Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

“I know.”

“But she loves you,” she says softly.

“And I love her. Even the stubborn part.”

“I love hearing that,” Elli says with a bright smile that reminds me of Posey’s. I never really thought she looked like her mom, more like her dad, but her smile is her mom’s, for sure. “Do you wanna get a drink? I’d love to get to know you.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I think I should go to bed and feel stupid about a pointless argument.”

She nods. “A man who knows he’s stupid is a man in love.”

I glance back at her. “Well, I’m one stupid dude. Because my heart knows the search is over and she’s it. I just can’t seem to get my brain to listen. I’m terrified of being hurt again.”

She cups my bicep. “That’s the unpredictability of love. You just gotta trust it’s real.”

The thing is, I know it’s real. I know Posey came when I needed her, but I let my earlier insecurities cloud what is real and perfect in front of me. “You’re not upset with me?”

“Not at all. We’ll have dinner together another time.”

I sigh sadly. “I mean about fighting with Posey.”

She actually laughs. “Oh, sweet boy,” she says, hugging me tightly. “You two are going to fight. Shea and I fight constantly. About the stupidest things and then some not stupid things,” she admits, her eyes holding mine. They’re such a dark emerald green and so beautiful. “I believe that fighting means you’re passionate enough about the other person to hold them accountable and they feel the same for you. As long as you know when you’re wrong and she knows when she is and you can admit it to each other, everything will be fine.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

She pats my chest. “Don’t worry.”

I do worry, though. I don’t want to lose her over something stupid. I almost want to find Maxim, kick his ass for hurting her and causing a fight between us, but I know it wasn’t his fault. It was mine and my jealousy. Elli and I say good night, and as I ride the elevator to my room, I lean into the wall, holding my phone in my hands. I glance at the screen, hoping Posey has texted me, but she hasn’t. I take a deep breath as I open our text thread and message her.

So I can admit that I’m wrong.

Me: I love you.

Posey: I love you, but I don’t like you right now.

Me: If it makes it better, I don’t like myself right now.

Posey: I would never hurt you.

Me: I know.

Posey: Stupid fight over nothing.

Me: I know. Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow after morning skate? Apologize with waffles?

Posey: I want bacon too.

Me: Done.

Posey: And kisses. Lots of sorry kisses.

Me: Tongue or no tongue?

Posey: Duh, all the tongue, and you better grab my ass.

Me: Like I could resist.

Me: I love you, lovely.

Posey: I love you too, you jealous pain in my ass.

I lean my head into the elevator wall and grin.

Yeah, we’ll be okay.

As long as I get my head out of my ass and love her like I could lose her at any moment.

* * *

“I texted her, honey.”

I walk into the locker room of the Avalanche’s arena, annoyed. Not only is my mom driving me insane, but I haven’t heard from Posey. I thought things were fine, but she didn’t answer my good morning text. I know she’s up. The coaches head to the rink before we do, so I’m unsure what is going on. Before I could call, though, my mom called me.

“Did she answer you back?”

“No.”

I press my lips together. “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t get it? She didn’t tell me anything, and when I asked if she wanted to have dinner with you, she said yes.”

She clears her throat. “I may have really messed this up.”

“Maybe, but she doesn’t hold a grudge. She’s a good girl, and she loves me enough to give you another chance.”

“I just worry, is all. I did all that with loving intentions.”

“Being mean to the center of my world is loving intentions? I have a hard time believing that, Mom,” I say as I enter the locker room. “She really is amazing, and you didn’t give her a chance.”

“I just don’t trust women anymore when it comes to you—”

“You don’t have to trust them. There are no more. Just her.”

She takes a deep breath. “Boon, I worry you’re all in and she’s not.”

“Well, you’re wrong,” I insist as I sit down in my locker. “She is all in and then some. We’re happy, Mom. Be happy for us.”

“I’m trying. I really am,” she says, but I don’t know if I believe her. “I don’t want to say I told you so if this goes bad.”

Now she’s just pissing me off. “If you keep talking like that, you won’t have the chance because I won’t answer the phone anymore.”