THE FOLLOWING EVENING
“THIS ISN’T how I intended for our day to go,” I mutter as Gracie’s arm slides around my waist.
Only, it’s not because she wants to be close.
It’s for support.
Literal fucking support.
“I’ll turn him navy blue this time,” she seethes.
The notion amuses me enough that I regret laughing. I’ve had so many bruised ribs in my time that I should be able to adapt and move on, but God, the way they wind you is something you can’t adapt to.
I’ll take it though.
My ribs are literal proof that Kow gives a damn about her.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, patting my abs in double apology. “I’ll stop making you laugh, but I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“That’s why it was hilarious,” I choke as we make our way across the parking lot toward the Cabane à Sucre.
When she huffs, I’m not sure if it’s thanks to annoyance or exertion—it’s not like I’m a snowflake on the scale, but neither am I bearing down on her that much. Having my arm raised hurts, but having it curved around her is pain relief in itself.
Then, there’s the fact that being back in Montréal is like a breath of fresh air.
I know she feels it too, even if she’s from Winnipeg, not Québec.
When I pull us to a halt, she peers up at me. “What is it?”
“Just look around, Gracie.”
The ground is still covered with snow. The walkways and parking lot have been plowed and shoveled, but you can’t shovel a forest. The trees are snow-capped, dusted here and there with mounds big and small, and that scent, the undeniable smell of maple syrup being cooked just ten yards away, seems to perfume the wintery night air.
Above me, I can see the Milky Way.
I haven’t seen that since I moved to New York, where the light pollution puts a stop to me experiencing that natural phenomenon.
It’s chilly and crisp and Gracie has her arm around my waist.
Gracie flew here when she hasn’t been back to Canada in too long, just to be with me.
Gracie is propping me up.
Gracie is going to share my hotel bed tonight.
Sure, it’s a day late because there were no seats available on any flights last night and I had to spend most of the morning and afternoon alone but that’s better than her refusing to come home.
My grin is dopey and it has nothing to do with the pain meds I took back at the hotel before I got a taxi to the airport to pick her up.
It’s just because of her.
Because she’s here, with me, and we’re together.
No hiding. No secrets.
I don’t care that my so-called best friend is why I’m using my girl as a crutch. Nope. Nothing can shake my good mood.
“I missed this place almost as much as I miss skateboarding, but not as much as I missed you.”
She grins at me. “That’s the drugs talking.”
“Naaaah.”
“I forgot you liked skateboarding.”
“Haven’t done it in years.”
“Not since you sprained your wrist when you were seventeen?”
I click my tongue. “Yup. Couldn’t damage the moneymakers. The Mounties put it in my contract that I couldn’t skate. S’how it goes.”
“Sucks.”
“Yup. What doesn’t suck though is…” I lean down, ignoring the stabbing pain in my chest, and press a kiss to that beautiful mouth of hers.
Because I can.
She jumps in surprise but her lips part and immediately beckon me in.
What a welcome.
“What was that for?” She hiccups breathily when I make a retreat.
I could take this further if I wanted to, but I have a game in two goddamn days and as much as I want nothing more than to take her right here in the forest, I can’t.
And not just because she’d kill me if she got frostbite.
Fucking responsibilities.
“Just a hello.”
Her smile is sheepish. “You said hello to me at the airport.”
“Not how I wanted to,” I grumble, lifting a hand and pressing it to her cheek then curling a strand of hair around her ear.
“The second I saw that hit, I knew your plans were scuppered.”
Amused that she’s still as furious today as she was last night when she called me to check I was okay, I huff. “Kow can’t put a stop to my plans.”
She ignores me to rant, “You’re supposed to be best friends so no wonder it’s going viral. That asshole. What the hell was he thinking just hitting you out of nowhere like that? Five minutes in the box wasn’t enough.”
I have to agree.
The collision wasn’t one for the record books, but the impact of Kow connecting with me, then momentum knocking me into the boards means I’m lucky that bruised ribs are all I’m dealing with.
I still managed to score twice.
As if I’d let Winnipeg win after that stunt.
“And if Kow wasn’t bad enough, that Rydel asshole should have been thrown out of the game. Period.”
“Rydel’s never liked me,” I state, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose, loving her defense of me.
“Why not?”
“I was top of the draft our year and he wasn’t.” I shrug and immediately regret it. “You know how these stupid grudges are born.”
“Like yours with Greco?” she says not-so-sweetly.
“Greco’s an asshole.”
Admittedly, he’s gotten better over the season.
He’s morphed from bragging about parties and the women he’s fucked to focusing on the game.
Maybe that shit with Raimond changed him or maybe almost getting snitched by Gracie to Bradley about taking RED made him see the error of his ways.
Like she knows what I’m thinking, she merely grunts and encourages me to start up again.
“Told Maman about you today.”
She stills. “You visited her grave?”
“I did. Always do when I’m in the city and I had time on my hands until you got in.” I whistle. “She’d have approved. She always liked you.”
Gracie swallows. “I always liked her.”
Humming, I press a kiss on her temple. “Why do you always smell good?”
“It’s a curse,” she teases, but she settles deeper into me as she asks, “You sure those meds aren’t messing with you?”
“Naaaaaah.”
She snorts.
Even though it hurts, I hug her tighter to me. “I mean it. This is just you and me, minou. No meds, just maple syrup. My preemptive sugar high. You know it’s gonna hit like heroin.”
Her chuckle, however, is better than maple syrup-crack.
Together, we walk toward the cabin in the woods that gleams with soft, welcoming lights.
“I thought they might be closed.”
“They were. I paid them to stay put.”
Her disapproval smells like gardenias. “In tickets? Or cash?”
“Tickets are king, not cash, in my world, bébé.” My mouth waters. “You ready for meatball ragoût?”
“No, I want the glazed ham and beans. Been thinking about them since you forced me onto that plane.”
“Forced, right. Because I was there, dragging you into first class…”
She sniffs, but I can see her smile. Even better, she darts forward and places a swift kiss on my cheek.
My brand of charm offensive might come with a no-refined-sugar diet, but I know she’s falling for it and me.
