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"Remember that nasty rocking chair they had in their living room?" I ask.
Matt's eyebrows scrunch up in disgust..
"Remember it?” he scoffs. “It's in our spare room right now. She wouldn't let me get rid of the damn thing."
"It is a piece of art, fuck-face," Morgan protests from the doorway.
My head turns in the direction of her voice in search of Ava. I find her leaning against the wall in a pair of skinny jeans and a loose tank top. Her short hair is curled loosely, and I get the sudden urge to run my fingers through it. I reach her in no time and don't hesitate to wrap her up in my arms, pulling her into my chest.
"You look stunning."
"Are you guys ever going to not make me want to gouge my eyes out?" Morgan huffs. She points at her open mouth and gags.
"Depends," I shrug.
"On what?" she asks.
"If you're going to continue to make me wish I was deaf so I wouldn't have to deal with your stupid questions."
Her mouth drops slightly before it slams shut, and a smile stretches across her lips. "Oh, how I’ve missed our banter, Oakley." I shoot Morgan a wink and wrap my arm around Ava's waist, planting a kiss on her cheek.
The jingle of the doorbell echoes through the house once again as the four of us start making our way out of the spare room.
"That's gotta be Adam!" Ava exclaims once we get steps away from the entryway.
"Open the door and find out," Morgan teases from behind us.
Ava whips around to narrow her eyes at her before flipping her off and turning back around to open the door.
"Oh my gosh, look at you! I missed you!" Adam falters slightly at the impact of Ava’s affectionate assault but brushes it off with a light chuckle.
"Hey O. I missed you, too," he responds, sending me a grin over her shoulder.
"Hey, buddy." I pull him in for a one-handed hug as soon as Ava unlatches herself from him.
"Love the new house, man. Being rich suits you," he teases and throws a solid punch at my bicep.
"Thanks. I can't pull it off nearly as well as you, though. How's the business going?" I ask as I lead him to his room.
"Not many can. Don't beat yourself up about it," he smirks, dropping his bag down on the fluffy carpet and sitting down on the bed. "Business is good. It pays to have the newest face of the professional league promote my business."
I can't help but chuckle at that. Adam doesn't even need my help. He's made WIT a fantastic place for young hockey players to train all on his own.
White Ice Training is Adam's training facility in Vancouver. On his twenty-second birthday, his trust fund was signed over to him, and he used it to open up his own hockey camp.
As far as I know, his parents weren't overly supportive of his decision to blow through the entire thing on something hockey-related, but he did it anyway, and the four of us couldn't be prouder of him. Whenever I have time I fly down and help train the kids—pretty much anything to bring business in.
"You talk to your parents lately?" I ask, not missing the anger that flashes through his eyes.
"No. My moms called a few times but I haven't called her back," he says quietly.
"I'm sorry. We'll hit the gym tomorrow, blow off some steam," I suggest.
"Sounds good." He takes a deep breath before his eyes light up. "I forgot to ask, where's the ring?"
I grin, my heart jumping. "In one of the old skate boxes I have shoved under the bed."
I have been carrying the square box around with me for months now, just waiting for the perfect moment. Unfortunately, though, it hasn't come yet.
