Push (Colorado Storm Hockey #3)

Chapter 8

8

HUX

The wind is howling tonight and snow is blowing through these peaks. It’s nights like these where I notice every tiny crack in my mountain house as I lay on my weathered leather couch in front of the fire. This place is my fortress of solitude, hidden away, up Golden Gate Canyon. My whole life is nailed up on these timber walls—beat up hockey sticks, framed jerseys, faded photos. Hard-won trophies I poured everything into. But lately, it’s been feeling more like a museum of past glory than a home.

Max is sleeping on the floor while I attempt to read a favorite book of mine, An Ascent of Everest . Attempt being the keyword. I haven’t flipped a page in at least twenty minutes. Blame my concentration on the wind, or maybe the snow, but my mixed-up emotions are the primary culprit.

This season, which will likely be my last, has flown by so fast. I should try to enjoy every minute, but that voice in my head is always there, reminding me that if this is my final chapter on professional hockey, what could possibly come next?

Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about supporting myself. I invested well from an early age. But if I don’t have something to do, I’ll never talk to another human again. I’ll disappear into the woods and probably drink myself into oblivion. Even I don’t want a life like that.

I know I don’t have it in me to coach. That requires me to be someone I’m not. But the thought of hanging up my skates forever sends a shiver down my spine.

Max’s ears perk up seconds before my cell phone vibrates on the coffee table. I groan and grab for it. It’s my attorney.

“John?”

“Mr. Huxley, I’m sorry to call you this late. I’m calling to let you know that the paperwork you requested to invalidate your marriage is ready. You can come by to pick it up at your convenience. Or we can have it couriered to you if you prefer.”

“Thanks, I’ll pick it up when I can,” I mutter, my mind already racing to what those documents mean.

“Is there anything else you need? All still well with Deborah?” John asks, ever the attentive attorney.

I glance around at all my relics, gathering dust. “As good as it can be,” I answer.

“Excellent. We’ll see you soon then.” The line cuts off abruptly.

I keep the phone pressed against my ear for a moment before tossing it back on the coffee table. Max sidles up and shoves his wet nose against my knee, reading me like a book. I scratch him behind the ears, grounding myself.

“Looks like I’ll have to visit the second Mrs. Huxley soon, Maximus,” I sigh. His tail thumps against the hardwood.

It’s strange how one little word can feel so powerful—paperwork.

The fireplace hisses and pops, begging for another log. I heave myself up and toss one in, watching the flames consume the dry wood.

My phone vibrates again and I figure it must be John Leverge calling me back. I grit my teeth, not really in the mood to be handling all this before bed.

It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I figure I should answer it in case it’s Ada. After all, not many people have my number.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hux, this is Alex Hawkins’ sister, Brooke.”

“Hi,” I respond, remembering Brooke ever so slightly. My teammate’s sister runs his foundation for childhood bone cancer.

“I’m sorry to call so late. Linda Bliss and I have been making calls to some of Hawk’s teammates to ask for a favor for his foundation.”

Linda Bliss is my coach’s wife, so I know I should listen to Brooke’s pitch. Not that I wouldn’t. When it comes to charity, I do all I can to thaw my icy heart.

“We’re organizing an event at Colorado Children’s Hospital,” she begins, “a mural painting session for the kids in the oncology ward. We plan to surprise Alex and the other children with some players from the Colorado Storm. It’s scheduled for Saturday morning at ten o’clock. Can you make it?”

“Hold on, let me double-check my schedule,” I respond, bringing up my calendar on my phone. “Yes, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Great, we’ll see you then. We’re having the guys wear their jerseys. Do you need me to bring you one?”

“Nope, I’ve got one here.”

“Great, see you then. Thanks again, Hux,” she says.

“My pleasure.” I hang up and rest my phone on the table. I suppose I can pick up the paperwork before going there and then visit Ada’s shop afterward to have her sign them.

As I lean back on the couch, Max snuggles up beside me. The thought of painting with those kids at the hospital brings a flicker of warmth to my heart.

The crackling fire casts dancing shadows on the walls, and I let myself drift into thoughts of Ada again. My next soon-to-be invalid wife.

I think strong whiskey is in order. As I fill my glass of whiskey at the kitchen island, a glint of gold catches my eye. There, nestled among the spare change and random bits of pocket debris in the key basket, is the wedding band Ada put on my finger.

I pick it up, the gold band a little cold. It feels heavier than I remember, weighted with the significance of the vows we made, however impulsive and ill-advised they might have been. I think of Ada’s face as we stood at that altar in the Vegas chapel, the way her eyes were wide with a mix of panic and excitement, her lips slightly parted as if she couldn’t quite believe what we were doing.

Before I can second-guess myself, I slip the ring onto my finger. It slides on easily, like it was always meant to be there. I stare at it for a long moment, my glass of whiskey forgotten on the counter.

I know it’s foolish to hold on to this memento of a marriage that was over before it started. But as I stand there with Max watching me curiously, I can’t bring myself to take it off.

Because for one brief, shining moment, Ada made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time with her kiss.

I down my whiskey in one long swallow and make my way back to the couch, the ring still firmly in place on my finger. Max jumps up and settles at my feet, his comforting weight anchoring me as I stretch out on the cushions.

As my eyes flutter closed, my last thought is of Ada. Of her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me in her workshop as she massaged my shoulder.

I know that fleeting moment together was brief, a flash of lightning in the dark. But as I surrender to the pull of sleep, the wedding band on my finger is a solid reminder that I am still her husband .

With the whiskey humming through my veins and the fire burning lower and lower, I let myself sink into dreams of my wife.

It turns out, I’m not as terrible at painting as I thought I might be. Much like hockey, it takes precision with the hands and that is something I’ve always been gifted with. Ask any woman I’ve been with. It’s too bad Ada never got to experience that.

The paperwork is down in my car and as soon as this event is over, I’m going to head over to her botanicals shop and drop it off so she can sign it if she wants or have her attorney review it.

I’ve just finished painting one of the lions in the mural when my phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Debbie. I set my brush down and answer. I head toward the stairwell for some quiet. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey Hux,” she replies. “I’ll cut to the chase since I don’t have a lot of time. The damn garbage disposal is acting up again.”

“Don’t you have a fiancee to handle these kinds of problems?” I ask.

“He’s working tonight and honestly, he doesn’t know how. Can you help or should I call a plumber and get bilked for a few hundred bucks?” she asks.

When I don’t respond right away, she snidely asks, “Or is the new wife keeping you on a short leash?”

I open the door to the stairwell and to my surprise see two of my teammates, Alex Hawkins, our phenom goalie and organizer of today’s event, and Christopher MacCormack, our team captain. They look to be in the midst of a very serious conversation on the landing .

“Uhhhh… hey, I’ve got to go. I’ll swing by later tonight to take a look.”

“Thanks. Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.” I slip my phone into my pocket and cross my arms over my chest.

“Join the party,” Mac says.

“What are you guys doing in here?” I ask.

Mac looks at Hawk to answer, but Hawk turns it back to him. “Go ahead, tell him.”

Mac rubs the side of his face and looks up at me. “You might want to take a seat for this one, old man,” Mac says.

What the fuck is going on?

“Gladly,” I say and take a seat on one of the steps. It’s the first time I’ve sat down in hours.

“This one fell in love apparently,” Mac says and points over at Hawk.

Hawk is our team playboy. He’s been with countless women. I guess one of them stuck. “Congratulations?”

“With Coach’s daughter,” Mac clarifies.

“Fuck off,” I say and stand up. They’re clearly messing with me. Hawk couldn’t possibly be this fucking stupid.

Mac nods. “For real. The younger one.”

Coach Bliss’s youngest daughter? The artist and the one currently out there leading the painting of the mural? The daughter that got arrested last year? Isn’t her name, Alex? And then it hits me. I wasn’t the only one to do something stupid in Vegas. Alex Hawkins got a tattoo with the name Alex over his heart. We’ve been giving him shit that he got his own name tattooed on his chest. “Real smart with that tattoo, ass wipe.”

Hawk essentially shrugs.

“Are you a fucking idiot, son?” I blurt out.

“Yeah, probably,” he replies. “Sorry that we can’t all be like you, Hux. Tough and mean and cold-hearted.”

“Hey. Don’t lash out at him,” Mac orders .

“Well, I’m sure he’s never done anything this stupid,” Hawk says, and motions over to me.

“That’s probably true,” Mac replies.

That may have been true once, but not anymore. Who am I to critique someone’s choices? They’re glaring at me now and it must be written all over my face.

“What? What’s that face?” Hawk asks.

I pull my lips into my mouth and grunt. “I’ve done something that stupid. Real stupid, actually, so I have no right to even judge.”

“Oh, I’ve got to hear this,” Mac says and crosses his arms over his chest.

I can’t meet their eyes anymore. This is going to be humiliating.

“What is it?” Hawk nudges.

I blow out a long breath and shake my head. Here we go. “I got married.”

Mac’s face nearly turns red as he coughs. “What? You and Debbie again?”

“No, not fucking Debbie,” I clarify. “She’s still engaged to that asshole.”

“Then to who, eh?” Hawk asks.

“A stranger, okay?” I blurt out, not wanting to go into details.

Mac takes a step toward me. “What do you mean a stranger?”

As I looked at the faces of my teammates, I feel a knot form in my stomach. After a moment of hesitation, I speak up. “Her name is Adaline.” The weight of my confession hangs heavy in the air as my friends’ expressions shift between concern and curiosity.

“And…” Alex eggs on.

I roll my eyes at him. “And what?”

“How did you meet? When did you get married? What the actual fuck, dude?” Mac seems genuinely hurt that he’s just now learning about this.

Fine. If they must know, I’ll tell them more. “Remember that girl in Vegas?” They were both there that night and saw me make out with her.

Mac’s jaw drops. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, we got married that night. I was drunk. She was drunk. We’re gonna get an annulment…eventually.”

“Eventually?” Mac asks

“Where does she live?” Hawk asks.

I’m choosing to answer Hawk’s question because it’s way easier to answer that. Yes, there is an annulment coming. I just don’t want to talk about it. “She lives here actually, which turned out to be a total coincidence. So yeah, point is, I do dumb stuff too.”

Surprisingly, neither of them ask why I did it. They still don’t know about Debbie’s request for an annulment through the Catholic church. The emotions are too heavy in this stairwell, so I’m not going to offer that to the conversation.

Then I wonder how all this attention got on me when Hawk has done something so incredibly foolish. “But maybe not nearly as dumb as what you’re doing, Hawk.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “All right, I’m an idiot. And apparently a glutton for punishment, because this sucks so much.”

I nod and then speak what I believe to be my truth. “I get it, man. Love sucks. It hurts. And I don’t recommend it. Ever.”

Mac lets out a frustrated sigh and glances around, as if his fiancé, Summer, could hear him. “Hey! That’s not true. Love is everything. And once you have it, don’t give it up, okay? Even if it ruins absolutely everything, it will give exactly what you actually need back to you.”

We let that linger and then Mac surprisingly tears up. “And since we’re confessing our secrets, I have one for you too. Summer’s pregnant. We just found out.”

Mac, my road trip roommate over all these years, the captain I have been so proud to mentor, perhaps my only true friend, is going to be a father. Tears well in my eyes, too.

“Oh wow, congratulations,” Hawk says and pulls him into a hug, heavily patting his back.

“Congratulations, man,” I tell him and pat him on the back in return.

“She’s a little grumpy about getting pregnant before the wedding, but I couldn’t care less. I’m going to have a child with the person I love most on this earth. I’ve been dreaming about it since we were in high school.”

Hawk gives him another hug and then pulls back. “Does that mean she’s off-limits now?”

Mac punches the jerk hard in the arm, and that makes us laugh. I know Hawk is a changed man, just like Mac. The question is, how is he going to handle being in love with our Coach’s daughter? “What are you going to do?” I ask him.

“Right now, I just want to make sure Alex is okay,” Hawk responds.

I nod in understanding. Love sucks. Hurting people you love sucks even more.

As I pull up outside Ada’s shop, I feel a twinge of nervousness. The paperwork is in a manila envelope on the passenger seat of my car. I know she knows this is coming, but I wonder if she feels like me about it all. How do I feel about it? Confused mostly. Upset with myself for doing it in the first place. Upset with myself for ending it too. As nervous as I am, I’m also excited to see her. Something about Ada keeps drawing me in.

I take a deep breath and push open the door to her store. A tiny bell jingles to announce my arrival. The moment I step inside, I’m enveloped by a riot of sensations I’ve come to expect when I’m around her. The air is thick with the scent of essential oils and dried herbs. Shelves line the walls, each one displays an array of bottles, jars, and tins, all meticulously labeled in elegant script. I wonder if that is Ada’s own handwriting? Will she sign the paperwork in the same way?

It’s a beautiful shop and while I still don’t know Ada very well, I feel like it really reflects her as a person. There’s a cozy seating area set up in one corner, with plush armchairs and a coffee table constructed of what I think to be cedar wood, free-form cut for a top, and then iron pin legs. Stacked onto of it are books on herbalism and natural beauty. Lots of sunshine streams through the windows and gives the weathered hardwood floors a glow.

As I’m taking it all in, a voice calls from behind the counter. “Well hello there, tall, dark, and handsome. You must be Nik.”

I turn to see a tall woman with shocking purple hair and a constellation of tattoos across her arms. She’s got a mischievous glint in her eye and a smile that suggests she knows something I don’t.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me,” I confirm, stepping closer to the counter. “And you are?”

“Mallory,” she says, extending a hand for me to shake. Her grip is surprisingly firm. “I’m Ada’s assistant slash best friend slash voice of reason. She’s told me all about you.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “All good things, I hope?”

Mallory just smirks. “Well, she definitely mentioned your…impressive stature. Among other things.”

I can feel the tips of my ears going hot, but I try to play it cool. “So is Ada around? She knows I’m coming.”

“She’s upstairs in her apartment,” Mallory says, jerking her thumb towards a door at the back of the shop. I figure that’s the door to the workshop I saw the other night. “Go on up. She’ll be excited to see you. But don’t tell her I said that. She’ll kill me.”

“Thanks, Mallory. Nice to meet you,” I mutter, edging around the counter toward the door. As I weave around the workshop, which is much more organized than during my last visit, my mind is spinning. What did Ada tell Mallory about me? And why do I suddenly feel like a nervous teenager picking up his crush for a first date?

I head outside and up the stairs to Ada’s door, taking a moment to collect myself. I’m a grown man, for god’s sake. A professional athlete. I can handle a simple conversation with a person I happened to marry in Las Vegas.

Can’t I?

Only one way to find out. I raise my hand and knock.

As Ada opens the door, I’m momentarily stunned by the sight of her. She’s wearing a pair of light wash denim overalls, the cuffs rolled up to reveal her ankles and bare feet. Her toenails are painted pale pink. Underneath the overalls, a snug, off-the-shoulder white t-shirt exposes her collarbones and shoulders. Her hair is gathered up into a messy bun, a few stray curls escaping to frame her face. She looks effortlessly beautiful.

I grip the envelope, feeling it crease between my fingers. It’s the very document meant to correct this mistake we made, but seeing her like this, wanting her the way I suddenly do, I’m tempted to rip it to shreds.

“Hi,” Ada says and looks at her watch. “I can’t believe it’s three already. Come on in.”

She smiles and steps back, inviting me inside. As I cross the threshold, I’m immediately struck by the warmth and character of her apartment. It’s a reflection of Ada in every way, filled with personal touches and natural elements.

The living room is dominated by an overstuffed velvet couch, draped in a colorful quilt. Potted plants are everywhere, filling the air with a soft, earthy scent, very different from the scent below. The walls are a soothing sage green, decorated with an eclectic mix of artwork—botanical prints, photographs of Mediterranean landscapes, and abstract watercolors.

I catch a glimpse of her bedroom down the hall, the bed piled high with pillows and draped in a gauzy canopy. It looks inviting, intimate. I glance away, feeling like I’m intruding on her private space.

As I take it all in, Ada watches me with a soft smile. “It’s not much,” she says, gesturing around the apartment. “But you know, it’s home.”

I shake my head, meeting her gaze earnestly. “It’s very…you.”

Her smile widens at that, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She tucks a stray curl behind her ear and steps further into the apartment, beckoning for me to follow.

“Make yourself at home,” she says warmly.

I trail behind her, marveling at how comfortable I feel here, surrounded by Ada’s things. There’s a coziness to it, a sense of ease about her life that tugs at something deep inside me.

As we settle onto the couch, Ada curls her legs up underneath her, the denim of her overalls stretching taut over her thighs. I try not to stare, but it’s hard to ignore the way the fabric hugs her curves. The casual sensuality of her bare shoulders might just kill me.

“Is that the paperwork?” she asks, pointing to the envelope.

“It is,” I tell her, but I have no desire to pull it out and hand it over to her just yet. I know there’s no point in delaying it, but I just want to sit here a while longer as a man married to this beautiful woman.

“Okay, but before we get to all that, I have to talk to you about something,” she says, and she wrings her hands nervously .

My own nerves ignite again. Talk to me about something? I have no idea what this could be about. “Okay.”

“I just... I have a huge favor to ask you and feel free to say no, like seriously no pressure at all...”

“What is it?” I ask.

“Like truly, Nik. You can say no.”

“Spit it out, A,” I say, more gruffly than I mean to, but I’m on pins and needles here, wondering what this could be about. I hear her suck in a sharp breath.

“Right, sorry. Will you be my date to my cousin’s wedding? It’s three weeks from today. I saw you don’t have a game that day, but I’m not sure you’re traveling or something like that.”

I blink a few times, attempting to think through what she’s just asked me. This request was not what I was expecting.

“A wedding,” I echo, my brain still catching up.

“Yes,” she says. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but my family has been on my case lately about ‘settling down’ with this guy named George and I just don’t want to do that, so I told them I already have a date. Having you there would just take some of the heat off, you know?”

George? Who is the George guy?

“Why George?” It’s more of a growl than the sound of a question.

“Why George what?” she asks.

“Why do they want you to settle down with this George guy? Do you have a thing with him?” I don’t recognize my voice or the words that are suddenly spilling out of my mouth.

“Lord, no,” she says dramatically. “He’s like another brother to me. But they think since I’m single and he’s single, and he’s also Lebanese and knows our family that we would be a good match.”

“But you’re not single. You’re married,” I remind her. I put my palm up to my forehead and shake my head. I’ve got to get my reactions in check .

She stares at me for an extra beat and then laughs. “Right, right? How could I forget about my husband?”

She thinks I’m joking and I’d never admit to her I wasn’t. I nervously laugh along with her, but I can feel the tension coiling inside me, a snake ready to strike. Adaline’s casual mention of George and their family’s push for her to settle down ignites a fire in my chest.

“You’re funny,” she says to put a fine point on it.

“So, you need a fake date to ward off your family?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

“That’s one way to put it.” She says calmer now and then she looks at me with pleading brown eyes that tell me more than her words ever could. She needs this. Badly.

“Sure, Ada,” I finally reply. “I can do that for you.”

“Wait, really?” Her voice pitches up in surprise and she leans across the couch to hug me, essentially falling forward into my arms. She wraps her arms around the back of my neck and says, “You’re a lifesaver. Seriously. I owe you big time.”

“I like nice Irish whiskey,” I whisper into her neck. She smells different today, like lavender and honey. It’s still just as intoxicating.

Ada pulls away, her cheeks flushed with gratitude and her eyes are sparkling. She places her hands on my shoulders. “You’ve got it and I’ll throw in a plate of my Teta’s stuffed grape leaves.”

My hands slide down to her hips and I lean forward into her space, feeling the heat between us grow. “Deal,” I say, my voice husky with a desire that surprises even me.

Ada’s gaze flickers up to my lips and then back up to meet my eyes. Without a word, she leans in, closing the distance between us, and kisses me. The world falls away, leaving only the taste of honey and the softness of her lips against mine.

When she pulls back this time, with our breaths mingling in the air between us, I feel a surge of frustration for not having kissed her first.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her face flushed as she shakes her head. “I got caught up. I promise I will not attack you like this at the wedding.”

I clear my throat. “Don’t apologize,” I manage to say, my voice rough with desire.

Ada looks at me, her eyes searching mine, seeking reassurance. I hope she is getting it. The tension crackles in the air around us.

Then she abruptly leaves my arms and rises to her feet. She picks up an empty teacup from the coffee table and takes it to her kitchen. “So, um…should we discuss some ground rules for our little charade?” she suggests, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Sure,” I answer.

She returns to the living room but doesn’t sit down next to me. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can keep it casual. Maybe just one dance to prove my point to my family.”

“Got it. Casual it is,” I agree, relieved by her easy-going approach. But deep down, a part of me wishes for more than just a pretend date scenario.

“Perfect,” she says and then points at the envelope on the table. “Ready to go through the legal stuff?”

Her change in subject catches me off guard. Maybe it’s because we have upcoming plans, her kiss, or because there’s a selfish person within me who doesn’t want her to consider settling down with George, but I feel compelled not to have her sign the paperwork at this moment. I need to have a clearer mind. What harm could it do to delay this a little longer so I can sort out my thoughts? Maybe it’s all this rushing that keeps getting us into trouble .

I open the envelope and pull out the papers, being sure not to let her see it. “Damn,” I murmur.

“What?”

“It looks like they gave me the wrong documents,” I answer.

“Really? It has your name on the envelope,” she points out.

“I know. This is for another matter. Sorry, Ada, I’ll have to get in touch with them on Monday and let them know.”

“Oh, okay. No worries. Um, would you like some tea? Or I might have a bottle of whiskey if that’s what you prefer?”

I glance down at my watch, knowing I have to get over to Debbie’s house to look at her disposal at some point.

“Rain check?” I ask.

“Of course,” she says and nervously laughs. The tension has turned from ardent desire to blatant awkwardness.

I rise to my feet and head toward the door. She squeezes by to open the door for me. “The handle gets stuck sometimes,” she explains.

My eyebrows knit together. She obviously needs help around here. “I can fix that for you.”

“Rain check?” she says, repeating my words back to me.

I nod and she just smiles and we murmur simple goodbyes as I walk down the stairs.

As I get back into my jeep, I take a deep breath and let it out. Why is every interaction with Ada so intense? Is this really the smartest move on my part to go to the wedding with her?

My phone buzzes and I expect it to be a text from Ada. But it’s Debbie.

Debbie: Are you on your way? Or too busy with your new wife?

I drop my head to the steering wheel and close my eyes. If I didn’t draw attention to myself, I’d smash the horn to block out all the noise in my head. Try as I might, I can’t seem to break away from her.

I tap a quick reply. On my way now. Should be there in 20 minutes.