What the fuck was I even doing?

I had just gotten home from practice. I didn’t need this shit.

Fuck me.

But I headed over to her place.

There were flowers on her deck again. And there was no reason for her to come home from work this early unless something happened.

Not that I stalked her or even cared. But it was just something that caught my notice. Our game was tomorrow. I had the rest of my day today to do whatever I wanted.

I sure as shit hadn’t planned to do this. Didn’t want to notice fucking flowers. Didn’t want to watch her drive back up to her place after nine in the morning. Didn’t want to notice that from where I stood in my second-story bedroom window, she looked paler than usual.

What the fuck was going on with her?

Why the fuck did I care?

Why was I pulling on my goddamn boots and stalking over to her house? Why was I doing this?

I couldn’t figure it out. But my lack of understanding wasn’t preventing me from heading over to her front door. Wasn’t preventing me from knocking on her door.

I waited. Like a fucking asshole, I waited.

After a minute, I heard the door squeak open and saw Chloe peak between the door and the doorway. I was positive she had already checked who I was through the peephole - at least, she seemed like a smart girl - but it was as though she didn’t trust it was just me.

She looked like shit. She looked like she had been crying recently. Her attire was baggy - probably the clothes she wore around the house or to bed - and her blonde hair seemed flat and pulled up into a ponytail.

“Hey, kid,” I said. 

I wasn’t typically this awkward. I grunted responses and greetings and everything else and I was perfectly fine with it. But when she shot me a questioning look with her blue eyes rimmed red, I felt powerless. I was rooted to my spot and even I couldn’t help but think, Who the hell was I and what the fuck was I doing here?

Chloe didn’t respond. She just kept looking at me. It made me feel inadequate and uncomfortable. At least she hadn’t slammed the door in my face.

“You have flowers on your deck,” I said. Like a fucking awkward asshole.

Jesus, I was fucking hopeless.

What the fuck was happening to me?

“Again,” I continued. “I saw you drive up and I figured I would ask before I threw them away.”

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

This was so stupid. God, I was a fucking idiot.

“Get rid of them,” she said in a quiet voice. But there was an edge to her tone. A persistent edge.

She looked at the flowers like she wanted nothing to do with them. Like even the sight of them made her entire body seize up with... fear?

What the fuck was going on?

Chloe was awkward and clumsy. I didn’t take her for the type to be afraid of things. Especially not something as innocuous as flowers. 

It was obvious she knew whoever was sending her these flowers. Which meant she knew he knew where she lived. Which meant she didn’t feel safe, even in her own home.

The fact that she had left for work and then came back...

I couldn’t be sure but if I had to guess, I would say that the fucker found out where she worked as well. Whether he showed up there or if there was another bouquet of flowers, I didn’t know.

This wasn’t a great romantic gesture. This was him being an asshole. It was a power play. He was telling her that he found her and he knew the two places she spent the majority of her time.

For whatever reason, that pissed me off. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know Chloe very well. But I had a baby sister and if she was experiencing a fraction of what Chloe seemed to be, I would kill the motherfucker and then turn myself in. I would be fucking proud to go to prison for the rest of my life because there was no way in hell I was going to let someone treat her that way.

Something about Chloe made me want to protect her. I wasn’t sure yet if I would go to great lengths to kill this fucker but I would be happy to smash his teeth in if it meant he would leave her alone.

“Listen,” I told her in a gruff voice. Maybe I needed to smooth it out, make it seem like I wasn’t as grouchy, but I couldn’t exactly help it. “Are you okay?”

She blinked up at me in surprise. “Well, yeah,” she managed to get out.

Her voice was scratchy, probably because she had been crying, and it came out raw and not her usual bubbly self.

“Why do you ask?”

I sighed through my nose and looked away. This was the hard part.

“This isn’t any of my business,” I began, sliding my eyes back over to her. “But I saw you leave this morning and now you’re back. When I came home from my morning skate, I saw more roses on your porch. I notice your reaction to them. I can see you’re fucking scared. Are you okay?”

Chloe was silent for a long time.

I knew I shouldn’t have pressed. This wasn’t any of my business. But I wanted her to know that I noticed. I wanted her to know that I was here, even though she didn’t know me. She definitely didn’t trust me if she was having these issues. I was just another guy that could turn into being a threat. It didn’t matter that I was an NHL player. I was still a stranger.

And I realized that I didn’t want to be a stranger to her anymore.

I wasn’t expecting us to be friends. And as attracted to her as I was, I wasn’t going to ask her out or put any sort of pressure on her to behave a certain way with me.

But I wanted to get to know her. I wanted to be part of her life. I didn’t think she had many people she could trust, and for some reason, it was important for me to be one of those people. I knew I would have to earn it. I knew she wouldn’t just give me the privilege because of who I was or what I did. I would have to earn that right. I understood that. I had no problem doing that. As long as she gave me a chance.

Not that she owed me anything.

I just hoped that she would.

“Look,” I said again. Couldn’t I think of something more than just look? Was I that much of an idiot that my vocabulary just disappeared? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have confronted you. This isn’t any of my business and I have no fucking right questioning you. I’m just going to go.”

More like pour myself a glass of bourbon and watch shit television. I didn’t even care that it was only ten in the morning. I was already acting like a jackass. Might as well keep going and drink casually in the morning.

“Do you want to come in?”

Her voice was hesitant. She wasn’t sure if she could trust he but she wanted to. And that was significant. She wanted to trust me.

“Um, sure.”

“You can throw the roses away,” she said quickly, her blue eyes dropping to the vase in my hands.

I looked down and nodded my head. Her garbage can was still out there and it didn’t take me long to dump this case inside of it. She still refused to open her door all the way and only opened it to fit my frame even as I walked inside. She smelled like vanilla and some flower that I didn’t recognize. Girly. Feminine.

I liked it.

I rolled my eyes and hoped she didn’t see. I didn’t need her interpreting my gestures as a result of something she did or didn’t do.

After she shut the door, I watched as she locked it and then double-checked to ensure the locks worked.

This girl was petrified.

“So,” I said, needing to fill up the silence. “Looks like we have the same model.”

“What?” she asked, confused. “Oh. The house.” She looked around the room. “Yeah, well that’s Irvine for you.”

I couldn’t tell if she was bitter because she genuinely didn’t like it or if she was just scared. 

If I had to guess, it was probably the latter.

“Did you, um, did you want some coffee?” she asked.

“Stop.” I closed my eyes, clenching my jaw together while mentally chastising myself for my lack of compassion. Who the hell was I to tell her to stop? This wasn’t my place. And I definitely didn’t have to be a dick about it. “I just...” I opened my eyes so I could lock eyes with her. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pretend that we’re friends and that I came to visit you and you’re going to make me coffee because that’s what’s expected of you.”

Chloe looked up at me. There was a spark of defiance in those blue eyes. I decided I liked it. I liked that she could be both vulnerable and spunky. That she could be scared and still able to take care of herself.

“What do you want from me, Mr. Jackman?” she asked.

I smirked. “Mr. Jackman?” I asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”

“Well, what would you like me to call you?” she asked.

“No need for attitude, kid,” I said. I forced myself to smile, hoping she would realize that I was teasing her. It probably came out like a grimace. “Call me Art. Jackman. Whatever you prefer.”

“What do you prefer?” She asked me and I realized she was genuine in her concern.

No one had ever asked me what I wanted to be called. Everyone just called me Jackman. Some called me Jackie as a nickname on the team. No one really called me Art or Arthur. Granted, it wasn’t a hugely popular name anymore. My mom was a romantic and named me after the greatest king she thought existed. It was a strong name, a name I appreciated more as I grew older, but one I hated as a kid.

“Art works for me, I guess,” I said with a shrug.

“Art,” she said as though she was testing it, getting used to the way it felt in her mouth, on her tongue.

I liked the way she said it. Suddenly, she was the only person I wanted calling me that.

God, I was pathetic.

“I’m here because I saw flowers on your porch,” I explained. “I remembered how you reacted last time this happened. I didn’t want you to deal with it so I grabbed them. But then, I didn’t know if this was even my fucking business in the first place. So I wanted you to know they were there and then ask what you wanted me to do with them. And I thought it was off that you’re home now. So I guess I wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay.”

Fuck me. Just fuck me right now. God, I was the biggest jackass.

Maybe that should be my nickname.

Her lips curled up but the small smile didn’t reach her eyes. She appreciated my effort but it wasn’t enough to distract her. Which was fine. I wasn’t going to take it personally. I understood she was dealing with shit I wouldn’t even know how to handle.

“I’m surprised you care,” she said and then immediately shifted with discomfort. “Not that you don’t care. I mean, I’m sure you can be a caring guy. It’s just, we don’t know each other well enough for you to care about me. But, um, thanks. For checking on me.”

Before she could say anything more, a knock on the door interrupted us.