"Would you like to come in?" she asked, moving away from the doorway.
Jordan grabbed the fedora's rim and tipped the hat in her direction, tentatively walking in as she closed it behind him. He stood in her living room, one hand in his pocket and looking like he did the night she brought him back here after their first date, like he belonged in this place. But he seemed more nervous than comfortable compared to the many other times he had been here.
"I know it's late so I hope I'm not intruding."
"You're not," she answered quickly.
"It's just that uh..." He looked down at his feet. "I don't really know where to start."
Charlotte gave him a small smile and slowly walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist. He inhaled sharply and she realized his ribs were probably still in pain. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him physically after all the emotional stress they had put each other through. But as she pulled away from him, he gripped her waist and held on tight, burying his head in the crook of her neck.
"Don't let go."
Charlotte exhaled and followed his instructions, relaxing every muscle in her body as she gently laid her head on his chest. She had missed being held by him. Being away from him had bothered her more than the fight itself. It couldn't happen again. She wouldn't allow him to be that far away from her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Me too."
His hand found its way into her hair and she smiled as she snuggled in closer to him. He smelled as good as she remembered.
Jordan pulled away and looked at her, his blue eyes still as deep and dark as she remembered. His hand came up to sweep the fedora off his head and she could see the desire in his eyes as he leaned closer to her. Charlotte met him halfway, her lips caressing his, saying everything she wanted to say to him without speaking a word. She moaned softly, her fingers sliding up his back under his jacket to pull him closer. But instead of a warm reply, he pulled back slightly and quietly groaned in pain, his hand suddenly reaching for his rib cage.
"I'm sorry. Did that hurt?" she asked.
"Maybe."
"You're not OK, are you?"
"Occupational hazard," he said with a lopsided smile.
She felt a sudden burning in her chest as if she was going to run out and punch whoever had hurt him like this.
"How many ribs did you bruise?"
"Not bruised."
"What do you mean 'not bruised'?" Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "Did you play tonight with a broken rib?"
"Two."
"Jordan—"
He raised his hand, his finger pausing gently on her lips to stop whatever she was about to say next. "Don't. I've already had this lecture from the trainers." He pulled his finger back and Charlotte's lips felt cold without his touch. "Besides, I've got at least a week to heal now and they were only hairline fractures. I'm going to be fine."
"You promise?"
"I promise," he said, kissing her gently on the forehead. "I have to say though, I was a little worried that you may not care after, you know, everything."
"Impossible," she said quietly.
Charlotte tried to swallow down the emotion building in her throat. Of all the things she had thought about him since their fight — both positive and negative — no longer caring about what happened to him never crossed her mind.
"So what happens now?" he asked. "I've never done any of this before."
"What? Get back together with a woman after her ex-boyfriend punched you during a hockey game?"
Charlotte immediately regretted what she had said, worried about pouring salt into his wounds. But then he laughed, and she couldn't help but look up at him and smile.
