Chapter 10

Rock’s smile fell, and he felt like he’d been slammed in the chest with a brick.

He blinked as he looked to Quinn for help.

She looked about as stunned as he felt.

Max must have heard the word somewhere. Probably on television. At least that’s what he hoped. He figured the truth was the best way to go. Especially with this kid. “Um, so a bastard is someone whose parents aren’t married to each other.”

He could tell Quinn was holding her breath as Max processed this information.

“So then are you a bastard?” he asked.

Sometimes, yes.

But somehow, he didn’t think that was the best answer to give to an eight-year-old kid. “No, my parents were married. My dad just died. And it’s really not a very nice word to call someone.”

“Oh.” He wrinkled his small forehead in concentration.

“Max, where did you hear that word?” Quinn asked gently.

“I heard Grandpa and Uncle Logan talking about my dad, and they said he was a bastard for not ever wanting to come and see me. But that doesn’t make sense. Because if you’re not married to my dad, then that means I’m a bastard too. And they didn’t make it sound like a good thing.”

“No, they shouldn’t have said that at all,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Are my dad’s parents not married either?”

“I’m not really sure, honey.”

“Then maybe he is a bastard too.”

“Okay, can you please stop saying that word? Like Rock said, it’s not very nice. It’s the kind of word that can mean more than one thing. You know, like…” She paused, as if trying to come up with an example.

“Like the word ‘punch,’” he offered. “You know, it can mean like a delicious fruity drink, or it can mean to take your fist and punch someone.”

“Like I might do to your grandfather and uncle,” Quinn mumbled.

“So what’s the other thing that it means?” Max asked.

“It can also refer to someone who is not a very nice person,” Rock said.

The boy frowned, and his eyebrows squished together. “So, does that mean that they don’t think my dad’s a very nice person?”

“Or, in this case,” Quinn said, “I think they meant it was not very nice of him not to come and see you.”

“Yeah, that isn’t very nice of him.” He lowered his voice. “I wish he would come and see me.”

Rock’s heart twisted inside his chest. Poor kid. He could kill that idiot Monty Hill. He was a bastard.

He slowed the truck and made the turn into the drive-in. “Oh look, we’re here.”

Max craned his neck to see over the dash, then turned his head back toward him. “Hey, Rock?”

“Yeah, buddy.” He held his breath. What was this kid going to ask him now?

“Do you think they have root beer? ’Cause that goes real good with popcorn.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I think they have root beer.”

“Do you think we can get some?”

“I think we can manage that.” He snuck a glance at Quinn, who offered him a bewildered shrug as if to say she had no idea where her son came up with this stuff. “If it’s okay with your mom.”

Max whipped his head back toward Quinn. “Is it okay, Mom?”

“Sure.”

“Yes.” He did a tiny fist pump. “And don’t forget you said we could go ice skating sometime in the next week. We’re still going ice skating, right?”

Rock laughed again at Max’s sudden switch of conversation topics. He wasn’t sure the kid had even remembered his offer to take him skating. He’d been half asleep when they’d talked about it. “Yeah, we’re still going. I didn’t forget.”

“Max, don’t push,” Quinn admonished. “Rock’s a busy guy.”

“It’s okay. I always have time to go skating.” He was itching to get out on the ice again and hoped the casual setting would give him a chance to test out how he felt being in skates after the concussion. He grinned at Quinn. “Plus, it will give me a chance to show off some of my mad skating skills.”

She raised one eyebrow. “I’ve seen your skills.”

He lowered his voice. “Not for a while now. And some of my skills have definitely improved.”

A soft, pink blush rose on her cheeks, and he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He’d used a flirty tone, and he liked that her mind automatically went to those skills.

“Why don’t you focus on your driving skills so you don’t run into the ticket booth,” she said, shutting down any further discussion on that topic.

For now, at least.

He chuckled as he eased forward, then stopped at the ticket booth and pulled out his wallet.

The red-haired teenager in the booth looked up from the book she was reading and smiled. “Hey, Rock.” She peered into the truck’s cab and waved. “Hi, Max. Hi, Quinn.”

“Hey, Ginger.” He recognized the girl. She and her whole red-haired family attended the same church his family had always gone to. This really was a small town.

He handed her his debit card. “Seven adults and one child’s ticket.”

The girl peered questioningly into the back of his truck.

“My mom and brothers will be along shortly, and so will Quinn’s dad and her brother. Can you hold their tickets here for them?”

“You don’t have to pay for us,” Quinn said, pulling a twenty from her pocket and holding it out to him.

Rock waved her money away. “I’ve got it. This was my idea, and I invited you. I invited everyone, so it’s my treat.”

“Good luck explaining that to my dad.”

Ginger handed him three tickets and a cardboard placard to put in his windshield.

“Thanks. And if Ham or Logan give you any trouble about me covering their ticket, just let them pay for themselves and give their tickets to a family that looks like they could use a couple of free tickets.”

The teenager grinned. “Got it.”

She was probably relieved that he gave her an out so she wouldn’t have to argue with Hamilton, who was known for sometimes being a cantankerous cuss.

“Thank you.” Quinn shoved the bill back into her pocket, then pointed to an open section in the middle of the lot. “That looks like a good spot over there.”

Several cars had already arrived and were setting up for the movie.

“Looks good to me.” Rock eased the truck down the lane and backed into an open spot, thankful to have something else to focus on. He cut the engine and opened the door. “We can use the lawn chairs and the cooler to save the spots on either side of us for our families. I know Colt said he was going to bring his pickup as well.”

They piled out. Rock lifted Max into the back end of the truck and instructed him to start pulling out the blankets and pillows. He dropped the tailgate and held out a hand to help Quinn.

She paused next to him. “I’m still in shock over seeing the old truck. I didn’t know you still had it.”

He ran a hand lovingly over the tailgate. “Yeah, I tried to sell her a couple of times and just couldn’t do it.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Too many memories, I guess.”

She let out a sigh. “I swear we spent every day of the summer in this thing.”

“And I took you to prom in it too. I still remember trying to get you into the cab in that fluffy pink dress.” And he remembered trying to get her out of that same dress later that night. And succeeding.

He could tell by the pink tinge that flared in her cheeks that she was thinking about the same thing. It wasn’t often that Quinn Rivers blushed. And he’d seen it twice already in one night. Maybe he was getting to her.

“Anyway,” she said, obviously flustered. “What’s in the cooler?”

He grinned. He liked seeing her flustered. “I’m not sure. Mom packed it, so it’s probably got a veggie tray and a fruit platter.”

“You’re probably right.” She chuckled and pulled the lawn chairs out. “I’ll get these set up so we can save their places.”

They spent the next ten minutes getting the back end set up with a nest of pillows and blankets.

A horn honked, and Colt’s truck backed in to the spot next to them. To Rock’s surprise, Ham was riding shotgun, and Vivi and Mason were in the back seat.

“Logan changed his mind, so we picked Ham up on our way,” Colt explained as they piled out of the truck.

“Grandpa,” Max called, scrambling out of the truck and racing toward Ham and Vivi. He gave his grandpa a high-five, then threw his arms around Vivi’s legs, and she leaned down and planted a kiss on his head.

“The popcorn’s on me,” Rock called to the group. “Who wants some?”

Everyone raised their hand. Like he even had to ask.

“Come on, little brother,” he called to Colt. “You can help me.”

“Can I come too?” Max asked.

“I wouldn’t leave without you.” Rock grabbed Max and lifted him onto his shoulders, ignoring the sudden feeling of light-headedness he got from bending down. Max weighed next to nothing. It wasn’t going to hurt him to have the boy resting on his shoulders.

Max bounced up and down, radiating excitement, but also causing small explosions of pain as his swinging feet struck the bruises on his side.

Maybe he’d let him walk back.

Quinn fell into step beside him, and several people waved and called out to them as they walked toward the concession shack, which was already filling with people.

Apparently, the drive-in was the place to be on Friday night in Creedence.

He nudged his brother as they got in line and lowered his voice. “Give me a hand with this guy, will you?”

Colt gave him a questioning look, then it must have dawned on him that it had something to do with Rock’s injuries, because he nodded and reached out his hands for the boy.

“Come here, kid. Show me what kind of soda you want.” As tall as Rock, he easily lifted the boy from his brother’s shoulders and set him on his own. He pointed to the display boards behind the counter.

“Root beer,” Max said. “Rock, they have root beer. You said we could get it. Can we get it?”

“Max, we brought drinks,” Quinn said.

Rock laughed and turned to Quinn. “It’s okay with me. I did tell him he could have it.”

“Fine. It seems like I’m outnumbered.”

Rock laughed as he approached the counter, counting the people in his head, although he knew his mom had most likely brought individual plastic bowls to split up the popcorn. “We’ll have four buckets of popcorn with butter, three boxes of Milk Duds, and a box of M&M’s.” He knew both of his brothers would want their own popcorn and a box of candy, and the M&M’s were for his mom. “And a root beer for Max.” He cocked an eyebrow at Quinn. “Are Butterfingers still your favorite?”

Her eyes widened, then she nodded. “But you don’t have to—”

“And a box of those Butterfingers,” he told the cashier, passing her his card.

“Hi, Ms. Bishop,” Max called, waving to the woman standing in line next to him. He leaned forward and tapped Rock on the head. “That’s my teacher, Ms. Bishop.”

Rock turned to the pretty brunette. She had on jeans, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt that read I love my second graders. She was also surrounded by four kids of varying ages, although she didn’t look old enough to have a teenager.

He held out a hand. “Hi, Ms. Bishop. I’m Rock.”

She offered him a friendly smile. “I know who you are. It’s nice to meet you, Rock. And please, call me Chloe.” She smiled and waved at Quinn.

Colt nudged him.

“And this is my brother Colt. He’s the handsome one in the family.”

Chloe nodded at Colt, the corners of her lips turning up in a different kind of smile—the kind of shy one apparently reserved for handsome little brothers. “Hello, Colt. It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Same here,” Colt replied.

Wow. Way to really impress her with your conversation skills, dude.

Max tapped Colt on the head. “We gave her that shirt last year. I was one of her second graders.”

She tipped her head back, grinning up at Max still sitting on Colt’s shoulders. “Yes, you did. And I just found out that they’re moving me to third grade, so I’ll be your teacher next year too.”

“Yay!” He called down to Quinn. “Mom, did you hear that? Ms. Bishop is gonna be my teacher again?”

“Yes, I heard.”

“And that’s Madison. She’s in my class too.” He waved down at the little girl standing at Chloe’s leg. “Hi, Maddie.”

The girl timidly peeked around Chloe’s legs, then raised her hand in a small wave.

One of the older kids stared at Rock. “Do you play hockey?”

He nodded.

“I knew it. I seen you on TV.”

Ms. Bishop put an arm around the little girl standing next to her. “These are the Johnson kids. They live next door to me, and I take care of them sometimes when their mom isn’t feeling well.”

“She means when our mom gets drunk and forgets to come home,” the teenager mumbled.

“Nice to meet you guys,” Rock said, ignoring the teenager’s comment.

The young girl pulled on Ms. Bishop’s arm. “Do you think I could get a slush instead of popcorn? I don’t like popcorn all that much.”

“Well, I’m not sure…” Chloe said, looking around at the other kids.

“You can all have a slush. And popcorn. Snacks are on me tonight.” Rock signaled to the cashier, who still had his card. “Put their stuff on my card and make sure they all get something, food and a drink.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Chloe said.

“You didn’t have to take four of your neighbor’s kids out to the movies either. It’s my pleasure.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s nothing, really.” He felt pressure on his hand and looked down to see that Quinn had twisted her pinkie around his. She wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t paying any attention to him at all. She was standing next to him, but her body was turned away from him, and she was talking to one of the Johnson kids.

No one could probably even tell that she was touching his fingers.

But he knew.

He felt the pressure on his hand.

And in his heart.

Dang. He was in trouble here. Real trouble.

The cashier passed him their food and the drink for Max. Between the three of them, they juggled the popcorn and candy, and Max held his own drink, resting it on the top of Colt’s head as they made their way out of the concession shack.

As usual, their walk back was slow, because everyone they saw wanted to say hello, to ask about his mom, to comment on the season, and a few mentioned the hit. He’d rather talk about his mom’s well-being and the status of the weather than have to remark on his injury.

He wanted to forget about the concussion, about the bruises covering his body, about the dull ache in his head, and just enjoy being at the movies with his date. And her kid, and his brothers, and their parents.

Hmm. Maybe date wasn’t the best word.

They made it back to the trucks and passed out the snacks. His mom had been busy setting out drinks and napkins. Pulling out the plastic bowls, she split up one of the buckets, dishing up popcorn for herself, Max, and Ham.

Quinn’s dad had made himself comfortable in the back of Colt’s truck, and Max climbed off Colt’s shoulders and scrambled up to sit next to his grandfather. Colt helped Vivi into the truck bed, and she settled on the other side of Max.

His brothers sprawled out in the lawn chairs, and he and Quinn took their drinks and a bucket of popcorn and crawled into the back end of his truck.

Leaning against the pillows, he reached for a handful of popcorn, acutely aware of the places Quinn’s body pressed against his. She didn’t exactly snuggle in next to him, but she was close enough that her shoulder brushed his and the side of her hip and thigh were nestled against him.

The rowdiness of the drive-in settled down as the lights dimmed, and the huge screen came to life. Fifteen minutes of previews later, the movie finally started.

Rock tried to concentrate on the movie. It was good. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the gorgeous blond whose hand kept brushing his as they both reached for popcorn, and whose hair kept tickling the side of his arm, and whose shampoo smelled like vanilla and something floral and utterly, sinfully feminine.

He liked the way she softly chuckled at the clever dialogue in the movie and busted out laughing when something really funny happened. Her laughter touched something inside him, something deep and hollow that the sound seemed to fill.

He’d missed her laugh. He’d missed hanging out with her, talking to her, bouncing ideas off her.

He’d also missed holding her, missed having her soft curves sink against him. He was usually smooth with women, easily resting his arm casually around their shoulders. But nothing seemed casual or easy about this new truce between him and Quinn. He didn’t want to move too fast or do anything that would scare her away.

Which was probably why his arm felt like a foreign appendage that he didn’t know how to hold or where to set. He was getting ready to fall back on the old stretch-and-yawn routine to get his arm around her—that was always smooth—and no woman ever saw through that move. Yeah, right?

He wasn’t used to this feeling—this awkward sense of worrying about how his movements and reactions affected the woman with him. Not that he wasn’t a gentleman around women. He was. If he wasn’t, Vivi would hunt him down. But he was used to being around the puck bunnies or women he met that cared only about his status and who he was and being seen on the arm of an NHL player. He didn’t have to do anything to impress or sway their opinion of him.

Not that he was trying to impress Quinn, but he was trying to sway her opinion of him. Sway her into thinking that maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all, and maybe she could still be interested in being around him.

She stretched forward to straighten the blanket around her legs, and he saw an opportunity to casually rest his arm behind her so when she’d leaned back, his arm would already be there.

Was that too cheesy of a move?

Maybe he should just go with the yawn and stretch—it might be more obvious, but it got the job done.

He just had to go for it. Reaching out, he dropped his arm into the empty spot behind Quinn’s shoulders just as she was leaning back.

She hesitated, pausing for a moment as her shoulders touched his arm, then she settled into the crook of his arm, and he let out a sigh of relief.

He looked up at the screen, realizing he’d missed the whole last scene as he’d been piddling around, trying to figure out how to get his arm around this woman, but he didn’t care. Her warm body was curled against his side, and that’s all that mattered.

A clattering noise at the end of the truck drew his attention. Max was crawling up over the tailgate and scrambling across their blankets to snuggle in between them.

The little boy fit perfectly, and as he looked up at Rock and offered him a toothy grin, something melted inside Rock’s heart.

He might be a bad-ass tough-as-hell hockey player, but he seemed to be a marshmallow when it came to this little kid and his mom.

A smile stole across his face as he settled back against the pillows and looked up at the screen, his heart happy.

An hour later, the overhead lights of the drive-in flickered on as the credits rolled across the screen.

Rock blinked, struggling to wake up, to orient himself.

Dang. He must have fallen asleep.

His leg was tingling and numb, and his neck hurt from leaning sideways at an odd angle, but the shoulder he was leaning on was nice, the fabric of Quinn’s cotton shirt soft against his cheek.

“Wake up, sunshine,” she whispered into his ear, her breath tickling the skin of his neck.

He sat up, stretching as he let out a yawn. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. Stupid concussion.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.” Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he was thankful that at least he hadn’t been drooling.

“It’s okay. We could still hear the movie over your snoring,” she teased, offering him a grin. “Barely.”

He granted her a wry grin. “I missed the ending. Was it any good?”

Her teasing grin softened. “Yeah, it was. The whole night has been good. Really good.”

“Especially the root beer,” Max piped in.

Rock looked down to where the boy was still tucked in between them.

Yes, it was a good night, indeed.

He was still thinking that twenty minutes later when he carried a sleeping Max through the darkened Rivers home and into his bedroom.

He might have fallen asleep during the movie, but Max had conked out on the way home, so worn out from the full day that he wasn’t sure if anything short of a foghorn could wake this kid up.

Quinn had led him down the dark hallway and pulled Max’s comforter down so Rock could lay him in the bed.

Max snuggled into his pillow, and Quinn pulled the blankets over him and tucked them in around his small body. She kissed his forehead and murmured that she loved him, then motioned Rock toward the door.

He stepped into the dark hallway and stopped as she pulled the door of Max’s room shut behind her.

This is where they’d been a few nights before, but this time, he wasn’t sure he could walk away with just a quick peck good night. He’d been watching her mouth all night—as she talked, as she laughed, as she pressed popcorn between her soft, pink lips.

Lips that he wanted to capture in a kiss.

The only problem was that once he started kissing her, he wasn’t sure he could stop.

Slow down, buddy.

She hadn’t given him any indication that she wanted him to kiss her. Just because she’d allowed his clumsy attempt at putting his arm around her at the movies and because she’d touched his hand in the concession stand didn’t mean she wanted to make out with him.

He turned back to her and tried to lean casually against the wall. “Thanks for going to the movies with me.” He kept his voice low, not just because Max was asleep, but because the moment seemed to call for it—the late hour, the intimacy of the dim hallway.

Her hair shimmered in the rays of moonlight that shone through the front windows, giving her blond hair a silvery glow. His heart pounded against his chest just looking at her.

She was so beautiful.

She dipped her chin, staring at the floor, then raised her eyes to his. “Thanks for taking us.” Her voice was soft, breathy.

She stood right in front of him, only a few inches separating them. He wanted to reach out, to touch her hair, her shoulder, to settle his hand on her waist. But he couldn’t. This new relationship, the one where they agreed to be friends, was so fragile, he didn’t want to upset the delicate balance they’d achieved.

He wanted to kiss her, wanted to kiss her so badly he could taste it, but more than that, he wanted her in his life. And didn’t want to scare her away.

Memories of the last time he’d tried to kiss her filled his head, and he’d darned near scared her away for good. He needed to take it slow, not push.

She tilted her head, looking up at him, studying his face. “I used to know every feature of your face, every story behind all of your scars. But now you have new features, scars that I don’t know how you got.”

He held his breath as she reached up and ran her fingers lightly across the tiny scar next to his lip. He’d gotten it when a stray puck had grazed past his face during practice. He’d just taken his helmet off.

He opened his mouth, wanting to tell her the story, but no words would come. All he could focus on was the gentle pressure of her fingertips next to his mouth. Without thinking, he moved his face, turned it just the slightest toward her hand, and kissed the ends of her fingers.

He heard her intake of breath, and the sound sent frissons of heat swirling through his belly.

She moved her hand, sliding her palm up to cup his cheek, and he pressed his face into her fingers. Raising his hand, he set it on top of hers.

“You’re killin’ me, Q,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “Why?” Her answer was barely above a whisper.

“Because I’m trying to take it slow and not push you, to respect our friendship.” He paused and raised his eyes, gazing sincerely into hers. “But I want to kiss you so bad it hurts.”

It did hurt. Every muscle in his body was tense with need; every nerve was taut with anticipation. He felt like a tightly wound spring, and he wasn’t sure he could hold back from releasing the tension.

Quinn leaned closer, raising her chin so her mouth was scant inches from his. Close enough that he could feel the heat of her skin, smell the cinnamon scent of her gum.

This was too much. She was too much of a temptation. He thought he could hold back, but he was wrong.