Mile High: Chapter 29

I’ve been a ball of nerves all day. I have no idea what’s going to happen tonight. I don’t know what he’s going to say, what I’m going to say, or where things will stand after it’s all over.

What I do know is that I’m wearing some awfully see-through panties under all my winter layers in hopes that Zanders will be seeing them and subsequently tearing them off.

A physical relationship would be easy. It’s what I think I can handle and what he wanted initially, but now he won’t give it up without something more. But something more with him scares me.

Everything magnifies with him. If I thought I was broken after Brett, that’s incomparable to the potential level of destruction Zanders could leave in his wake. On the flip side, what I thought was love with my ex, isn’t even on the same playing field of where my feelings could go if I open my heart to the possibility of Zanders.

It’s all terrifying.

As I ride the private elevator up to Zanders’ penthouse, my throat is thick with nerves. The building is stunning and pristine—money in the form of walls. The exclusive hallway off the elevator to his place is clean and modern but cold.

Swallowing down the instinct to run, I knock two times on the large mahogany door of Zanders’ penthouse, but after a minute, there’s no answer.

I give him another moment before I knock again.

Still, no answer.

Pulling out my phone, I dial, inevitably giving him my number. His phone is loud enough that I can hear it ring in his apartment, on the other side of this door, but it continues to go unanswered until I reach his voicemail.

I give the door one more loud knock, just to be sure, but still, there’s no answer.

I’m not going to lie. My heart is pounding, and not because I think something might be wrong with him. The guy seems unbreakable. Untouchable. But even though Zanders was persistent about tonight, did he change his mind? Is he regretting asking for more already?

My cheeks are flush, and my stomach is twisting with embarrassment as I turn back to the elevator to go back home, but halfway down the empty hall, I stop in my tracks. If he wants to bail on me, he can say it to my face. He’s so adamant about me standing up to people? Well, that’s precisely what I’m going to do. Besides, of anyone in my life, I’m somehow able to stand up to him without fear or worry.

Without overthinking it any longer, I take confident strides back down the hall, twist the knob, and surprisingly open the unlocked door. But as soon as I walk into his penthouse, I instantly regret it.

It’s intimidating, dark, masculine, and just very much him. The ceilings are high and expansive, making it feel like they never end. I’m in a space I shouldn’t be privy to without him.

“Stevie?”

Snapping my head around, Zanders stands down the hallway in nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips. A bit of moisture lingers on his golden-brown skin as steam rolls off in the air around him. The shadowed concaves of his muscles are even deeper thanks to the low lighting in the dark hall.

“Shit.” He tightly holds the towel around his waist as he takes a couple of steps down the entryway, coming into view. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear the door, and I lost track of time.”

The closer he gets, the more evident his exhaustion is. “Are you okay?” I ask, brows furrowed, and any frustration towards him wholly abandoned.

He gives me a sad half-smile, telling me he’s absolutely not okay. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that, but I’m really happy you’re here.”

I walk into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, before pressing my cheek against his warm, wet chest. He sighs into me, snaking his free arm around my shoulders and holding my body to his. I can feel every muscle in his tight frame relax around me before he rests his head on mine.

I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s upset.

“You let yourself in,” he quietly notes.

“I was coming to yell at you for forgetting about me.”

“As you should.” His body vibrates from a silent laugh before he squeezes me even tighter. “But I could never forget about you, sweetheart.”

I run a soothing hand up and down his bare back.

“Can you give me a minute? I’ll be right out, but I should get some clothes on.”

“I don’t mind you naked.”

Another laugh shakes my body as Zanders relaxes. “Make yourself at home. There’s beer in the fridge.”

He runs a hand over my curls, brushing them out of the way before he walks his gloriously stunning body around the corner and back to his room.

Alone in his space once again, but feeling a bit more welcomed, I take my coat off and hang it on the hooks by his front door before kicking off my snow-covered sneakers that are far too used to be worn in his clean place.

I wander into the kitchen, needing that beer Zanders offered, and when I open the fridge, I can’t help but smile to myself when I find one of the shelves lined with multiple different IPAs. Instinctively, I know the plethora of options is solely for me.

I’m good with any and all, so I pop the top of one and take it with me on my self-guided tour.

Zanders’ penthouse is stunning. Dark wood, concrete, black metal, and low lighting decorate the masculine area. It’s moody, expensive, and intriguing. It’s one of those places you get inspiration from in a magazine or featured on a Pinterest board. Not a single thing is out of order. It’s very much him, and I look entirely out of place.

Passing by the long hallway Zanders ducked down, I turn the opposite way, finding his living room. His couches are large and deep-set, his television is massive, and his pictures are perfectly coordinated in black and white.

The images are mostly him and Maddison’s family, but there is one of him and who I would guess to be his sister. Zanders has mentioned her once, and they look eerily similar. Though, I do notice not a single photo has his dad present. I know they have a rocky history, as he does with his mom, but I guess I didn’t realize his relationship with his father was as lacking as it is in these photographs.

There’s a photo of him and Ella that I can’t help but pick up and admire a little closer. Their relationship melts me every time and was the first thing that made me question if there was more to the notoriously hated defenseman.

“You snooping, sweetheart?” Zanders’ deep voice vibrates through me as my cheeks heat from being caught in the act. He stands behind me, so close that I can feel the warmth of his body before he rests his chin on my shoulder. “That’s one of my favorites.”

“You guys are close, huh?” I keep my focus on the photo in my hands of the adorable wild-haired girl and her uncle.

“She’s my favorite person.”

“More than Maddison?”

“I like her ten times more than her dad.” His tone has sarcasm embedded in it, but I’m not sure that he’s joking.

I replace the frame to its original spot before turning around to face him. My eyes wander his body, noting his casual sweatpants and hoodie. Granted, I can tell they’re expensive as hell, but the only time I’ve seen him this dressed down is when he’s getting ready to sleep during an overnight flight on the airplane.

And my mouth can’t seem to close seeing him so informal and carefree.

“What? Did you expect me to be wearing a three-piece suit in my own home?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

As much as Zanders looks absolutely fuckable in his perfectly tailored suits, he looks adorable in his comfy clothes, and I feel much less intimidated being in his expensive home when he’s as dressed down as I am.

“But you look good like this too.”

A knowing smile lifts on his lips. “Vee, I always look good.”

Not wrong, but no need to tell him that, and thankfully, a knock at the door keeps me from having to respond.

“That should be the food. Or at least some of it.” Zanders heads towards the entryway, expecting me to follow.

“Some of it?” I question, two steps behind him. “And food? What happened to this not being a date?”

Zanders turns to face me, walking backward and wearing his annoyingly cheeky smile. “You only eat when you’re on dates?”

Five knocks later, and Zanders’ poor doorman getting his workout in for the day, deep-dish pizza, Chinese takeout, sushi, burgers and fries, and two burritos cover the dining room table.

“What the hell?” I let out a nervous but confused laugh, looking at the expansive table entirely covered in takeout.

A bit of shyness emanates off Zanders. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I kind of got everything.”

My head tilts at his thoughtful gesture. “Everything sounds perfect.”

That shyness shifts to pride before he turns towards the fridge to get two fresh beers. Zanders pulls out the seat at the head of the table for me before he takes the one next to it as we both pile our plates full of all the best takeout in Chicago.

I don’t think I could feel more comfortable sitting next to this man, eating junk food and drinking beers in his stunning penthouse.

“So, I have some questions,” I begin. “Dog questions.”

I don’t, actually. Zanders will be great with Rosie, but I’m still lying to myself about this being a home visit and not a date.

“Shoot,” Zanders mumbles, mouth full.

“She has a place to go when you’re on the road?”

“When we are on the road,” he corrects. “Yes. One of the guys on the team has a dog-sitter they trust, and she’s down to add Rosie.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been going to see her?”

He casually shrugs, looking away from me. “Because I didn’t want to get your hopes up just in case. And like I said, it wasn’t about you.” His eyes dart to mine, soft and truthful. “The donation, though, that was for you.”

I try to fight back my smile, not wanting him to see how much every little thing he does has begun to affect me, but I can’t.

“Thank you for that, by the way. It was ridiculous and over the top, but you have no idea how much that’s going to help.”

His leg nudges mine under the table before he slightly wraps it around, wanting to touch me in some way.

“And you have everything for her ready to go?” I continue.

Who am I kidding? Of course, he does. This man is beyond prepared at all times.

“Yep. The last thing is her collar, but it’s getting delivered tomorrow. Wanna see?” He pulls out his phone and enlarges a photo on the screen, showing me.

“You got her a Louis Vuitton collar with metal spikes on it?”

His brows crease in offense. “Have you met me? Of course, I did.”

“People are going to think she’s intimidating with that on.”

“Good. Let them. We both know she’s sweet, but I’m fine with everyone else thinking she’s a badass.”

I bring my attention back to my plate, muttering under my breath, “You do love giving people the wrong impression, don’t you?”

My eyes dart to his with regret, tension thick in the air between us as we remain silent.

Zanders leans forward, holding my eye contact. “Do you have some more questions? Maybe unrelated to Rosie? Maybe some questions about me? Because I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

I swallow hard as I study his stunning face. His eyes are soft with understanding, and there’s no evidence of judgment or irritation from my previous statement.

“Why do you put on an act? Why don’t you let people see how good you are?”

His eyes avert to his plate. “Well, that’s a big question to start with.”

I cross my legs on my chair and turn it towards him, giving him my full attention. “We have a five-course dinner to get through. We have plenty of time.”

A relaxed smile lifts on Zanders’ lips. He looks back to me, hesitating for a moment before pushing his plate away.

“When I got picked up by Chicago seven years ago, I already had a bit of a reputation from my college days. Chicago was looking for an enforcer, someone to protect the other guys on the ice, and I fit the bill. Then the following year, I kind of ran with that narrative, but it wasn’t until the next season when Maddison got traded, and we ended up signing with the same agent, that things really took off. Rich had this whole idea of setting up this storyline for us. Maddison is the golden boy in hockey. Everyone loves him, and the opposite of that is me—everyone’s favorite player to hate. We bought into the whole thing, and we’ve both made an absolute killing off our little duo. And I’m not going to lie. I fucking loved every minute of it.”

I nod in understanding, knowing how much Zanders loves his reputation.

“Until this year,” he continues. “There was never anyone in my life to be negatively affected by my media persona until now. Until you, and the fact that it’s made you view me differently than who I really am and has you scared, fucking kills me, Stevie. If I could go back seven years ago and change it all from the beginning, I would.”

“Why don’t you change it now?”

He lets out a deep, resigned sigh. “This is who I am in hockey now. I’m in the middle of a re-signing season, and this brand I carry is what Chicago wants. They’re not going to pay me without it. At least, that’s what Rich thinks.”

“So, that’s it? It’s all about money?”

Guilt forms on his features. “No, actually, it’s not.”

“Then what is it, Zee?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes bouncing everywhere but refusing to look at me.

“I’m scared,” he mutters under his breath.

I scoff in disbelief. “You’re not scared of anything.”

His eyes dart to mine, full of honesty. “I’m terrified of a lot of things. You included.”

He takes a long swig of his beer. “I’m afraid that if everyone sees the real me, that maybe they won’t like it. Maybe they won’t love me anymore. Maybe Chicago won’t want me, and this is where my best friends are. I don’t want to play somewhere else. People love the shit-talking asshole who spends a ton of time in the penalty box then gets pictured being a playboy, but are they going to love me if they find out I’d rather talk about Active Minds than who they think I’m fucking? Are they going to still love me when they find out I cry at Disney movies with my niece? Are they going to love me if they find out I can’t stop thinking about my flight attendant who still thinks I’m some piece of shit?”

That causes me to pause. “I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Zee. I think you’re too good for most people, but you never let anyone see that, and I don’t get why you’d want to hide it. You usually don’t lie, but you lie about what a good man you are? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because Stevie!” His voice is raised, but he’s not yelling. He’s frustrated beyond belief, but not with me. “I’ve been myself before, and that wasn’t enough. My own fucking mother left me, for Christ’s sake!”

I try to breathe, but I can’t. Understanding floods me. It’s all making sense that his fear of not being worthy of love comes from his mom—the woman who left him.

“It hurts a whole lot less to be hated when you’re not being yourself than it does not to be loved for who you are,” he continues. “As much as I tell people I enjoy the hate, I want to be loved more than anything, but I’m not ready to risk rejection yet.”

I, too, have been myself and wasn’t enough. In fact, I’ve felt that way most of my adult life. This man, who seems like an impenetrable brick wall of intimidation, is actually extremely soft and scared, with more feelings than he wants to admit.

“I only trust a few people to be myself with. I’m not ready to trust everyone in the world with who I am. That is what scares me, Stevie.”

I place my hand over his with my brows pinched to keep from getting emotional. “You trust me?”

Zanders’ hazel eyes are soft as they read mine. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“Why?”

“Because at this point, the risk of losing whatever this might be by not being myself with you is a lot scarier than showing you who I am. I like you, Vee, and I’m being completely honest and vulnerable here. I just want the chance for you to want me. The real me.”

The food is cold on my plate, but I don’t care. I’m not hungry anymore. I’m full from Zanders’ words that give me more hope than I could’ve imagined. He trusts me enough to be honest and vulnerable with who he is. Why can’t I trust that he’s not lying about how he feels about me?

Standing from my chair, I go right over to his, taking a seat across his lap. Slinging my arms around his shoulders, I bury my head in his neck.

“You cry at Disney movies?” I tease, my breath ghosting his skin.

He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me to him. “Fucking sob.”

“You don’t seem like a crier.”

“I cry at a lot of things. I just don’t let people see it. I cried before you got here, actually.”

I lift my head from his shoulder. “Why?”

He gives me a small half-smile. “My mom called me.”

“What?”

“I hung up on her the second I realized who it was, but then it caused a full-blown panic attack that I couldn’t get out of. My whole body was locked up, and I started crying like a fucking baby on the bathroom floor. I got in the shower to try to wash it all away, and that’s why I didn’t hear you knocking.”

“Jesus, Zee.” I graze a soothing palm over his cheek, seeing way more of this man than I ever expected. “Are you okay?”

He cautiously nods. “I’ll be all right.”

Silence lingers between us. I didn’t know anything about Zanders’ mental health or the fact that he was passionate about helping others navigate their own journeys until the gala just over a week ago.

Falling back to his shoulder, I quietly ask, “What made you start Active Minds?”

His hand snakes around, resting on my hipbone and his head leaning on mine. “Because I didn’t want other kids to suffer the way I did and still do sometimes. Not having control over the way your mind affects you is one of the worst feelings in the world. You feel trapped and helpless. I wish I would’ve gotten into therapy the second my mom left, but mental health wasn’t really talked about with men, and I wanted to break that stigma and give kids access to the help they need. The help I needed but didn’t know how to ask for.”

My heart aches with understanding, seeing everything he is. I run my hand across his chest before curving it around his neck. “How could you think people might not like you when this is the heart you have?”

“Do you like me?” He lifts his head, urging mine from his shoulder as well. There’s no hesitation in his question. His tone is pleading, needing to know the answer.

“I don’t want to.”

“But do you?” Hope. So much hope as he looks at me.

I don’t know how to answer that without laying all my cards on the table about just how much I like him. He’s good, too good. It’s just taken me months to see it. It’s taken months for him to peel back every layer and show me who he is. But this, the real him, I like him way too much.

“I hate you, remember?”

We share a knowing smile.

“Stevie girl, do you like me?” He pushes a corkscrew curl away from my face so he can see me.

My eyes dart between his and his lips. Unable to keep myself from him, I lean forward, closing the gap between us, pressing my mouth to his. He gives into me for a moment before he turns away, breaking the connection and shaking his head.

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes as if he’s in pain from stopping me. “Don’t do that unless there’s more that comes with it, and I don’t mean physically.”

“What do you mean?”

I know what he means.

“You know what I mean.” His eyes are focused and pointed at me. “I want more than just sex with you. I want you. All of you. I just want a chance.”

Opening up myself to him in that way is absolutely terrifying, but how could I not want him after everything he’s shown me? He’s been trying to choose me over and over again, and all I’ve ever wanted was to be someone’s first choice.

My pause causes defeat to fall across Zanders’ face as he looks away from me, his lips pressed in a hard line.

I use my index finger and thumb under his chin to bring his attention back to me. “Don’t hurt me.”

He searches my face, trying to read me as hope overtakes him. “I couldn’t.”

“If there’s ever a time where you don’t want this anymore, where I’m not your first choice anymore, tell me.”

The corners of his lips lift upward. “You’ll always be my first choice. Have been since the day I met you, sweetheart.”

“Be honest with me.”

“I will be. I am.” He cups my face, leaning his forehead on mine, his expression shifting. “But I’m not ready to be honest with the rest of the world yet.”

I nod against him. “You can play everyone else, but not me. Screw it. I’ll even support your made-up persona as long as you’re not that guy with me.”

“So, you like me?” His smile is eager and excitable.

I can’t help but laugh at this giant man asking such a childish question. “What do you think?”

“Say it. Stroke my ego, Stevie.”

I laugh into him, my head falling to his shoulder before I look back.

“You like me,” he coaxes, his lips only inches from mine as he stares at my mouth.

“Kiss me.”

“Say it, and I’ll do a whole lot more than kiss you, sweetheart.”

Fire burns in his hazel eyes, knowing he wants everything just as much as I do.

I playfully roll my eyes. “Yes. I like you, the most arrogant man in Chicago.”

I watch as the weight falls off him, his eyes bright and his smile pompous as hell. “I think you mean the sexiest man in Chicago.”

“As I said…the most arrogant man in Chicago.”

His smug smile makes its timely appearance. “Fucking knew it. I mean how could you not? I’m fucking great. I’m—”

“Shut up.” I slap a palm over his mouth. “Shut. Up,” I laugh.

His amusement shifts to desire as I drop my hand. He stands, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me as if I weigh absolutely nothing. “How about I make you shut up?”

He presses his mouth to mine, taking away any words I could say, as he carries me to the kitchen island, sitting me on top.

“I’d rather you make me scream,” I retort, already far too out of breath.

A devilish smirk spreads across his mouth, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Now that I can do.”