THAT EVENING, my doorbell rings. I look in the large mirror in my bathroom one last time to make sure I look okay. I went simple tonight with a soft black t-shirt and dark-wash jeans.
Rushing out of my room and down the hallway, I take a calming breath before swinging the front door open. Andie’s wearing jeans, her usual white sneakers, and a long-sleeved wine-colored top that stops right at the waistband of her jeans, so when she moves, a sliver of her stomach peaks out.
Suddenly, I remember her little outie belly button and have a difficult time prying my eyes away from that sliver of skin on her abdomen. I blink a few times and look away, opening the door wide and stepping aside to make room for her to come in.
Andie comes in and holds her arms out at her sides. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure how casual one dresses for a little-brother-scheduling-conference non-date.”
Tilting my head, I pin her with an unamused stare. She laughs and takes a few more steps into my penthouse. I run a hand through my hair, then rest it on the back of my neck, feeling nervous now that she’s here and we’re alone… for the first time. Ever.
“Nice place, Big Man. Fancy.” She spins in a slow circle, taking in the entire open living room, dining room, kitchen area. Her stare lingers on the huge chef’s kitchen. “You don’t strike me as someone who loves to cook.”
I huff out a laugh. “I don’t mind cooking, but I usually order meals for the week since my NHL schedule doesn’t allow me much free time.”
She nods. “Yeah, I feel you there. Not the NHL schedule, but the ICU one. So, are you going to give me a tour? I wanna see the giant bathtub.”
“Noah told you?”
She smiles. “Yes, and I’m jealous.”
Thankfully, my housekeeper came this morning and everything is clean and tidy. I guide her down the hallway to the bathroom. Is this a weird thing to be showing her? Probably.
When we walk inside my master bedroom, Andie gasps. “Oh my gosh! Your bed is gigantic.”
“As you like to say, I’m a big man.” I shrug and point to the open door leading to the bathroom.
She follows my finger and rushes over to see the large standing tub in the center of the bathroom. On one wall is a long vanity with two sinks, and on the other wall is a tiled shower with five waterfall shower heads. That shower is the reason I rented this place, actually.
Andie bursts out laughing and walks over to the vanity, grabbing the bottle of Captain Bubbles off of the counter. “Ah-ha! I knew it.”
Dang it, I forgot to put that bottle away when I took a bath earlier.
In one quick step, I’m next to her, grabbing the bottle out of her hand. She reaches up, trying to snag it from me, but I lift it above my head. Oh, and there’s that gorgeous outie, peeking out from under her shirt as she reaches up for the Captain Bubbles.
Thank you, Captain Bubbles.
Andie gives up and looks at me through slitted eyes. “Why do you have Captain Bubbles after making fun of mine?”
I sigh and put the bubble bath away inside the cabinet. “Well, I kind of… go to…”
“Spit it out, I don’t have all day.”
“I’m in therapy,” I blurt. Her expression changes from annoyed to something softer. Not pity, I couldn’t handle pity. But something that feels like a warm hug. Not that I’ve really had one of those. “He recommended I find a way to relax that didn’t involve screens… or hockey.”
“So, you tried a bubble bath?”
I throw my hands up, not wanting to talk about this anymore. “Noah told me to, okay? He said you take baths and listen to books to relax. I thought I’d try it.”
I exit the bathroom and my bedroom and wait for her in the hallway. She follows quickly and stands by my side. “And you loved it? Didn’t you?”
“You’re annoying.”
“You did!” She lifts her index finger to my nose and boops it.
I think she’s the only human on this planet that could boop my nose and get away with it. I just stare at her in shock.
“Alright, come on. I’m starving.” She starts walking toward the kitchen, waving an arm for me to follow her.
The woman has been here five minutes and is already acting like she owns the place. Surprisingly, it’s not annoying. She can own this place—and me—if she wants to.
Andie spots the soup and sandwiches at the bar, along with the plates and glasses I set out, and makes an aw sound. “Did you set this for us? I love soup.”
I scratch the back of my neck and look at my feet. “Oh, yeah. Same.” Smooth, Mitch. Really smooth. When I bring my head back up and see her staring at the arm that’s behind my head, I gain a little confidence back.
Her eyes snap to meet mine and she blushes adorably. “Tell me about your tattoos.” She scoots one of my mid-century modern chairs out and takes a seat.
I sit beside her, basking in that bubble gum scent for a moment. “The tiger is a memory of my dad. My last good memory.”
She asks, “Did he pass away?”
“He’s in prison,” I say bluntly, then remove the lids from our salads and soup.
I can feel her staring at me. “I’m sorry, Mitch.”
Andie never says my name, it’s always Anderson, or Big Man. I relish in the sound of my name on her lips, playing it over a few times so I remember what it sounded like. “I’m sorry about your parents, too. What happened to them?” I immediately regret prodding and add, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“Head-on collision with a semi truck. The driver fell asleep and crossed a median,” she says softly.
“Wow, that’s awful.” I think of her and Noah finding out the news all those months ago, and my heart tightens inside my chest. The same heart I didn’t think worked anymore.
“It’s been hard, I just feel so bad for Noah. I miss them like crazy, but they got to see me grow up, you know? Prom, college graduations, starting my career. But they’ll miss all of his milestones. I think that hits him really hard.”
“That sucks.” I clear my throat that suddenly feels too thick. “I can relate to that. My parents are alive, sure. But my mom left when I was little and my dad’s been in prison since I was ten. I don’t know them. My mom has called me once since she walked out of my life, it must’ve been five years ago. I’m not even sure how she got my number… but she didn’t even ask how I was doing. Just said she needed money. I blocked her number. And my dad, I don’t even accept his calls anymore.”
Andie studies me, a question in her eyes. I tilt my chin in a small nod, giving her permission to ask whatever it is she wants to know. Something I’ve never allowed anyone else—unlimited access to my mind, my soul, my heart of stone.
I wonder if she understands how much I’d give her.
Everything.
I’d give her everything.
But nobody wants a heart of stone, do they?
She finally asks her question, “Why don’t you answer his calls?”
“I used to,” I answer honestly. “I used to hope we could be fixed… put back together. But every call ended the same way… him blaming me for Mom leaving. Then, when my NHL career was well on its way, he only called begging me to pay his bail.” I pause to take a drink of water, trying to clear the knot in my throat. “They haven’t been my parents for a long time. Maybe in blood, but not where it matters. They only wanted me for what I could do for them.”
Andie’s small, warm hand comes to rest on my leg. It’s comforting and exhilarating all at the same.
“You’re pretty amazing, so it’s too bad they’re missing out. Your parents really suck,” she says, looking up at me with those big brown eyes.
Surprised by her response, I laugh. A real, throaty laugh that shakes my whole body. This girl and her sassy mouth.
I can feel her staring at me as my laughter fades, smirking up at me with a twinkle in her eyes. “If I knew where they lived, I’d toilet paper their houses.”
“Well, my dad lives at the Wisconsin Correctional Institution, so please don’t do that.”
This time, Andie laughs, then stops abruptly and brings her free hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at that.”
Sliding my hand over the one she has on my leg, I tell her, “Weirdly enough, it’s kind of nice to laugh about it. Better laughing than being angry, right?”
Andie gives me a little smile and I find myself rubbing the back of her knuckles with my thumb. Back and forth, tracing the shape of her hand, enjoying the smoothness of her skin. She surprises me yet again when she flips her hand over and twines her fingers with mine. The way our hands fit together sends a warmth through my body, like déjà vu. Like I’ve dreamed of this girl, this moment, my entire life and it finally came to fruition.
“I wanted to do this last night at the game,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
“Hold your hand.”
