“I’m sorry, Zig. Now, please.”
Ziggy narrowed her stare, and her smile faded, just a tad. She politely excused herself and strolled down the hall. He opened his bedroom door, closed it behind them, and held out the box without preamble.
“What is this?” She reached inside and held up the puck. “I don’t understand. Someone gave you a hockey puck. Why?”
He let out a long breath and sat on the edge of the bed. “There’s a note inside. I haven’t read it yet.”
“Why not?”
“No idea.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you mind?”
She narrowed her stare. “Sure.” She pulled it out and unfolded it. “Happy Birthday. 25 years is a long time.”
He lifted his gaze, and the color had drained from her face. She stared at the note, then at him, then back at the note.
“What’s the significance of a hockey puck?” she asked.
He flopped back on the bed and stretched his arms wide. Another confession. Another truth. Another thing she’d have to carry. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You didn’t drag me from the party for something that doesn’t matter.” She set the puck, note, and box with the balloon attached to it on the nightstand.
He patted the side of the bed.
And she did the unthinkable. She kicked off her heels and snuggled in next to him, resting her hand on his chest and her head on his arm.
“The card at the station earlier could’ve meant anything and been from anyone,” he said. “It had no bearing on my past life. Or who I used to be.”
“You’re right. Just one card would most likely mean a person who felt wronged by you bringing out their truth.”
“You don’t send someone a puck who isn’t in love with the sport or who never played the game. I’ve never expressed interest in either.”
She lifted her head and caught his gaze. “You’ve always said you don’t have time for sports, and about the only thing you’ve ever taken any interest in is cars and sailing. And the latter, only because I’ve forced you to with my sister and me.”
He chuckled. “I played travel hockey until my father was arrested. I was pretty good, too. All my coaches told me I had talent and had a chance juniors and college, at the very least.”
“Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know you at all.”
He traced his finger across her jawline. “You know Noah Chase. And Noah doesn’t like to play hockey. As a matter of fact, he can’t stand it.”
“I know I’ve always said I see you. I see Noah, not that teenage boy who moved to get away from being the son of a?—”
“Please don’t say it.” They might be just words, but they were the truth, and her family was only a few feet away. He didn't want to taint the party and the people she cared about. “Two incidents in one day. We can’t ignore that.”
"We don't know anything, yet."
“No. But twenty-five years is specific. And the anniversary is only four months out. Whoever sent the puck knows something about who I used to be.”
“Again, we don’t know that.”
“You’re adorable when you’re trying to make me feel better.” He stared into her deep blue eyes, which had always held him captive. But they also had the power to settle his nerves and ground him in the present. Right now, they just reminded him how much he cared. How much he’d tried, over the years, to protect her from his past. And yet, he’d pulled her so deep into it that she’d become the only connection he had to who he’d been and who he wanted to be.
Jag was right. All Noah had were excuses, and he’d run out of them.
He cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a kiss. It was soft, warm, and she tasted like vanilla frosting mixed with red wine. It was intoxicating.
It lasted only a second before she pulled away. “Every year at this time, you give me mixed messages.”
“I know.” He rolled on top of her, smoothing her hair from her face. He brushed a few feather-light kisses on her neck, just below her ear, then moved across her chin, and back to her lips. “You’re accepting my mixed messages now.” He didn’t wait for a response. He kissed her hard. The kind of kiss that told a woman she was desired. The kind of kiss he knew was dangerous because he wasn’t sure there was any going back now.