Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 14

MANLY FIREFIGHTERS SURROUNDED by smoke have always carried a certain appeal. But that appeal quickly dies when I realize the smoke is coming out of my apartment, and the firemen are soaking my belongings with a hose.

After teaching my last class of the day, and successfully posting my first dancing video on my page, I took a bus across town to audition for a last-minute role. I got an email that the National Ballet was having open auditions. I’m hoping my routine this evening met their standards. With the nasty feeling of anticipation, I was set on taking a hot shower before getting ready for my first real date with Elias. He’s supposed to pick me up in an hour.

But of course, life had other plans.

I stand frozen on the sidewalk, because with one step toward the scratched door, I’ll be forced to live in the reality of what’s happening in front of me. A part of me wishes I could brush off the scene and turn to another apartment that isn’t clogged with smoke and large men in yellow uniforms. Some are even dressed in those navy T-shirts that tightly stretch across the expanse of their chests. This situation would be ideal in any other scenario.

A man standing by my front door turns to me when I finally approach. “Miss Beaumont?”

I nod, staring wide-eyed at my ash-filled apartment, still hoping this is all some big joke and they’re actually strippers giving me an early birthday present. “What happened?”

The man pulls off his yellow helmet and gives me a look like he pities me but also wants to scold me. A fatherly look, I suppose, not that I would know. “Do you recall lighting this?”

He holds up a broken glass cylinder, blackened wax crusted on the sides. My magnolia candle from this morning sits on the palm of his gloved hand, and I wince.

So much for self-care.

“I swear, I remember blowing it out. This has never happened before.”

He nods, dropping the candle in a pile of my burnt things. My comforter, a table lamp, and some clothes. The fire must have spread quickly because my tiny living room, doubling as my bedroom with the Murphy bed, is crisped. My kitchen took the brunt of the destruction.

“That’s always the case. But even if candles seem harmless, a lit one can be deadly. You need to be careful. This could have been much worse.”

Emotion clogs my throat as my eyes start to water, and not because of the smoke.

Another firefighter enters with a clipboard. “I’d suggest sleeping somewhere else, ma’am. The smoky smell bakes itself into the walls.”

Mulling over his words, I assess my options. If I call my uncle, he’ll have another reason why my living alone was never a good idea. He’s been hoping I’d move in with him since the bank seized my parents’ house, but I’ve always refused. I’m not his burden.

I don’t have a friend or enough money for a motel. That dark cloud of smoke that contains my apartment shadows me, and I try not to sob in front of the hot firefighters.

Debris crunches under my feet, and I notice my laptop is also burnt to a crisp. If I had insurance, this might be less devastating, but right now panic clutches my chest. My breathing comes out shallow and the smoke feels like tar on my lungs.

The firefighters finish soaking what’s left of my things and gather their equipment. I lean against a corner of the countertop that’s untouched by the fire and rack my brain for where to stay tonight. So far the bushes outside are looking pretty comfy.

Desperate, I turn to the retreating firefighters. “Do you have a spare bed at the station?”

They give each other a look and chuckle at my imposition. “If you need resources—”

“Sage?” My front door flies open, and all six feet four inches of Elias Westbrook come rushing in. Of course, he arrived early, before I could ask to reschedule our date. He’s wearing a black flannel over a white tee and simple jeans, and his hair is disheveled as if he ran. Somehow, he looks hotter than the fire that burned my belongings to soot.

He stops short of cupping my face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Elias scans my body for … burns? I don’t know. But he looks more worried than I’ve ever seen him, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s worried about me. A foreign tingle burrowing beneath my skin makes me stand straighter.

“Looks like you won’t be needing those resources,” says the fireman. “We’ll see ourselves out. And please put out your candles before leaving a room.”

My gaze follows their retreat, but my mind is still stuck on Elias. The look on his face. The way my heart skipped when I saw him.

“A candle did all this?” Elias takes inventory of all my stuff. Which isn’t much, because it’s all been reduced to ashes.

“It’s not that bad. There’s still a dry spot over there.” I point to a space that wouldn’t even house the rats that run around here at night.

“Sage, you’re not staying here.”

“I can’t exactly splurge on a motel right now, and the coffee table is sturdy enough.”

He glowers. “Do you have a spare bag?”

“It’s drowning.” I gesture to the soaked bag, suppressing my emotions for when I’m alone. “I can leave my clothes out to dry. No biggie. And I have all my ballet stuff in this bag.” I lift the bag I take to class. As long as my expensive ballet attire is untouched, I can ward off a full breakdown. I move to stand by the door to see him out, but he frowns.

Elias Westbrook is angry.

“If you think I’d let you stay here, you must think I’m a pretty shitty person.”

I know he wouldn’t, and that’s the problem. A moment ago, I had no options but to sleep somewhere outside. Knowing that Elias is not only worried but cares enough to insist I not sleep here makes the tingling sensation in my chest move to my gut.

“I don’t think you’re a shitty person. You’re kind of the opposite,” I say.

The smell of smoke and the distant sound of closing fire truck doors fill the air around us.

“You’re not staying here,” he repeats.

Maybe I’m being stubborn, but I need to be alone. That’s how it’s always been. “All my clothes are soaked or burnt, and I don’t think a cheap motel will feel any better than this.”

“You’re coming with me. You can wear my clothes, and I’ll put yours in the wash.”

We stare at each other for so long, it borders on discomfort. He’s already helping me with ballet and randomly bringing me dinner. I can’t take more. I won’t be a burden.

My lip lifts in an attempt to break free of this stalemate. “You just want to see me in one of your T-shirts, don’t you?” I joke, dropping my gaze to the melted self-care basket. Screw you, magnolia. The longer I avoid his irritated look, the more I recognize my burnt things on the debris-filled floor.

“I want to be sure you won’t pass out from smoke inhalation.”

“There are windows. You’re overreacting.”

He releases a gruff breath and comes to stand just inches from me.

“You know what I think, Sage?” He’s close enough that I have to strain my neck to look at him. “I think you talk a lot of shit, but when someone offers to take care of you, you hide behind your jokes to avoid asking for help.”

I swallow.

“So, I’m not asking. Gather what’s left of your things, and get your ass in my car or I’ll carry you there.”

Whoa. My whiplashed brain leaves me no choice but to quickly pick up my wet duffel and some toiletries. I can’t ignore the knot of uncertainty that finally untangles in my stomach.

Elias watches me from the threshold, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. Sweet Elias is nowhere to be seen, but that might be my fault.

He takes the bag from my hold and shuts my apartment door behind us. Then he slips his hand into mine as we head to his car.

SMOKE NO LONGER lingers on my skin. Instead, I’m sniffing Elias’s body wash. I’d pay good money to have it injected into my veins.

We didn’t talk much on the drive to his place, nor when he sat me at the dining table and I devoured a bowl of creamy rigatoni pasta. After my shower, I changed into his large sweats and a T-shirt.

In the living room, Elias, Aiden, and a stunning girl with long brown hair and eyes to match turn to look at me. Their conversation halts, and I stand there awkwardly.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say quietly.

“You’re not,” the girl says. She stands and engulfs me in a hug. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry. That must be devastating.”

“It’s not too bad. I didn’t have much stuff anyway.” I play it down, but I’m screwed. Crashing with Elias isn’t permanent, and soon I’ll need a place to stay. Nothing is as cheap as my rent-controlled apartment, and I know my teaching salary won’t cover much.

When Elias comes to stand beside me, his arm brushes against mine, and a static charge shoots to my fingertips. “This is Summer, Aiden’s girlfriend,” he informs.

“Totally meant to introduce myself. But it’s like I already know you with how much the Thunder fan base talks about you,” Summer says.

“Oh God, I can’t imagine what they’re saying about me now.”

“Don’t worry. Aside from the few trolls, it’s all good things. And the guys are constantly talking about you. You’re basically a celebrity at the hockey house.”

Elias calls the house they lived in during college the hockey house, so she’s referring to their friends.

“They’ll be ecstatic to meet you when they come to visit soon,” Aiden says. Then he glances at the time on his phone, wrapping his arm around Summer to pull her with him. “We’re going to head to bed, but make yourself at home, Sage. You can stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” I say, watching their retreat. I’m hyper-aware it’s just Elias and me now.

“You can take my room,” he simply says.

I’m about to refuse and suggest that I take the couch, but I don’t get a chance to because he walks past me and across the hall to the main bathroom. I stand there, deciding to wait, but when I hear the shower turn on, I head back to his room.

It takes everything in me not to snoop, but when I’m going to switch off the bedside lamp, I notice a smooth flat stone sitting on his dresser. Like the one from our date. When the hall washroom door creaks open, I drop the stone and turn off the lights before slipping under the comforter.

That’s the moment I realize how shitty my mattress at the apartment was. In the dark of his room, I close my eyes as I feel the exhaustion hit.

Hours later, I’m still wrestling with my mind, wide awake.

The heavy awareness of Elias sleeping just a few feet away is what I’m choosing to blame my sleepless state on tonight. Not the insomnia I’ve had for most of my life.

The occasional sound of cars passing or an ambulance siren wailing and washing the walls in red accompanies my restless mind. Then a loud noise from inside the apartment jolts me upright. Thinking it’s Elias, because Aiden and Summer are asleep on the opposite side of the hall, I tiptoe out of the room, in need of some conversation that takes place outside of my head. A sharp intake of breath and a grunt from the living room make me turn toward it and that’s when I see him.

The quick rise and fall of Elias’s chest and the twitching of his arms look exactly like someone having a bad dream. No. Not a bad dream. A nightmare.

His body is bent awkwardly, and his legs stretch past the length of the couch. The six-foot-four defenseman has never looked more uncomfortable. Yet, he’s sleeping here because I’m hoarding his room like a homeless troll.

Elias jerks, and the moon illuminates the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

When Sean was little, he used to have night terrors. My parents were never home, so I’d check on him periodically through the night. Hello, insomnia.

But what I learned was never to wake someone in the middle of a night terror. I know why Sean had nightmares; you don’t come from a family like ours and grow up to be normal. But Elias seems so secure. Like he has it all figured out and sticks to his made-up life plan like it would kill him if he deviated from it. I stare at him for so long it might seem like I’m trying to read his mind, but I can’t even do that when he’s awake and talking, much less when he’s asleep.

What chaos is trapped in that beautiful head of his?

Quietly, I kneel by the couch and slip my hand into his shaking one. To my surprise, he grasps it like a life raft. His breathing and pulse level out, and his exhausted body deflates.

My focus remains on his hand, which doesn’t release mine, and I let him keep it, trying not to think about the smile that touches my lips. Drawing tiny patterns on his skin with my thumb relaxes me, and I debate whether I should just sleep on the floor next to him, but I don’t ponder for long because his even breaths halt, and brown eyes are on me.

When he sees our intertwined hands, he sits up and releases me so quickly, it leaves a cold sensation in my palm and in my chest. He looks worried, I must look hurt, yet we both try our best to school our expressions.

“I can’t sleep,” I blurt, not wanting him to feel embarrassed.

“Is it my bed?” he asks in a raspy, sleep-laced voice that tightens my abdomen. His tone is rough, as if he’s irritated that his bed is the reason for my lack of sleep. Like it’s become his number one enemy at this moment.

“No, your bed is perfect.” And it smells like you too. “I just have this super fun thing called insomnia.”

“How?” He appears quizzical. “You’re like the chirpiest person I know.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, for your sake.” He winces but I don’t let him apologize. “I developed it when I was a teenager, and it shows up occasionally.” Like every night for the past year.

When Elias stands, he gestures for me to follow him. I feel like an inmate who failed to escape the prison and is being taken back by the warden. A warden I kind of want to sleep with.

“I never realized how much light comes through those curtains,” he says, standing by his bedroom window, glaring at the streetlamps and city lights.

“Don’t worry, I’m always like this. Light or no light, I still wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

He stops for a beat, then heads for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Anything? My body is on high alert, and I know if he leaves I’ll lie here and stare at the ceiling thinking about him. When he’s passing the threshold, the words tumble out of me.

“Elias,” I say. He turns, and I swallow. “Will you sleep with me?”

He blinks several times.

“Sage …” Elias starts.

“Just for tonight!” I rush out. “That couch can’t be comfortable. You’re kind of huge.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Please?” I stare up at him. “I think I’ll be able to fall asleep if there’s someone beside me. To put my mind at ease, you know.” I’m lying. That’s never worked. Sometimes Sean would come into my room after a nightmare, and I still couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

I walk right up to him. The thin T-shirt probably isn’t helping my case. “Why not? You’re hot and all, but I can keep it in my pants for one night, rookie.” I allow my finger to trail down his hard abs in a teasing move. I poke him. “Unless you don’t think you can.”

A strangled noise leaves him, and a spark of satisfaction rolls through me. I watch him for an answer, his chest rising and falling evenly like he’s weighing out the pros and cons.

Then his tense shoulders drop. “To help you sleep.”

The ground shakes, or rather, I do. His response leaves me blinking until I regain enough composure to come up with a nonchalant reply. “Yeah, yeah. Now come on, I have classes to teach in the morning.”

Elias Westbrook is following me to bed!

Elias removes his shirt. His corded back muscles flex with the movement, and his broad shoulders fall on an exhale. Lusting over your fake boyfriend should come with an advisory notice. Not that I would heed it anyway.

My internet sleuthing revealed the video that got people talking about the rookie, and I don’t blame them. He’s as sweet and attractive in the video as he is in real life. There isn’t much else needed past that point. After that, I fell into a rabbit hole of watching his Frozen Four goals and interviews. Now, this private strip show is curated for every dirty thought in my mind. I snap out of my hallucination when he glances at me, and I dive under the covers.

“Night,” I say, my voice muffled under the comforter.

“Good night, Sage.”

With one click of the lamp, we’re bathed in darkness. In the quiet of the room with the heat of his body in the king-size bed, I realize this might be my stupidest idea yet. Sleeping with my fake boyfriend, and pretending I’m not as susceptible to catching fire as a match to a flame, isn’t very bright.

Minutes pass, and I’ve reverted to counting sheep, but they start looking a lot like a bunch of shirtless Eliases, and I’m hot all over again. I flip onto my side, then curl up in the fetal position, then turn on my back once again to stare at the ceiling.

“You good?” There’s that raspy voice again. Pure torture for my overactive brain.

“Mm-hmm.” I clear my throat. “Counting sheep.”

It must be an acceptable answer because he doesn’t say anything else. I, on the other hand, have found a way to twirl horizontally to try to discover the perfect spot.

“Come here.” Elias’s deep voice cuts through the silent room and startles me.

“Are you talking to me?” I whisper.

“No, I’m talking to the other person in bed with us,” he deadpans. “I said, come here, Sage.”

The demand hits me like a jolt between the legs. There are so many other contexts in which I could imagine him saying that, but right now I can only think of one, and it’s better left unsaid. I don’t even have a comeback for his sarcasm.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and find him looking right at me. “Where?”

“Here.” He lifts his arm, like it’s the most natural thing. “You’re tossing and turning, and you said it would ease your mind if someone’s sleeping beside you, right?”

Did I say that? Sage from a few minutes ago was a complete idiot. I scoot closer, leaving plenty of space for the Holy Spirit. But as I’m frozen in place, he pulls me against him. I squeak, and I have a split moment of insanity where I want to press my ass into him. I don’t. Obviously.

“Better?” he whispers right by my ear.

No. He’s warm and cozy and safe. “Yup.”

His thumb absently strokes my stomach, and it might as well burn through my shirt. There’s something very alive under these sheets, and I’m terrified he’ll feel the pulse if he moves just a few inches lower.

The weight of his arm, the clean smell of his soap, and the even beat of his heart against my back feel all too soothing. A second ago, there was no way I would fall asleep, but after lying in his arms like this, it’s scary to admit my made-up remedy might work.

“You always smell like vanilla.” I can feel his voice in my hair. It makes me shiver.

I give an awkward chuckle, unsure what exactly is happening between us right now. Is this an invitation? Is vanilla a code word? Should I take off my clothes?

His contented sigh is all I hear, like somehow my lotion has put a spell on him.

“Are you asleep?” I ask.

There’s a long pause before he shifts to fit me into the curve of his body. “Trying to.”

“Oh.”

He sighs, and I don’t particularly like it. “What’s on your mind?”

I’d do anything to make this less awkward, but Elias seems completely okay as we are. “Nothing. You should sleep. Just because I’m an insomniac doesn’t mean you have to be too.”

“I’m awake.” My long silence pushes him to continue. “I don’t get them every night.”

My ears perk like an excited dog. “The nightmares?”

“They used to be rare, but once I got to the league they’ve gotten worse. They come back when I’m stressed.”

Cuddling and revealing his deepest darkest secrets is so unlike Elias, I have the urge to turn and make sure it’s not a very warm robot. “Have you talked to someone? Sean used to get them, and his child psychologist really helped.”

“No. I never want my parents to know and feel guilty about anything.”

I try not to say something that might offend him, but I can’t hold back. “That’s not really fair to you. All that extra stress on your body can’t be helping hockey either.”

Instead of pulling away like I expected, he buries his head in my hair. “Guess not.”

Judging by his tone, I’m assuming the conversation is over, but even as my eyes start to close, I ask, “Does it help you too? Having someone here, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t know. This is a first for me,” he replies.

“You’ve never just slept with someone?”

“Never. But I’m beginning to think you’ll always be the exception.”