Page 72 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
After an awkward side hug, Saint heads for the door, and I finally make it back to my office, sinking into my leather executive chair with a long sigh.
I never thought Price St. James would be the one to make me rethink this whole situation, but he made some valid points. I certainly have a lot to consider, not the least of which being where Holt and I stand.
It was wrong to ignore his calls, but I needed space to process. Now that he’s no longer calling, I wonder if he’s given up on me altogether.
The thought is almost too much to consider, so I turn my focus toward my email, hoping for a distraction, but it’s no use. There’s only one thing on my mind. Well, two, if you count both his stormy gray eyes and those big, comforting arms that, when I’m wrapped up in them, I feel like nothing could hurt me. Not a hundred hockey blogs or gossip sites. Nothing, so long as I’m with him.
That’s not something I can let slip away. Not for a second time.
With my mind made up, I shove up from my desk, but before I can take even a single step, a familiar figure appears in my doorway and freezes me where I stand.
“Good morning, Eden.”
The sound of Holt’s low, deep voice sends an electric current from my chest to my fingertips. Just the man I was about to go looking for, and now he’s here before I could even decide on the right thing to say.
I steady my gaze on the company logo stitched onto his polo, hopeful that focusing on something stationary will stop the dizzy feeling rushing to my head. It doesn’t, and soon I’m collapsing back into my chair, gripping the armrests.
Holt rushes to my side, crouching down to level his face with mine. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine,” I murmur, swallowing hard as I wave off his concern. “Just light-headed. I got up too fast or something.”
Emphasis on the or something.
He disappears for a moment to get a glass of water from the staff kitchen, and I gladly gulp it down. It makes sense that I’d be dehydrated—I was too nervous this morning to keep anything down. But now, with Holt’s big hand resting on my shoulder and his kind eyes watching closely over me, my nerves have subsided. Like always, I feel safe with him.
“How are you feeling?” he finally asks, still watching me with an expression of concern.
“Better,” I say. “I should probably eat something soon, but the water helped. Thank you.”
His laugh is a low, gravelly rumble in his throat. “I meant how are you feeling about everything else? And, you know.” He pauses, drawing in a breath. “About us?”
His voice is thick with emotion, and when I look up at him, his gray eyes are clouded with worry, waiting for my response.
I match his question with another. “Is there still an us?”
Holt’s dark brows draw together, his forehead wrinkling in genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? Of course there’s still an us. That is, if you still want there to be.”
“Of course I do. I just . . .” I chew my lip, searching for the right words, but nothing I say could fully encapsulate everything I’m feeling. About life, about this team, about him. With a shaky sigh, I finally manage some kind of response. “There’s just so much to process.”
He nods, seemingly understanding all the words I’m not saying. “I get it. I was shaken too, but I know this is a much bigger deal for you and your career. I want to respect the space you need, to let you handle it.”
He gives my hand a squeeze, and I squeeze back extra hard.
“I think I’d rather handle it together.”
The air between us lightens, and the tension in Holt’s shoulders eases.
“I think we can do it,” he says, his voice firm. “People have been accepting already. I’m sure we’ll get the fans on board too.”
My mouth quirks up, then quickly drops when a storm cloud of a thought rolls in. “What if they start protesting again?”
“Then you’re lucky you have a damn good security team.”
My heart squeezes, and the tiniest laugh bubbles past my lips. “Yeah? I heard the owner of our security company is a real tough guy.”
“Not as tough as he used to be.” Holt laces his fingers with mine and guides me to my feet. “I think he developed a bit of a soft spot for the woman he’s falling for.”
“Falling for, huh?”
His chin dips in a firm nod as he closes what’s left of the space between us. “I know what I said. I’m happier with you than I’ve ever been with anyone, Eden.”
He brushes my hair behind my ear, his fingers trailing along the tender skin on my neck. The simplest, smallest touch, and suddenly my heart is rioting in my chest.
