Dax Page 13

  I’d responded by kissing him.

  He’d made love to me, quietly and with consideration of the fact his sister was in his house.

  Afterward, Dax rolled out of bed and got dressed, promising his world-famous chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. He has a game this evening, and he’d said something about carb loading. I took my time coming downstairs—getting dressed, brushing my teeth, and putting my hair up.

  I find Willow at the nook in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of coffee. As soon as I step onto the cream tile floor, her eyes soften as they appraise me. I’d been prepared for this since I’d given Dax permission to tell her about my PNH, which he had early this morning when she got home.

  Willow stands, rounds the table, and gives me a long, warm hug. In my ear, she whispers, “You’ve got this, girl. You’re fierce, brave, and as stubborn as your brother was.”

  I squeeze her back. “I know. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  When Willow pulls away, I receive an encouraging smile that tells me it’s water under the bridge. She pats my arm, then returns to the table and her cup of coffee.

  Coffee seems like a great idea, so I make my way over to the pot, which gives me a moment to appreciate Dax in his breakfast-making glory. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips, revealing the slanting vee muscles that disappear from sight. It’s hard not to get distracted by his rippling muscles. His hair is mussy—courtesy of my fingers—and he turns slightly to give me a wink and a grin.

  “How many pancakes do you want?” he asks as he mans a griddle he’d just dropped butter on. A huge bowl of batter sits next to it.

  “Two,” I reply as I open a cabinet to grab a mug.

  As I pour, Dax moves past me. He does this not by giving me wide birth, but by brushing his body against me. His hands settle on my hips, and he squeezes affectionately. It’s a brief touch before he grabs a spatula from a drawer and sidles back to the griddle, but it was enough of a statement that I immediately cut my eyes toward Willow.

  She’s watching with an expression on her face that I don’t like.

  It’s worried, but it’s also not surprised. Dax must have told her we were sleeping together.

  My face flushes with the awareness she knows everything. All my dirty laundry. I’m sick, I’m committing insurance fraud by marrying to get coverage, and I’m sleeping with her brother while knowing it’s nothing but casual sex to him and probably means more to me.

  I wonder how much she pities me.

  “I’m heading out tomorrow,” Willow says, addressing us both. “Going to head home and hang with the parents for a few weeks. Assume you’ll be able to swing by and spend some time there around your Detroit game this coming Friday?”

  “Yup,” Dax replies as he pours four perfect pancake circles on the hot griddle. “And I was hoping Regan might be interested in coming on the trip, too.”

  I jerk as I pour milk into my coffee, spilling a little. “Excuse me?”

  Dax spares me a glance before slipping the spatula under a pancake. “Come home to Michigan with me. Stay at my parents. They’d love to see you.”

  “I don’t want them to know I’m sick or we’re married,” I blurt out.

  Willow’s head tilts. “But why? We’re your family now, even if you weren’t married to that bonehead making pancakes.”

  I don’t speak or raise my head until Dax says, “Regan… you should. There’s no reason not to.”

  Pivoting, I face him. “But now it feels like I’ve been deliberately deceitful for keeping my illness from them. And then marrying you. They’ll be disappointed in me.”

  “They most certainly won’t,” Willow says firmly. That it comes from her instead of Dax makes me feel better. I think Dax would say anything to try to put me at ease.

  “I don’t want them feeling sorry for me,” I say desperately.

  “Of course they’ll feel sorry for you,” Willow replies with a wicked grin. “You’re married to Dax, after all. But seriously… you know they’ll understand. They’ll believe Dax did the right thing just like I do. Now, whether you want to tell them he’s boning you at the same time—”

  “Willow,” Dax barks, turning from the pancakes to glare at her. “Just cut it out. Regan feels uneasy about all this to begin with. Lay off what’s going on between us personally. That’s for us and no one else.”

  Something about his words—his tone—reassures me. It comes off as protective and reassuring instead of patronizing.

  “Fine,” Willow says, throwing her hands up in surrender. “I’ll let it go.”

  Sighing in what sounds like relief, Dax returns to the griddle. But I can tell by the expression on Willow’s face that she has more to say about it.

  But not to her brother.

  After breakfast, Willow and I cleaned the kitchen. She didn’t say a word to me about my illness, being married to her brother, or the fact I was sleeping with him. Dax had gone to take a quick shower before he had to head to the arena. He wouldn’t normally go this early, but he and Erik have to meet with the team’s lawyers because of a lawsuit that’s been filed against the team.

  Back in October, a woman apparently filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against Dax, Erik, another guy in the front office, and the team as a whole. Dax told me about it one night while we were eating dinner last week. One of Brooke’s friends—well, ex-friend—is the woman at the heart of this matter, and she might be on the high end of the crazy spectrum. Dax emphatically denied there was any type of sexual harassment, although I didn’t need him to defend himself. I know him well enough there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d never do that to a woman.

  He’s frustrated by the process, though. Supposedly, this will be a mediation where all parties’ attorneys meet to discuss a settlement. I have to wonder why there’s even going to be discussion if the players did nothing wrong, but that’s none of my business.

  We’re just putting up the dried dishes when Dax reappears in the kitchen. He’s wearing a suit, and he looks damn good dressed up. I remember having an inappropriate thought at Lance’s funeral about Dax, but my head had been all kinds of messed up, so I gave myself a pass.

  Regardless, the guys are required to dress up when going to the arena on game days, and it’d been the same when Lance played for the Vipers. Probably an industry-wide sort of unwritten rule. The players are professionals after all.

  Dax has his game duffel slung over one shoulder. He glances between Willow and me. “Do you two need anything before I leave?”

  “We’re good,” Willow says.

  “Got the tickets?” he asks.

  “Yes, Dad,” she intones in a faux whiny voice.

  Dax ignores her, focusing on me. “You good?”

  My brow furrows. “Um… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Can’t a guy wonder?” is all he says with a quirk to his lips.

  “I guess.”

  Willow coughs, and I don’t miss the evil flash in her eyes. “Um… listen, dude. If you want a moment alone to kiss her or something, I can get lost if that makes you feel more at ease.”

  Those were the wrong words. I know she’s trying to shame him—further proof I was definitely picking up on an air of disapproval from her earlier when he grabbed my hips—but it seems to have the opposite effect on Dax.

  Instead, he lifts his chin and his jaw locks, eyes hard with determination. He stares at his sister as he strides across the kitchen. Just keeps his eyes locked right on Willow as he makes a beeline straight for me.

  Without slowing or doubting his mission, he doesn’t stop until he’s flush against my body.

  Finally sparing me a triumphant glance, he then kisses the hell out of me. I’m talking about one hand shoved into my hair, the other settling on my back, before bends me backward over the sink kind of kiss.

  It’s hard, swift, and meant to claim.

  To send a message to Willow.

  He’s not going to back
down.

  I’m blushing and at a complete loss for words when he straightens us. I get the flash of an unrepentant grin before he’s heading for the door, calling over his shoulder, “See you both after the game. We’ll go out to The Sneaky Saguaro.”

  After the door closes, I cautiously peek at Willow. She’s staring at the door her brother just exited with a thoughtful look on her face.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” I say with a nervous laugh.

  She eyes the door for another long moment before shaking her head and sending me a vague smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my brother was smitten with you.”

  “It’s just sex,” I say dismissively, realizing it came out automatically and without thought. I’ve already steeled myself to think of this as casual and nothing more, initiating a protective mode over my heart.

  “I don’t know,” Willow says slowly.

  “Well, I do,” I counter, then reach out to touch her arm. “Are you sure you’re okay with that part of things? I didn’t mean for it to happen. He didn’t either. The first time, alcohol was involved and—”

  Willow stops me by putting her hands on my shoulders. “It’s fine, Regan. You’re an adult, and well… Dax can act like one sometimes, so there’s that. It’s none of my business. I just don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

  “We won’t,” I assure her. “We love each other. In a friendly way, I mean. Our bond is too tight to mess up, and we’re both aware there are boundaries, so it’s good. I promise.”

  Willow’s smile conveys understanding and acceptance, but there’s no hiding the slight tinge of worry that’s still there.

  The doorbell rings, and I immediately start for it. When I open the door, I’m blinking at a huge bouquet of white roses.

  “Delivery for Miss Willow Monahan,” the man behind the large vase says.

  “Oh, wow,” I say as I take them from him. “Thank you.”

  I turn, cross the threshold, and kick the door closed since it takes two hands to carefully hold the huge arrangement. I can barely see where I’m walking, so I guess my way back to the kitchen and put them on the table.

  Willow stares at them with wide eyes. “I didn’t think Dax had it in him.”

  “He doesn’t,” I say with a grin. “They’re for you.”

  “What?” she exclaims in disbelief as she strides to the table. She snatches the envelope tucked in among the blooms out and removes the card. While she scans the words, her lips curve slightly upward as she shakes her head.

  “Who are they from?” I ask breathlessly. I’ve never seen that many roses. There has to be three, maybe four, dozen.

  “Dominik Carlson,” she says flippantly. She hands me the card to read.

  Last night was incredible. Please come to L.A. with me next weekend.

  My mouth hanging open in shock, I say, “Last night was incredible? What did y’all do?”

  “What didn’t we do is the question,” she says with a saucy smile. “God, that man has it going on between the sheets.”

  “You slept with him?” I ask, aghast at her naughtiness. “But you only just met him.”

  Willow shoots me a look that tells me to grow up. “Regan… love… you will one day learn that sex is awesome, and it’s totally okay to occasionally engage in casual affairs. I know you can’t see that right now, but I’m comfortable with the fact I met an incredibly handsome, charming man and took what I wanted from him.”

  “Am I a prude?” I ask impishly.

  “Little bit,” she replies, holding her thumb and forefinger up with just a small space between them.

  “I’m sorry,” I say earnestly, but then curiosity strikes. “Soooo… how was he?”

  “Girl,” she says, stepping in closer and lowering her voice even though no one is here to eavesdrop. “The man knows what he’s doing. Like… he’s a master at it. I’d venture to say he may even be the best I’ve ever had.”

  “So you’re going to L.A. next weekend then?” I conclude.

  “Um… no. I most certainly am not.”

  “Why? Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t you?” I ask, peppering her with questions.

  “Because there’s no sense. Nothing would ever come of it. Besides, I’m visiting my parents. I want to spend as much time with them as I can before I head back out on assignment.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” she states with a firm tone and a hard gaze. “I’m not interested. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Oh-kay…” I say slowly, taking the hint she wants me to back off.

  But I have to wonder why she’s lying to me. Because she can deny it all she wants, but she is most definitely interested in Dominik Carlson.

  CHAPTER 19

  Dax

  I glance at Regan where she sits in a waiting room chair perpendicular to me. She’s flipping through a magazine as we wait to meet with the case manager from the pharmaceutical company. This is the person who greases the wheels with the insurance company for approval… as well as controls the purse strings for additional financial aid if needed.

  It’s not, of course. I’m more than able to cover Regan’s out-of-pocket expenses, but since she’s being stubborn and insisting on paying me back for everything, we need to ask about it. But I think once they realize her husband has a lot of money at his disposal, they’re not going to offer her any additional help.

  She doesn’t seem quite right, though. I noticed it this morning when we woke up.

  Which was again naked and wrapped in each other’s arms.

  This was preceded by a night filled with off-the-charts sex that was even better than before.

  First, though, we’d had a rather fun, but slightly frustrating evening at The Sneaky Saguaro with Willow and many of my teammates. Fun was a given as we’d won our game. I’d scored a goal and fed an assist to Bishop, who in turn scored. It was frustrating because despite all the frivolity and celebration, I felt out of sorts around Regan. To the outside world, we had to put on a show. That we were just family friends instead of lovers. I lost track of the amount of times I saw her laughing at something someone said, which had then made me want to pull her close and put my arm around her. Made me want to tell everyone, “See this woman right here? She’s mine.” I hadn’t even been able to touch her, and it made me crazy.

  This morning, she’d been different from the fun-loving girl of the night before.

  Sluggish. Hard to wake up. I thought it might have been too much alcohol, but then I remembered she only had two beers before she switched over to water. After I’d turned the alarm off, I’d given her a little shake. She’d just groaned, rolled over, and tried to pull the covers over her head.

  My inclination was to let her sleep, but Willow planned to leave for the airport early, and I’d known Regan would want to say goodbye.

  When I finally got her to open her eyes—there was a lot of blinking and dedication to focusing on me—I couldn’t help but notice the bluish tint on the fragile skin below her lashes. She’d looked like she could use about a dozen more hours of sleep.

  “I’m going to take Willow to the airport,” I’d told her after deciding she was going to see my sister at the end of the week anyway when Regan traveled to Michigan for our Detroit game. “You stay here and get more sleep.”

  But the stubborn thing wouldn’t just roll over and fall back into slumber. She’d grumbled and yawned, moving like she was stuck in molasses, but she managed to roll out of bed. Like a zombie, she’d moved to the bathroom. At one point, I swear she fell back asleep while we’d stood under the hot spray of the shower.

  It hadn’t been until we were actually heading out to the car a bit later, me carrying Willow’s duffel, that I looked at Regan and realized… this wasn’t just a late night out.

  It had to be her illness.

  It’s confirmed as I continue to watch her in the waiting room. She’s flipping through a magazine, but I can tell she’s not reading anything. Her eyes appear
glazed and unfocused. When I ask her something, she’s a little slow to respond. I try for funny, but it seems to take forever for her lips to curl into a smile.

  “Regan,” I murmur, leaning closer toward her so no one else can listen in. “You okay?”

  She slowly raises her head to meet my eyes, smile wan as she admits, “I’m really tired, Dax. It’s just one of those days.”

  “Do we need to take you to the doctor?” My internal alarms are starting to chime. I don’t know how seriously I should take her fatigue. It’s a symptom, but I’m not sure about the magnitude.

  She shakes her head. “No. It’s not bad. I mean, it might seem bad to you because this isn’t my normal but compared to how it could get before I started on the Salvistas, it’s manageable. It’s just… after we finish here, I’m probably just going to want to go home and sleep if that’s okay with you.”

  “Of course it’s okay with me,” I say with an exhale of relief. I reach out and take her hand. “You just have to walk me through these things… teach me the difference between simply being tired and ‘okay, we better get to a hospital right now’.”

  She chuckles, her eyes brightening slightly. “Trust me. I don’t play around with this stuff. If I needed to go to the hospital, I’d be out the door and driving myself there.”

  “Correction,” I warn sternly. “I’ll be driving you there.”

  “I stand corrected,” she replies with an incline of her head. “Unless you’re gone to a game. Then I’m perfectly capable of getting there myself.”

  Now… I don’t like to think about her being in a situation like that. Sure, I feel in control now while sitting beside her, promising to take care of her, but what happens when I’m gone?

  Fuck… how had Lance handled being so far away from her, knowing she could be fine one moment and in the hospital needing a blood transfusion to save her life the next?