Puck & Make Up (A Rush Hockey #7)

Chapter 16

Sixteen

Dessie

H e’s been gone a long time—much longer than his practice should have taken.

And even though I spilled my guts to my friends—and feel about a hundred pounds lighter because of it—even though I have a plan—which doesn’t necessarily make me feel better, but at least I have a freaking plan, I’m not sure I can fix this.

“Breathe,” I whisper, cursing that my phone died a couple of hours ago.

That I was so out of it, I didn’t think to grab a charger from home and?—

“Stop,” I say. “It’s going to be okay.”

I’ll apologize.

Explain.

And hopefully not have alienated him so much that he’s changed his mind about moving forward.

And…

I need to tell him that I love him.

Which hopefully won’t send him running for the fucking hills like a dumbass who doesn’t know a good thing when she finally finds it—or rather when it finds her.

None of which gets him here any sooner.

None of which eases my ever-increasing nerves.

None of which?—

The sound of an engine reaches my ears, and I whip my gaze down the street, straining to catch a glimpse of the car coming this way. My heart leaps when I see that it’s Fox’s and immediately my nerves amp up so high that I’m jittery, my hands shaking, my legs feeling like they won’t hold me up.

But…

I have a plan.

And I’m going to execute it.

Apologize. Explain. I love you.

Apologize. Explain. I love you.

The car slows for a moment before returning to its previous speed and before I can even go down the three steps, he’s whipped his car into the driveway and thrown open the driver’s side door.

Apologize. Explain?—

“I love you!” I shout the moment he’s out of the car.

Not the plan. So not the plan.

Apologize first. Explain second. Then the I love you part.

But, even as anxious as I am, I still feel a blip of amusement when the big, bearded hockey player skids to a halt, his mouth dropping open. It’s fleeting, though, and then he’s rushing toward me again.

In the blink of an eye, he’s in front of me. “What did you say?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, gripping his forearms, holding his stare. “ So sorry. Last night was perfect and I…I panicked. I was feeling so much, and you were so great, and this is…better than anything I’ve ever hoped for and I want more and?—”

“Sugar.” He slips from my hold to cup both sides of my face. “What did you say?”

Apologize. Check.

Explain. Sort of check.

Now—

“I love you.”

He inhales sharply, that big chest expanding, and then…

He’s moving again, wrapping his arms around me, dragging me against him. “Fuck, Dessie.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I had a moment of insanity. It won’t happen again.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” he rasps. “Especially when you wouldn’t answer my calls.” He pulls back, fixes me in place with a glare. “Promise me you won’t do that again. Promise me that you’ll talk to me, and if you can’t, you’ll at least text me and let me know you need some breathing room or leave a note or send fucking telegram or something.”

“A telegram?” I giggle.

His face goes soft, and he settles his forehead against mine. “I wasn’t going to let you go,” he whispers. “But I’m fucking glad I don’t have to chase you down.”

He sounds tired. Exhausted.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. “And I wasn’t trying to avoid your calls the whole time. I…” I sigh and pull my phone from my pocket, showing him the darkened screen. “I forgot to bring a charger.”

He tugs at a strand of my hair, rests his forehead against mine. “I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He stops and I frown. “What?”

An exhale. “You scared me.”

More guilt. “I’m sor?—”

“No more apologies.” He presses his lips to mine. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

“I—”

I got the apology part, covered the I love you, but I haven’t explained?—

And I don’t get to.

Because he scoops me up and carries me into the house.

And then he makes sure I’m so limp with pleasure that I can’t even begin to think of leaving.

The best part?

I don’t want to.