What—heartache, sleepless nights, uncertainty? No, he’s never going to give me that. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Penn is real, safe, and kind, everything Dylan will never understand.
“He’s only going to let you down. I mean, come on, he might be in the NHL but he can’t even get off the fourth line. He’s never going anywhere.”
“He has a lot of skill,” I blurt out in his defense. “One of these days he’s going to be more. You’ll see.”
“He told you that.”
“No, but…”
“But you’ve talked about it?” When I don’t answer, he continues, “I’m the guy you can count on, Jaylynn.”
Stop engaging.
“All I’m going to say, again, is that you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, I do.” Dylan’s eyes lock on mine, unflinching. “He’ll prove to you who he really is soon enough. Guaranteed.”
Why the hell is he saying that like he knows something I don’t?
22
Penn
With unease weaving its way through my blood, I step back into the living room, the glow from the big screen pulling everyone in. The guys are glued to the hockey game, their shouts rising and falling with every play. Jaxon leaps to his feet, hands tugging at his hair as he screams at one of the players like the guy can hear him through the TV.
My gaze drifts from their rowdy energy to the mantel above the fireplace. Two peppermint stockings hang there, side by side. Penn. Jaylynn. The careful stitching catches in the firelight, and something inside me squeezes tight. Jaylynn did this. For me. She didn’t make a big deal out of it. She just quietly hung it there. I’ve never had a stocking. Not one with my name. This…this gesture is her quiet way of making me a part of something bigger, something important, something I never knew I always needed. It’s so goddamn touching that my chest aches in ways I can’t even name.
I clear my throat during a lull in the game, trying to steady myself. “I’m going to take off.”
Will glances over, and I try, unsuccessfully, to mask my upset. He sets his beer down and stands. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly, too quickly, scrambling for casual. “Jaylynn is in Rutledge. Flat tire. She called Triple A. I’m sure she’s already on her way back.”
Will’s brow slams together. “Damn.”
“I offered to go, but…” My words tangle. “She’s with Dylan.”
That pulls Jaxon’s attention. His head turns, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
I rush to fill the silence. “He just happened to be in town. They ran into each other. Had coffee. He’s staying with her until the tow comes. I’m sure she’s fine.” I force a laugh that feels like gravel in my throat. “I’ll just head back to the inn, wait for her there.”
“Want me to drive you?” Jaxon offers.
I shake my head. “I’m good. I’ll catch you guys later.”
Outside, the night slams into me. Wind cuts at my face as I zip my coat higher, breath steaming in the dark. A part of me hates that she’s with Dylan, but another part clings to relief that she isn’t stranded alone on the side of the road. Still, the thought of him beside her makes the cold seep deeper, like it’s in my bones now.
I walk fast, boots crunching over frozen patches, the streets empty. No cars. No voices. Just the hush of a town curled in on itself, families tucked close together, hockey on their screens, Christmas lights glowing in their windows. Together. Warm.
By the time I push through the doors of the inn, the blast of heat and the scent of hot cocoa hit me like an embrace. The fire roars in the hearth, throwing sparks of light into the lobby’s shadows. God, I could use something stronger than cocoa, something to burn away the chill clinging to me.
I nod to Belinda at the desk and head for the hall, but stop short. Sloane is sitting alone near the fire, her legs tucked up beneath her, glass in hand. When she turns and spots me, her face brightens, though there’s something tired in the edges of her smile.
“Hey, Sloane,” I say, shrugging off the night air as I walk closer. “How are you feeling?”
“This helps,” she says, lifting her glass. The steam curls above the rim, but it’s not cocoa—there’s too much amber glinting through it. “Hot toddy.” Her gaze flicks over me, noting the cold still radiating off my skin. “You look like you could use one.”
“Or two,” I admit, hanging my coat on the rack.