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Wyatt snuck over and dropped a kiss to Regan’s forehead. He opened his mouth to speak, but Patrick’s excited chatter got his attention.
“Go.” Regan pushed at him. “We’ll have time later.”
His dark eyes made her tingle in places that were going to make it hard to sit still for the next few hours. Dave Grundy escorted them out to the arena, and she was surprised to see the intense modifications made to some of the seating. Mainly, the section behind the team benches.
The entire area had been leveled and then raised to a few feet above the ice. It was a luxurious lounge, with beds for the kids, sofas and bar tables for the adults, and it was able to accommodate any of the medical equipment needed. There were staff on hand, Regan had no idea how Wyatt had managed that, and she spied John Blackwell sitting in a Lazy Boy, a cold beer in one hand, a Detroit Red Wings hat tucked over his head.
“John,” she said, bending close to give him a hug. “So nice to see you out. How are you feeling?”
“Never better,” he said, taking a long pull from his beverage. “Although I would love to have a cigar.”
“Yeah,” she replied with a smile. “Not happening.”
“That’s what Wyatt said.” John set down his drink. “This is something. What he did for this boy.”
“It is,” she said softly, eyes now on the ice where Cain Black had walked out. He stopped in the center, stood there with a guitar, and waited until the crowd’s excited cheers died down. He began to strum his guitar and sang a version of the Star-Spangled Banner that brought tears to Regan’s eyes. Seriously. What the hell was wrong with her? But his rendition was poignant and heart filled, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one in danger of becoming a blubbering idiot.
When he was done, Wyatt walked out with Patrick, and his parents beamed as he dropped the puck. The little guy looked so happy and healthy. If you weren’t in the know, it would be hard to believe he had an inoperable, invasive tumor in his brain.
Regan decided now wasn’t the time to think about such things. And for the next two hours, life was good. It was simple and fun and full of joy. It was Patrick giggling on his parent’s lap, and John being in the same room as all of his boys. It was Regan watching the faces of those she loved. Of Wyatt’s hand on her leg, and later rubbing the back of her neck. It was small-town community, and the genuine need to share. It was the delicious fries and burgers and sandwiches prepared and cooked by friends and family.
It was all that and
more. And if Regan could bottle this feeling and keep it hidden for the days she needed a lift, she would. But life didn’t work that way. Life was full of brilliant highs and bone-crushing lows. The true test was in the way one handled these things. And sometimes, the true test was in letting go.
“Hey,” Wyatt said. “You okay?” The game had just ended, and he pulled her close.
No.
Maybe.
“I’m good.”
She leaned into him and decided to forget about her doubts and fears. About the fact that she had no idea what they were doing or where they were going. Regan had no idea how long Wyatt would be in the picture, but she decided she’d be stupid not to take full advantage of him while she could.
And she planned on doing just that as soon as she got him home.
Chapter 25
Wyatt had been in Crystal Lake for over six weeks, and with the beginning of March only days away, he knew he had some decisions to make. But at the moment, he didn’t want to think about them. He wanted to settle back and watch the sleeping woman at his side for as long as he could. Which, when he thought about it, sounded pretty damn silly. And yet, here was, staring into a face that he’d grown to love.
Wait.
He sat up a bit. Love? Was that what he felt? Wyatt thought hard. He’d never been in love before. He’d been in lust many, many times, but what man hadn’t? Sure, there might have been a few times he’d confused lust with love, but again, that was pretty much what every guy did at one point.
But this? What he felt when he looked at Regan? This was different. This went way the hell beyond the broad spectrum of lust. Whatever this was brought up something deep from inside him. Something heavy and hot. Something that made him want to beat his hands against his chest like a damn gorilla when he made her smile. Or moan when he was inside her. Or laugh when he said something clever.
Nothing please him more than when she was happy. Christ, only the day before, he’d made a happy face in her latte. Him. Wyatt Blackwell. Barista at large.
Holy. Hell. How had he gotten here? Stuck between what he thought he felt and what he didn’t know. This was definitely uncharted territory for him.
Wyatt sat up in bed. Regan was on her side, one hand under her cheek, the other settled just below her chin. Her long hair was a tangle of brown on her pillow, and the curve of her cheek was barely visible from several dark strands that lingered there.
Her mouth was open slightly, and he grinned, listening to her breathe, and, even though she vehemently denied it, her soft snores. Everything about this woman was adorable and strong and infuriating and passionate. She was the smartest, classiest lady he’d ever met. Everyone liked her. Hell, after the hockey game, it was all he could do to drag Travis and several of his teammates away from her.
She was independent, secure, kind, and compassionate. He had to wonder, what the hell was she doing with him?The sex. He chuckled and dropped a kiss to her nose. The sex was off the charts.
Wyatt loved this time of the morning. It was early, still dark outside, and the house was quiet. Bella, the little pervert, was asleep on her bed, and he had Regan all to himself. The clock on the bureau glowed, telling him she had about thirty minutes before the alarm sounded.
