He smiles, wiggling his gloved fingers at me, and it’s in that moment Carter throws his stick down, whips his gloves off, tosses his helmet to the ice, and pounces.
The arena erupts as the benches empty, players rushing the ice, equipment and fists everywhere. Everyone is shrieking, and there’s a tiny pregnant woman trying to physically restrain me and Cara to prevent us from joining in.
At least she doesn’t have to worry about her face on TV.
It’s nearly midnight when the front door opens. Olivia quickly finishes slathering her Oreo with peanut butter before popping it in her mouth and leaping off the couch.
Carter, Emmett, and Adam filter into the living room one by one, all of them—shockingly—grinning ear to ear.
Carter has a nasty split down the center of his swollen lip, and Emmett has the beginning of a shiner. Even Adam has a puffy, red cheekbone. He looks happiest of all.
“I never get in fights! My dad’s so proud of me for plowing the other goalie into the boards!” He runs a palm down his puffed chest. “Says he recorded it to show all his friends.”
Olivia hands him a bag of ice. “Don’t make it a habit, Mr. Lockwood. Your face is too pretty.”
Garrett appears at the edge of the dark hallway with a sheepish smile, the faintest of shadows painting the skin around his eyes, exhausted but still bright.
Cara embraces him. “How are you feeling, Gare-Bear?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders popping up and down. “Okay. Just tired and a bit of a headache. A mild concussion. Off for the next week, at least.”
Cara grips his face, turning it left and right. “Why do you have black eyes?” She slaps her hands to her mouth. “Did someone punch you after you were taken off on the stretcher? Who would do that?” She slings her purse over her shoulder and starts stalking away. “Em, let’s go. I’m gonna rip their puny balls off and hang them from my rearview mirror like a prize.”
“Rein it in, Mrs. Brodie.” Emmett takes her elbow, stopping her stomp-off. “It can happen when you hit the back of your head. Gare hit his pretty hard.”
“Oh. Right. Okay then.” She sinks to the couch, draping one leg over the other, arms crossed. “I still wanna castrate them.”
He ruffles her hair. “I know you do, tiger.”
Carter looks to me. “I told Garrett you’d drive him home.”
“What? I don’t have a—”
“In his car. He drove here earlier.”
I open my mouth to object—I cannot be alone with this man; he saw my extensive toy collection last time, so it can only go downhill from here—but Carter silences me with a fierce look.
“He can’t drive, and you live in the same building.”
Right. Yeah. Garrett’s slight frown at my less-than-stellar reaction tugs at my heart. “When did you wanna leave?”
He palms the back of his neck. “Uh, now? If that’s okay with you, I mean.”
Nodding, I stand and catch Cara’s eye as she mouths, Get that dick to me. I flip her the sly bird while hugging Olivia, then hobble toward Garrett.
“Do you need help?” we ask each other at the same time.
My nose scrunches. “Why would I need help?”
He gestures at my foot. “You’ve been limping all night.”
I cross my arms. “You have a concussion.”
“I’m fine,” he assures me.
“Well, so am I.”
I see it, right there in the corner of his mouth, the tiniest hint of a smile, and I commit to being as pleasant as possible for the entirety of the twenty-minute drive.
Until I see his car.
“What the fuck is this?”
“An Audi RS Five Sportback.” Smiling, he rubs his chest, like this car is his pride and joy. “Fully loaded.”
“That’s, like, a sixty-thousand-dollar car.” I’m borderline screaming.
“Ninety-four,” he murmurs.
“Garrett!” Definitely screaming. “I can’t drive this!”
He opens the door for me. “You’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” I mimic on a choked laugh. “Fine, he says. Ha.”
Hand pressed to my lower back, he guides me forward. “Get in the car, Jennie.”
I do, but with a groan. My seat rocks back and forth with jerking movements as I fiddle with the buttons, adjusting the position. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Why isn’t this working?” I throw my arms up. “See? Even your car doesn’t want me driving.”
Garrett chuckles, crouching down to fix the seat for me, peering at me from beneath stupidly thick eyelashes. “Good?” he asks quietly.
I grip the steering wheel, averting my gaze. “Uh-huh.”
“All righty.” He climbs in beside me. “Let’s go.”
And go I do, the car rocketing forward as I squeal, and I slam on the brakes at the end of the long driveway, Garrett catching himself on the dashboard, toque flying off his head.
“Jesus fuck.” Wide eyes meet mine, and the fear is so, so real. “What the hell was that?”
“I haven’t driven in a while! I get anxious in the snow!”
“We’re not even on the road yet!”
“I know!”
He studies me for a long moment before his teeth nab his lower lip, stopping his laugh. “Just take it nice and slow. We’ll be fine.” Relaxing in his seat, he closes his eyes and sighs. “And don’t crash my car, or you’ll be working it off however I deem fit.”
My jaw hangs.
He cracks one lid and a sleepy smile. “Just kidding.”
The ride home is quiet and peaceful. Five minutes in, I think Garrett’s fallen asleep. His legs are spread wide, long arms between them, head thrown back on the rest, and he hasn’t made a single sound. Bad idea. Don’t I need supervision?
My favorite song comes over the stereo system, and even though I fucked my ankle during it only hours ago while Simon tried to forever ruin this song for me, I hum along quietly, singing the words under my breath. “With you I’m safe…” I glance over my shoulder before shifting lanes, approaching the parking garage. “We’re fall—” Jaw clamping, I blush when I catch Garrett’s eyes on me. “Sorry.”
He doesn’t say anything, just reaches over me, getting up in my space. My skin sizzles without permission, and my heartbeat drops between my thighs, because he’s hot as balls and he smells nice and he’s so close. But all he does is press the button on the visor above my head, making the garage door spring open.
“Over there,” he murmurs, pointing. “Ninety-seven.”
I pull into the spot and cut the engine. Garrett tows his equipment from the trunk, and it’s not until he opens my door and offers me his hand that I realize I’ve just been sitting, watching.
I slip my hand into his. It’s big and warm and swallows mine up for only a moment.
He trails behind me, and I hiss in agony as I climb the single step to the walkway, where the elevator is. His hand touches my lower back as he guides me into the elevator, and something hot unravels inside me as he stands opposite me, studying.
“What happened? To your ankle?”