The Keeper: Chapter 7

By six a.m. the next morning, I’ve given up any hope of getting a good night’s sleep and decide to give in to my desperate need for coffee. I throw my hoodie over my tank and pad downstairs, expecting Myrtle to wake up, ready to go outside. But my girl looks at me like I’m crazy as I pass her bed. Guess it’s too early for her too.

I tossed and turned all night, thinking about the fact that Easton Hayes was currently sleeping above me.

. The images that single thought conjures makes me all sorts of squirmy. How is it fair that I finally spent a night sleeping in bed with Easton instead of just seeing his face on a phone, and not only do I not remember it, but apparently all I did was sleep?

Not that I’m mad we didn’t actually have sex . . . I mean, this would be so much worse if we had. It’s just—he’s kissed me.

. And those kisses . . . My God.

Heat pools between my legs, just thinking about them.

Heat I ignore.

Nope.

No heat for me.

I refuse to accept any tiny little flicker of heat.

I cannot be turned-on by just the thought of Easton Hayes.

I add the coffee beans and water to the sleek stainless-steel coffee maker and sit on a counter stool, staring at it. Willing it to work faster. I’ve got ice time at the rink in an hour, and there’s no way I’m getting through the morning without a boost.

“Good morning, wife.”

A chill skates down my spine as Easton joins me in the kitchen and drops a kiss on the top of my head like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s freshly showered, and his sandy-brown hair is wet, tousled, and smells delicious. Like white pine and citrus.

He moves past me, and oh my . . . Gray sweat pants hang off his lean hips and hug his thick thighs. And my mouth waters when I drag my eyes up his chest covered in a deliciously tight white t-shirt. This man is a god. No wonder I’ve had a crush on him for half my life.

He makes himself at home in my kitchen, like he’s been here a thousand times, and grabs a mug out of the cabinet as he hums.

.

Who hums at six a.m.?

Apparently, my husband does as he makes himself coffee. I watch, fascinated, as he fills a mug, grabs the Christmas-cookie creamer from my fridge, adds a heaping pour, then holds it out for me and waits.

I blink up at him, confused.

Easton leans in and licks his lips, and I swear my heart skips a beat. “I like when your eyes do that, princess. Your lashes get fluttery, and your cheeks are all pink and pretty. It makes me think about all the other things I can do to get you to flush that way.” Easton’s lips caress the shell of my ear as he whispers, “And I’ve gotta tell you, they’re all a hell of a lot more fun than making you coffee.”

He finally puts the coffee down on the counter next to me as I stare at him in shock. “Why do you know how I take my coffee?” I ask, stunned.

“Because I’ve made it my business to know everything about you.”

“Oh.” What the hell?

? That’s the best I can come up with?

“Do you have plans tonight?” He doesn’t wait for my answer before he starts rifling through my cabinets again.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“A travel mug.”

I move to the other end of the counter and rise up on my tiptoes to grab him one of our insulated mugs. Then I freeze as his warmth envelopes me without his body ever touching mine. His arms move to either side of the counter, boxing me in.

I don’t turn around, afraid of what he might see if I do.

Instead, I place the metal mug on the counter and take a deep breath.

“I promised Andrew I’d meet him at the rink tonight. He’s still trying to get me to reconsider competing, and I keep telling him no. So now he has me watching his potential partners try out instead.” I try to say it forcefully, but the words come out more like a whisper.

Is it possible to feel him even when he isn’t touching me?

“Are you sure you’re done competing? Won’t you miss skating?”

It’s the same question I’ve been asked too many times to count since the Olympics. But my answer has stayed the same. “I still skate. But now I skate for me, or when I’m working with my baby skaters. Now it’s more fun, less stress. Andrew’s just having a hard time accepting that.”

“What time are you meeting Andrew?” Easton growls quietly against my ear.

“Seven,” I breathe out and fight every instinct screaming at me to take one small step back. One tiny little move would close the distance between the two of us.

“Seven,” he whispers and steps back, then grabs the travel mug. “Thanks, princess.”

I turn slowly and watch Easton pour his coffee and screw on the lid. “Where are you going now?”

“I want to surprise Blaise and drive him to school before I meet with my new coach. Then I’ve got practice. First game’s tomorrow night.”

His words shake up a thought I hadn’t considered before. “Have fun at practice, hockey boy. You might want to steer clear of Jace on the ice.”

“Your brother loves me.” He looks at me for a moment, losing a little of his bravado before he shakes it off and walks out of the kitchen calling out, “I’ll see you tonight, princess.”

Once I hear the front door click shut behind him, I sag against the counter.

It was a whole lot easier to be mad at him when he wasn’t close enough to touch.

I blame the touching.

The touching leads to trouble.

The problem is . . . I think I’d like that kind of trouble.

Coach Fitzgerald stands from behind his desk at the Revolution arena and offers me his hand. “Glad to have you join the team, Hayes. It’ll be nice to have you in our net for a change.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks, Coach. Glad to be here.”

He motions for me to sit. “I was surprised when your agent called and accepted our offer. You’ve been telling us to pound sand for a few years.” He leans back in his chair and waits as the door to his office opens. “What changed?”

Well . . . Shit.

I should have seen that coming.

Max Kingston walks into the room. The man is certainly the master of his own universe. Even in his forties, he exudes power and strength unmatched by anyone else I’ve ever met. And right now, he’s looking at me like I’m a problem he’d like to eliminate.

“Yeah, Hayes. What changed?” Max leans back against Fitz’s desk with his eyes narrowed on me. Eyes the same color as his sister’s.

I meet Max’s stare head-on. “My reason for staying in Las Vegas changed. It was time to come home.”

Fitz clears his throat, but Max ignores him. “And how long do you plan on staying?”

“His contract—”

“I’m not asking what his contract says,” he interrupts Fitz, his glare never wavering from me.

“As long as my wife wants to stay here, this is where I’ll be. With as close as she is to her family, I don’t think she’ll ever want to leave.” I lean back in my seat and cross my leg. “I’d like to finish my career in Philadelphia, if I can, but that’ll be up to you.”

“Hurt my fucking sister and I’ll make sure you never play another minute of professional hockey again. You won’t be able to tend goal on a fucking development team in some no-name town in Canada when I’m through with you.” His knuckles turn white from his grip on the edge of the desk behind him. “Do we understand each other?”

“I think—” Fitz tries to break the tension, but I refuse to back down because this moment is more important than hockey.

“Loud and clear, Max. But it goes both ways,” I tell him as I stand from my chair. “Pretty sure I’ve already proven I’d die for your sister. How about you let her live her life like the intelligent, independent woman she is, and try not hurting her? Because I’m pretty sure she’d be hurt if she knew you were assuming she couldn’t stand up for herself.”

Max takes a step forward, looking like he’s ready to swing. “Watch it. I’ve been taking care of Lindy her whole goddamn life, asshole.”

Coach slams his hand down on his desk. “Get out of here, Hayes. Practice is in an hour at the facility in Kroydon Hills. Don’t be late.”

“Coach—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Go before Max kills you. I don’t need my GM in jail and my goalie out of commission. Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, Coach.” I reach out and shake his hand over his desk, right next to Max, who doesn’t move. “I’m looking forward to playing for you.”

Fitz shakes his head. “Then get the hell out while you still can.”

I nod once and walk out, without looking back.

Not exactly the welcome to the Revolution I was expecting.

The Revolution’s practice facility is state-of-the-art. It was built a few years after the Kingstons bought the team, and from the looks of it, they spared no expense. The locker room is expansive. Wall-to-wall stalls are set up with our names above each one. It takes me a minute to find mine, and when I do, I run my finger over HAYES and close my eyes, knowing this was a long time coming.

Before I joined the Vipers, I bled red, white, and blue.

The Revolution was my hometown team, and I loved them.

When I was little, my mom used to wake up at the asscrack of dawn to drive me to practice before school. She’d never turn the radio on in the car. She liked to talk during our drives instead. We’d talk about everything, from whether I did my homework to what new show I was watching or what team I was playing that weekend. And we’d always talk about the day I’d play for the Philadelphia Revolution.

She was convinced it would happen.

Pretty sure it was her dream as much as it was mine.

I wish she were here to share it with me now.

She’d love this. The team and Lindy.

I drop my bag in my stall and change into my skates before the rest of the team gets here. I want to get a feel for the ice while it’s still empty. I’ve already made a shit impression on my coach, but maybe I can do better with my teammates.

When I walk through the tunnel, I stop dead in my tracks. Looks like I’m not the only one who wanted a few minutes alone on the ice. Lindy is flying around the rink with Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams” playing.

She’s fucking beautiful. She always is. But damn, when she skates, she takes my breath away. Her long blonde hair whips behind her with each new move, and as the song speeds up, so does she. She’s gonna jump.

.

My breath catches in my throat as I watch her launch herself into the air. She gets three full rotations before she lands it, and her entire face lights up. Her arms go out, and she transitions into her next move and works through the rest of the routine, ending in a spin that gets tighter and faster until finally she picks up a skate and stabs it into the ice, stopping with gorgeous precision.

She’s incredible. And she’s mine.

She told me so, even if she can’t remember it .

“You fucking stalking her now too, asshole? Gonna get her drunk, again?”

I turn when I hear Jace Kingston’s pissed-off accusation but not fast enough to block the right hook he throws.

Fuck.

I stagger back a step, then right myself just as Lindy flies across the ice over to us.

“What the hell, Jace?” She shoves him back with both palms to his chest as she steps between him and me.

I move forward so I’m next to her, not cowering behind my woman like a fucking bitch.

“He was watching you skate like a fucking stalker, Madeline,” Jace takes a step toward me, and she blocks him again.

“Jesus, Jace. A stalker? Really?” Her cheeks flame as she gets in his face. “Are you kidding me? I’ve dealt with a stalker, and that’s not Easton.” She shoves him again. “I’m a figure skater, Jace. People me skate. It kinda goes with the job, genius.”

“

doesn’t get to watch,” he shouts with a finger pointed in my face. “He shouldn’t even be here. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same fucking air as you after what he did,” Jace yells back right in her face, and I see red.

I move in front of Lindy and wrap my arm around her, keeping her behind me. “I don’t care who the fuck you are. You don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh yeah, asshole?” He lowers his voice. “Why? Because she’s your wife? What a joke.”

“No, jerkoff. Because she’s your sister, and she deserves more respect than that. If I wanted to defend her because she’s my wife, you’d already be on your ass with a broken fucking nose. Because unlike you, I don’t hit like a pussy. Then she’d be pissed at me too.” Lindy squeezes the hand I have resting on her hip and drops her head to the middle of my back.

I don’t move until she does.

When I drop my hand, she steps around me and stops directly in front of her brother. “Back off, Jace,” she tells him more calmly this time. “And you might as well spread the word while you’re at it. By the time you were my age, you had Cohen, and you and India were married. India, , if I remember correctly, you were ready to marry after only knowing for a month. I’ve known Easton for half my life, you hypocrite.”

“But—” he tries to jump in, but she shuts him right down with one look, and fuck me, but my dick gets hard as steel.

“Does your wife know you’re acting like a caveman, Jace?”

“Madeline,” he hisses.

“Don’t me, big brother,” she snaps back. “I know I’m the baby of the family, but I’m a grown fucking woman, capable of making my own choices.”

“And he’s your choice?”

Lindy looks up at me, her eyes blazing with fire. “He’s my choice.”

Holy shit. I’m pretty sure she’s just saying that because she’s pissed at Jace, but it’s so damn close to what she told me Saturday night, and she doesn’t even realize it.

Jace looks from his sister to me in disgust and shakes his head. “This discussion isn’t over, Madeline.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Jace. There is no discussion. I don’t need your permission.” A few of the guys from the team start to file out of the tunnel, and Lindy pats Jace’s chest.

That’s when I notice her platinum wedding rings shining bright enough to blind me.

She’s wearing them.

She’s wearing them.

She turns to me and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Play nice and try not to piss him off more than he already is.”

“Yeah, Easton. Stop breathing because it’s pissing me off,” Jace mumbles, and Lindy glares.

“Ignore him,” she whispers and circles her arms around my waist. “And maybe try not to kill him during your first practice.”

I wrap my arms around her and rest my chin on her head while I watch Jace’s lip curl in anger. “I can’t make any promises, princess. But I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” She lifts up and kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you at home.”

Jace growls, and I smile like I’m king of the fucking world.

She’s wearing my rings, and she’ll see me at home.

She might not remember, but it’s a start.