Page 56 of Snowed In With the PUCK

“Jess, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly, stepping closer. “I just… I don’t know. Jake mentioned going to Vegas… the exact place my mom supposedly is, and I thought maybe you—” It sounds pathetic, now that I am saying it. It’s a huge leap to make and not reasonable.

“I would never do that—tell your friends to coerce you to going to the same city Linda is in? No way,” she says, cutting me off, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Her emotions on the topic make me feel terrible.

I feel like an absolute idiot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I just… I don’t know what to think.”

She sets the spoon down and crosses her arms, clearly hurt. “Eric, I get that this is hard for you, but I’m not your enemy. I want to help you. And if that means going to Vegas and supporting you through whatever happens, then I’m here for you. But don’t accuse me of setting you up. That’s not fair.”

I reach out, pulling her into my arms, and she doesn’t resist. I hold her close, burying my face in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo. “I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it.”

She relaxes against me, her arms wrapping around my waist. “You’re not an idiot,” she says softly. “You’re just scared. And that’s okay. But don’t push me away because of it.”

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t want to push you away. I mean… Vegas? Yikes.”

She gives me a laugh when I make a freaked out face. “You don’t have to decide right now. But maybe it’s time.”

I stare at her for a moment, my chest tight with emotions I can’t even begin to name. She’s right. I won’t tell her how right she is, how many nights I’ve stared at the ceiling in my bedroom trying to remember my mom, trying to remember every time my grandparents had told me a story about her when I was a kid. How much of it was true? How many of those stories about her were just make believe? There’s only one way to find out now. I’ve been running from this for so long, and maybe it’s time to stop. Maybe it’s time to face it.

I groan, resting my forehead against hers. “Alright,” I say. “Let’s go to Vegas.”

Jessica’s eyes light up, and she smiles, a real, genuine smile that makes my heart skip a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, brushing my lips against hers. “Let’s do it. And maybe…” I look at her sternly. “JustmaybeI’ll see Linda.”

Her smile softens, and she pulls me in for a kiss, slow and tender. I lose myself in the warmth of her lips, the way she makes me feel safe, grounded. When we finally pull apart, I can see the depth of understanding in her eyes, and it makes me want to be better. For her. For us.

I slide my hand to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

And then we’re kissing again, deeper this time, and the weight of everything else falls away. The uncertainty about Linda and the angst from Bart’s trade to the team are all drowned out by the feel of her in my arms, the way she fits against me like she’s always belonged there.

We move together, slow and unhurried, our hands exploring, our breaths mingling. By the time we make it to the bedroom, naked and aroused, the world outside doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is this moment, this connection, and the belief that this woman I’m making love to in the quiet of our borrowed house will have my back, no matter what comes.

Chapter twenty-eight

Jessica

The air in LasVegas is dry, crisp. The kind of air that seems to hang onto the brightness of the sun for hours, even when the neon lights of the city start flickering on, casting their glow on the streets.

But we aren’t anywhere near the bright lights of the strip. Eric and I are driving away from all that glitz and chaos, the weight of the moment pressing against us, palpable and heavy. I keep my hands still in my lap, trying not to fidget, though the tension racing inside me makes that hard.

I glance over at Eric, his jaw tight as he stares at the road ahead. His hands grip the wheel a little harder than usual, knuckles white against the leather. Lunch with Jake and Allie earlier was light and easy, but I know this isn’t. We told them we were heading out to meet Linda, and they wished us luck, but it was clear that the mood had shifted the moment we left therestaurant. Now, it’s silent between us, but not the comfortable kind of silence we’ve grown used to. This one’s filled with all the questions Eric hasn’t asked yet, and the answers neither of us knows if he’s ready to hear.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly, breaking the silence.

Eric takes a deep breath, but his eyes stay focused on the road. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I guess I won’t know until I see her. I just… what if I don’t get the answers I need?”

“You’ll get something,” I say, offering him a small smile. “It might not be exactly what you’re expecting, but it’ll be something.”

He nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease. I know what this means to him—the confrontation he’s spent the last few weeks avoiding, the mother he believed was gone, and now the chance to hear the truth from her directly.

We pull into the parking lot of Sunrise Rehabilitation Center. The facility is beautiful, nothing like what you might picture when you hear the word “rehab.” It’s set away from the chaos of the city, nestled in a peaceful desert landscape with mountains rising in the distance. There’s a serenity to the place that makes me feel at ease, and I hope Eric feels the same.

He parks the car and stares at the entrance for a long moment. I reach over, resting my hand on his arm, feeling the tightness in his muscles. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know,” he says quietly, glancing at me, his blue eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you for coming.”

We step out of the car together, the sun warm on our backs, and make our way inside. The receptionist smiles at us warmly, and I notice how calm and inviting the space feels. Plants line the walls, soft music plays in the background, and there’s an atmosphere of healing here, of recovery.

“We’re here to see Linda Warren,” Eric says, his voice steady, though I can hear the undercurrent of nerves.

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