Page 63 of Hidden Goal

“I—”

I close the fridge and grab her hand in mine. “I’ll be back later,” I call over my shoulder, pulling Savannah toward the door.

“What about your celebration?” she asks, like she wants to make sure I know that I used the wrong word.

I close the door, and in the privacy of my front porch, I grip her waist with one hand and cradle the back of her neck with my other. “I missed you.”

A soft moan escapes her, but I catch it by pressing my lips to hers. I kiss her softly and without rush, despite the burning need I feel for her. I pull back and find her eyes are still closed, so I drop my forehead to hers. “Let me celebrate my win tonight with you.”

“Where are we going?” She smiles.

“You’re driving. I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

Savannah drives us just out of town, pulling up to another snow-covered lake. One that I know well. Not that there’s a lake within sixty miles that I don’t know well.

Silver Lake is 1.6 miles long. I know this because my dad dropped me off on the far end once with a shovel and had me carve a path down the length of it. Once I was done, he met me on the other side in his truck, took the shovel, and told me to meet him back at the start. If I didn’t beat him back, I’d have to go again. It took three tries and the luck of every red light to finally be able to beat him, and even then, it was only by mere seconds.

“How’d you get out of dinner with your parents tonight?”

“They’re are out of town visiting Ivy.”

“Your sister?”

“Mhmm.”

“She’s not a professional hockey player like you, I take it?” she asks, turning in her seat to face me.

“No. She probably could be, though. She’s got a mean bark and an even meaner bite. She’s kind of like you in that regard.” I grin and tap her knee with my fist.

“I don’t like a lot of people, but she sounds like my kind of girl.”

I laugh, thinking of the hell I would be stuck in if those two were in a room together. “She doesn’t really get along with my dad, and she doesn’t fake nice either.” I absently rub a fist over my chest.

“Is she your only sibling?”

I shake my head. “My middle sister, Lana. She doesn’t really have much of a relationship with my dad either, but she chooses to focus on the one she does have with my mom instead of the one she doesn’t.”

“Sounds like it's a Mr. Kingston problem.”

The engine stays running, and the hum of the heat on low soaks up some of the silence. I lean back in the passenger seat, looking over at Savannah, whose gaze stays on the front window.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why don’t you let people drive you?”

She looks down at her lap, but not nervously; it feels more like shame.

“Control issues?” She laughs but not in a humorous way, and quickly shakes her head.

I study her eyes, not saying anything, hoping she’ll continue.

“I don’t know, I—” She drops her head to the seat, looking up through the moonroof. “I was in a car accident when I was younger.”

My stomach plummets. I sit up straighter, nausea rolling through my stomach at the thought of a single hair on her perfect head ever being in danger.

“There were other…factors. Other issues. Trauma is what mytherapist called it, but that word just seemed so big and heavy that I never wanted to use it.” She looks down at her hands but my gaze doesn't follow. “Anyway, long story short, being in control of the car has been a lingering issue that I can’t figure out how to let go of. So now I only go to places I can walk to or drive myself.”

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