Chapter Twenty-Four

Rowan

“Earth to Rowan, are you even listening?” Jordan asks, interrupting my daydream.

I shake myself back to attention. “Yes! Girls’ weekend… right? Sounds great—I’m in.”

“Good,” she says, laughing. “Because you sound like you could use a break. You’re distracted.”

Before I can answer, another call flashes across my screen. It’s a Vancouver number and for all I know, it could be the hotel calling about moving my room or a leak in the bathroom. “Hey, can I call you back? I’ve got another call coming in.”

She lets out an annoyed sister sigh. “Fine. But I’m you to that weekend!”

“Great, I can’t wait.”

I click over to the new call, hoping it’s no bad news about my hotel reservation for the flight tomorrow. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Summers. This is Harper’s assistant from Harbor Art Collective,” a cheery male’s voice says on the other end. “I just wanted to double-check the shipping address for the painting Mr. Townsend purchased for you.”

“The painting he purchased for me?” I ask, replaying the entire evening in my head, trying to remember a time when Bex would have purchased a painting–and for me no less.

“That’s right. The Effervescent Embrace. It turns out that the collector who originally purchased the painting is a good friend of the artist and agreed to Mr. Townsend’s extravagant offer of triple the purchase price. We’ll have it shipped directly to your home as soon as we process the transaction.”

I’m caught out at the thought of Bex paying that much money. “I’m sorry, did you just say triple?”

“Yes, but as I understand it, the collectors are only keeping their original purchase price and are donating the rest to a cause that they say Townsend is a big contributor to. A Kids With Cancer fund. I guess they were at the gala this year and are big Hawkeyes fans. They did say they are keeping the box seats though.”

I just about swallow my tongue at the thought of what Bex just did for me.

“Ma’am, are you still there?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat, “I’m here.”

Harper’s assistant lists off my address and I barely hear the address. Only enough to confirm and then he thanks me and hangs up the phone.

Bex bought the painting. For me.

I knew tonight had felt different, that there was something between us that wasn’t just friendly, wasn’t just casual, but this? This is beyond anything I expected.

The second the call ends, I toss my phone on the bed and bolt for the door, needing to confront him about this. I make my way down the hall to his room and knock, my pulse hammering as I wait. It only takes a moment before the door opens, and there he is—looking a little surprised to see me standing here, especially at this hour.

“Summers?” His voice is soft, cautious.

I take a breath, but it does nothing to steady me. “You bought that painting for me?”

A flicker of surprise flashes across his face. “How did you know that?”

“They called me asking to confirm my address. I don’t understand.”

He opens the door to his hotel room to allow me to enter. I take quick steps with so many questions on my mind. So many that my brain feels cloudy and disorganized. I never feel like this.

“Why?” I turn around as he shuts the door behind me. “Why would you do that, Bex? It’s more than I’ll make over the next four years working for The Seattle Sunrise . And that’s with a promotion.”

He turns to me running a hand over his jaw, clearly searching for the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost vulnerable. “Because the moment I saw you light up looking at that painting, I knew I’d do anything to make you smile like that again. Even if you never smile at me that way. I’m tired of bringing you pain, I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to make you happy.”

I don’t know if he understands the effect of his words, but they hit me deep. Without thinking, I cross the small space between us and throw my arms around his neck, pressing my mouth to his in a fierce, grateful kiss.

His arms wrap around me instantly, pulling me closer, and I feel myself being lifted as he tightens his hold around my waist. My fingers dig into his hair, and I can’t get close enough—I need him, need all of him. It’s as if something’s snapped, something we’ve both held back for far too long, and there’s no going back.

He carries me to the bed, his lips moving over mine in a way that steals every coherent thought. We tumble onto the sheets together, his body covering me as he begins stripping away every barrier between us, piece by piece. I gasp when his hands reach my skin, his touch setting me on fire and while also soothes the burn. My shirt, his pants, the rush of hands and heat, all of it discarded in our frantic need to be closer.

When there’s nothing left between us, I run my hands over his bare shoulders, savoring the solid strength of him, how he feels above me, strong and steady, as if he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. He pauses, his breath coming hard, his gaze fixed on me, searching, as if needing my permission to continue.

“You make me happy,” I breathe, answering his unspoken question, pulling him to me, “It’s only you that I want.”

With a growl that sends a thrill down my spine, he moves against me, and I feel every inch of him, feel how he holds nothing back now. This is real, raw, a connection I can’t deny, and I realize at this moment that I don’t want to. I let go, giving in to everything I feel, every ounce of passion and need I’ve been holding back.

Our rhythm builds, the tension between us igniting into something almost desperate. And when we finally shatter together, his name is on my lips, and I know, deep down, we were meant to find each other.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, his arm wrapped around me as if he can’t bear to let me go. I rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, my finger tracing the scar on his shoulder from the surgery on his arms years ago. The injury that cost him his career.

He and I each have scars, some physical, some internal, but laying in his arms, I feel more at peace than I have in a long time.

Bex shifts, pressing a tender kiss to the top of my head, pulling the covers up over my bare hip to keep me warm, and then murmurs, “I want to give this… us… a try.”

I can’t keep the dumb grin off my face or stop the giggle that’s begging to bubble out of me. I stare up at him finding no hint of hesitation—just that same determined focus he brings to everything he does.

“Yeah,” he says, his lips curving into a small smile. “We’ll tell the Hawkeyes and your boss. I don’t see why it would be a problem. Half the Hawkeyes players are dating women who work for the team. This isn’t any different.”

My mouth opens, then closes. Bexley Townsend, notoriously private and fiercely protective of his personal life, is suggesting we go public—now? He’s diving in, fully committed, as if he’s thought it all through and made a decision. And I realize… of course he has. Bex doesn’t do things halfway. He’s deliberate, and when he goes after something, he’s all in. He’s choosing me, and he’s ready to let the world know it.

I can’t help the rush of excitement, but I doubt Charles will feel the same. In fact, this is a conflict of interest, even though he did just tell me to sleep with Bex for the story. “Charles might see this as an issue since I’m supposed to be unbiased with my articles about the team. I need some time to find a way to tell him. Are you okay with waiting to tell everyone?”

He stares back at me for a moment, debating it. “I need to tell Sam, and I can explain to him the situation that you’re in. He’ll keep it to himself. But don’t make me wait long, yeah? You’re the first thing in my life that I don’t want to keep a secret. I want everyone to know. ”

I nod, feeling like I’m in a dream to be having this conversation with Bexley Townsend while laying naked against him in his hotel bed.

He reaches for my hand, tangling our fingers together over his chest.

“My age isn’t an issue for you?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “Though I’d prefer it if you were a little older. That guy at the gala was really doing it for me before you scared him off.”

“Is that right?” he asks, reaching over, tickling my side.

I squeal and push his hand away. I’m ticklish and he doesn’t need to know that he can use that against me. Besides, I have my own question to ask, and it’s not one that comes easy.

“Does the fact that I can’t have kids bother you?” I ask, tracing a line with my finger down his chest, not allowing myself to meet his gaze.

He pulls me impossibly close. I thought I couldn’t be any closer to him but he proves that’s not true. He slides a finger under my chin and lifts my head to meet his eyes.

“I want you Rowan, nothing else matters. I’m not Drew,” he says.

“I know you’re not,” I say because I know it’s true. He and Drew couldn’t be any more different.

“Since we’re doing this, I need you to promise me something. It’s important,” he says, staring up at the hotel ceiling.

“What is it?” I ask, watching him from my spot tucked into his side.

He lets out a breath, and I brace for whatever it is he’s about to tell me. “Lily left after our first two years of marriage. When I got drafted, we decided to get married. It was either that or break up and we’d been together for four years, it seemed like the next logical step.”

“That makes sense. A long-distance relationship would have been hard,” I tell him, encouraging him to continue.

“She moved away from her family and friends to live with me in the states when I started in the NHL. My rookie year was hard on her. I practiced every waking hour and traveled a lot during that year. The second year, I didn’t ease up. It seemed like I had more to prove to my team than ever, and my hard work paid off. We won our first Stanley Cup. But Lily was feeling more like a fan than a wife. I picked hockey over her every chance that mattered. I didn’t love her the way I should have. When the tabloids heard that Lily filed for divorce, they loved the narrative that I was unfaithful to her. That infidelity got between us while I was out on the road. But the truth is, I was always married to hockey, there wasn’t room for Lily.”

I didn't know the inner workings of his marriage to his first wife and their divorce, but his hate for the media now makes more sense as to why he stopped taking interviews. I can’t blame him for that.

“That’s why you stopped taking interviews with the media,” I say, putting more of the pieces together for why Bex doesn’t play nice with the press and why he was quick to paint me out to be after gossip.

He nods. “She left divorce papers on the kitchen table and when I showed up from an out-of-town game, she was already packed. It was our anniversary… I didn’t even remember. I signed the papers and after she left, I went straight back to the stadium to practice.”

“You were young, and the pressure was high,” I say, trying to offer some kind of excuse for him.

He shakes his head, his eyes still on the ceiling. “That wasn’t it. You know… she used to knit back in the UK—nothing big, just little animals or a hat for her gran’s cats,” he says with a snicker. “And she used to sing when she did the dishes. There were just all these small things, and it took me years after our divorce to realize that she stopped doing all of those things during our last year of marriage. I killed her spirit, Rowan. And that’s why I’ve stayed away from you all this time.”

“You won’t kill my spirit. You said it yourself, I need a man who can handle my fiery personality.”

A small smile stretched over his lips. “That’s true.”

“So why after all these months are you willing to try something with me?”

He turns to look at me. “Because you are the first thing in my life that I want more than I want a career in hockey. If the choice is between you or hockey, then I’ll retire from coaching. It took me until recently to realize that.”

My heart gallops at his proclamation, my whole body tingling, and my body warming for him again.

“So,” I whisper, my voice shaky but steady enough to meet his gaze, “what did you want me to promise you, then?” At this moment, I’d agree to just about anything, desperate to close the space between us.

His eyes soften, his need for reassurance blazing in them. “Promise me,” he says, his voice low. “That you’ll tell me before you stop knitting, before you stop singing while you do the dishes. Tell me before you pack your things and leave the divorce papers on the kitchen table,” His breath hitches and his eyes lock on mine. “Because you’re the one thing I’d give up everything to keep.”

“I promise,” I tell him.

A grin spreads across his face, and before I can take another breath, his lips are on mine, capturing me in a kiss that makes my head spin. It’s long and deep, charged with all the emotions we’ve kept at bay. Then, with a growl that sends heat sparking through me, he pulls me back under him, his body pressing into mine, his intentions clear.

“Is this a bad time to ask what happened to Lily?” I say.

He lets out a chuckle. “It’s not great timing, no. But I’ll tell you that she’s happily remarried to a nice dentist. He doesn’t leave town much.”

“Good for her, ”I say, happy to see that in fact Bex didn’t crush her. She got back up and found love again.

And as he lowers his mouth to my neck, trailing kisses along my skin and down between my breasts, taking time on each one before seeking further down my body, past my belly button, I know this isn’t just a try. It’s the beginning of something real, something powerful.