Chapter 7

Rock reared back, his grin falling and hurt filling his eyes. “I understand.”

Quinn reached out her hand and rested it on his outstretched arm, surprised at the surge of heat that shot through her veins at simply touching him. “I want to. I’m tired of us being enemies too. When I said I can’t, I didn’t mean that I can’t ever. I just meant that I can’t tomorrow night. I have a thing at Max’s school.”

His smile returned. “Oh. Yeah. No problem. What I meant to say was I’d like to take you to dinner. What night would be good for you?”

“I can’t do tomorrow, but I can do the night after. Will that be okay?”

He nodded. “That would be perfect.”

“It’s a da—” She’d started to say it’s a date, but it wasn’t really a date. It was just dinner. Between two old friends. “It’s a plan,” she said instead.

“Do I get to come to dinner?” a sleepy voice asked as Max blinked his eyes awake.

Quinn laughed. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. I just woke up and heard you talking about going out to dinner.” His eyes were fluttering closed again, and he let out a yawn.

“Well, you don’t get to come along to this one. Maybe next time.” She smiled, thinking how he likely wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning. “You want me to carry you in?”

He shook his head. “No. Rock.”

Her eyes widened. That was interesting. Max didn’t usually warm up to people so quickly. Maybe he was comfortable around Rock because he was around his brothers so often. She glanced up at Rock, offering him a small shrug.

“Sure. I’ll carry you in. And I’d love to do something with your mom and you later this week. Maybe I could take you guys ice skating? Would you like that?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Max muttered as Rock picked him up and carried him toward the house.

Quinn followed, her stomach twisting in confusion. Something about this scenario felt so achingly right. Like this was how it was supposed to be all along.

Yet she knew this wasn’t how it was and wasn’t how it was going to be.

The three of them weren’t going to be a family.

Rock hadn’t asked her to marry him. He hadn’t even said he wanted to be romantically involved. He’d said he wanted to start fresh and be friends—that he’d missed her friendship.

But still, what about that kiss?

And did she even want to be more than friends?

He was home, and everything seemed so great, but he was going back to Denver as soon as his coach cleared him to play again.

That thought sent spirals of misery plummeting through her already dizzy stomach, and she stumbled up the stairs, her feet tripping on the last porch step. She reached out instinctively, and Rock shifted Max’s weight to one side and grabbed her arm, holding her steady as she regained her balance.

“Whoa. You okay there?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Just missed the step in the dark.” The porch lights were plenty bright, but it was easier to blame the night than admit she was thinking about him. She reached for the front door and held it open for him.

“Was that mint chocolate chip spiked with Bailey’s? Is that why it’s your favorite?” he teased as he passed in front of her and headed down the hall toward Max’s room.

Ha. Her ice cream had been alcohol-free but dang if she didn’t feel like she could use a stiff drink right about now.

They didn’t bother to turn any house lights on. There was enough illumination coming through the windows of the house to navigate their way to Max’s room, where she pulled back the covers, then turned and slipped off his sneakers and socks while Rock held him. She normally wouldn’t let him go to bed without brushing his teeth, but it didn’t seem worth waking him up to do it tonight. She’d just make him brush twice as long in the morning.

Rock laid him down, and she pulled the covers over him as he snuggled into the pillow.

She brushed his hair back and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, then followed Rock out of the room, turning to pull the door most of the way closed behind her.

Turning back, she ran into the solid mass of Rock, who had stopped in the hallway.

He reached out to steady her again, but this time he slipped an arm around her waist as she raised a hand to his chest. She heard his soft chuckle, and it sent a little shiver racing down her spine.

A silvery patch of moonlight fell onto the floor behind him, but his face was shadowed as he leaned toward her. “That’s the second time you’ve stumbled tonight. I don’t remember you being this klutzy before.” His voice was low, a husky whisper.

“I’m not usually klutzy at all. It’s just when I’m around you.”

“I make you stumble?”

She gazed up at him, knowing how close she was, her hand flat on his chest, knowing she should step back but not wanting to pull out of the circle of his arms. “You make me dizzy. Like my head is spinning.”

“Do you need me to hold you up?”

Did she? Did she need him at all?

She wasn’t sure. But she knew that she wanted him.

Wanted him like a starving animal wanted food.

“I’m not sure what I need,” she said, her words coming out breathier than she’d meant them to.

He dipped his head, his lips next to her ear, his low voice its own seduction. “I don’t think I knew what I needed until now. I’ve missed you, Quinn.”

She let out the softest sigh, her eyelids fluttering closed. The scruff of his whiskers grazed her cheek, the barest touch heating her skin.

His breath caressed her neck, causing her to soften. Like a golden pat of butter on a hot biscuit, she melted against him, her resolve thawing as the molten heat of his body drew closer to hers.

“Have you missed me?” he whispered. “Do you ever think about me? About us?”

She swallowed at the emotion suddenly burning her throat. “I used to. All of the time. But it hurt too much. I had to stop—had to put you out of my mind.” She wanted to pull away, to stop this torture, but she couldn’t.

It was like she was suspended in time, locked in his arms, paralyzed by the delicious torment of having him near, of his lips so close to her skin, whispering the words she’d waited so long to hear.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I would take it back if I could. I swear I would.”

She believed him. Something about the dimly lit hallway, the way his hands gripped her waist, the break in his voice that took her back to the moments spent with the teenage version of this man. The break that told her he had been stripped bare, that he was speaking the truth, giving her the most honest version of himself.

But they weren’t teenagers anymore, weren’t kids who could ignore everything except their own reckless impulses.

And, God help her, she was feeling reckless, like nothing else mattered in the world except the feel of Rock’s hands on her body and the brush of his lips on her skin.

Need and desire coursed through her, and all she wanted, craved, yearned for, was his touch.

She swiveled her head, nuzzling her cheek into his soft hair. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, gripping the folds in tight fists. Her mind swirled with words she wanted to say, actions she wanted to take, and she opened her mouth to speak.

But in the back of her mind, she registered the familiar sound of the low creak that signaled her father’s bedroom door opening, and reality crashed back in.

She opened her hands, releasing Rock’s shirt, and clasped her fingers together against her chest. She took a quick step back, fighting to catch her breath—and her grip on the situation.

“Everything all right out here?” Ham asked. “I thought I heard something. That you, Rockford?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re fine, Dad.” She swallowed, hearing the tremble in her voice and hoping her dad hadn’t picked up on it. “We were just putting Max to bed.”

He grunted. “Seems pretty late for visitors. Some of us have to get up for work in the morning.”

Oh brother. She let out a frustrated breath. “It’s not that late, Dad. It’s not even ten o’clock.” He probably hadn’t even been asleep. He usually stayed up through the evening news. It was more likely he’d heard Rock’s pickup pull in and was checking to see why he was still there.

“I was just leaving,” Rock said, tipping his chin toward her and offering her a grin. “Good night, sir.”

She followed him to the front door, where he stopped in the doorway and turned back to her, shaking his head. “Man, being here brings back so many memories. That felt just like when we were teenagers, and your dad caught me trying to kiss you and ran me out of the house.”

“Were you trying to kiss me?” She tilted her head, amazed at her own boldness.

He offered her a flirty grin. “Then or now?”

“Now.”

“Yeah, I guess. I was hoping to get around to it anyway.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. How could this guy always charm a grin out of her?

“But you already agreed to go out to dinner with me, so I don’t want to push my luck.”

Her grin faltered for a second, and the realization that she was disappointed he wasn’t going to kiss her now surprised her.

He must have noticed, because his smile widened, and he leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on her lips, just the softest of touches, but enough to send a battalion of butterflies swirling through her stomach.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, then let the screen door shut softly behind him.

* * *

The next day dragged by for Rock. All he could think of was Quinn and taking her out to dinner the following night.

He was up early and had gone for a run, then spent a few hours lifting and going through dry drills. The concussion protocol allowed him to continue to work out, and his body had been itching to get back in the gym.

But since the closest gym was miles away, the old weight bench and barbells they’d used growing up would have to do. That, and helping his brothers out with chores around the farm. He’d hauled bales and mucked out stalls and spent hours running fence.

Vivi cajoled him into spending a few hours inside after lunch, bribing him with homemade cookies if he would watch a movie with her.

He was canny enough to know what she was doing, but he was also smart enough to know that his body, and his head, needed the rest. As an athlete, he was pretty in tune to his body and what it took to keep him in top physical health. Not that he didn’t occasionally indulge in something decadent, but for the most part, he watched his diet and tried to eat healthy.

He could feel himself getting better, feel the muscles healing and getting stronger.

The run this morning had felt good—good to be using his body. But it didn’t matter how strong he got, his mom would never stop worrying about him. He was pretty sure that’s why she’d talked him into hanging out with her.

He wasn’t sure how she’d talked him into watching the romantic comedy.

He knew he needed to take care of himself, to let his body rest, and to heal. But he hated this feeling. He was the Rock—the one who was strong, the big brother, the eldest son, the dependable teammate. He was the one who got things done, who moved the puck, who scored the goals, and who was there for his mom and his brothers. He wasn’t the one who needed to be taken care of. That was his job—to take care of everyone else.

* * *

His eyes blinked open, and he stretched his arms over his head and let out a yawn.

How long had he been asleep? He wasn’t sure, but he looked over and saw his mother staring at him intently. “Hey, Mom.”

Her eyes softened around the edges, and a small smile curved the corners of her lips. “I love you, Son.”

“I love you too.” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Vivienne James was a tough-as-nails woman who had impeccable aim with a flyswatter or a wooden spoon when her boys stepped out of line, but also had the deepest capacity for love and had always been generous with praise and words of encouragement for all of her sons.

Sometimes he wondered if his mom was trying to give them double the love, to somehow make up for the loss of their dad. If so, she was succeeding.

Vivi’s heart was bigger than the whole state of Colorado, and when she hugged a person, they felt it to their very soul. Neither he, nor his brothers, ever doubted the depth to which they were loved.

Even though Vivi often told him that she loved him, this felt different. Like there was a little more emotion behind it. Like something was going on.

Uh-oh. What if she were sick? Or there was something wrong with one of his brothers.

“Nothing’s going on,” she said, but the concerned look in her eyes betrayed her. She patted his leg. “I’m just worried about you.”

Oh. Someone was sick. But it wasn’t her or his brothers. She was worried about him.

He huffed out his breath. “I’m fine, Ma. Quit fussing over me.”

She held up her hands. “Okay. It’s just that I can’t remember the last time I saw you fall asleep during a movie.”

“Yeah. It was such a riveting plot.”

She nudged his leg and let out an easy chuckle. “Hey now. That’s one of my favorites. The ending gets me every time.” Her voice took on a more serious tone. “A concussion is nothing to mess around with. I just want you to take care of yourself.”

“I am.”

“Speaking of messing around—what’s going on with you and Quinn?”

Smooth. Real smooth.

“Nothing. What do you mean?” He tried for wide-eyed innocence, but his mom wasn’t buying it—not that she ever did.

“I heard you’re taking her out to dinner tomorrow night.”

“Dang. Colt has a big mouth.” He knew he shouldn’t have spilled the details to his little brother.

“It wasn’t Colt who told me. It was Quinn.”

“Yeah? Quinn told you? Did she sound excited?”

His mom arched an eyebrow. “You certainly do.”

He shrugged. “I just want to put the past behind us and quit fighting.”

She studied his face. “I’d like that too. But she’s not as tough as she looks. Be careful with her. I love that girl like she’s my own kin. I don’t want to see you hurt her again.”

He cringed at the word again. “I know, Mom. I don’t want to hurt her either. That’s why I’m trying to make amends. I hate all the anger and bitterness between us. I just want to be her friend.”

His mom didn’t say anything, but one of her eyebrows shot up.

“I do,” he insisted. “She was a big part of my life. I miss having her in it.” Even still, he found himself wanting to call her when something funny happened or when he had news to share.

“I understand. And I hope you all can work it out. She’s been through enough. Small towns might take care of their own, and they do love Quinn, but I still heard them talk about her and how that weasel Hill has never done right by her, and the talk wasn’t always flattering. She holds her head high, but she’s not as strong as she acts. So like I said, just be careful with that girl. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

He’d been accused of being selfish before. Hell, he was selfish, thinking only of himself when he’d left Quinn all those years before.

And that wasn’t all. He hadn’t really faced it yet, but he knew that his selfishness was in part to blame for why he’d been hurt.

In hockey, their mantra, handed down by the great man, Gretsky himself, was that good players score, great players pass. He should have passed the puck during the play that he got slammed on. But he knew he could score, knew he could get the game-winning goal.

He’d seen his teammate open in front of the net, had heard the slap of his stick against the ice as he called for the puck, but Rock had held on, had skated up the boards, dominating the puck as he readied to cross to the crease. That’s when he’d been hit.

If he’d only passed the puck, the hit might never have happened.

If he’d only let go of his pride and selfishness.

But he had the chance to do that now—to make up for some of the hurt that he’d caused.

To make things up to the one he’d hurt the most.

* * *

Quinn couldn’t seem to focus as she absently twirled a few strands of spaghetti around her fork.

She and Max were having dinner that night, but all she could think about was the impending dinner that she’d be eating the next night with Rock.

Where would he take her? What should she wear?

What the heck would they talk about?

And what if he tried to kiss her good night?

Stop. She couldn’t go there.

He’d said he wanted to patch things up, to be friends again.

He was confusing the heck out of her, and thinking through all of the possibilities was making her head hurt.

She looked across the table at Max, a grin curving her lips as she watched him chase a meatball around his plate, trying to spear it with his fork. He made another stab at it, and the meatball shot off the side of his dish and rolled across the table toward her.

He looked up, his eyes wide, as he waited for her response.

It was only the two of them at dinner. Her father and brother had taken off earlier to run errands in town and had phoned that they were grabbing a burger at The Creed.

Which was fine with Quinn. She treasured time she got to spend alone with Max. Even if he was lobbing spaghetti sauce–covered meatballs across the table at her.

She peered down at the meatball as it rolled to a stop by her plate. Glancing up at Max, she held her arms up in the air in a U shape and yelled, “Score.”

His eyes grew even rounder, then he burst into giggles, and her heart melted like chocolate in the warm sun. There was nothing in the world as sweet as the sound of her son’s spontaneous laughter.

She considered picking up the meatball and chucking it back at him. He would really dissolve into laughter, but she stopped herself before starting that mess. Instead, she scooped the meatball into her napkin and smiled over at her son. “How about you try to get the meatballs in your mouth instead of on the table?”

“I was trying. It just got away from me,” he said.

She knew what that was like. Things got away from her on a daily basis, including her reaction to a certain hunky, hockey-playing cowboy.

Leaning forward, she cut the remaining meatballs on Max’s plate into bite-size pieces.

He gave her an appreciative grin. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome. Now finish up so you can get in the shower. I think you’ve got spaghetti sauce in your hair.”

He giggled, then popped a bite into his mouth.

She picked up her tea and took a sip, her mind wandering again.

“Do you think my dad likes to read books?”

Quinn almost choked on her drink.

Where the heck did that come from?

She swallowed as she tried to formulate an answer. “I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking about him the other day when Rock was reading me those books. I was thinkin’ that maybe if I could figure out what kind of books he liked, I could send him one, and maybe then, you know, he might want to come and see me so we could read it together.”

Pain seared her chest, and she struggled to breathe against the feeling of a giant fist squeezing her heart. And that fist was the only thing that was keeping her heart from breaking in two.

She wanted to pick Max up, to gather his small body in her arms, and cuddle him against her. All of her mama-bear instincts were kicking in, and she wanted to protect him from anything—or anyone—that could hurt him.

Anyone like Monty Hill. Like the son of a bitch who refused to even claim him as his own. She looked down at Max’s sweet face, his eyes wide and innocent behind his glasses, and a surge of love flowed through her. A surge stronger than anything she’d ever felt for another human being.

A tiny human being that she wanted to protect from the ugliness of the world and from his stupid, deadbeat dad. But she couldn’t say that. She had always tried to keep her feelings for Monty in check when she was around Max, not wanting the boy to feel any of her animosity and worry that it somehow had to do with him.

She could take it, could take anything, bear any burden, if it meant shielding the sweet, precious heart of her son.

“Your dad is a pretty busy guy. I’m sure he would want to read books with you if he could. I think he travels a lot.”

“Do you think he ever travels to Colorado? Maybe he could come for a visit,” Max suggested with a shrug of his thin shoulders.

“I don’t think he gets out this way very often.”

The boy’s shoulders sagged as he let out a sigh.

She hated to set up a false expectation, but she also wasn’t ready to break her child’s beautiful, forgiving heart.

“Hey, how about if we make some root beer floats and sit out on the front porch?”

Max’s eyes lit with excitement, and he stuffed the last few bites of meatball in his mouth.

It was probably a cheap trick to distract him with an offer of sugar and soda. But it was better than the alternative, which was to tell him that it didn’t matter how many books they sent him, his dad wasn’t ever coming for a visit.

Heck, she wasn’t even sure if the Neanderthal knew how to read.