CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jake
The elevator ride up to Shane’s place takes forever—at least ten times longer than the day we rode up together. I’m trying to think of the perfect thing to say, but the only thing going through my head is “Don’t fuck this up, Falcone. Don’t fuck this up. Do not fuck this up, or you’re going to fucking regret it for the rest of your fucking life.”
It’s crazy. Until a few days ago I would have confidently said that I’m the kind of man who needs time, and a lot of it, to even start having feelings for a woman, let alone get seriously attached.
But that was before Shane.
Now I’m thinking three dates would be enough to get me hooked for life. I’m not an impulsive man, never have been, but I’m also not the type of person who looks a gift horse in the mouth.
Every once in a while fate throws something incredible in your path—a dream job, a once in a lifetime opportunity, a chance to abandon all your well made plans and become a part of something even better. The Rangers were never my dream team as a kid, but I’ve had a bigger, better career with them than I could have imagined growing up. I never thought I’d be in a position to start a non-profit, but the day I said “yes” to founding Real Time was one of the best days of my life.
If I died tomorrow, it wouldn’t be my hockey career I’d be most proud of. It would be my work to help kids from neighborhoods like mine, kids who need someone to give them a reason to hope. I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone for those kids more than I have for anything else in my life. I’ve asked rich people for money and when they said no, went back and asked again. I’ve tied skates on hundreds of little feet and taught a few rug rats how to tie their own and gotten my hands dirty in the best way.
When it comes to my own personal shit, I’ve always been the kind to play my cards close to my chest and weather my bad bets alone. But for those kids, I’ll make a fool out of myself any day of the week.
Because I love them, even though I know I’m not supposed to get attached. A bunch of kids needing me to be someone they can count on in a world that hasn’t given them much of a reason to have faith in people was never part of my plan, but now they’re the best part of who I am.
As I lift my hand and rap light knuckles on Shane’s door, I can’t help thinking that this is the same kind of thing.
I wasn’t looking for Shane—I honestly never imagined a woman like her existed—but now that I’ve found her, my gut says I’d be a fool to let her go.
“Hey.” Her gaze is soft and a little shy as she opens the door, propping one bare foot on top of the other. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She’s wearing a pair of pink cotton shorts and a faded long-sleeved T-shirt with an octopus on the front and the words “Release the Kraken!” underneath. The shirt is stained at the bottom, her hair is pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, and her face is makeup free and puffy from crying.
I’m pretty sure she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’m glad I’m here, too.” I step inside, hands flexing awkwardly at my sides. “Is it okay to hug you?”
“Yes, please.” She steps into my arms and presses her face into my chest. “I’m sorry I cried and ran away.”
“No more sorrys. I told you already, you don’t have to be sorry.” I wrap her up tight and hold her close and the fist of tension and worry in my chest fades away. She’s here, she’s okay, and whatever went wrong, we’ll figure it out and make it better.
“And I couldn’t find the popcorn,” she says, her words muffled against my chest. “I’m a complete failure tonight.”
“I can go buy some,” I say, though the last thing I want to do is leave her. “I’m sure there’s something open on Madison Avenue.”
She shakes her head. “No. You can’t go. You have to stand here and let me sniff you for the next hour or so. You smell so crazy good.”
“Thanks.” I smile as I bend my head, inhaling the flower and honey smell of her shampoo and the warm, womanly smell beneath. “You smell pretty amazing yourself.”
She lifts her chin, looking up at me, anxiety threading through the contentment on her face. “And we don’t have to talk about why you have issues with the police if you don’t want to. I said no heavy stuff and then immediately asked you about heavy stuff. That’s not really fair.”
“It’s okay.” I smooth my hand up and down her back, doing my best to ignore the feel of her breasts against my chest. “We can talk. But I’d love something to eat first. Just a sandwich or something, if you have it. Since we didn’t make it to the buffet at the party, my stomach has decided to chew itself in half.”
She pulls away with a nod. “Of course. Sandwiches coming right up. Turkey and cheddar okay?”
“Perfect,” I say, following her toward the kitchen. “And if you’ve got lettuce, tomato, and mayo I’ll be the happiest man in Manhattan.”
“I have all of those things.” She smiles over her shoulder as she opens the fridge. “I like how easy it is to make you happy.”
“I’m a simple man.”
“Then maybe I could pull off being your girlfriend, if all it takes is proper sandwich fixings and my butt virginity.”
I choke on my next breath, making a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “Glad I wasn’t drinking when you said that.”
She blushes as she pulls items out of the fridge and bread from the cupboard nearby. “Sorry. I can’t help it. My brain to mouth filter is even worse when I’m nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?” I ask, hurrying to add, “And I would love for you to be my girlfriend, if that was your way of asking.”
“I honestly wasn’t thinking that far ahead.” She fetches two plates and begins assembling the sandwiches. “But good. I’m pretty into monogamy.”
“Me, too.” I smile, wishing I could see her face better. But maybe she prefers to talk about stuff like this with a little bit of distance between us. “And just so you know, if you have no fly zones or things you’re not into in the bedroom, we can talk about it. I’m good at respecting boundaries.”
“That’s good, too. But um…I’m okay with all zones being fly zones for now.” She shrugs, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she returns the food to the fridge. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
“I know why I’m nervous,” I say, figuring I should go ahead and step out onto the ledge. It’s worth it if it puts her at ease. “I want to be with you. I’ve never met someone like you, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”
She turns, gaze softening. “Me, too. I don’t want to fuck it up, either, but I’m afraid I will, Jake. I’m…not right.”
“You’re right for me.”
She folds her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you the one who said you can’t really know someone after six weeks? You haven’t even known me six days.”
“I’m also an idiot. I say dumb stuff all the time. That’s been proven by science.” Her answering smile encourages me to keep going. “I know what I said. But now I’m getting to know you, and you’re changing my mind. Now can I please have my sandwich? I’m only going to get dumber if you don’t feed me, Willoughby. I’m flat out stupid when I’m hungry.”
Lips pressed together, she sets my plate on the island and pushes it across.
“Thank you.” I hold her gaze as I take down half the sandwich in one giant bite, my jaw cracking as I chew.
“You have an enormous mouth,” she says, amusement in her voice.
“Fmpk ooo,” I mumble as I chew. “Oo gnn ee?”
“Yes, I’ll eat,” she says, proving she speaks mouthful-ese. “But first I’m going to tell you something important. I prefer to do it while your mouth is otherwise occupied so you can’t argue with me.”
I nod, continuing to chew, figuring I can prove her wrong if I need to. One of the benefits of growing up with three brothers—I can always argue, no matter how full my mouth is.
“I told you my fiancé isn’t in the picture.” She glances down at her left hand, tapping the ring finger on the counter. “That’s because he passed away.”
I start to say I’m sorry, but she shakes her head.
“I’m okay. I’ve dealt with it, or at least dealt with the losing him part of it. Wesley was wonderful. He was my sweet, funny, crazy best friend, and he loved me a lot. But he also lied to me a lot.”
When she looks up, her face is paler than it was before. “He was diagnosed with Huntington’s Disease a few months before we met, but he didn’t tell me about it until four years later, when he started having symptoms. It was two months before the date we’d set for the wedding.”
My eyebrows lift and she nods.
“Yeah. It was bullshit, and I was mad, but I was also in love with him, so…” She sighs. “So I said we’d deal with it. Together.” She traces a pattern in the marble beneath her fingers. “But the disease progressed quickly, faster than it was supposed to, and we both knew there was no cure. Wes was only going to get worse, and sooner or later he would have been completely dependent on other people to do everything for him. Feed him, dress him, take him to the bathroom…”
She sniffs. “So he moved out. He tried to call off the wedding—to spare me, he said—but I refused to let him. I called in sick to work and camped out on his doorstep for a week.”
She laughs, lifting her shining eyes to the ceiling. “I literally camped. Slept there, ate there, peed in his bushes. Texted him every hour on the hour telling him I wasn’t going anywhere until he let me into his apartment. And finally…he did.”
Her smile trembles at the edges. “And that first night back together was so good. I knew it was going to be hard, but after that night I thought it might also be okay. That we would find a way to be okay together, even in the midst of losing so many of our dreams. But I was wrong. Stupid and wrong and I should have known better, but I…”
She takes a breath, letting her words rush out on her exhale. “A few weeks later, while I was out of town at a friend’s, helping out around her farm after she had to have her sweet old dog put down, Wesley… He um… He killed himself.” She swallows hard, her throat working. “He left me a note saying he was sorry and that he loved me, and that was it. It was over. Forever.”
I slip off my chair and circle around the island, standing next to her as I lay my hand on hers, knowing nothing I can say will help.
“I was so angry,” she says, her voice thick. “I was so mad at him for taking away my good-bye and my choice and however many years we might have had before things got really bad. But I was also so, so sad. The anger took a backseat to crying at his funeral and helping his parents go through his things and…I don’t know that I ever dealt with the mad.” She sniffs. “Or imagined how scary it would be to try to be with someone again. Even just sex, you know? Let alone anything else.”
I lift her hand, threading her fingers through mine. “Tonight wasn’t just sex. Not for me.”
She squeezes my hand. “Me, either. And that’s why I cried.”
I guide her arm around my waist and cup her face in my hands, gazing down into her shining eyes. “Okay.”
She blinks. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I brush my thumb back and forth across her soft cheek. “And if you need to cry again, that’s okay, too. I’m not scared of your mad or your sad.”
Her brow furrows as her eyes fill. “You’re not?”
“No, princess, I’m not.” I lean down, kissing her forehead. “You can bring it all to me.”
Her voice trembles as she asks, “Why are you being so nice to me? I know you’re not this nice to other women you’ve dated, Falcone. I’ve heard the country song.”
“You aren’t other women, Willoughby.” I kiss her temple, feeling her pulse beneath my lips. “And I’m not nice. I want you. I want you so bad that the thought of not being around you is scarier than tears or anger or knowing that you’ve been through hell so you need me to be patient and good to you and not lie or take your choices away.”
Her hands cover mine, pressing my palms tighter to her face as her eyes close, sending twin streams of tears slipping down her cheeks. “I think I could fall in love with you,” she whispers, “just for saying that.”
She sniffs and her eyes open, pinning me with fierce blue. “So if that’s not something you could be up for someday, then I need you to leave. Right now. Don’t say another word, don’t kiss me, don’t apologize. Just leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. Then I kiss her because I can’t help myself. She tastes sad and scared, and I’m a little scared, too, but that doesn’t stop me from lifting her in my arms and carrying her into the bedroom.
Because I would rather be sad or scared with this woman, than pretend to be happy with anyone else.