Page 111 of Power Play

His shoulders are hunched and his shirt is wrinkled. I’m pretty sure his coat is on inside out, and his beanie is halfway off his head.

He looks like shit, and my heart almost breaks in two.

“You can come in.”

He nods and walks into my foyer, taking up too much space. When I close the door behind him, he hands me a bouquet. “I brought you tulips. Wasn’t sure how you felt about roses, so I went with something a little more neutral.”

“Roses are on the bottom of my list. Peonies are my favorites. But I do like tulips. What are these for?”

“An apology.”

My breath tangles in my chest. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before.”

“I’m sorry the first time you’re getting them is under these circumstances. I took my shit out on you. How I reacted in your room in Vegas was uncalled for.”

“It was uncalled for.”

“I’m not going to lie: finding out we got married really pissed me off. You know what my priorities are. You know where I put my attention and what my focus is.”

“You’ve made it very clear the only relationship you’re interested in having, Liam, is with hockey. Did you make me feel like the thought of being married to me was your worst nightmare? Yeah, you did. But I’m pretending it was the thought of marriage as a whole, not me specifically you have a problem with.”

“I don’t like many people, Piper, but I like you.” Liam lifts his chin. His heated gaze snags on mine, and pressure builds behind my ribs. “I think you’ve become one of my best friends, and treating you that way was out of line. I hate myself for it. This thing between us is going to be meaningless when you find the guy you’re going to settle down with, but until then, I don’t wantyou to walk around believing I think you’re a mistake. You’re not.”

“Forty-eight hours ago you were furious at the idea of being married. What changed?” I challenge.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“We didn’t have practice this morning, so I went for a run to clear my head. I got turned around and ended up in front of the Capital Area Food Bank. There was a big sign in the window that said VOLUNTEERS NEEDED. I went in. Don’t know why I went in, but I did. I spent a few hours sorting food donations for people who wonder where their next meal is coming from. For high school students who are working part time jobs while also going to classes. It hit me how fuckingselfishI was being about all of this.” His shoulders curl in and he hangs his head. “I have millions of dollars. I could break my leg tomorrow, never play again, and I won’t worry about money for the rest of my life. I’m mad about the pressure a drunken wedding might put on me while someone four blocks over is going to bed hungry and trying to figure out how they’re going to put breakfast on the table for their kids.Thatis fucking pressure. My reaction to this whole thing with us was totally out of line.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what part of that story I’m hanging onto the most. The fact he considers me one of his best friends? His selfless heart? His ability to admit when he was wrong?

All of the above?

“That sounds like an emotional day,” I finally whisper, and he rubs the back of his neck. “And it was very kind of you to spend your morning there.”

“It was needed. Helped me get my head out of my ass.”

I bring the bouquet to my nose, and a smile sneaks out of me. “Put your coat on the rack and come to the living room. I’m going to put these in some water, and I’ll meet you there.”

I head to the kitchen, and Liam’s footsteps follow me. I busy myself with unwrapping the flowers, cutting the stems and arranging them in a vase. It’s probably petty to stall for time, but I want to make him sweat a bit.

Satisfied with how the arrangement looks, I set it on the kitchen island and head for the living room. Liam is on the couch, staring at the framed photo on the coffee table.

“Your parents?” he asks, pointing to the picture from when I was a kid.

“Yeah.” I join him on the sofa and pull my feet under me. I set a blanket over my lap and lean back. “Judy and Elijah Mitchell.”

“Where do they live?”

“They’re down in Florida. They retired a couple years ago and headed south for the warmer weather. Do your parents still live in Chicago?”

“Yeah. In the house I grew up in. I’ve tried to move them out of the city onto a piece of property that has a lot of land, but they don’t want to leave. They’re stubborn.”

“Sounds familiar.” I rest my elbow on the cushion and look at him. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“They don’t fix the problem,” he grumbles. The gears switch to the situation we’ve found ourselves in rather than small talk. “I’m not putting a Band-Aid on it.”

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