Devious Obsession: A Dark Hockey Romance (Hockey Gods)

My dazzling viper hypnotized the room. And me, too. My heart is filled watching her play. Her whole upper body moves with it, leaning forward slightly over the keys. Her hair pulled away from her face, the ends left loose down her back. She chose a long-sleeved purple dress that accentuates her body while remaining modest.

Not my favorite word—modest—but I understand it in this regard.

The theater swells with the music she’s creating. The notes seem to almost tumble over each other, each one clear and precise and melting into the rest. I lean forward in my seat, unable to take my eyes off her.

But then I do, because I need to remember this. I start recording only a minute or two into Aspen’s performance. I zoom in on her slight smile, and the way she’s not even looking at the keys. Her chin stays lifted, her gaze lost in some memory—or just focus as she recalls the piece. There’s no sheet music in front of her, nothing except the great expanse of the piano.

I angle my camera toward her hands and resist the urge to creep closer.

Pride swells in my chest when, after several more minutes of soul-rocking playing, her fingers linger on the keys and the sound fades off into silence. I wipe a tear away. Her pain and loss was so very powerful.

She did that.

Aspen pulls her hands back into her lap and looks down for a moment, her throat working. I end the recording and research where to buy a piano.

I mean, it should probably wait until we have a house… but do I really want her to spend time in a cramped little practice room when she could be playing in our place?

No, no I don’t.

Besides, I’ve been working on getting us an apartment. Knox and Miles know I plan on moving us out. Aspen has been a good sport about sharing a house with two other guys. Thalia moved in with one of the dance girls. Neither one wanted to linger in that apartment.

No one blamed them.

Aspen’s been having nightmares, though. She wakes up terrified. Sometimes she moans and jerks in her sleep before she snaps out of it. But they’re easing. Every night, I’m there to coax her out of her fear. And I never want to be anywhere else.

“Ready?”

I jump to my feet, closing my browser and stuffing my phone in my pocket. Aspen gives me an odd look, but I just shake my head and hold out my hand to her.

Next stop… my mom’s.

Aspen holds my hand on the drive there, chattering about the piece, the judges, the rush she felt. “I really felt like the passion was there this time. It was a good audition, don’t you think?”

“It was brilliant.”

“Well.” She pauses, her face turning red. “Thank you.”

I bring her hand up to my lips, angling for her fourth finger.

The drive is about an hour, out of Crown Point and south on the closest highway. We pass the exit for my hometown, which is no doubt familiar to Aspen, and then drive another thirty minutes.

Mom is in a smaller town, tucked out of the way, in a gorgeous mansion that’s been converted into apartments.

We pull into the parking lot, and I see the confusion that crosses Aspen’s face. I shrug it off and park, then go around and open her door. I wrap my arm around her waist and cinch her to my side, hurrying her into the building.

After signing in, we go down a hallway and into a huge, airy common room. There are plush chairs set around low tables, a few couches. The ceiling is two stories above our heads, with the second story banister open and allowing that floor to overlook the common room. The windows go all the way up, too, letting in a ton of light.

“Steele…”

I glance at Aspen and bite my tongue. We continue toward one of the far corners, where there’s always a chessboard set up.

My mother’s favorite spot.

She’s seated right where I would expect her to be. There’s a glass of water in front of her, near the board but off to the side. All the pieces are set up for a game to begin. Her hair is in a braid, dark brown with streaks of silver in it. Her glasses are perched on her nose, the decorated chain looped behind her neck. And she seems to be focused on the pieces, although she hasn’t reached out to move any.

Perhaps she’s waiting for an opponent.

“Hi, Mom.” I touch her arm.

She smiles up at me. “Oh! Hi, darling.”

“Care to play?”

She focuses on the board again and nods. “Yes, of course. I’m quite good, you know.”

I crack a smile, although my heart is pounding. “I know. You’ve beat me a few times. Mom, this is Aspen. She’s my fiancée.”

Mom’s gaze goes to my girl.

“Nice to meet you,” Aspen says.

“Pleasure.” Mom beams. “I wasn’t expecting company today! But please, sit.”

I drag another chair over for Aspen and take the one opposite Mom. I’ve got the white pieces, so I move my pawn forward first.

“Are you enjoying the cooler weather?” I ask.

Mom hums and pushes forward one of her pawns. “The snow is nice to watch. They’ve got me knitting scarves for all the ladies. Keeps me busy.” She leans toward Aspen. “Some of them are real nice about it, but other ones…” Her nose wrinkles.

Aspen lets out a surprised laugh.

We continue to play chess, not thinking especially hard about the opening. And for a moment, I allow myself to relax.

Then Mom’s attention lands on me, and she says, “My son and I used to play chess together.”

My stomach knots, and I force a smile. “You must’ve taught him well.”

Mom nods. “He’s playing hockey at his high school. Wonderful thing, that sport. Although I wish he would focus more on his science classes.”

“Are you talking about Steele?” Aspen asks.

“Yes, yes. My eldest boy.” Mom’s smile wobbles. “Do you know him?”

“I do,” Aspen answers. Without hesitation. “You raised a great guy.”

My mom visibly brightens. She shuffles more upright and reaches for Aspen’s hand. “Tell me about him. It’s been a while since I was able to go see him play.”

Aspen scoots her chair closer to Mom, not letting go of her hand. “He’s in college now, but he’s going to be graduating in a few months. He’s still playing hockey.” Her gaze finds mine. “He’s got kind eyes. A protector’s spirit.”

Mom pats Aspen’s hand with her free one. “You do know my son. He’s always trying to protect me. College, you said?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Aspen’s voice lowers. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

She looks at me again, then back at my mom. Her tone is conspiratorial as she says, “I’m going to marry him.”

“Well.” Mom’s throat works. Her eyes fill with tears. “Isn’t that just the most amazing thing. Did he give you a ring?”

“Not yet.”

Mom scoffs. “Men.” She hooks her thumb under the collar of her sweater, pulling out the thin chain… and the ring on it. With surprising dexterity, she gets it off and thrusts the whole thing at Aspen. “Try this on.”

My throat is tight. Aspen unclasps the necklace and slides the ring off, and her brows furrow.

It’s the ring my father got her when they were freshly out of college. Barely twenty-one themselves and ready to take on the world—or so the stories go. A single round diamond set with silver prongs. There used to be an engraving on the underside, but time has worn it away. I know, because I used to rub her ring between my index finger and thumb. A comfort thing when Dad dropped me off here to visit.

I go to Aspen and go to my knees in front of her, gently taking the ring from her hands.

“Let me.”

She takes a shuddering breath—and I’m right there with her.

“Aspen Monroe.” I take in her big, beautiful green eyes that are filling rapidly with tears. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh!” Mom exclaims.

Aspen nods frantically. I take her left hand and slip the ring on her finger, and holy shit.

It’s a perfect fit.

Aspen grabs my face and kisses me hard, just for a second. It tastes like her tears. Then she’s out of her chair and hugging my mother.

Mom hugs her back, patting it softly. She’s bewildered, but she doesn’t pull away or shout in fear. No dramatic reactions at all. And after a moment, Mom makes a shushing sound, soothing Aspen.

When my girl withdraws, she swipes under her eyes and blots at her face with her sleeve.

Mom’s gaze bounces from me to Aspen, then back to me. She frowns.

“What’s that look for?” I ask her, grinning.

She rolls her eyes and points to the board. “It’s your move.”

That it is.