Page 124 of Keep Me Close

“Knox?”

My gaze finds hers. “Yeah?”

“Will you play something for me?”

I smile. “If that’s what you want.”

The truth is, I’d do just about anything she asked.

With her hand in mine, I lead her toward the piano. Once I lower myself to the bench, she climbs into my lap, turning to face me. My gaze stays locked on hers as my hands settle on the keys and I begin to play. The melody comes easily. It’s the same one from the night she found me playing after the Railers event. It’s funny how that felt like the beginning of something even though neither of us understood it at the time.

Her head rests against my shoulder, her fingers bunching the fabric of my shirt.

“You know,” she murmurs against my neck, “if you ever decide to give up hockey, I think you could probably find work as a pianist.”

A laugh rumbles out of me. “Pretty sure that’s not in my immediate future.”

“No? Then tell me, Knox McNichols, what’s in your immediate future?”

I turn my head and whisper the truth in her ear. “You.”

The word comes out easily, without an ounce of fear or hesitation.

I continue playing with her nestled in my lap. The room is quiet except for the music and the soft sound of her breathing.

For the first time since I found her in my living room and she turned my life upside down, everything feels settled in a way I never could have imagined.

And it has everything to do with the woman in my arms.

The one I can no longer imagine a future without.

43

Cheyenne

Usually when something major happens—a show announcement, a tour, a breakup, or a scandal—my phone starts blowing up before I even open my eyes. Mom will call every five minutes, my team starts circling, and my personal assistant will rattle off my agenda, telling me where I’m supposed to be next.

Today there’s nothing.

Just sunlight pouring through the windows of Knox’s kitchen, along with the scent of coffee and the sounds of him making breakfast. I’m filled with a strange feeling that for once, the world isn’t dragging me somewhere I don’t want to go.

My phone rings on the kitchen counter. Without glancing at the screen, I know who it is.

Knox looks over from the stove where he’s making eggs. “You gonna answer that?”

It’s so tempting to let it go to voicemail. Instead, I suck in a deep breath and pick it up.

“Hey, Mom. How are you?”

“It’s been days, Cheyenne. I was wondering when you were going to give me a call.”

I lean back against the counter, my gaze drifting to Knox as he turns off the burner.

“Actually, later this morning. I have some news to share.”

“I already saw the articles.”

I frown. “What articles?”