When I Fall in Love(89)

Yes! “I’m on it.”

“I think I’ll go back with you, Grace. I have some things to take care of,” Raina said.

Oh.

Grace gathered her notes, putting them together in a file folder. “Okay. I have to get changed. I’ll be down in a bit.” She disappeared upstairs.

Leaving Raina and Casper alone.

He didn’t move.

She slid off the seat, headed for the door. No—no—

“Raina, can we talk?”

“I gotta get going.”

But he caught up to her, positioned himself in front of the door. “Please.”

When she looked up at him, her face mirrored the brittle smile she’d produced in the hospital. “Listen, Casper, I know I’ve been acting weird—”

“Was it something I said? Or did? Was I a jerk without knowing it?” He didn’t know where all this desperation came from, but he had to get behind her broken expression.

Figure out why he couldn’t fix her.

She shook her head, and he reached out and lifted her chin. Tears shone in her eyes.

“I don’t know what I did, but you have to know, I’m so sorry for it.”

“It’s not you, Casper. It’s me. I . . .” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “I made a terrible mistake.” She sighed, her body shuddering.

He couldn’t help it. Despite her posture, her chilly, almost-fearful demeanor, he pulled her to himself.

And like a miracle, she surrendered and let him hold her, the icy wall between them shattering. She curled her arms around his shoulders, laid her head against his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” he said, smoothing her hair. “I’m here to help. Let me help.”

She said nothing, just took a trembling breath.

He wiped a tear from her cheek and found her eyes.

There she was, the Raina he knew. The one who cheered him on, called him Captain, believed in him. His gaze tracked to her lips.

“Oh! Uh . . .”

The gasp from Grace—he couldn’t tell if it was shock or horror—had the effect of a blade, slicing Raina from his arms. She stepped back, her eyes huge as she stared at Grace standing in the foyer, dressed in her Pierre’s Pizza outfit.

Something dark, even angry, flushed over Grace’s expression. Casper had the uncanny feeling of being dressed down, like he should run.

Her gaze went to his hand, still at Raina’s hip. “Wow,” she said. “Out of all my brothers, I didn’t expect this from you.”

Then, her mouth tight, Grace pushed around them to the door. She stopped on the threshold, looking back at Raina. “You coming?”

Casper’s heart broke a little more when Raina nodded.

He wasn’t sure why he felt like he should keep apologizing.



A good workout always cleared Max’s head, got his heart pumping, helped him focus on the essentials.

Like hockey. Showing the coaches he still ranked among the best wings on the team. And . . .

And like coming to terms with the fact that Grace didn’t want his help catering the wedding, despite her words about forgiveness. He didn’t blame her—not really. Because he hadn’t found the strength to forgive himself, either. Not for what happened with Owen. Certainly not for betraying her at the competition.

Which meant that, without having to help her, he only had to keep Grace tucked safely in the darkest corner of his mind so she couldn’t escape, roam around, sending tentacles of pain through him.

Running on the treadmill in the team workout room with the music blaring, the televisions muted on different sports games, he could lose himself and forget the sound of her laughter, the way her words could leach tension out of his day, leaving it bright and sunny.

Rain teared down the giant picture windows, the sky mottled and bleak. Another day of rain—it sent a fog up from the river to linger on the streets of St. Paul, tempering the heat of July. Max had spent the better part of the last three weeks in the gym and had his body in top working order.

Now he slowed the treadmill to a walk, spent a few minutes slowing his heartbeat, and then stopped the machine, stepping off to take his pulse. Perfect.

Conditioning—one of his secret weapons. Learning to live above the pain, to press forward. Endure.

Max could wring out his shirt, his hair sopping with sweat, now longer and shaggy. He shaved it short once a year, and by January it would hang below his ears; by May, be long enough to gather into a ponytail, if he wanted.

He’d stop shaving right before training camp and start a nice growth of beard for the photo shoots in the fall.

Grabbing a bottle of water, he drank it, resting as he contemplated another set of sit-ups.

“Hey, Max. Is Grace still having a meltdown?”