The Good Luck Charm(21)
“They sent me home for a reason, Lilah.”
“I don’t understand.”
His smile is rueful. “If I don’t pick it up and play well, better than I have been, this could be my last season.”
“So this is your ‘in case I fail’ house? That’s a little fatalist of you, isn’t it?” I’m pushing his buttons, something I used to do when he’d play street hockey, or any kind of hockey with his friends in lieu of studying for tests.
Back then we were both reasonable about his prospects with the NHL—how short most careers were. And here he is, telling me his might be over. He’s not even twenty-eight yet. Life has hardly even started and he’s looking at the end of his dream when I’m starting to pursue my own.
“I’m sorry—that was uncalled for.”
His jaw works for a few seconds. “I’m trying to be realistic. I’m buying a house because I need a place to live that isn’t my parents’ basement. I’m looking at this one in particular because it’s a sound investment, and because my parents could easily live here without us driving each other insane. Even if this season goes well, I have no idea what’s coming next, so I want to be prepared for anything.”
I don’t ask any of the questions I want to, like what happens if he does do well this season? Will Minnesota extend his contract? Will he still be traded? Does he plan to come back here for good when his career in the NHL does eventually end?
“I guess that makes sense.” I step away from the balcony and Ethan, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing. “Why don’t we check out the basement?”
chapter seven
CLOSED SPACES
Lilah
Ethan follows me down the hall to the stairs. The basement has high ceilings and a walkout to a patio in the backyard.
Ethan immediately checks out the home movie theater and bank of arcade games. The last door on the left seems to be a cold cellar at first glance. A closer look at the shelves reveals not food, but bottles upon bottles of wine.
The space is probably bigger than my bedroom, but the walls are concrete, and there don’t seem to be any windows. It’s not cold, but not the same temperature as the rest of the house, either. Along one wall are several tall fridges, which hold more bottles. I’m not a fan of closed spaces, especially ones without windows, but I’m curious, and I’m not alone, so I step inside despite the shiver that runs down my spine.
“These people are serious wine aficionados.” I run my fingers along the bottles. I’m more of a margarita girl, but I’ll drink wine if the occasion calls for it. I note another door at the far end of the wine cellar, but it doesn’t have a handle. That’s weird. I wonder if it’s some kind of huge safe, and if so, what the hell is in it?
“Hey, Ethan, come look at this!” I call out as I spin around. I crash into his chest, grabbing hold of his forearms to steady myself. “Christ, when did you become so stealthy?”
“Back when I used to sneak up to my room to sleep with you after my parents fell asleep.” His wide palms rest on my waist. He’s always been so much bigger than me—it made me feel delicate when we were younger, strangely feminine when, in reality, I was more of an athletic tomboy.
I fight not to allow those memories to surface. His gaze is hot, warming my skin, starting with my cheeks. Pushing away, I step to the side so I’m a little closer to the exit and gesture to the handleless door behind me. “Is that a safe?”
He lifts a shoulder and moves around me to take a closer look. “Dunno. What’s that?” He pushes a button I failed to notice, and the door slides open with a metallic click.
He peeks inside and I grab on to his arm. “Do you really think you should go in there?”
He looks down at me, clinging to him, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’m going to check it out.” I don’t let go as he takes another step forward, and another. He’s pretty much dragging me along with him, but my body has locked up, and no matter what I try to tell my brain, I can’t seem to let go.
Over the past several years I thought I’d gotten past my fear of tight spaces—I still avoid elevators whenever possible, but I thought I had it managed. Guess not. The wine cellar on its own created a little anxiety, enough to make my palms damp, but I find myself frozen, unable to unlock my arms from around Ethan’s.
A red light flares as we cross the threshold. My heels slide across the floor with every step he takes. Half of me appreciates the feel of his body close to mine, protective, safe; the other half is highly in tune with my uncontrollable rising panic over the small, windowless space we’re in.
“Ethan.” My voice is high, shrill.
“You okay, baby?”
“I can’t—” I dig my nails into his skin, while simultaneously trying to force myself to release him so I can get back to a room with windows.
“I think there’s a light switch right here.” He slaps at the wall to the right, spinning us around so I’m fully inside the room.
A metallic grating follows as the door begins to slide shut. My arms finally obey the command to release him. I shove him out of the way, which is pretty incredible considering he easily must weigh more than two hundred pounds. I catch him off guard, so he stumbles back with a grunt. I can’t see well enough in the dim lighting, so I trip over his foot, falling into the closing door. I try to grab the edge and keep it from sealing us in, but it seems to function like an elevator, and I nearly lose my fingers as the wine cellar disappears from view.