Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(10)

He said those words to me one year ago, and I took a hint. I decided having Jasper as a friend is better than alienating him altogether. And that’s what blurting out my feelings would do. So I let it go. I may be stupidly obsessed with the man, but I have some sense of self-preservation. I like to think I have some dignity. But lately I’m questioning even that.

Realizing I’ve been staring at him blankly for far too long, I ask, “How are we going to do that?”

He hikes a thumb in the opposite direction from the church entrance. “Emergency exit is that way. Cade and Willa planned a distraction. And then we’re just gonna . . .” He shrugs, looking so damn boyish as he does. “Give er.”

“Give ’er?”

His laugh is a deep, amused rumble. It pulls me toward him and draws my cheeks up into a grin; it soothes me in a way I can’t explain.

He nods and it’s so sure. Decisive. There’s something reassuring about knowing he’ll always have my back, that he can take an out-of-control situation and make it feel in control somehow. “Yeah. Like . . . go hard. Give ’er shit.”

I quirk my head. “Is this a hockey saying?”

“Come to think of it, probably. Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s give ‘er,” I agree with a light laugh.

But a serious expression flashes across his face. “You sure about this, Sunny?”

Sunny. I can’t stop myself from flinching this time. I think he notices it because confusion flashes across his chiseled face. And all I can bring myself to do is nod. Decisively.

His phone dings, distracting us both. And then he’s reaching for my hand, twining his fingers between mine, and carefully twisting the deadbolt on the door.

Before stepping into the hallway, I hear a pained shout. “Ah! My baby!”

When we peek into the hallway seconds later, all backs are turned to us. Willa is down on all fours in the foyer, grasping at her stomach dramatically while Cade stands by, arms crossed, gruffly asking if she’s okay while trying not to roll his eyes.

I’m momentarily confused. Because if I know Cade, he’s as protective as they come, and seeing the mother of his child down on the floor in pain would have him wild.

Willa’s chin tips up in our direction, and she winks, before falling into another chorus of loud wails. “Please! I need a doctor!”

I have to press my palm over my mouth to keep from laughing at how ridiculous this plan is. All Jasper does is shake his head, squeeze my hand reassuringly in his, and take off for the back door.

I run barefoot down the carpeted hallway, taking the biggest strides I can muster while desperately trying to control the laughter bubbling in my chest.

It’s freeing. It’s a relief. And before we hit the door, my fingers loosen around the sparkly heels in my hand.

I drop them like Cinderella and step out into a dull November afternoon, with my palm pressed tight against Jasper’s.





“How much farther?” I huff, out of breath after running a few blocks in a big, heavy dress topped with a hefty dose of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Jasper slows, giving me a slight grimace. “Sorry. I parked at the stadium. Hadn’t planned on being your getaway vehicle.” His fingers pulse on mine as he draws me close to his side. And then his tone changes. “Though maybe I should have.”

His eyes drop, like he’s embarrassed by what he just said, and he lurches to a halt. “Jesus, Sloane. Your feet. I didn’t even think beyond getting you out that door.” Eyes glued to the ground, he gestures me behind him, and I realize he’s staring at my feet. My bare feet on a cold winter sidewalk. “Why didn’t you say anything? You got something against your feet? I feel like I’m the only one who takes care of them.”

“Don’t worry about my feet. It’s this fucking hairdo that’s killing me.” I probe at the spot where I can feel tiny hairs tugging against my scalp.

His lips tip down in a surly frown, and then he crouches. “Hop up.”

“You want to give me a piggyback ride?”

He shoots me a playful look over his shoulder, one that takes me back to long, hot summers spent floating the river, splashing, and staring at Jasper Gervais, who seemed all man to me even at seventeen.

Wish I could go back and warn that Sloane about how he’d grow up to look.

Which is to say, devastating.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Let’s go. I don’t want Woodcock to catch up with us and throw a tantrum.”

I can’t help the small laugh that erupts from me. Or that my fingers are already gripping at my skirt as I climb Jasper like a tree. Once I get close enough, he hefts me up easily, and I realize I weigh nothing to him.

A tiny ballerina being toted around by a huge hockey player.

In her fucking wedding dress.

Giggles overtake me, and I wrap my arms around Jasper’s neck, snuggling into the warmth of his body. I feel the vibrations of his laughter against my chest, and my nipples rasp against the inside of my bodice.

“This is insane.” I drop my head to the back of his neck, the tips of his hair brushing against my forehead.

“No.” He hikes me up higher on his back as we enter the hockey arena parking lot, and I struggle against the tight dress to keep my legs wrapped around the wide expanse of his back. “Taking Woodcock as a legal name is insane.”