Which I quickly did. That night in bed, I tossed and turned, replaying things over and over, focusing on what got me upset at her parents’ house, and all I could conclude was that her loving, accepting family was too antithetical to what I knew, and therefore, I couldn’t trust it.
I didn’t tell myself I was being stupid, because I actually think, given my history and how horribly dysfunctional my parents are, I have the right to get spooked.
But most importantly, what I figured out is that even if I do get spooked, I won’t run away from the best fucking thing to ever happen to me—and I mean, better than being a professional hockey player and better than winning the Cup.
Harlow Alston is truly the only thing I need to make my life whole.
So, yeah… figured out all that during my long, lonely, sleepless night. I was exhausted the next morning, but I knew I needed to fix things right away. My life and future happiness depended on immediate prostration and groveling.
Unfortunately, Harlow didn’t answer her door when I knocked. Odin was inside barking, and when that didn’t spur her to open the door and I didn’t hear her telling him to be quiet, I knew she wasn’t home.
I decided to go for a walk, hoping the crisp morning air would clear my head. I explored the neighborhood on foot, found some more prime spots for Odin to go potty should I ever get the privilege of walking him again. I had a game that evening and was hoping to see Harlow before I had to leave for the arena. I’d resolved that if she wasn’t at her place by the time I made it back, I’d call and beg her for a meeting, hopefully before the game. I knew if I didn’t fix things before then, my head would not be in it, and I’d play like shit.
She contacted me before I got back, and it was not what I wanted to hear. She’d texted that my dad was in our building, so she was going over there.
Fear sliced through me, because I had no clue what my father was capable of. He’d seemingly lost touch with reality, so my leisurely morning walk turned into an all-out sprint to our place. Reaching the top of the staircase and watching my father advance on Harlow, I knew at that moment I had the capacity to kill if it meant protecting her.
Luckily, it didn’t come to that, as it would’ve been hard to have a relationship with me in prison, but you know the rest.
I love her, and I’ve made sure she knows it.
She loves me, and she gave me a key to her condo. While I didn’t give her one to mine—I have to have one made first—I suspect I’ll probably be selling mine and moving into hers. I know that might be rushing things, but I’m envisioning the future I want, and I’m going to get it.
That future will not include a relationship with my father. I’ve made it clear to him he’s not welcome in my life. My mom is a bit of a tougher pill to swallow. I think she needs to leave him, but I don’t think she will. Still, we’ll keep trying, and I’ll make it clear she only has to call and Harlow and I will help her.
I’ve been gone for two days—an away game against the Cold Fury—and I’m almost too giddy with excitement to see Harlow. We’ve talked and texted when our schedules allowed, but being away from her has been kind of miserable. I hope that’ll get better as I really have no choice but to travel with my job. But for now… I’m just ready to look at her.
Kiss her.
Hold her.
Get her in bed and do lots of dirty things to her.
I slip inside the condo. This is her place, not mine, but it feels like I’m coming home even if she has moose heads and gymnastic dragons in tutus on the walls. I’ve never had that feeling before.
When I step inside, I immediately see Odin on the couch. We’re definitely making progress. He doesn’t growl but instead lifts his head to look at me, and miracle of miracles, his tail thumps against the leather cushion, as if he’s happy I’m home.
Glancing to the right, I see Harlow standing at the stove with her back to me, hair on top of her head. She’s in my red flannel shirt I left here the night before my road trip.
It touches me in the deepest of places that she wants that connection when I’m gone.
Her neck twists, and she smiles at me over her shoulder. “You’re home.”
“I’m home,” I reply, setting my duffel on the floor and closing the door. I immediately start for her, the only thing between us the damn kitchen island.
“Wait!” she exclaims, holding out a hand as she faces me. She glances back, clicks off the flame under whatever she’s cooking—which smells delicious, by the way, but I’m not interested in food. When she turns back, her fingers go to the top button on my flannel shirt. “I have something to show you.”
“If it’s under that flannel,” I reply, my eyes pinned on her hands, “don’t bother with the strip tease. I can’t handle it.”
Harlow laughs and works at the buttons, quickly as asked. My pulse hammers, and when she pulls open the shirt, I’m disappointed to see another shirt underneath. It appears to be the exact white T-shirt I’d worn under it, and I think it’s sweet and sexy she wanted to wear that too.
Shrugging out of the flannel, she tosses it aside. That’s good enough for me. I start once again toward her.
“Wait,” she commands, rolling her eyes. “So impatient.”
“I haven’t seen you in two days,” I grumble. “I’m more than impatient.”
“Oh, you’ll thank me later for making you wait,” she says mysteriously.
Then turning once again toward the stove, she grabs something from the counter. It’s a large, glass pitcher filled with ice water. “This is for you.”
“Not thirsty,” I say with a pointed look at it.
“You will be,” she promises, and then I’m stunned when she tips her head back, holds the pitcher above her chest, and slowly pours the ice water over herself. Ice hits the hollow of her throat, water pours down her chest, and the white T-shirt becomes translucent, molding to the outline of her breasts. The freezing water causes her nipples to pucker and pop against the thin cotton.
My dick swells to rock-hard proportions, and I remember… the gay bar wet T-shirt contest Brooks wrote about. I’d teased her about it once, told her I wanted to hear more about that story.
And now, here she is, showing me.
“God, if I’m dreaming… nobody better fucking wake me up.” There’s no stopping me now. I stride through the kitchen, around the counter, and come toe-to-toe with her. Once around the counter, I can see she’s wearing nothing else other than the wet T-shirt. It’s contoured to her front, and she might as well not be wearing it because I can see every inch of her body through the soaked fabric.
What a fucking homecoming.
But she’s not finished as her hands work fast at my belt, button, and zipper, and before I can process her intention, she’s on her knees with my length in her mouth.
“Jesus, Harlow,” I bark, my hands going to the side of her head. She sucks and licks and I’m so crazed with lust, I’m about to embarrass myself.
I’ll probably hate myself later, but I gently push her off and lift her up from kneeling so I can kiss her. I pull her into me, the wet material soaking my shirt, but I don’t care. Her tongue in my mouth is exactly what I need. My hands move to her ass and press her pelvis tight against my aching cock.