Page 18 of The Rookie
I grab my jacket and shove my feet into my boots without bothering to tie them, then I head outside, making the short walk next door. At the side of the cabin, I grab an armful of wood and then tap on her door with my boot.
She answers with a look of surprise. “Oh, it’s you.”
My left brow rises. “Were you expecting someone else?”
She blushes, shaking her head. “No, I just asked your mom if I could get a hand with the woodstove. I figured you didn’t want to see me right now, and that she’d send one of the other guys.”
“It’s not that.” I gesture inside since I’m standing here letting all the cold air in. “I’ll help get it started.”
She steps aside, and I head in. Summer closes and latches the door behind me while I stack the wood in a neat pile.
“Can I make you a mug of tea?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Come here. Let me show you how to get it started for next time.”
She crouches down beside me, and I motion for her to follow my instructions.
“Add the kindling first. And then light it ...”
She does, following each step until we have a nice fire going.
“Thanks, Logan.” She beams at me with a grateful smile. “So ... did you want to stay for a bit?”
I give her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but I’m not in the mood to sit around and talk about my feelings.”
“Total honesty,” she says. “You don’t want me here, do you?”
I hang my head for a moment and then meet her eyes. “I didn’t ask for this, Summer. Any of it.”
She nods, and then quietly says, “You can’t rejoin the team until a counselor clears you to get back on the ice. You might not have asked for it, but it’s the only way for you to go back.”
“Maybe I don’t want to go back,” I say without thinking. Just hearing myself admit that sends a cold chill down my spine.
She looks confused. “I thought you loved hockey?”
“I do. But maybe my family needs me more right now. I don’t know. Maybe I need to be here instead of on the ice in Boston.”
“Okay. I won’t pry, but I’m happy to listen whenever you need to get things off your chest or out of your head. How about I make you a cup of tea, and I can look at your lip for you?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
She nudges me toward the couch. “It’s just one cup of tea. For your trouble of coming to get the fire going.”
I release a slow exhale and take a seat on the sofa. “It was no trouble, but sure. Why not?”
Suddenly, I’m not in the mood to go sit alone and stew in my emotions. And Summer ... well, she’s a distraction. I haven’t determined yet if she’s the good kind of distraction or the bad kind, so I guess I’m willing to stick around until I have that figured out.
In the small kitchenette, she adds water to the kettle and heats it, setting out two mugs while she waits. I like watching her move about the small space, the way her delicate fingers unwrap the tea bags, and how the curve of her ass looks in her jeans ...I can feel my pulse quicken.
Stop, Logan.
I clear my throat as Summer, oblivious to my wandering thoughts, carries over two mugs of tea, careful not to spill them.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“Anytime. Thanks forthat.” She sits down on the sofa next to me and gazes happily over at the woodstove.
I take a sip from the mug and grimace.
