Push (Colorado Storm Hockey #3)

Chapter 11

11

ADALINE

I’m pacing back and forth in my shop, my heels clicking against the hardwood floor like a ticking clock. The soft afternoon light is filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the shelves lined with my products.

Today is the day of Kyla’s wedding, and I’m waiting for Nik to pick me up. When I texted him earlier this week to make plans, he insisted on driving me to the venue. You should be able to enjoy yourself and have as much fun as you want , he wrote. I’ll be your designated driver . His thoughtfulness caught me off guard, but I couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement in my chest at the prospect of spending more time with him.

Since our last encounter in my apartment, I hadn’t heard from him. I know he’s been busy with hockey and his grueling training schedule, but a part of me wishes he would reach out more. I feel a pang of disappointment every time I check my phone and see no new messages from him. It’s like I’m back in high school, waiting for my crush to call. Pathetic, I know.

I check my reflection in the antique brass mirror for the hundredth time, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in my dress .

Having the freedom to choose my own dress after getting dropped from Kyla’s wedding party is like a breath of fresh air. No more pastel taffeta nightmare. I can’t understand why she chose such unattractive dresses for her bridesmaids, but I have a feeling I know the reason. She’s always been the type that must shine brighter than others.

So with that dress shoved far into the back of my closet, I’ve decided to go with a classic little black dress for Kyla’s wedding, but with a twist that’s all me. The dress is made of this soft fabric that feels like a dream against my skin. It drapes over my curves like it was made just for me. The neckline is a deep V that shows off just enough cleavage to be sexy without crossing the line into trashy. I can’t have Teta Lena getting mad. And the cap sleeves? They add a touch of elegance that makes me feel like a goddamn movie star. But the real showstopper is the open back. It dips down to the small of my back, and there’s this delicate gold chain that catches the light as I move. It’s the perfect mix of understated glamour and just a little bit of edge. I’ve kept my accessories simple, just a pair of strappy gold sandals and some tiny gold earrings.

The sound of a car pulling up outside jolts me out of my thoughts. I peek through the window and see Nik stepping out of his Jeep. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of him. He’s dressed in a flawlessly fitted black suit that accentuates his toned physique in all the best ways.

Damn, he looks good.

His long, dark hair is pulled back into a neat bun, revealing the sharp angles of his face. I desperately want to see what he looks like with his hair down. It’s my new obsession. I even Googled him, trying to find a photo of him with his hair down, but haven’t been able to come up with one. The thick beard I’ve come to associate with him is trimmed and groomed, making him look even more strikingly handsome than usual.

I quickly gather my clutch and take one last deep breath before opening the door. As I step outside, Nik’s dark brown eyes widen with surprise, his lips parting slightly as he takes in my appearance. His jaw clenches, and I wonder if that’s desire in his gaze as it travels from my face down to my feet, and if he’s admiring the way the tight dress hugs my body.

He clears his throat more than once before saying, “You look lovely.”

I feel a blush creep up my neck at his compliment. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that gives me chest flutters. As he moves closer to open the car door for me, I catch a whiff of his cologne—a heady mix of cedar, black gold, and something uniquely Nik. It’s intoxicating, and I lean in closer, wanting to breathe in more of his scent. God, I’m off to a bad start at keeping this normal.

“Ready to go?” he inquires, gently placing his hand on the lower part of my back and leading me toward the car. His fingertips lightly brush against my skin, a delightful tingle rushes up my spine. I can’t decide if wearing a dress with an open back is a risky choice or one of the cleverest decisions I’ve ever made.

I nod, not trusting my voice to come out steadily. The warmth of his touch is igniting a fire within me. Being in such close proximity to him after weeks apart is overwhelming to my senses.

As we settle into the car and Nik starts the engine, I steal glances at him from the corner of my eye. The way his suit stretches across his broad shoulders, the confident way he grips the steering wheel—this here is a man. More than a man. It’s like I’m sitting next to a goddamn Greek god.

“How have you been?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

“Good,” he replies, his eyes focused on the road ahead. “I don’t know if you heard, but we clinched a spot in the playoffs. ”

“I heard. Congratulations.” I saw it actually. Ever since I met Nik, I’ve developed quite an interest in hockey. Mallory too. We’ve been going over to the corner bar to watch.

“How about you?” he asks.

“Same old, same old. The shop keeps me on my toes.”

“When did you open your shop?”

“I opened it about two years ago and that first year was really rough. Then last year, out of nowhere, this influencer fell in love with my orange blossom toner, and my business was saved. Everything changed. My orders went through the roof. It’s been crazy.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I bet. So is an influencer like a social media thing?”

“Yeah, it is. You don’t seem like the type to be on social media.”

“Definitely not,” he confirms.

“See, in some ways you’re so easy to read. In other ways, not so much.”

That makes him laugh. “I’m glad to hear I haven’t lost my touch,” he replies.

“So you try to stay mysterious?”

“Try is pushing it. It’s just naturally how I am.”

“Why is that?”

He hesitates, flips on his blinker, and changes lanes. “I don’t know.”

“Well, it makes you a little hard to get to know, if I’m being honest.”

He glances over at me. “Go ahead.”

I shake my head. “Go ahead with what?”

“Go ahead, ask me questions.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure,” he says and stares straight ahead.

“Will you actually answer them?”

“It depends,” he says and looks over at me and winks .

“Okay,” I ask, my mind reeling with possibilities. Some stupid, like what’s your favorite color? Others random, like do you believe in aliens? Finally, I settle on one that I’ve been really curious about. “Where do you live?”

“Up Golden Gate Canyon.”

“Ah, a mountain man, I should have guessed. How long does it take you to get to Golden?”

“About twenty minutes on a good day.”

“That’s not too bad. So, about an hour to the arena?”

“Sometimes less,” he says, keeping it simple.

“What made you want to live up there?”

“The privacy.” Before I can dig deeper into that, he declares, “Okay, my turn.”

“What do you want to know? I’m an open book. I’m surprised you don’t know my social security number by now.”

“Why does your family want you to settle with George?”

Oh God, the George thing. “Well, our families have known each other forever. We grew up together and went to the same church and stuff. In their eyes, it's a perfect match. The problem is, they're so focused on what looks good on paper that they're not seeing what's actually there. Or, more accurately, what isn't there.”

“What do you mean, isn’t there?”

“George is... fine. He's nice enough, has a stable job and all that. But there's just no spark, you know? When I look at him, I see a friend, at best.”

Nik doesn’t respond to that, but something about his body language loosens up.

“My turn,” I say, turning the tables back to him.

“Why did you marry me?” I ask, going all in.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “I told you in Las Vegas.”

“I believe you said revenge. What was that about?”

“My ex. ”

“Care to elaborate?”

He’s silent for longer than I like. I’ve learned this about him. I have to give him the time to respond and not just jump right in to fill the silence. It goes against my nature in every way.

“She—” he starts but suddenly slams on his brakes when a car cuts him off right before traffic comes to a stop.

In less than a second, Nik’s arm reaches out to push me back as inertia pushes us forward in our seats. We nearly rear-end the car in front of us. Thank God for his reflexes.

“Fucking asshole!” Nik yells at the driver and then looks over at me. “Are you okay?”

He’s still holding me, his hand wrapped around my arm that is furthest from him.

My eyes go wide and my hands ball up. Adrenaline is pumping through me hard and fast. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay?”

He releases my arm and gently takes hold of my hand, undoing it from the fist I’ve made. “Yeah. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re shaking. Let’s take three deep breaths. I’ll do it with you.”

“Okay,” I say and begin.

He doesn’t seem to need them like I do but breathes along with me anyway as traffic begins to move along.

“Feel better?” he asks when we finish.

I nod and let out one more big breath. “Yeah, totally. Thanks for that.”

He smiles and then lets go of my hand. “Is this the church?”

I look over on the right and spot it. “Yes, sorry. Take your next right.”

As we pull up to my family’s Maronite Catholic Church, I can feel the familiar knot of nerves tightening in my stomach. Even though I’m with Nik, who gives me those exhilarating butterflies, pulling off this wedding date suddenly feels like a terrible idea. Like my family will instantly see through our charade and I’ll be doomed to eternal embarrassment.

But it’s too late now, isn’t it? We’re here and this is happening.

As Nik helps me out of the car, his hand lingers on mine for a moment longer than necessary. Our eyes meet, and the intensity of his gaze makes me forget all that anxiety. Like maybe, just maybe, we can fool them.

“Ready to face the music?” he asks, a playful smirk on his lips.

I take a deep breath and nod, squeezing his hand gently. “As ready as I’ll ever be. But hey, before we go in. Are you familiar with Maronite Catholicism?”

“No, I’m not religious.” I notice he grits his teeth as he says it.

“Okay, well, basically this is like a form of Catholicism for Lebanese people. It’s technically part of the Roman Catholic church, but it’s…a lot. Half of it is going to be in a different language?—”

“Arabic?”

“Yes, and Syro-Aramaic. It’s old. But it’s also…chaos. You will not be able to follow along, even if it was completely in English. I can only follow along because of repetition. But there’s a lot of crossing and a lot of standing up and sitting down. Do not try to figure it out. It’s impossible.”

“That feels like a challenge.”

I chuckle, swatting his arm playfully. “Trust me, it’s for your own good. Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine.”

Nik nods, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that I find adorable. “I’ll do my best to behave, but I can’t promise not to get lost in the chaos.”

With a roll of my eyes, I link my arm with his and guide him toward the church entrance. As we step inside, the familiar scent of incense and beeswax candles envelops us, bringing back memories of childhood Sunday masses.

My family is already gathered near the front pews, chatting animatedly with some of the other wedding guests. Teta Lena spots us and her face breaks into a wide smile, her arms outstretched for a hug.

“Habibti,” she exclaims, pulling me into a tight embrace. “And this must be your handsome date? The hockey player?”

I feel my cheeks flush in the extreme. My grandmother has absolutely no chill.

Nik’s deep chuckle fills the space between us. Thank God he’s got a sense of humor in the face of my teta’s unabashed curiosity. “Yes, that’s me,” he affirms with a charming smile, extending his hand to Teta Lena. “Nikolas Huxley, but you can call me Hux.”

Teta Lena eyes him up and down before nodding approvingly. “You’re a tall one, just like those cedars in Lebanon.” She pats his hand warmly before turning her attention back to me. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

As Nik and I follow Teta Lena through the crowd of familiar faces, I catch snippets of hushed whispers and curious glances directed our way. It’s not every day that a hockey player attends our church, let alone accompanies me to a family gathering.

My brother Mark rushes over, along with some of my cousins, their excitement palpable as they greet Nik with a barrage of questions about the upcoming playoffs.

I stand back a bit, watching as Nik navigates the sea of relatives, taking part with genuine interest in their conversations. It’s like he’s been a part of our family for years, seamlessly blending in despite the obvious differences. And I know this must all be for me because he’s not exactly the talkative type.

As I listen to the familiar banter and laughter around me, a sense of contentment washes over me. Here, surrounded by my loud and chaotic Lebanese family, I feel a sense of belonging with them I’ve always longed for. And having Nik by my side, sharing this experience with me only amplifies that feeling.

Nik comes back over to me and leans down. “Are your parents here? I don’t think I’ve met them.”

I shake my head. “No, my stepmom had knee surgery a week ago, so they couldn’t make the trip from Washington.”

Nik nods in understanding, his eyes showing a hint of compassion. “I’m sure they would’ve loved to be here.”

“Uh, probably not. They’re total homebodies,” I reply honestly. “But hey, at least you get to meet the rest of the circus,” I add with a wry smile, gesturing to the bustling crowd of relatives around us.

Nik chuckles, his eyes scanning the lively scene before us. “I like it. Feels like a locker room after a big win.”

A warmth spreads through my chest at his approval. “Well, welcome to the madness,” I say playfully.

“Addy,” a familiar voice says. I turn to see George and cringe a little at that nickname. He’s the only one that calls me that.

George is dressed nicely for the occasion—probably the nicest I’ve ever seen him—wearing a sharp grey suit. He isn’t a bad-looking guy objectively, but there’s just something about him that doesn’t suit me. And not even an ounce of attraction on my end. I don’t think the same can be said for him.

“George?” Nik grunts.

“Yes,” I say under my breath.

Nik stiffens at the sight of George, a flash of realization in his eyes that doesn’t go unnoticed. I can practically feel the tension crackling between the two men as they size each other up, each trying to assert their presence.

“Nik, this is George, a friend of the family,” I say quickly, trying to diffuse the palpable animosity in the air.

George extends his hand toward Nik, his mouth pursed into a tight line. “Nice to meet you. You must be Nikolas Huxley, Addy’s date I’ve heard so much about. I’m George Azar. ”

“Nice to meet you,” Nik replies hoarsely, and the men shake hands.

“Well, Addy, you’ve got quite the catch. I’m sure you’ve made your cousin jealous.”

A faint tension crosses Nik’s face, but he maintains a polite expression as he says, “I believe Adaline is the real catch here.”

“Yes, of course,” George says, a smirk lingering on his face. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a silent dare for Nik to step up.

Nik’s jaw clenches subtly, but he keeps his composure, letting out a measured chuckle. “I feel lucky she asked me to be her date,” he replies, his tone light, but there’s a firmness underlying his words.

I shoot Nik a grateful look for handling the situation with grace, silently wishing for George to go away.

George’s gaze flickers between us, and something unreadable flashes in his eyes before he offers a tight-lipped smile. “Well, I won’t keep you from your date any longer, Addy. Enjoy the wedding.”

With that, George nods curtly and makes his way through the crowd.

“So that’s the man they think you should be with?” Nik asks, still tense from the encounter.

“That’s the one.” I laugh a little.

“Hmm,” he grunts, and I’d give up just about everything I own to know what he’s really thinking.

“And what was up with him calling you Addy? Should I be calling you that?” Nik asks.

I wave my hands. “No, definitely not. I don’t know why he calls me that. Ada is my preference. But speaking of that, I noticed when you talked to my grandmother you told her to call you Hux. I’ve been calling you Nik. Is that bad?”

“No, not at all. It’s just different. No one ever calls me that.”

My cheeks warm up. “Now I feel stupid. ”

He takes hold of my hand and squeezes. “Don’t. It’s not stupid. It’s different and I like different.”

“Okay, are you sure?”

“Yes, please don’t stop,” he says sincerely.

Just then, the church organ plays, signaling the start of the ceremony. The ushers move us toward our seats near the front. The place is packed, standing room only. David’s family and guests completely outnumber us, which I guess was to be expected since he comes from such a prestigious family.

As we settle into our seats, I feel a mix of emotions. The church is decked out in an overabundance of flowers and twinkling lights, a testament to Kyla’s extravagant taste. The guests buzz with anticipation, their chatter filling the air.

The music swells, and the bridal party begins their procession down the aisle. The bridesmaids float by in their pastel pink taffeta dresses, looking like a line of overly decorated cupcakes. They clutch their bouquets of roses and baby’s breath, their smiles as fake as their eyelashes. When I see Jackie, the only friend of Kyla’s I like, I give her a little wave and she winks at me.

The groomsmen follow, looking stiff and uncomfortable in their dark suits and matching pink ties. I glimpse David, the groom, standing at the altar. He looks more nervous than happy, his eyes darting around the church.

And then there she is. Kyla, the bride herself, makes her grand entrance. She’s wearing an opulent white gown that’s dripping in lace and crystals, the epitome of excess. The bodice is so tight it looks like she can barely breathe, and the skirt is a mass of tulle and satin that threatens to swallow her whole.

I’m guessing this dress is just the beginning. Knowing Kyla, she’s got an even more outrageous one waiting for the reception. She’s always been one for over-the-top displays, and her wedding is no exception.

As she glides down the aisle, her head held high and a smug smile on her lips, I feel a pang of relief that I’m not up there with her as a bridesmaid.

I glance over at Nik, his stoic expression unchanged by the spectacle before us. He sits quietly, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed straight ahead.

As the ceremony begins, I struggle to focus on the words being spoken. The mix of English, Arabic, and Aramaic is hard to follow, and my mind wanders. I find myself questioning the whole idea of marriage, wondering if it’s really worth all this fuss and pageantry.

When it’s time for the vows, I cringe at the overly sentimental words being exchanged. David and Kyla’s promises feel hollow and insincere, like they’re just going through the motions…sort of like when I married Nik. But for some reason, that moment, in a Vegas chapel, feels more real than what I see before me. That moment with him, it felt authentic in a way I can’t explain, even to myself. It was impulsive, reckless, and everything I shouldn’t have done. But at that moment, standing in front of that chaplain with Nik’s hand in mine, I felt more alive than ever. Looking at Kyla and David now, it’s like witnessing a carefully choreographed dance, every step planned and rehearsed to perfection. It doesn’t look like love.

But that makes me wonder. Do I even know what love looks like? Why do I have a feeling I’d miss it coming, even if it was right in front of my face?