whole life is about sports. He’s a professional athlete. And when he’s done in the NHL, he’s moving back here to coach our Tigers hockey team.”
I turn to Wade, surprised. “Really, you want to coach like your dad?”
But he’s sort of wagging his head noncommittally. “I don’t know. I used to think so, but who knows.” He smiles at me. “It’s a long ways off and a lot can change.”
Kelsey looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm, but I’m still thinking about Wade as a coach. He’d be amazing with kids.
Taking my hand, he brings it up to his mouth for a kiss. Rubs his thumb over the knuckles in a soft stroke. “Back to my story. I needed a date for some event and finally talked her into it. And FYI, I’m totally her type. It just took some convincing.”
My heart melts. Because Wade just gave his parents the truth of how our relationship began so I wouldn’t have to lie to his family.
Chapter 21
Wade
I don’t know what it is, but something’s changed between us. I saw it in Harlow’s smile when I got back to the house today. Felt it in the clutch of her hands on my chest when she wanted that minute more.
And tonight, it’s in the kiss she gives me when we get to the truck. It’s slow and sweet. Lingering. And when her eyes come up and meet mine—yeah, something’s changed.
We don’t spill into the hotel room, tearing at each other’s clothes like we can’t waste a second of the precious time we’ve got left. We walk in together, fingers tangled in a loose hold. I sit in the wingback chair by the window and pull Harlow onto my lap.
“I didn’t know about the elevator,” she says, playing with my knuckles.
“It was epic.”
“It’s sad.” She shakes her head. “Wade, you were right there, and I missed you. I didn’t even notice. Why? Because of some regulatory report? Because I was killing myself for a job I didn’t even get?”
“Harlow,” I start, but when her eyes come up to meet mine, they’re brimming with tears. They gut me, have my heart beating harder as I hold her close. “Don’t cry.”
“I don’t want to miss any more.”
I slip a hand around her neck and draw her in for a kiss. Then, holding her in my arms, I cross to the bed where we lie down together. Fully dressed, shoes off.
“Okay, Good Girl. No more missing out.” She nestles closer, peering up at me from my shoulder. “Tell me. What’s the first thing we’re going to do when we get back to Chicago?”
Jesus, those eyes. That look.
I know what I want it to mean. I know how I feel.
It’s too soon. But there’s no rush.
Finding my voice, I tease, “But keep it on this side of the law. I like to keep my nose clean.”
Wade
It’s still dark. Harlow’s legs are entwined with mine, her body tucked close.
We’re both early risers, but this seems—
I hear it then. The repetitive vibration of her phone from where it’s charging beside the bed.
“Good Girl,” I murmur, hating to wake her, but I know she’s got her phone on Do Not Disturb, which means whoever is calling at 4:37 a.m. must be important. “Your phone’s ringing.”
She lifts her head, sleepy and adorable. Confused.
“Harlow. Your phone.”
Her eyes clear, and she fumbles for the phone, almost knocking a lamp over in the process. But then she’s got it. I can’t see the screen, but the voice booming through the line can only be one man.
And I hate him.
“Harlow, Junior totaled his car.”
“Is—is he okay?” She staggers from the bed, her voice stricken.
I slip out the other side, flipping the light on and coming around to rest my hand at her back.
I’m already making plans in my head. I’ll pack while she gets the details. Drive her back today. Be back for the wedding tomorrow, depending—
“He’s in the hospital.” Irritation snaps through the line. “Says the drugs were the girl’s. Escort. Press got to her before we could and—” He sighs. “Going to be a damn mess to clean up this time.”
Harlow stares at the phone like she doesn’t know what to say. And yeah, it’s a lot to unpack. “He’s in the hospital? God, how bad was he hurt? Does… Sandy know?”
There’s a beat of cold silence and she physically winces from it. I’m about to take that fucking phone myself when he answers. “Sprained wrist. Some bruises. He’s my son. He’ll be