It sounds like I’m setting her up to assuage me, but I’m not. I mean it. I’m not fishing for a compliment. Building your own business while still in college, moving it across the country, and then having it be successful in its first year? That’sreallyimpressive.
She rolls her eyes. “Says a man who’s won the defensive player of the year multiple times and is consistently in the top three for points by a defensemen every season since you were drafted even with the Scorpions consistently being in the bottom half of the rankings every season.”
I wave off her words even as I smirk. “You know my stats?”
Her chest flushes a deep red, and I laugh.
“To be fair, anyone who follows the league probably knows your stats,” she says. “You’ve been a big deal since you delayed being drafted by a year.”
Before I’m able to respond, our food arrives. Jonah quietly offers Carys a white wine that technically pairs better with her meal. Every interaction she has is polite and warm, welcoming in a way I’ve only seen from true extroverts. How does she manage both a true enjoyment of people and the comfort-seeking nature of being an Omega? Does the overstimulationcreep up on her, or has she found a way to handle it? She touches the necklace as Jonah opens the other bottle of wine and pours her a glass. For just a heartbeat, I smell orchids. It’s too faint for me to figure out what caused the spike. When we’re alone again, I wordlessly reach across the table and take her hand, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.
“Good?” I ask.
Her shoulders relax, a tension surrounding her easing a bit. This time, her scent is stronger, pure and singing with need. I’m instantly aching for her, but I ignore my own body.
“Great,” she murmurs back.
Chapter Twelve
RHETT
Carys leans against me instead of the window as we head back into town hours later, the sky and road equally dark. I palm her thigh, my fingers just skating under the hem of her dress. The quiet hum of the engine is the only noise. It’s comfortable between us, the nervousness I’d felt fading as we ate. I draw shapes on her leg as the road passes underneath us.
“Do you enjoy playing with your brother?” she asks just as the lights of Nashville come into view.
“Love it. He went for the draft two years before me, so we only got to play one year in college. But I loved that year, too.” I give her more than that, though. That’s what the press always gets when they ask, and she’s way more important to me than the reporters. I clear my throat. “We grew up playing. Most kids in New England do. You either do hockey or snowboarding, and I hated snowboarding. Mom couldn’t really afford two separate leagues, so she had us play on the same team for a lot of growing up.”
She tilts her chin up, and I chance a glance toward her. The dash lights give off just enough light that I can see her eyebrowsare furrowed and hers lips are pursed. That band of nerves tightens around my ribs.
“What’s wrong?”
Her voice is soft. “You haven’t mentioned your mom before.”
She tightens her hold on my elbow, her nails digging into my skin.
I haven’t? We’d talked about so much over the course of dinner. Music and Nashville. Where she wants to travel, the goals I still have for my career. Even the way she loves cheesecake but not most chocolate. Had Mom really not come up at all through that?
“Oh.”
“Will she come to one of the games?”
That same hollow ache opens just under my sternum when a reminder of her absence hits. “She passed away in a skiing accident the year after I was drafted.”
Carys tenses. I squeeze her leg in reassurance. “That’s why you missed those games right before the break,” she whispers. And then, even more quiet, “I’m so sorry.”
I start to shrug but stop when I remember she’s pressed against me. “She went to a lot of my games my rookie year. She split her time between here and LA with Paxton. She got to see us both win rookie of the year.”
“I’m glad,” she says after a minute. “I’m sure she was so proud of you.”
Even after four years, my throat closes at those words. The wound doesn’t really hurt anymore, not most of the time. But that knee jerk reaction still is there. I don’t think it’ll ever really go away, and I’m okay with that.
The car’s gps silently guides me toward Carys’s apartment, and I get off the highway to navigate the city streets instead.
“It’s hard to not have your mom at big events,” Carys says. “My experience is obviously different, but the hole is still there.”
This feels way too heavy for a first date, especially given how close we are to her place, but I can’t curb my blatant curiosity. I try and find a less offensive way to ask about her mom, why Ares was a single dad.
Eventually, I settle on, “What do you mean?”
