Between the wind, the snow, and the darkness surrounding me, it’s slow going. I’ve barely made it a block when I hear faint yelling behind me. I turn around, squeezing my hands to try to bring warmth to them as I blink against the onslaught of snowflakes attacking my eyes. Holding my hand up as a shield, I peer at the dark figure. The one that appears to be in a fucking T-shirt.
“What are you doing?!” I scream. I know I should be more concerned that I’m approaching a crazy man in the snow, but at the same time, I’m certain it’s Beckett, coming after me after I left him behind.
I start to shout again, but a cold gust of wind blasts its way down my throat, causing all the air to leave my lungs. Gasping, I bend over, trying to escape the frigid air long enough to pull a lungful of oxygen into my body.
“Finley! Fuck. Finley! I’m coming!” I hear.
I make anI’m finegesture with my hands, but it doesn’t stop the giant of a man from continuing his hard push toward me.
He’s going to fall over. He’s going to hurt his hip and never recover. And, for what? Me? I’m not worth ruining his career.
I’m pulled against his chest, finally able to breathe as his large frame blocks the wind from reaching me. He’s covered in snow, his eyelashes lined in white like a tree after a frost.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, banging my fist against his chest. “You’re going to die!”
“Then come back with me.”
I look into his eyes and see the truth: He’ll follow me if I keep going. But he knows it’s a terrible idea.
“Come on!” I pull of my scarf and hat and hand them to him.
He shakes his head. “You need them!”
“You need them, you fool!” I shout back. “Put them on, or I’m going to the arena.”
Beckett glares at me as if trying to decide how serious I am before grabbing the clothes from me. He shoves on the stocking cap and quickly wraps the scarf around his neck. “Happy now?”
I shake my head, then reach out and grab his hand, shoving my gloved one and his bare one into my pocket.
We trudge back in silence, the journey infinitely longer now that we’re heading into the wind. I peek at Beckett as he walks, never complaining, just lumbering forward through the blizzard.
No one else would’ve come after me.
No one.
“Are you okay?” he asks as soon as we’re in the lobby of our apartment building, dipping his head to look me in the eyes.
I nod before asking what I really need to know, “Why? Why did you come after me? And why don’t you have a coat on? What were you thinking?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his now-blue lips, as a drop of melting snow falls from his eyelashes.
“No, don’t tell me,” I say. “We’ve got to get you warm first.”
I rush to the elevator, and it opens immediately after I push the button. As soon as the doors close, I open my arms wide. “Come here.”
Beckett doesn’t hesitate, just slips his frozen hands under my coat, burying his face into my chest.
Even if it’s just to keep him warm, something about the contact feels right. Like the first time I hit my slap shot the way he taught me, and suddenly the coaches started looking at me like I belonged. Like the moment I’m watching film, and suddenly I know just what to do.
It’s clarity and comfort in the most terrifying way.
I reluctantly let go of him as the elevator reaches the twelfth floor and slowly follow him to his apartment.
He walks inside, holding the door open for me, but I can’t seem to move my feet past the threshold.
“Come on, Queenie,” Beckett teases despite the shivers wracking his body. “It’s just one night.”
Which is exactly what I’m excited about. And what I’m afraid of.
