Releasing a nerve-filled breath, Asher left the locker room.
This was it. The moment he’d busted his ass for since he was four years old. And it was happening in the one stadium that had always felt like home. At the covered entryway to the ice, he held back, allowing each of his teammates to go first. Each player shook his hand as they passed. Asher’s heart raced and blood pumped throughout his body on an adrenaline rush.
His coach was the last one to pass him, and the silent nod of respect had Asher itching to get out there. For sixty minutes of play time, everything would make sense.
He headed toward the arena door, and the moment his blades touched the ice, the stadium erupted in a standing ovation. The sea of New Jersey Devils colors in the stands boasting his name and number made it hard to believe he was on Colorado ice.
He stopped to wave to the crowd of supporters, but unfortunately, the spotlights dancing across the ice in the otherwise dark stadium made it impossible to see if the one person he longed to see was there.
He gave another quick wave to the crowd as he skated his first lap around for his warm-up with his teammates.
A moment later, the music changed to the Colorado theme song, the lights changed from red and black to burgundy and blue, and the Avalanche players skated out.
As his brother skated past, he held out a fist and smiled as their knuckles bumped. “Proud of you, bro,” Ben said before skating off to join his own team.
The words were almost enough to ease the ache of disappointment in Asher’s chest as the lights came on, the anthem was sung, and he didn’t see Emma sitting with her family in the stands.
She wasn’t there. She hadn’t shown up.
He knew why. She loved him. A friend could move past their argument, but what they had went far beyond friendship. For both of them. He was done putting his feelings on ice, compartmentalizing his life. He wanted his hockey career and he wanted Emma—simultaneously. It might be complicated. It might mean sacrifices, but he didn’t care.
His heart raced, and he couldn’t get this game started quickly enough. The faster it started, the faster it could be over and he could get his shit from the hotel and be on his way to the woman he loved before the stroke of midnight.
This was one New Year’s Eve he would be kissing his best friend for real, whether she was still angry at him or not.
* * *
The game would be over in twenty minutes.
Emma had listened to it in her car all the way from Glenwood Falls and knew the Devils were leading 4–2 going into the last period.
She’d been white-knuckling it the whole way as unexpected snow had started the moment she’d taken the exit for the highway, but nothing—not even an abominable snowman appearing on the road—could have stopped her from getting there.
She missed Ash. She loved him. She wanted to be there for him, even if she wasn’t sitting in the stands. She hoped what she had planned would be better, anyway.
God, she hoped.
Dragging her small suitcase and slightly out of breath, Emma rushed toward the front desk of the Fairmont Plaza hotel.
She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved to see the familiar desk clerk smiling back at her as she approached.
Guess it depended on whether or not Ash had left a key for her.
Maybe she should just check into her own room and text him to come to her…to save herself from the embarrassment if he hadn’t.
“Hi, Evan…” she started nervously. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He would probably go out with the team to celebrate after the game…or his family. It was New Year’s Eve. And this was a huge night for him.
Guilt for not being there washed over her. She’d make it up to him.
“Miss Emma! So great to see you,” Evan said with a happy smile. “He didn’t think you were coming.” He nodded behind her toward the lobby television that was playing the final period of the game.
Her heart echoed in her ears. “What?”
“Mr. Westmore,” he whispered, leaning forward, shooting her a conspirator’s wink. “He looked so torn when I asked him if he needed a key left here for you this time.”
Emma swallowed hard. What had Asher decided? “Did he?” she asked, almost hating that the desk clerk had essentially been privy to their secret affair for years…yet kinda grateful to have an ally in this moment of stress.
Maybe he’d have a drink in the lounge with her to ring in the most depressing, stressful New Year’s ever if the answer was no.
But instead he reached into a folder on his desk and produced the swipe card key.
Happiness and relief filled her chest and tears stung the back of her eyes as she accepted it. “Oh, thank God,” she said.
Evan laughed. “Can I send up some Champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries?” he asked.
She nodded, then shook her head. “I have my own Champagne, but chocolate-covered strawberries, yes.”
“No problem, Miss Emma.”
In the room five minutes later, Emma unpacked her small overnight suitcase and flicked on the television, tuning to the last five minutes of the third period. The Devils were still winning by one point, and Ash was on the ice. It was the first time the home crowd wasn’t upset by what was sure to be a loss for the Avalanche.
She held her breath as she watched the man she loved finish off the one-thousandth game in his impressive career. Tears sprang to her eyes as the game ended moments later and the fans erupted.
The camera zoomed in on Asher’s expression as he waved to the crowd with one final lap around the ice. No one else would detect the glimmer of disappointment in his eyes as he searched the stadium…for her? But she saw it and it broke her heart a little more.
She should have been there for him.
Well, she was right here waiting now.
She continued to watch as the team officials and an ESPN reporter carefully made their way out onto the ice, her impatience growing as they droned on about the significance of the milestone game.
Coach Hamilton presented Asher with the award he hadn’t received at the annual year-end event, and he gratefully accepted it, taking the mic from the man.
Emma sat on the edge of the bed, holding her breath as the stadium quieted and he spoke. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to receive this honor tonight. Thank you, Coach Hamilton, for not making me wait another whole year to get my hands on this,” he said, raising the award a little higher.
Emma smiled as she watched the man she loved on screen thanking his family for their support and encouragement. He looked so impossibly irresistible, and she wished she could reach through the screen to touch him. She couldn’t wait any longer to be near him, to kiss him, to tell him she loved him and that that would never change. She could wait until he was ready. She had no other choice, really. There was no one else she wanted.
“I learned a lot these last few weeks,” Asher continued. “Being injured and not having every waking moment dedicated to this sport, I realized how important other things in my life truly are. I’ve overlooked a lot and I’ve taken a lot for granted,” he said, staring into the screen. “One person in particular.”
A lump rose in her throat and her hands clenched together on her lap. “Emma, this…” He held the award toward the camera. “None of this means anything without you here to share it with,” he said.
A murmur went through the stadium and Emma’s mouth dropped. Had her media-phobic, private best friend—love of her life—just said that on national television? In the middle of the biggest speech of his career to date?
“I know you’re watching, Em,” he said. “And in case you didn’t already know, in case you still have any doubt…I love you.”
The stadium erupted in applause and cheers once more.
He loved her. Tears of happiness slid down her cheeks as she watched him take a deep breath and raise the award to the crowd. He handed the microphone back to the reporter before doing one final lap around the arena and skating off.
Sitting back on the bed, Emma’s heart felt like it was about to explode.
Every second from now until he walked through the hotel room door would be an eternity too long.
* * *
Sliding the room key into the lock and opening the hotel room door an hour later, Asher blinked.
Shit, did he have the wrong room?
Sticking his head outside, he checked the number. No, this was his room and his key worked.
But it certainly didn’t look like the room he’d left earlier that evening.
The lights were off but the room was illuminated by a delicate glow of candles burning on the desk and bedside tables. The flickering reflected against the window overlooking the snow falling softly on the quiet city of Denver, awaiting the stroke of midnight. A bottle of Champagne sat chilling in an ice bucket next to the hot tub already overflowing with bubbles, and Champagne flutes were filled on either side of a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.
Anticipation made his mouth go dry and his palms sweat as Asher dropped his hockey gear and locked the hotel room door. It looked like he wouldn’t need to grab his things and drive like crazy to get to Emma before midnight. She’d come to him. Kicking off his shoes, he smiled as he crossed the room to the partly open door to the bedroom in the suite.
He paused for breath, knowing that in a second the sight of the woman he loved might steal his ability to breathe completely.
Pushing open the door, he felt the tension of the last several weeks lift from his shoulders, as he leaned against the doorframe and took her in.
“You left a key,” Emma said from where she lay on the bed with her back against the oversized pillows, wearing the sexiest short red silky nightgown he’d ever seen on her perfect body.
His mouth was dry, but his pulse raced. “You used it,” he said, enjoying the moment he’d been hoping for but hadn’t the confidence to expect.
“Get over here.” She crooked a finger at him.
He strode across the room, tossing his coat aside as he went. Reaching for her, he lifted her from the bed, and her legs went immediately around his waist as he held her in his arms. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said gruffly against her lips. His body craved her, but his heart was doing the driving at the moment. And it terrified him. But not nearly as much as the idea of never having this chance with her.
He’d meant what he’d said on the ice in front of his family, his team, his fans…and millions of strangers watching at home—he loved her. “You were watching the game tonight, right?”
She kissed his lips gently, cupping his face between her hands as she nodded. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she said.
“This was a much better surprise.”
“You hate surprises,” she said, kissing him again, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Surprises that involve you looking so amazingly beautiful in my arms, I can learn to love. In fact, I can’t imagine anything better.”
She pressed toward him, but he held back before her lips met his again. “I love you, Emma. I’m so in love with you that nothing else matters when you’re not a part of my life,” he said, swallowing the emotions threatening to strangle him.
“I know,” she said with a smile. “And now so does the rest of America.”
He didn’t care. It had taken almost losing her for him to realize how much he loved her, and he’d shout it from the hotel rooftop if she needed him to.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “No. Not like this,” he said, laying her back gently on the bed and lying next to her. “You can’t possibly be feeling as strongly as I am.” He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this much, this deep. “The thought that I’d never get the chance to touch you…” He trailed his fingers along her soft bare skin. “Kiss you…or be near you again practically killed me…and this overwhelming sensation of knowing that the one thing I can’t live without is right here next to me…”
“Feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” she asked, rolling him onto his back and straddling him.
“So we’re on the same page?”
“I think we always were,” she said against his lips as she leaned forward to kiss him.
He quickly flipped them so he was on top as he reached for his shirt to pull it off over his head.
“You know what the good news is about fighting with you?” she asked, trailing her fingers along his abs. His body sprang to life, and as usual the overwhelming desire to make love to her took over.
“What’s that?” he asked, sliding the straps of her negligee down over her shoulders to expose her beautiful breasts.
“We get to have make-up sex. We haven’t tried that before,” she said, an innocent expression on her pretty face, as she unbuttoned his jeans.
He laughed as he kissed his best friend, the sound of the New Year’s Eve countdown echoing somewhere in the night.
Nope. Innocent was definitely not a look Emma Callaway could successfully pull off.