Page 83 of Crack the Ice

I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. I’m making breakfast. The kids have a long day of hockey camps today. Lily can’t wait to spend some time at the bakery next week. She’s been telling her whole team about it. I hope you still like oatmeal. Meet me in the kitchen when you get up.

P.S. I’m still here.

Mav

He’s still here. Hope flutters its delicate wings, brushing against the part of me that’s been barren for so long. I rush through getting ready, brushing my teeth, throwing my hair up in a bun, and pulling on my black joggers with my favorite pale pink tank top. It may not be glamorous, but I need to see that he’s still here.

The second I open the door, I know he is. The house smells of vanilla and oats. It feels like home, warm and comforting in a way that makes you never want to leave.

“Morning.”

His sleep-raspy voice sends a shiver down my spine.

“Hey.” I move further into the room, looking over his shoulder at what he’s doing. “Smells delicious.”

He hums low in his throat. “High praise coming from the chef herself.”

“I’m not a chef, I’m a baker,” I say as I turn and pull a water bottle from the fridge.

“Oh, please forgive me, Your Highness.”

His words stop me in my tracks, and I look over my shoulder to see his head hanging in front of him with his hands splayed flat on the counter.

“Mav?” My hand meets the center of his back, and he tenses under my touch. “Are you okay?”

He’s still for a moment, time seeming to stall yet speed up at the same time as I wait for an answer.

Finally, he clears his throat and turns toward me. “Today’s my first therapy session with Dr. Williams.”

My hand pulls away from him, covering my mouth as a sharp gasp fills the space between us.

He scoffs before continuing to fill up the clear plastic containers with enough oatmeal to feed an entire village.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Mav. I’ve been in therapy since before I left for Spain.”

“I know. I don’t think therapy is a bad thing. I’m ashamed that I need it.” His voice is quiet, defeated almost. “I’m ashamed it took me this long, and hurting you again, to realize that I do need it.”

“Needing it doesn’t mean you’re not a good person, Maverick. Have you ever stopped to think about your life? How losing both your parents might have shaped you? You’ve been the only man in the house since you were five. You’ve carried that role longer than any child should have to.”

The plastic spoon hits the side of the bowl, his body slowly turning to face me. One of his hands floats through the air until it cups my cheek. I lean into it, loving the way the warmth of his hands feels against the chill of my skin. “I shouldn’t have hurt you, Cecilia. It never should have gotten this far. I don’t want to be my dad. I don’t…”

The space between my brows relaxes as the words he doesn’t say land. He doesn’t want to keep running. He doesn’t want us to wonder if he’s coming back, or if one day he’ll decide he’s had enough and leave altogether.

Without thinking, I press up on my toes, placing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. I let my lips linger, soaking in the warmth of him.

“Mav, you’re not your father.” I wrap my hand around his neck and pull him closer, pressing my lips to his cheekbone. “I know your heart is in the right place. You want to help everyone. You want to be the one people can lean on, and you are. I’m just scared that you’ll lose yourself in the process. When you lose yourself, you lose those who mean the most. It’s hard to watch you run yourself ragged for everyone else. There’s nothing left for me at the end of it. Nothing left for them.” I motion to the quiet hallway on the other side of the kitchen.

My eyes move to his at the exact moment he licks across his lips. I know this moment is serious, and I should be telling him all the ways he’s this amazing man, but I can’t help it. I want him, and I’m tired of denying us both the love we once had.

I cup his cheeks, keeping his head where I can reach it, and brush my lips across his. It feels like every muscle in his body tenses as I press in further. My brain tells me I’ve messed this all up, that this wasn’t the time to take what I wanted, that he needed reassurance, he needed to talk, not to be shut up with my damn lips on his

I let out a yelp, one he swallows by covering my mouth so completely with his as he lifts me onto the counter, pushes my legs open, and steps between them. His hand rests against my ribs as the other travels up the front of me, over one overly sensitive breast as it continues its torturously slow path until it collars the base of my neck. One long finger wraps around the side as he holds me right where he wants me. He licks into my mouth, and I moan, my nails digging into the back of his neck.

Heat floods my body. I arch into him, doing everything I can to get closer. His head tilts to the side, his teeth briefly finding my bottom lip, biting down enough to make me hiss.

I’ve always loved a little pain.

His tongue runs over the tender flesh before he leans into me, pushing me back until I’m lying flat against the counter. A shiver rolls through me when his hands skate down my sides until they reach the hem of my tank top, slowly pushing up and exposing my bare stomach to him.