Powdered sugar fightswere apparently not on the agenda for cookie day in the D’Amore kitchen. Nor was there apparently enough powdered sugar for the intensity of both Natalie and my fightandroyal icing. Mrs. D’Amore made us go to the market to buy more—a walk down the aisle she made us do in shame, not letting us wash off the mess after the fight went too far.
After leaning in and kissing my cheek, Natalie let out a wicked laugh. She’d used my need to be near her, to hear her liking me, to gather fistfuls of sugar behind her back and then covered me. In my stupor, I blinked and then…Well, I took things too far and picked her up and slammed her ass in the giant metal bowl of sugar.
Apparently, ass sugar is frowned upon.
I hoped the bouquet I grabbed at the market would be a good “I’m sorry I slammed your daughter’s ass in the sugar” apology. Mrs. D’Amore seemed to like them well enough, anyway.
Now that we’ve showered we’re trudging toward a frozen pond in the back of the D’Amore property, our boots crunching in the firm snow. Two pairs of skates bump against my back.Every few seconds, Natalie’s mittened hand brushes softly against my own. My fingers stretch, wanting to grab it and keep her tucked close to my side.
Instead, I keep my hands to myself.
She’s quiet. Inward.
Ahead, white lights flicker through the trees. The pond beneath the lights glows like a secret garden in the woods. “Hey, sugarplum. What do you have dancing up there?”
She hesitates. “Have you ever felt like you had to be someone you’re not just to be liked?”
My chest tightens. All the freaking time. “Like who you are isn’t enough?”
“No. More like too much.”
I step over a fallen branch, biting down on my first instinct to tell her she’s perfect. She wouldn’t believe it, anyway. “No, I can’t say I’ve ever felt like that. But I know what it’s like to feel you need to change who you are to protect yourself. Sort of like emotional hockey pads or something.”
She tilts her head at me, surprised. “You do? Really?”
“Yeah.” My throat goes dry. This is the part where I usually clam up. Where I hide behind cocky comments and pretend I’m so up-my-ass about myself that I couldn’t fathom Natalie not liking me. But I promised her I’d beme,so here I am. The dude that’s terrified she’ll see the real me, and still hate me. “That’s what I’ve been doing with you.”
Her eyes flick to mine. “What do you mean?”
I look out at the snow-laden trees instead of her. “Between my brother and me, Caden’s the big personality. Always has been. I’ve been okay with letting him have the spotlight. But with you…” I rub at the back of my neck, embarrassed. “I couldn’t stomach it. So I made myself bigger. Louder. Even if it was negative attention, at least you noticed me.”
She stops walking. “That’s what you’ve been doing? Cole, all you had to do to get my attention was to be…this.Beyou.You would have gotten my attention immediately.”
I shake my head. I honestly don’t believe her, not after Caden’s lie twisted everything.
“I would have gotten there eventually,” she says, much smaller—she’s hurt. “You didn’t trust me, though. So for the last three years I thought you looked at me like Dillon did, that I was a mess, chaos, loud, and not worth the time of day. I know, I know a lot of that is my fault, too, though.” She rubs her arms, looking at the snow.
The wound in her voice causes me to stop and finally grab one of her mittened hands. “I wish I had known or saw what I was doing. I’m so sorry I haven’t been honest with you. About how we met. About who I really am. I get it if you never want to see me again after all this. But if I can make one thing crystal clear right now, it’s that I definitely do not think like Dillon. I hated that guy even before I knew he was the one you were crying over. I’m not Caden either, and that’s never been seen as a good thing.
“I’m not good at this — the talking, the parties. I’d rather be in my room reading on a Friday night. But I’ve always wanted to talk to you. Be with you. You were always worth everything to me. If there’s even a slight chance I haven’t blown it completely, I’ll beg, grovel — whatever you need.”
She looks up at me, eyes wide, cheeks flushed from the cold. Something in her expression softens.
“I do love a good grovel,” she murmurs.
Relief hits me so hard I almost laugh. “Good. I think it’s better suited to my personality anyway.” I squeeze her hand and nod toward the lights ahead. “Shall we?”
We reach the pond, and she asks, “Why is your nickname on the hockey team the Prince of Blood?”
I smirk. “Why do you think?”
“I thought it was because you were evil? Or violent on the ice? But I’m not getting that impression anymore. The nickname doesn’t fit.”
I pat her hand and steer her toward the bench. “You’re right, it’s not that. But I think you’ve had enough revelations for one day. No need to send you into a deeper spiral.”
Because the reality is, I had that nickname for years when the guys on the team were older…but now that they’ve all graduated, it’s gone away too. I didn’t hate it. It kind of sounded badass if you didn’t know the real story, and even the real story tied me to Natalie, so who the fuck cared.
Natalie tsks at me. “You still think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
