Page 24 of The Pucks We Freeze
I leaned in, brushing my mouth over hers once more. “I will. In a minute.”
And I kissed her again because every part of me ached to stay. I wanted to burn this memory into my mind, refusing to let her go.
My hands found her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her sweater, skin warm and smooth against mine. She arched slightly, her body instinctively leaning into my touch. That was all it took to tip the scales.
I kissed her deeper this time—no hesitation, no holding back. She threaded her fingers into my hair, tugging me closer as though she couldn’t get enough. Like we’d wasted too much time already.
She gasped softly when I eased my thigh between hers. Her hips shifted in response, grinding against me in a way that made my pulse race.
“Tell me to stop,” I breathed against her neck, even though I didn’t mean it. Not even a little.
She didn’t. She just curled her fingers into the fabric at my shoulders, tugging me impossibly closer.
“I don’t want you to go.”
Her words unraveled me.
I slid one hand to her lower back, anchoring her to me while the other roamed higher, brushing beneath her sweater. She was warm everywhere, flushed and breathless. Her eyes were dark with everything we shouldn’t feel.
I kissed her again, slower and lingering, until her knees threatened to buckle and she clung to me as if afraid to let go.
“I should go,” I rasped, though I barely recognized my own voice. It was hoarse and tight with all the things I couldn’t bring myself to admit.
Willow looked up at me. Her lips parted, cheeks pink, hair messy in the best way. “Then go.”
But her fingers didn’t release me, and neither did mine.
When I finally pulled back enough to rest my forehead against hers, I whispered, “You’re driving me crazy, Birdie.”
She offered me a small smile that wrecked me. “You’re not exactly easy to ignore either.”
With one last kiss, just one more to get me through the night, I backed away, although every fiber in me wanted to stay.
“Good night, Willow.”
She didn’t say anything, only watched me walk off. With each step, I felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind with her.
Chapter Eight
Willow
The following morning was calm and steady, the kind that eases you into the day and smooths out old tensions. I kept busy folding warm laundry, rinsing every dish until the sink was clear, and wiping down dusty surfaces. I even cleaned out the hallway drawer, which was full of expired coupons, tangled cords, and dried-up pens.
Dad tried to protest, waving a hand from the couch, but I cut him off with a look. “You’re supposed to be resting. Leave this to me, will ya?”
Lynette mentioned picking up a double at the lodge. Even though I didn’t know how I felt about her in the beginning, she was doing everything she could to help take care of my dad and keep things afloat. If I could take one thing off her plate, I wanted to.
By the time I finished, the house felt different. Brighter and lighter, like someone had cracked open a window and let the air back in.
Dad was stretched out on the couch, legs propped up on the ottoman, a bowl of yogurt with berries in his lap, and the remote resting loosely in his hand. He glanced over as I stepped into the room and smiled, the kind of quiet smile I hadn’t seen in years. Not since before we lost my mom.
“Figured we could watch something. Like old times.”
His words landed heavier than expected.
“Sure,” I said, settling in at the other end of the couch. I tugged a worn blanket across my lap and let my head rest against the cushion. The TV flickered to life with rolling opening credits—some light comedy he’d seen a thousand times. But I didn’t mind.
For a while, it was just us.
