“No, it’s okay,” I reiterate, a giggle escaping. “And as you already said. We can make all the blanket forts we want right here.”
He eyes me, giving me a minute to change my mind, then taps out a message and returns his phone to its previous spot. I watch him go about straightening the items on his bedside table, enjoying his little ritual of having each item just-so.
“Cassidy,” his voice pulls my focus from the table to his face, his expression softens as he adds, “Come to bed.”
He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I’m across the room before he’s slid down beneath the blanket, choosing to crawl over him rather than walk around the bed to my side. He grunts dramatically, as if I’ve pulled some wild wrestling move and attempted to injure him, then rolls toward me as I get settled beneath the blankets.
He pushes on my shoulder until I turn away from him, muttering to myself about how bossy he is, and then he tugs me back so he’s spooning me from behind. I wriggle my ass in invitation, but he just tightens his hold on me, one of his legs moving over mine, anchoring me in place. Rubbing his cheek against mine he places a kiss at the corner of my mouth then says, “You behave.”
I fidget for a few minutes, focusing on his breath near my ear, his thumb stroking idly on my bare shoulder where he’s holding me close. His limbs become heavy, his head lolling forward slightly, a comforting weight on the pillow behind me that has me relaxing fully.
And then, secure in his embrace, I smile, close my eyes, and I sleep.
46
VENTURES, NEW AND OLD
CASSIDY
Ren’s playoffrun didn’t last long.
While it left me feeling some sort of way, he seemed to be perfectly fine about it. Maybe it’s just because he’s living his normal life off season, and maybe he’ll feel different when preseason comes around. But right now, he’s out here living his best life, doing as he pleases, not a single care in the world.
We usually end our evenings in our bedroom, him reading in bed and me sprawled in my chair, perusing some gossip rags or chatting with the girls. We like to decompress and then debrief, making sure we’re checking in with each other on the little details we might overlook in the normal hustle and bustle of the day.
Pretty sure if I ask him about hockey one more time, he’s gonna lose it, so I’ve been doing my best to let it go, at least until preseason begins.
I’m in the middle of a meme war in my group chat with Issa, Jessica and Carolina when Ren shifts on the bed. I look up and he’s sitting in his normal spot, appearing to be rather zoned out.His thumb strokes along his jaw a bit absentmindedly, and then he murmurs, “I was talking to Declan,” he pauses and I continue to watch him, waiting for him to say something else, but when he just continues to sit there, staring out into space, I ask, “and?”
He blinks, glances at me as if he forgot I was there then says, “You know how he started doing the concert series for charity?”
“Well, yeah, I’d have to have my head completely in the sand to have missed it.”
“Do you think that would work for hockey?”
Now my brows raise. “What do you mean?”
He sighs heavily, extending a hand as if that’s going to help me understand what the hell he’s on about. “Can we do charity stuff with hockey?”
“We do tons of charity events every year; most teams do.” I respond slowly, not sure why I’m having to explain something he has been a part of for decades. “If that’s what you mean.”
He shakes his head, tosses his book on the nightstand. “I mean something bigger, something more consistent.”
“Ren,” I respond, my tone coming out slightly pissy. “I am not a mind reader, so if you have some big idea in your head, you’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”
“I want to start a league where retired players can play.”
“Like a seniors league?” I tease, immediately clearing my throat when he glares at me and retorts, “I mean more like an exhibition league. We travel to other team arenas for special events where all the proceeds are donated to charity.”
“It would be a lot of work, but of course it could be done.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“You could start with your own hockey team,” I offer helpfully.
He cocks his head at me and responds, “You meanyourhockey team.”
This isn’t the first time this has come up, and it’s just as annoying now as it was every other time before. “I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this.”
