Chapter 30

30

As she pulled up alongside Banks’s SUV, the front door opened, and the man himself appeared with Cheddar in his arms, looking stormy. (Both Banks and her cat.)

She had barely opened the car door and he was launching into a critique. “You’re supposed to be resting, not gallivanting around town. You shouldn’t even be driving.”

“I’m here now!” The Nordstrom shopping bag on the back seat would stay exactly where it was. Like she could resist a Marc Jacobs dress on sale.

She took Cheddar from him and gave him a rub. “Has Daddy been taking care of you when he should be leaving you the hell alone?”

“He’s not bothering me.” Followed by a sneeze.

Men. “Let’s take you back to the west wing,” she said to Cheddar. When she opened the laundry room, she got the shock of her life.

“What happened here?”

A new cat bed sat in the corner, along with three scratching posts, cushions placed on shelves at different heights, and new toys dotted about the room.

She looked at Banks, who shrugged.

“If he’s stuck in the laundry room, we may as well make it more comfortable for him.”

Banks getting sweet on Cheddar was not on her bingo card.

She placed her kitty down and watched as he lapped at his water, which was now dispensed into one of those pet fountains that started the water flowing when Cheddar approached. Fancy.

Leaving him to his new playground, she returned to the kitchen. She picked up the kettle and started to fill it, only for Banks to do a dispossession move that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a rink: take it out of her hand, push her gently to a seat at the counter, and take over.

With her internal organs turning squishy, she watched as he went through the motions of making her tea.

“Did anyone give you a hard time about missing the rest of the game?”

He scowled. “Why would they?”

“Because you abandoned your teammates.”

“With good reason.”

“I just don’t want you to get into trouble. Because of me.”

He squinted at her. “Placing my wife above the needs of a game? They get it. They’re all loved up, so they know exactly what it’s like.”

Loved up? Was he comparing himself to his teammates?

Before she could question that, he pulled open the cupboard. “Lemon ginger?”

“Perfect Peach.”

“That she is,” he murmured. He set up the mug and turned, his arms threaded across his substantial chest. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you changing the subject. You told my family you’d rest up and a friend was coming over.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I called them the minute I got home after I’d left you several messages. They texted back during the intermission.”

“Right. They had tickets to a matinee so they shouldn’t be expected to change their plans because of me.”

His expression was one of “why the fuck not”?

“I decided to postpone Skye’s visit. It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry I wasn’t more honest. But if I was, you would’ve made one of your sisters stick with me and it’s their vacation. They have tickets to Wicked !”

“I assume that’s a big deal.”

“It is.”

Still scowling, he made her tea and a cup for himself. She took the mug he offered, letting it warm her hands while she waited for it to steep. That’s when she noticed a basket on the back counter, its clear plastic showcasing shortbread cookies, Lady Earl Grey tea, and several oranges.

“Where did that come from?”

“Harper Chase, the Rebels’ CEO. It’s called the don’t-sue-us package.”

“You are so cynical.” She read the card: Hope you’re feeling better! Welcome to the Rebels family! xoxo Harper Chase-DuPre.

The Rebels family. Wasn’t that lovely? Feeling a touch emotional, she turned away to reread it, then set it down on the counter.

“They seem like a nice bunch of people.” Tara, Mia, Ashley, and even Dex had all reached out to check on her.

“They’re alright.”

“Must be strange to have to start over with a new team. Just up sticks and re-jig your life.”

“It is. But it’s what we sign up for. And this will be my last team.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“I was just about to ice it.” On the counter was a pack, sitting on a dishtowel.

“Is that what Dr. Morgan advised?”

“Pretty much.” He sipped his tea, looked kind of cagey.

“You still haven’t told them, have you?”

“I know how to handle it.”

He was exasperating. “So you’re a medical professional now?”

After a brief pause, he responded. “About three years ago, I suffered a similar injury. Back then, the docs recommended I get surgery, but it would have put me out for six months, maybe longer. Instead, I rehabbed it and figured out a way, but it’s left it weaker, more prone to re-injury.”

“And now time is running out.” While she was here, sucking up all his focus.

“I was brought onto this team for one reason: to qualify them for the playoffs and make a serious Cup run. I just need to hold on for six more weeks.”

“Then what are you doing drinking tea you don’t like and petting a cat you’re allergic to?” She stood and grabbed the ice pack. “Come on, let’s take care of this.”

Peeling off his shirt hurt but seeing Georgia kneeling beside him, the ice pack in her hand, sent a rush of dopamine to his brain. A sexy nurse rush? No … more like a-woman-taking-care-of-her-man rush. The boost wasn’t enough to dull the pain completely, but he wouldn’t want that. He needed a reminder that this wasn’t a dream.

“So, like this?” She placed the pack over his shoulder and held it there.

“Yeah, like that. Now you scoot that sweet peach of an ass down and lie beside me.”

Sure, just put it out there.

“You don’t want to be alone?”

“We finally have the house to ourselves. I’m not wasting another minute.”

Too much? Probably. But she didn’t run screaming, so he took it as a win.

She lay her cheek against the pillow and ran her fingertips over his bicep. Just lying like this beside her, in this peaceful way, was amazing. Kind of like the night they married, only she slipped through his fingers the next morning.

“Where did you go this afternoon?”

“I had to help a friend get ready for an interview. She needed an outfit, so we had a rummage through Georgia’s Closet.”

“I was worried about you.”

“No need.”

“Because?”

She seemed surprised to be called on it. “I’ve always managed.”

Because her parents were so focused on her sister. This girl—this woman—had learned emotional independence at an early age. She was used to hiding how she felt, all in deference to Dani and her parents’ needs.

“I’m not trying to be a helicopter husband. I’m just concerned for you, that’s all.”

“Helicopter husband. I like that.” She grinned. “Keep rotating around me, Big Guy.”

As long as he was able.

“Did you tell your parents about what happened?”

“My mom heard and called me. Get this: she thought you might have done it!”

“I hope you told her it was an accident.”

She sighed. “I did. She’s worried about any negative publicity, how that might affect the foundation she wants to set up for Dani.”

Strange angle to take. He suspected Georgia downplayed her injury, but all the same, her parents should be worried about her, not the optics.

“That reminds me.” He turned to the nightstand. “I printed off some stuff for you.”

She took the sheaf of papers from him and scanned the top page. “This is information on how to set up a charity in Illinois.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing you have people who can do that for you and sure, your family are the experts.” The longer he spoke, the stupider it sounded. She came from a clan of noted philanthropists. “But there are still some things you’ll want to do to get off on the right foot.”

Her gaze was focused on the documents. “Like registering it and all that?”

“That, but because you’re the person in charge, you want to be sure you choose the right people as your directors. People who can contribute and aren’t just there for the credit. And you’ll need a business plan, a registered agent, and experienced staff.”

She looked up, her eyes troubled. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Peaches, I think you can do anything. I didn’t print this off to show you how hard it is. I just wanted to give you a roadmap. I’m on your side.”

“It-it seems like a lot.” Her voice trembled.

“And you can do it. Just open up another pack of flash cards, attack it like you do everything else, and if you have questions about the financial stuff, I can help.”

She bit her lip. “Trish said you’re really good with numbers.”

“I do alright.”

That reminded him: he needed to do that financial planner research for O’Malley. Though really, it would be easier if he looked over the kid’s accounts himself.

“Thanks, Dylan.” She snuggled in close and wrapped her arm around his torso, and he closed his eyes, safe in the knowledge his wife was where she was supposed to be.