She answers with a look of surprise. “Oh, it’s you.”
My left brow rises. “Were you expecting someone else?”
She blushes, shaking her head. “No, I just asked your mom if I could get a hand with the woodstove. I figured you didn’t want to see me right now, and that she’d send one of the other guys.”
“It’s not that.” I gesture inside since I’m standing here letting all the cold air in. “I’ll help get it started.”
She steps aside, and I head in. Summer closes and latches the door behind me while I stack the wood in a neat pile.
“Can I make you a mug of tea?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Come here. Let me show you how to get it started for next time.”
She crouches down beside me, and I motion for her to follow my instructions.
“Add the kindling first. And then light it . . .”
She does, following each step until we have a nice fire going.
“Thanks, Logan.” She beams at me with a grateful smile. “So . . . did you want to stay for a bit?”
I give her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood to sit around and talk about my feelings.”
“Total honesty,” she says. “You don’t want me here, do you?”
I hang my head for a moment and then meet her eyes. “I didn’t ask for this, Summer. Any of it.”
She nods, and then quietly says, “You can’t rejoin the team until a counselor clears you to get back on the ice. You might not have asked for it, but it’s the only way for you to go back.”
“Maybe I don’t want to go back,” I say without thinking. Just hearing myself admit that sends a cold chill down my spine.
She looks confused. “I thought you loved hockey?”
“I do. But maybe my family needs me more right now. I don’t know. Maybe I need to be here instead of on the ice in Boston.”
“Okay. I won’t pry, but I’m happy to listen whenever you need to get things off your chest or out of your head. How about I make you a cup of tea, and I can look at your lip for you?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
She nudges me toward the couch. “It’s just one cup of tea. For your trouble of coming to get the fire going.”
I release a slow exhale and take a seat on the sofa. “It was no trouble, but sure. Why not?”
Suddenly, I’m not in the mood to go sit alone and stew in my emotions. And Summer . . . well, she’s a distraction. I haven’t determined yet if she’s the good kind of distraction or the bad kind, so I guess I’m willing to stick around until I have that figured out.
In the small kitchenette, she adds water to the kettle and heats it, setting out two mugs while she waits. I like watching her move about the small space, the way her delicate fingers unwrap the tea bags, and how the curve of her ass looks in her jeans . . .I can feel my pulse quicken.
Stop, Logan.
I clear my throat as Summer, oblivious to my wandering thoughts, carries over two mugs of tea, careful not to spill them.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“Anytime. Thanks for that.” She sits down on the sofa next to me and gazes happily over at the woodstove.
I take a sip from the mug and grimace.
“Not good?” she says with a laugh.
I pat the side of my jacket and then pull out a flask out of my pocket. “I’m not much for tea. But this might do the trick.”
I dump a generous amount of whiskey into my mug and then offer it to Summer.
“Sure.” Grinning, she holds out her cup.
I pour a small measure into her tea and then recap the flask. We each take a sip, silence settling between us.
“Thanks for coming over and rescuing me. Again. Let me look at that lip for you . . .”
“Uh. Sure.”
Summer turns and kneels, facing me on the small sofa, and brings her palm to my cheek. Her hand is warm and soft and a little forceful as she turns my face toward her. My pulse spikes, and there’s an unwelcome twitch in my jeans.
She inspects my lip carefully, which is swollen but not otherwise cut. “Are you going to tell me what this was about?”
This was me running my mouth at Graham more than anything, and Graham does not like to be questioned. Lesson learned. But I don’t tell her any of that.
“Are you ever going to stop trying to be my therapist?”
“Point taken. How about we just work on being friends?” she says, dropping her hand from my cheek.
Missing the warmth of her palm more than I expected to, I say softly, “I might be able to do that.”
She’s still facing me, and my gaze drops to her lips. I want to kiss her. And for a second, I’m certain Summer wants that too.
But then she smiles, settling in beside me again before she takes a sip of tea. “Drink your whiskey.”
When she nods at my cup, I down its contents in one long gulp, hoping it will drown out this bolt of misplaced lust that I’m feeling. Then I set my empty cup down and rise to my feet.
“I’d better go. Add another log or two to the fire before you go to bed, and it should keep the heat overnight.”
Summer nods. “Thanks again.”
“Good night,” I say, heading for the door.
Usually, being home clears my head. Not this time, though. The fresh mountain air has been doing nothing but making me all hot and bothered. Actually, that distinction belongs to a certain five-and-a-half-foot curvy brunette who’s invaded my family’s property.
I add a log to my own woodstove and shuck off my hoodie and jeans before climbing into bed. For a moment, I consider jerking off, thinking maybe that will clear my head, but I’m not even in the mood.
I should be thinking about my team. Saint. Alex. Reeves. Even Lucian.
The guys need me. Or at least, it’s a nice thing I tell myself.
Frankly, I’m starting to think my brothers might need me here even more. If only I didn’t have a million-dollar paycheck on the line, and if my parents hadn’t paid for every hockey camp, lesson, and league . . . I wouldn’t feel so conflicted about walking away from that dream and giving it all up to stay here.
Almost as if on cue, my phone buzzes. I pull it out and check the screen. It’s my teammate Saint. Speak of the devil…
Saint: Hey man. You good? We all miss you.
I chuckle and shake my head.
Really dude? I reply.
Saint: Sorry. Reeves paid me to say that.
I doubt that, but I don’t argue with him. Reeves is our team’s captain and the dude is grumpy as hell most of the time. I highly doubt he’s missing me.
Saint: So, what’s up, man?
I sigh and roll onto my side as I type out a reply.
Just hanging with the family. Helped my brother fix his truck today.
Saint: Cool. Well, hope to see you soon.
Even if it was a brief conversation, part of me is happy that Saint reached out. It’s nice to feel a connection with my team still. I feel so far away being out here in the mountains. I shove the pillow under my head and gaze up at the ceiling.
I’m still figuring things out after my dad’s death—we all are. But I’m beginning to realize that Graham has it the worst of all of us. Taking over the family business is a big responsibility, and his life will never be the same. Not that the guy was a barrel of fun before Dad’s heart attack, but now? Shit, I’ve been home for three days, and I’ve yet to see him smile or laugh.