Page 78 of Resist

“I’m working on social media posts for tomorrow, and you guys are the last two on my list to talk to. I’m asking all the players what they’re thankful for.”

Preston replied first, giving Coulton a couple minutes to consider his answer, and while he suspected it was cliched and common, he simply used the tried and true. “I’m thankful for my parents, my teammates, my Little Brother, Slade, and friends—old and new.”

He didn’t include Ainsley’s name, even though he wanted to, because he wasn’t sure how she would feel about that. She was a private person and, despite the fact he was head over heels, he didn’t know how she felt yet.

“Perfect,” McKenna said, tapping on her phone. “That’s all I need.” She made her way back to her seat, as Preston turned toward him.

“No mention of Ainsley.”

“You think I should have named her?” Coulton asked. “Because God knows I want to scream from the mountaintop that she’s mine. But she’s pretty private and I didn’t want to call her out without talking to her. Putting her name on social media could open her up to some scrutiny from the media and rabid puck bunnies.”

Preston shuddered because they both knew there were women out there who took their hockey hero fantasies way too far.

“Probably a good idea to talk to her first. And I’m glad you’ve finally crossed over to the dark side,” Preston said with a shit-eating grin.

Coulton grinned. “Yeah, Romeo. I did.”

“I’m happy for you,” his friend replied, even as his own smile faded. While Preston had found the woman he believed to be the one, they’d parted after just one night. The rest of the guys on the team gave Preston a hard time for falling in love in a single evening. Hell, Coulton used to be right there with them, but now he understood. The first night he met Ainsley, he’d felt a connection he couldn’t fully explain, but the more time he spent with her, the more it seemed as if he’d known her his whole life. His soul had recognized her right from the start.

“You got plans for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?” Coulton asked.

Preston nodded. “Yeah. Tank and I are going to have dinner with Victor, his sister, and Pip.”

Most of Coulton’s teammates—like himself—were Baltimore transplants, so it wasn’t always possible to spend the holidays with family. Fortunately, the Stingrays had formed their own family, always there for each other so no one had to spend a holiday alone.

“Your folks coming to visit?” Preston asked.

Coulton nodded. “Yep. They got into town earlier this afternoon. They have a key to my place, so I suspect my mom has already filled the fridge with all the feast essentials, and at the crack of dawn, she and my dad will be awake and putting the turkey in the oven.”

“Sounds great.” Preston sighed tiredly before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Coulton did the same, but sleep was elusive. Instead, his tired mind jumped from one subject to the next, even though they all had a common denominator.

Would Ainsley be angry he’d seen Evelyn?

Was she safe?

Was she already asleep?

Had she eaten enough today?

Could he convince her to close the tavern and join him and his parents for Thanksgiving dinner?

And most importantly, how long should he wait before dropping the L-bomb on her?

* * *

Ainsley sat in the hard chair, listening to thebeep beep beepof the machine the doctors had hooked Mick to. She rubbed her dry eyes, blinking several times to clear the grit blurring her vision. After a glorious night of rest in Coulton’s bed Monday, she’d returned home to her usual nightmarish life. Mick had looked like shit, but he’d insisted she open the tavern Tuesday and last night, claiming she wasn’t going to use him as an excuse to sit on her lazy ass.

Arguing with Mick was always pointless, so she’d gone to work as usual. Given last night was the night before a holiday, everyone and their brother had been at Mick’s Tavern, drinking themselves into stupors. Because Maren was out of town—she spent every Thanksgiving with Nat’s parents in Fairfax—she’d been manning the bar alone. She was on her feet for ten hours straight, and while she’d tried to call Mick a few times, he hadn’t answered. Ainsley hadn’t worried too much about that, since he rarely answered her calls.

Grateful when last call rolled around, she’d limped home on sore feet, her only plan when she got there to drop into bed and sleep.

So much for that.

She glanced at the time on her phone. It was nearly five a.m., and that sleep hadn’t happened yet. Actually, it was looking like she was just going to have to chalk up last night’s rest as a total loss.

One night without sleep wouldn’t kill her.

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