“Thank God you’re awake,” I croon as I lean down and unbuckle her. “Auntie Sofie needs all the snuggles.”
I lift her up, hug her tight and kiss her sweet little cheeks. “I.” Kiss. “Can.” Kiss. “Not.” Kiss. “Wait.” Kiss. She starts giggling. “Until you’re off the T-I-T-T-Y and we can have sleepovers.”
Claudia giggles, and I look toward her and see she’s holding up her phone. “We invited the guys.”
I kiss Savannah’s cheek to hide a frown that I may not be able to hide later.
“Holidays are hard for the guys who can’t get home or don’t have anywhere close enough here to make it worth it,” Deacon adds.
I glance back toward the ice. Aleks hasn’t looked up yet. Thank God.
Claudia continues softly. “Just to skate. No cameras on them. Just… normal.”
I nod. “That tracks.”
“Nalani and Koa were going to come too; they’re swinging by to grab Paul,” Deacon adds. “Dash and Noelle, as well.”
“Perfect. I’ll have Hildy and Priya grab some photos of them so they can have those cute little couples Christmas cards to send out.”
Chapter 9
Rockefeller Center
Aleks
She’s actinglike I’m not even here, which is a lie. She knows, she just pretends not to, passing close enough that I can feel the displacement, like air making room for her. I keep my head down anyway, focus on my skates, pretend just like she is which is not easy. The space shifts when she’s near. Not warm, not pleasant. Electric in the way storms are electric, pressure building with nowhere good to go. My shoulders tighten, jaw locks, every instinct I have goes on alert for reasons I don’t like examining.
Faulker is talking. Williams is laughing. I nod at the right times even though I haven’t heard a word they’re saying because I’m locked in on her.
Hug her tight and kiss her sweet little cheeks. ‘I.’” Kiss. “‘Can.’” Kiss. “‘Not.’” Kiss. “‘Wait.’” Kiss.
Savannah giggles. High. Unfiltered. Cuts straight through the rink noise like it has priority access to my nervous system.
“Until you are off the t-i-t-t-y,” she finishes, laughing, “and we can have sleepovers.”
I look up before I can stop myself.
The city fades, the rink blurs out, and there’s just her, the baby, and the way she takes up space without asking permission.
A thought hits me, fast and uninvited. Not sex, not fantasy. The kind of thing I decided a long time ago was not for me. I have never wanted kids. Never planned for them. Never made room in my life for anything that could hit harder than my old man did, hurt more than losing my first friend, or cause me to worry more than I do about my brother’s safety. Kids would do that.
And yet the idea lodges anyway, sharp and dangerous, like my body just decided without clearing it with my brain. Like some instinct I don’t recognize, just woke up and chose to fucking violate me. I look away immediately.
Hands clench. Laces pulled tight, like discipline, can fix this; focus can erase a thought once it exists.
This is why I don’t look at her. This is why I pretend she’s not there. This is why the air feels wrong when she is. This is why I cannot wait until we head out on the road.
I stand, jaw tight, ready to get on the ice and bleed the noise out of my head.
I do not look back, I do not smile, and I absolutely do not let myself want something I swore I’d never choose.
And all that lasts two full rotations around Rockefeller Center.
Faulker skates past me, muttering under his breath. “Ninety-nine-point nine percent sure I fucked the redhead.”
I don’t even look at him. “You didn’t.”
He shrugs. “Icehouse. I’m telling you, Ninety-nine-point nine percent probability.”
