Page 47 of Drop the Mitts

Brett was mid-rant about goalie pads when the air shifted. André’s head snapped up, and there she was. His stomach dropped through the seat.

Grace’s blond hair was pulled into a loose knot, and she wore a thick knit scarf wrapped high over a navy wool coat. Her cheeks were pink from the cold.

His chest tightened, and it was difficult to draw a full breath. Somehow, in the past few weeks, his gravity had shifted. He was no longer pulled to the ice. To home. To the bar or his friends. It was as if those wires had been snipped, leaving him free floating to be pulled fully into her orbit. He was spinning faster and faster, and if he didn’t do something to stop it, sooner or later, he would collide with her head-on.

Jenna popped out of nowhere, cheerful as hell, and greeted Grace with a hug, dragging her into the social vortex. Grace smiled politely and let herself be guided to the food table, where she made herself a plate as if she wasn’t singlehandedly screwing with every wire in his brain.

It was then that he saw what she held folded over her arms.

His coat.

His stomach sank. No. Correction—his entire mood sank. The beer turned to ash in his mouth, his shoulders stiffened. Which was not what he needed, considering his entire body felt like it was on fire, begging for a smoke.

He felt like absolute shit. Brett told him that was a good thing, but since he’d almost bit off Mike’s head for reaching around him at the cooler, he didn’t trust himself coming near this whole coat situation.

What the hell game was she playing? Had their kiss in the locker room scared her that much?

To be fair, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was the hottest five minutes of making out he’d ever experienced, and he hadn’t been able toget it out of his head. He hadn’t checked, but if he had to guess, his balls were most likely a deep shade of purple.

Grace sat down beside Kelty and Sean, and André’s pulse thumped in his ears. He couldn’t look away. She was all sharp angles and smooth curves, looking far too elegant for this backyard barbecue. All of it made his mouth go dry. That coat. That scarf. Those boots. He wanted to strip her out of every carefully chosen layer until she lay under him breathless, promising him she’d only brought his coat to piss him off.

"You going to eat that sandwich or just use it to hone your grip strength?" Country asked, sliding onto the chair beside him.

André ground his teeth. Grace laughed at something Kelty said, and he tore his eyes away. “It was hot.”

Country raised an eyebrow. “The meat? Bud, it’s like, negative fifteen out here. I’m guessing it took about six seconds for that protein pile to approach tepid.”

André grunted and took a bite. Yeah. It was cold. He looked back across the fire. Grace took a sip of hot cider. She was so dainty, taking small bites and setting her fork down while she chewed.

“Oh, sorry. Misunderstood,” Country said through a mouthful of pulled pork.

“What?” André snapped.

Country swallowed. “The whole ‘hot’ thing. I thought you were talking about the sandwich.” He nodded in Grace’s direction. “Might as well knit her a sweater and call it love, eh?”

“Shut the hell up,” André muttered, reaching for his beer.

Country chuckled, but André barely heard it. His coat was draped over the back of Grace’s chair like it didn’t mean a damn thing. The back of his neck prickled. Was she not going to look at him? Not even once? Was she engaged in that conversation or putting on a show to put him off balance?

If it was the latter, she was succeeding with flying colours. That kiss had knocked something loose in his damn chest. Sitting at the same table as her at brunch had taken every ounce of self-restraint. He’d wanted to touch her so bad, his fingers ached. That brief brush of his lips against her cheeks had only been oxygen on coals.

He clenched his jaw and took another bite of sandwich, barely tasting it. If it was the former . . .

What if she was serious? What if this wasn’t a game she was playing? What if André was falling into the deep end and she’d already climbed out of the pool? Here he was with elbows up when it might not be a fight he could win.

That only made him want her more. Just as he was about to stand and try to draw in a full breath, Jenna stood and put her finger and thumb in her mouth, whistling to get their attention.

The chatter around the fire pit died down instantly, and Country crossed to stand beside his wife. "Okay," she smiled, her lip trembling a little. "We just wanted to say something to all of you. Thank you for coming on such late notice. After talking with our lawyer, it’s looking more and more like we’ll be going to court over Hope’s adoption."

A ripple moved through the group. André’s gut twisted as he glanced at Grace. Her eyes were down, focused on her plate.

Jenna didn’t flinch. "We’re okay. We’re doing okay.” She reached for Country’s hand. He stepped closer, their fingers threading together like that was their natural state. "But we don’t want to spend the next few weeks living in fear. We’ve decided—we’re not focusing on the what-ifs. We want to soak up every second. Every laugh. Every cuddle. Every diaper blowout."

A few people chuckled.

Jenna continued, "You’re all part of our family. You’ve shown up for us in ways we’ll never be able to repay. And if you’re able,we’d love for you to be part of this with us. However much or little you can. Just . . . be there."

André’s chest felt like it was cast in cement. Country was a brother to him, and Jenna a sister. He loved these people. He’d bleed for them on and off the ice, and it cut deep to know there was nothing he could do to fix this.

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