Page 139 of On the Power Play

"I texted my coaches. They're aware of the situation."

"But you need that practice. You have a game?—"

"Delia, it's fine." He squeezed her hand.

But it wasn't fine. From the second she'd been staring into the headlights of that truck, all she'd seen in her head was Jack. When she was in the ambulance and realized her phone was back on the floor of the crushed car, all she'd wanted to do was hear his voice. When she was sitting in triage, the only person she'd wanted sitting next to her was Jack Harrison.

Now, here he was, sharing her hospital bed, and everything he was doing told her he had the same feelings she did. But?—

Delia's thoughts vanished like smoke. Jack's hand wasn't on her leg anymore. He was . . . wiggling her toe? She blinked and watched his hand move from her toe to her knee, then back to her foot. "What are?—?"

Jack looked up and the question withered on her lips. His eyes were dark. Glassy. He pressed her toe a third time, then tapped her knee and somehow with her crash addled brain, the pieces tumbled into place.

Delia lifted her hand and touched her chest, then her forehead. A smile spread across Jack's face, so slow it was like watching a flower bloom. She watched as Jack touched the corner of his eye, then put a hand over his heart, and finally pointed straight at her.

"Peerrrfect." Mary leaned past Jack with her phone. "Tony made me promise I'd get some good pub shots of the two of you." She straightened and looked at the screen. "Delia, why are you—?" Her head snapped up, confusion written all over her face.

Delia reached up and swiped the tears from her cheeks. "I love you, Jack. I love you so much?—"

Jack leaned forward and gingerly pressed her into his chest. Delia barely heard Mary mumble something about ruining their moment. She didn't register the click of the door as it closed.

Jack's voice as he whispered, "I love you, I love you, I love you," filled every nook and cranny of her being. Her world narrowed to the rumble of his throat against her shoulder. The pressure of his broad hands against her back. She kissed his neck, tasting the salt of her tears and the warmth of his skin.

Not once did she think about the faint hint of cream cheese, bacon, and chive.

_____

Delia winced as she got out of the car. “You don’t have to do this.”

Jack gave her a look. “I’m not going to let you unload the groceries.”

“But your flight leaves at six?—“

“Which is still four hours from now.” Jack went straight to the trunk. He and her new security guard took over, so she acquiesced and walked to the front door, slipped in her key, and opened it.

Delia barely took a step inside before her mother was there, wrapping her in her arms. “Oh, mon chou.” Her mother stroked her hair, then pulled back and inspected her. She clucked when she saw the gauze poking out from under her T-shirt.

“It’s fine, Mom. I’m okay. How are you?”

Her mother dropped her arms. “Better. Those vitamins are working wonders.”

Delia bit back a smile and turned as Jack appeared in the doorway, his arms laden with paper grocery sacks.

Her mother looked up and her eyes widened. “Jack Harrison.”

Delia exhaled. The sky behind him was grey, bringing out the warmth of his skin “Jack, this is my mom, Camille.”

Jack set the bags on the ground, then strode forward and wrapped his arms around her. Her mother let out a small gasp, then her face split into the first real smile Delia had seen since coming home.

Jack pulled back. “It’s wonderful to meet you.” Delia’s ovaries twitched as he turned and bundled the groceries back in his arms, then scanned the living room. “Your house is beautiful.”

Her mother’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t you have a game tomorrow?”

He grinned and took his shoes off. “You follow hockey?”

Her mother nodded, and Delia scoffed. “Since when?”

She shrugged, and Delia knew what that meant. She didn’t follow hockey so much as one player in particular.

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