eyes that I know I didn't even come close to hitting on what was really bothering him.
"Hensley wants to reconcile and try to make our marriage work," he says quietly.
That feeling when you're on a roller coaster just before you plunge down that first big drop...that's how my stomach feels at this moment. It drops so hard and fast that I become light-headed. My heart squeezes painfully, because I fear his next words. My tongue is dry, stuck to the top of my mouth so I can't even beg him not to consider it.
That explains the detachment. His refusal to talk to me. It must be weighing so heavy on his mind.
He must be considering it.
I give a little cough to clear my throat. "Why the change of heart?"
Ryker's eyes narrow and flare with anger. "Because Patric dumped her and she's all alone. She's floundering and seeking the comfort of her family she left behind."
I'll hate myself later for doing it, because this may go down as one of the dumbest things to ever come out of my mouth, but I go ahead and do it anyway. "Maybe you should consider. You have the girls to think of."