Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Van

By the end of this little vacation, my chiropractor is going to have to use a croquet mallet to knock my spine back into alignment. I vow never to sleep on a couch again. I've already booked an appointment for next week. As well as a massage. I might need to soak in an ice bath for an hour. Or two.

As for what's going to help knock my heart back into alignment, well … I don't know who to call about that. And I don't want it set back to where it was.

"Morning, hotshot."

The words, soft and slow and sleepy, are punctuated with the sound of a coffee mug being set down on the coffee table. I grumble, but I'm smiling as I lift my head to look at Amelia.

Or, I try to lift my head.

I drop it back onto my pillow with a groan. This is definitely the worst it's been. I think I pinched something. It makes me feel a hundred years old.

"Awww," Amelia says, and I hear her shifting around before she settles on the couch next to me. "Your neck?"

I mumble something like a yes just as her hand finds my neck and begins to knead my muscles. I hiss when she reaches a sensitive place. Her fingers gentle but don't stop.

"I told you not to sleep on the couch," she scolds. "Why are you so stubborn?"

No sense answering that one.

Her fingers locate a knot in my neck, and I groan. "Right there," I mumble through the pillow. My speech sounds thick and slow like I've been drinking.

But the only chemical hitting my bloodstream is her .

"I've got you," she says.

She absolutely has got me. More than she probably realizes.

"Just relax. It's raining anyway, so we're in for a lazy day."

Now that she mentions it, I hear the soft patter of rain on the balcony, the low growl of thunder. It's soothing, and as Amelia rhythmically rubs my neck, I fall in and out of consciousness, finally waking sometime later to find Amelia stretched out beside me, practically hanging off the side of the couch, her arm across my back anchoring her in place.

Coach's daughter , I try to remind myself. But that's not working anymore. Coach isn't here. And I'm done worrying about what he'd do if he were.

I shift, rolling over and gently tugging Amelia until she's curled into me, her face in the crook of my neck and my nose in her hair. She smells like fresh laundry and citrus. I thought she smelled like lemon before, but it's more complex, tart and fruity. Maybe grapefruit?

I stifle a groan. Because I am now a man who smells a woman's hair and overanalyzes scent profiles. If that's even the right term.

Flavor profiles deals with food, so?—

"You make a nice pillow," Amelia murmurs, and her lips graze my skin. She sighs. "Warm."

"Thanks for the massage. I think I might actually be able to look both ways before crossing the street now."

She giggles, her hand finding mine as she links our fingers together.

"What do you want to do today?" I ask.

"We did what I wanted yesterday," Amelia says, propping up on an elbow to look at me. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, sleepy. The lopsided bun piled on her head looks like it will fall out any second.

She's so beautiful. Just like this.

But her elbow is in my gut. I grunt and reposition us so that she's looking up at me but not stabbing my organs.

"This is your week, Mills."

She's already shaking her head. " Our week." I like the way that sounds. She must too because she smiles and bites her lip. "So, how should we spend our day?"

I slide my fingers from hers and reach out to tap her nose. "I like your freckles."

She makes a face. "Really? I hate them."

"Why?"

"Maybe if I just had a few, it would be fine. But I have so many."

It's true. She does have a lot. I could see how this might make a person self-conscious. But they suit her.

"I wouldn't change a thing about you, Mills."

The words come out husky and low, carrying the full weight of my sincerity. As I watch, the freckles in question fade under the rush of red in her cheeks.

"Same." One side of her mouth curls up in a tiny smile. "But don't let it go to your head, hotshot. Although"—she sinks her hand into my hair and my eyelids fall halfway shut— "I don't think you're half as cocky as you want people to think you are."

"That so?"

She starts to rub my head, her nails lightly scratching my scalp. If I could purr, I would. I want to keep my eyes on her but they flutter closed.

"I don't think you're such a bad boy either. In fact, you're kind of a sweetheart."

She's wrong, but I'll play along. "Mm-hm. Don't tell the guys."

"Oh, I plan to tell everyone," she says. "I'm going to have it tattooed on my body somewhere."

My eyes crack open. "Your first tattoo will be for me? I'm flattered." When she doesn't say anything, my eyes open wider. "Wait—do you already have a tattoo?

"Maybe."

I haven't noticed any, and I've seen her in two bathing suits this week. The turn in conversation has my blood thumping. "Yeah? Where?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

I would. Very much. And it must be written all over my face because she giggles and pushes off me to stand up, stretching her arms overhead.

"I'm kidding. No tattoos. I'm not against them or anything. I just haven't found a design I love. Plus, my dad …" She trails off, catching herself.

"Your dad isn't into tattoos?"

"Nope. He hates them."

A lovely and grim reminder that I am the last man who would earn Coach Davis's approval.

"But I think maybe I'd like to get one sometime. Would you go with me?"

The question hangs there for a moment, looming in the air between us. It's the first real mention we've had of being home. Together. Of what whatever this is—the teasing, easy friends that also includes snuggling and a very heated attraction—lasting beyond the plane ride home.

"Yes," I tell her. "Anytime."

She smiles. "Before we venture out for the day, can I borrow your phone? I was thinking about drafting a blog post."

I grin. "You feel ready to put your notebook thoughts out into the world?"

"Yeah. I've got that impatient feeling, like the words are trying to push their way out."

"Good. You can have my phone. I'll go work out. But be thinking about what you want to do today."

"Okay," she says easily. "You too. Because we're in this together."

I really, really like the sound of that.

She's still writing when I get back from working out, barely lifting a hand in greeting as her thumbs fly over the screen. When I emerge from the shower in shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, she's still going.

I lean in the doorway, just watching her. She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, still in her Batman pajamas. Her elbows rest on the coffee table, and her gaze is locked on my phone as she taps something out with both thumbs, the tiniest crease between her brows.

Beautiful. The kind of unsettling beauty that leaves me off-kilter and struggling for breath.

Amelia must sense me in the doorway because she looks up from my phone, smiles, then her eyes go a little unfocused as she scans my torso, on display under my unbuttoned shirt.

I grin. "Take a picture; it'll last longer."

"I don't have my phone. But I can—" She pauses, frowning down at my phone in her hands, then drops it. The sound of it hitting the tile makes me flinch.

"Whoops," she says. "Sorry."

Amelia and I both jump when a female voice speaks from my phone. My sister's voice. "Robbie? Do you have a woman with you? Scandal!"

Amelia's eyebrows shoot up practically to her hairline. I make a mental note to plan my sisters' demise. I'm not sure if they called and Amelia inadvertently answered, or if she somehow called while fumbling with my phone.

Doesn't really matter now because we are on speakerphone with one or possibly more of my sisters, since they tend to travel in packs.

"Hey, Lex." I clear my throat and button one button, like my sister can see me through the phone.

"And Grey," another voice chirps. "I'm here too. But seriously—who is that? Identify yourself, woman!"

The two of them break into laughter. Amelia's eyes go wide, and I give what I hope is a reassuring smile as I cross the room and pluck the phone from her hand, noting a tiny crack in the glass protector.

"Now, now, now," I tell my sisters. "That information's going to cost you. What's the current standing?"

Alexandra groans. I know it's Lex not Grey because Grey never grumbles. She's a spinning pinwheel of joy even when we're settling scores. I plop down on the couch, and Amelia climbs up next to me, keeping space between us until I narrow my eyes and then she scoots closer.

Not close enough. But I'm not sure we're at the point where I can just haul her into my lap. Yet.

"You're ahead by forty," Grey says cheerfully.

"Hm," I say, watching Amelia watch me. "Then how about another thirty for information."

"Thirty?!" Alexandra practically shouts. "Outrageous."

"Cool. We'll just go," I say. "I can catch you up later. Maybe."

Grey jumps in. "I'll cover it."

I finally take pity on Amelia, who has a million questions flashing across her face. "We have a point system," I explain.

"Paid in cheese," Lex says.

"Cheese?" Amelia repeats.

"Cheese," I confirm.

"And right now, Robbie's smoking us," Grey says.

Lex grumbles. "Because he always has the best secrets."

"So, you trade points for secrets?" Amelia asks. "What's the currency for points? How do you keep track? Is there a spreadsheet?"

"Ooh, she sounds smart," Grey says. "You sound smart, woman whose name we don't yet know."

"And you sound surprised," I say dryly.

"I guess we didn't think you normally chose women based on their … brains," Lex says.

I clear my throat and squeeze Amelia's knee. She suddenly looks uncomfortable though she's trying to keep her face even. "The price just went up," I say. "Now it's fifty."

"Ugh, Lex! Shut up," Grey says. In a more cheerful voice, she goes on. "To answer your question, smart mystery woman, the points are traded for secrets or favors or just about anything. Blackmail included. And they are cashed in for cheese."

"Cheese?" Amelia laughs. "I don't understand. How? Why?"

"We're a big cheese family," Grey says. "Each point is an ounce. The one cashing in gets to choose the kind of cheese. And Robbie here has expensive taste."

"Thank you. That's nicer than what you said a moment ago."

"I said what I said." Lex clears her throat. "Name?"

"Wait," Grey chimes in. "We're not trading fifty points just for a name. We need more intel. Where you are and how long this has been going on and how serious it is."

"I'll tell you who and where for fifty."

"Forty," Alexandra counters.

"Seventy."

"Shut up , Lex," Grey says. "Who and where for fifty. Now, spill it."

"I'm with Amelia," I say. "Say hi to my younger two sisters, Mills."

"Hi," Amelia says. "Good to sort of meet you both. You call him Robbie?"

"He says he hates it, but he loves us best." I can see the wheels turning in Amelia's head as she remembers the night we met and how I introduced myself. It's like I knew even from the first few minutes that she would be someone special to me.

I both want and don't want Amelia to know that. It feels freakishly vulnerable, like I'm out on the ice with no pads, no helmet, no stick. Ready and waiting for everyone to take a shot at me.

"What he hates is when we call him by his other nickname," Lex says.

I drop my head. "Don't you do it."

They do it.

"Robbie Bobby Baby Benjamin Bunny," they chorus, then die in a fit of laughter.

Amelia joins them. But she also runs her fingers through my hair, as though offering an apology. When I crack open an eye, she's grinning at me. "That has to be the longest nickname ever," she says.

"It's the worst," I say.

"How did you even come up with that?"

"I don't know," Grey says. "I was, like, five."

"She said it one time, and we immortalized it forever," says Lex. "And your name is Mills?"

"Amelia," she says.

Grey jumps back in. "Getting to the important stuff. Now, where are you? It's still morning. Is this like a brunch situation or an adult sleepover?—"

A blush rockets up over Amelia's face before I can interrupt my sister.

"Kind of a long story, but we're in Florida at a resort."

This is met with dead silence from my sisters. As in, so silent they could be dead.

"Still there?" I ask. "Because I just earned a lot of cheese."

"No, we're here," Lex says. "Just … processing. You're on vacation. With a woman."

"Yes." I don't ask if this is so hard to believe because I know it is. A few dates is my longest relationship, unless we're counting high school. Which I don't. I've definitely never taken a trip with a woman.

I can't tell from Amelia's face if she's upset thinking of my past—which my sisters are making sound way worse—or if she's pleased.

"Amelia." Alexandra's tone is crisp and businesslike. "Don't take this the wrong way because we'd love to talk to you and ask questions?—"

" So many questions," Grey adds.

"—but could we have a moment alone with our brother? You sound lovely, and I don't want to offend you when this barely counts as a meeting, and I sure hope we do get to meet you in person."

Amelia meets my gaze then gets to her feet. "I hope so too. I'll go shower and get ready. Snorkeling sound good? It's cleared up and there's a group leaving in an hour."

"Sounds great."

Amelia heads to the bathroom, and I walk out to the balcony and collapse into a chair. "Okay. You've got two minutes of points-free answers. Fire away."

But instead of launching into a string of nosy questions, Lex and Grey speak in unison, a freaky thing they've done their whole lives. It drives me and especially Callie nuts.

"You found the one."

I drag a hand down my face. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I thought it was going to be the woman from the restaurant. Remember the one you texted us about?" Grey says in a rush. "I thought maybe you'd meet again and?—"

"Actually," I interrupt, "Amelia is the woman from the restaurant."

I have to pull the phone away from my face when Grey shrieks. And shrieks. I wait until I can just hear Lex yelling at her.

"—my eardrums," Lex is saying when I rejoin the conversation.

"Sorry," Grey says. "But this is huge ."

"It is," Lex repeats.

"The clock is ticking on your free pass of questions."

"Oh, he's got it so bad," Grey says. "It's adorable. I love seeing you like this."

"You can't actually see me, Grey."

"I called it," Lex says. "Didn't I say this years ago—when Robbie falls, he's going to fall hard."

"You totally did. Callie was the one who didn't believe it."

"I can't wait to tell her."

"Wait—we have to tell her together. Should we call now?" Grey asks.

"No," Lex and I say at the same time.

"Tick tock," I add. "I can't believe you're not taking advantage of your free pass."

"How long has this been going on?" Lex asks.

"Not very."

"You can't answer everything vaguely," Grey says.

"Fine. It's not even officially going on. We sort of … reconnected," I say, though what happened at her wedding is likely not what my sisters will picture with this description.

"Is it like wedding serious?" Grey whispers, like she thinks Amelia is in earshot. Or maybe like this is such a serious question it must be whispered.

"I … don't know."

"That's a yes." Lex sounds shocked.

Grey says, "No, that's the sound of a man who's terrified because he only just realized he's in deep."

She's not wrong.

"Aw, poor baby brother," Lex says.

"You know I'm older than you both, right?"

"How can we help?" asks Grey. "Because if there's one thing you don't know how to do, it's maintain a serious relationship."

"Maintain?" Lex laughs. "I'm shocked he knew how to start one."

"Amen."

"Hey," I protest even though, once again, they're not wrong. It's refreshing to hear their voices, even to hear their assumptions and their statements about me.

As well as the guys on my team know me, there are large parts I've kept hidden from them. Or maybe it's more that I've only chosen to show them one side of myself, using trick mirrors to stay two-dimensional in their eyes. To them, I'm a caricature. Exactly like Amelia said earlier: Mr. Casual Fun.

But then she called me more.

Eli might be one of the few who sees more. When he was just starting to date his now-wife, he called me—not any of the other guys, but me —when he wanted help. I ended up being the one who walked Bailey down the aisle when they got married.

By now, my role with the guys personally is about as cemented as my role as center on the ice. Breaking out, being different than how I've always been, is hard.

"For real, though," Grey says, "How can we help? We'll butt out if you want but?—"

"Don't butt out." The words are hard to form. Probably because I'm not used to asking for—or needing—help. But with this? With Amelia? I absolutely do. "I mean, I don't know what I need or how you can help, but I … I don't want to screw this up."

"Aw," Lex says with a sniffle.

"Are you crying?" Grey asks, and I hear a wobble in her voice.

"I'm going to hang up if you both start crying. I'll call Callie instead."

"NO!" they both say in unison.

"We'll stop," Grey says, clearly struggling to keep her voice even.

"Fine. But I need to tell you the whole story," I say. "And I don't have long."