On the drive to dinner, I managed to pull my mind out of the gutter enough to be out in public without risking arrest. As long as I didn't let myself circle back to thinking about the errand we just completed.

That part took some self-control.

I quickly ordered for both of us, handing the waitress the menus. We'd gotten a whack load of appetizers instead of meals—chicken wings, spinach-artichoke dip, pulled pork sliders and more. Bailey was the least picky eater ever, which balanced my less adventurous palate out nicely. AKA, she let me pick all the food. She was the best.

"I meant to ask," I said. "Are you going home for Thanksgiving?"

"Still have to decide with Derek and my parents." Bailey shrugged. Her black sweater slid off her shoulder a little bit, revealing a glimpse of black bra strap underneath. I had to consciously clamp down on the thought spiral as she reached over, adjusting her neckline. "But I'll probably wait until Christmas. It's too expensive to fly home for both holidays."

"My mom's place is only three hours away. If you don't leave, I'm dragging you home with me. Just FYI."

"Really?" Her face brightened. "You'd want me to come?"

"Of course. I'd never let you spend a holiday alone." I couldn't believe that was even a question. "Plus, then you can meet my dysfunctional family."

Kidding not kidding on the dysfunctional part.

"I'm sure they're not that bad."

I grimaced. "You might want to temper those expectations. My mom's fine and my younger sister Seraphina is cool. But in the interest of full disclosure, my stepdad Rick is kind of a douche. Neither my sister nor I get along with him."

Rick didn't respect professional sports as a valid career path and made no attempt to hide it. I guess it wasn't fancy enough for his snotty CPA ass. Too bad I would rather fucking die than sit and stare at spreadsheets behind a desk all day.

Similarly, Rick thought my sister Seraphina was a bit of an airhead and treated her accordingly, which pushed Sera's buttons and my own.

Then there was my mom, who ran around like a chicken with her head cut off, trying to referee between all three parties. She was too soft-spoken to have much impact in that regard. Her quiet tsks and pleas to "be nice" did little.

Though, having Bailey there as a buffer might be a good thing. Rick was probably less inclined to make his snide, passive aggressive comments in the presence of outside company.

"Why don't you two get along?" Bailey took a sip of her ice water, studying my face.

Too many reasons to list.

"It's a long story."

"Well, we have time," she said, raising her blonde eyebrows. "If you want to tell me."

I shifted my weight in the booth, suddenly uncomfortable on every level. It was hard to justify not explaining when I brought it up in the first place. My big mouth strikes again. Guess I had to clear the air about some of those family skeletons eventually.

The server returned, setting down our plates of food. I waited for her to finish before continuing.

"It goes back to when my dad died."

"Wait, he did?" Bailey's hazel eyes searched my face, questioning.

"He passed away ten years ago."

"Oh my god." She covered her mouth. "I noticed that you never really mentioned him, but I didn't know that was the reason. I feel so bad for not knowing that. I wondered, but I didn't want to pry."

I knew her intentions were good, but this was why I had dragged my feet on bringing it up—I hated the way people reacted when I told them. Being on the receiving end of pity never sat well with me. It made me feel weak, though I didn't know why that was.

I reached over, grabbing a slider and placing it on my plate. "I meant to tell you. Just hard to slip that one into casual conversation."

A sudden wave of guilt hit me. I had tons of his photos and NHL memorabilia back at my mom's house. They should have been hanging on my bedroom wall at home—it should have been obvious to Bailey who he was—but it was too hard to look at every day.

Maybe I was weak.

Bailey lowered her voice, reaching across the table for my hand. As a guy, I wasn't really used to someone else trying to comfort me, though surprisingly I didn't hate it. Probably because it was different with her. Everything was different with her.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"Plane crash."

"And you were so young," she murmured. "That's really sad. I'm sorry."

"Yeah." I nodded, gaze fixed on my pint of beer. Might as well rip off the whole Band-Aid. "He was in Jersey, trying to make it back for my hockey game in Connecticut with his friend's hobby plane. His friend was an experienced pilot, but they hit an unexpected storm and that was it. Plane went down and all that was left was the black box."

Followed by a swarm of predatory reporters, climbing all over the crash site. I still hated the fucking press. That would probably become an issue someday when I had to actually talk to them.

"Why was he in New Jersey?" Bailey asked. "For work?"

"He played for them. He had just been traded from New York, and we were still trying to sell our house."

Her jaw dropped and she drew in a small gasp. "I remember that. It was all over the news because two NHL players passed away. I had no idea that was your dad." She looked down at the table, then back up at me. "I can't believe I didn't make that connection before. Brett Carter, right?"

"Right." And it was my fault. It was my first season on a top-tier team and I was so excited that I basically guilt-tripped him into coming. I never should have asked him to come with his tight schedule.

"Did you guys play hockey lots together growing up?"

"All the time," I said, still avoiding her eyes. Talking about him made me feel nostalgic, sad, and uneasy all at once. Which was why I generally didn't. "He's why I started playing."

"I bet," she said softly. "You must have loved watching him on TV."

"Sure did." I took a sip of my beer, pausing. Time to steer the conversation in another direction. It was easier to talk about my asshole stepdad than my real dad.

"As far as Rick goes," I said, "I feel like I have to qualify this with saying that my mom's not a bad person. She just never quite recovered after my dad died. It was like she was broken. Lost."

More specifically, my mom didn't get out of bed for a month and a half after the plane crash. After that, it was a merry-go-round of meds and therapy, a few good days sprinkled into a lot of bad. The happy, fun-loving mother I grew up with disappeared and never returned. Then I hit the rebellious teenager stage, which did our relationship no favors—especially with Rick in the picture.

But we got along now, even if we weren't very close.

Bailey nodded. "I can imagine. Something like that must have been devastating to your whole family."

She wasn't wrong. I think I'd been permanently off-course ever since.

"Once she started dating again a year or so later, she dated a string of losers. Unemployed deadbeat types, probably after her for my dad's money. One guy, Mitch, was a straight-up alcoholic." I hesitated, weighing whether to continue.

Generally speaking, I hardly ever so much as raised my voice. When you were my size, you didn't need to in order to get the point across. Even when I got into fights in hockey, I wasn't angry, per se. Annoyed, maybe, or thinking someone needed sense knocked into them after a cheap hit, but not mad.

I could count the number of times I'd lost my temper on one hand.

But if I had a sore spot, it was men disrespecting or hurting women. Also see: Morrison.

"He pushed her into the fridge one night and I beat the shit out of him."

I wasn't sure if James was going to think I had anger issues, but it was what it was. It happened; I couldn't rewrite history. Wouldn't want to, either. He deserved it.

Her eyes widened. "How old were you?"

"I was 13. But I was big for my age and I was fucking pissed. He didn't know what hit him."

"I believe it," she said. "I've seen you fight."

"Anyway, having a difficult preteen the size of an adult wasn't a big selling point for dating my mom. I scared most of them off, intentionally or not. Rick wasn't the worst of them by a long shot—he's decent to my mom, at least. But he didn't want kids, especially ones that weren't his. So he stuck around but he made the rules. Which were basically, don't be a pain in the ass and stay out of the way."

Something flashed across Bailey's face, like sadness mixed with a hint of anger. This was why I usually didn't get into things like this, though with her it was more tolerable with most other people.

"And you guys still don't get along?" She asked, tilting her head sympathetically.

"I have a trust from my dad's insurance that kicked in when I turned 18. Once I became financially independent and moved out, things improved a little. We can sort of coexist now. Sera and him still butt heads a lot, though."

"What's your sister like?" Bailey looked at me playfully. "Is she trouble like you?"

"A bit of a party girl, which is probably why she's at ASU, but she's a sweetheart. You'll like her."

"I'm sure I will." She reached over, grabbing a chicken wing. She took a bite chicken wing and recoiled, setting it back down on her plate. "Holy crap. These aren't medium. They're more like extra-hot."

"I can send them back if you need, princess."

"Princess?" She narrowed her eyes. "I can handle them just fine."

"That's true, you are good at handling things."

"Oh my god, you." She laughed, shaking her head. "Never a missed innuendo."

"Now you know more than you ever wanted about my fucked up family tree," I said. "What about your family? All I know is that your brother hates me." I bit into the barbecue pork slider, watching her reaction.

Bailey waved me off. "I wouldn't say he hates you..."

"Yeah." My lips quirked. "He definitely does."

I mean, until recently I would have said I wasn't a fan of his, either. But if it came down to it, I could get past it for her.

"My parents are your pretty typical middle-class suburbanites. They'll be married for 30 years next spring. And I have two older brothers besides Derek."

"Oh good," I said cheerfully. "Then they can all gang up on me when I meet them."

"No, they aren't like that." Bailey reached over and grabbed a blue corn tortilla chip, scooping up spinach-artichoke dip. "They aren't into hockey, so Derek's dumb grudge won't hold water. And Derek will come around—eventually." Her lips folded into a frown. "I don't know what's gotten into him, actually. We used to be close." She bit into her chip, expression clouding over.

"Maybe he's going through something with that whole Jillian mess. But it doesn't excuse him being a crappy brother. Not to overstep."

Friend or not, Derek should have stood up to Morrison about Bailey a long time ago. Not just stood up to him, Derek should have pummeled Morrison.

Ward was like a brother to me, but had they somehow dated, I would have never sat by and watched him treat my sister like garbage.

"I don't disagree," she said. "But between classes, the paper, and you, I'm going to be so busy that I won't have time to worry about Derek anyway."

"That's right. You must be happy about getting the sports section all to yourself." I grinned, because I knew how badly she'd wanted that.

"I am...Except it means more Bulldogs games." Bailey paused and drew in a breath. "Maybe that's what I need to go incognito for."

My smile faded, tone dropping. "Anyone gives you trouble, they answer to me."

It pissed me off that she was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of being around these people, even in public. Especially when she'd never done anything in the first place. The way they treated her was fucking brutal. A bunch of spineless sheep.

"I think Jillian and Amelia already answered to Shiv."

"I heard that was a nice little verbal smackdown," I said. "But I meant the guys."

"Yeah." Her voice flattened, posture stiffening. "Speaking of that, I'm really dreading this interview with Paul."

My second least favorite person. Well, tied with Amelia and Jillian. They were all so terrible, it was hard to even rank them at this point.

"I can tag along if you want. Sit there and glare at his sorry ass to keep him in line."

I was one hundred percent not kidding. I would enjoy nothing more than playing bodyguard around that idiot.

She paused with her hand in mid-air, reaching for a slider. "Probably not necessary, but I appreciate the thought."

"Are you sure?"

"I think I'll be okay," Bailey said, biting back a smile. "Your caveman act is cute as always, though."

And I thought it was cute she seemed to think it was an act. This was how I was wired.

After dinner, I twisted Chase's arm to get hot chocolates to go from the Uncommon Coffee Co. Okay, it didn't take much twisting.

We made our way back to his truck, drinks in hand. The fall days were still reasonably pleasant, but once the sun set, the evenings turned bitingly chilly.

"How's packing coming?" He said, taking my free hand in his.

I sipped my white hot chocolate. "I've got lots of the small stuff taken care of already. Like all of my out-of-season clothes. It's probably premature, but I'm just so excited to get the heck out of there."

"Me too. I know the living arrangement will be way better for you." He paused, forehead creasing. "Though I don't love the idea of you on the train at night."

"It's a five-minute ride," I said. "Three stops."

He grunted but said nothing, which in Chase terms meant he didn't agree but didn't want to argue with me. Stubborn man.

I elbowed him gently. "I don't have any evening classes, anyway. The only time I ever stay late is when we're on deadline for the paper."

"Good," Chase said. "I'll pick you up on those days."

"What if you have a game?"

His eyes gleamed. "Then you'll be there watching me."

"Sometimes, Carter."

"All the time, James." He grinned. "Starting with our next game. We have to win this one, it's a male pride thing now."

I laughed. "I'll come. But honestly, you don't have to pick me up from campus every time I stay late."

"But I want to."

I could tell by the way he said it that it wasn't up for debate.

"Besides," he added, "It would be a good excuse to squeeze in a sleepover."

"Do we need an excuse?"

"That's true." We came to a stop by the truck. He leaned in, lips meeting mine. A rush ran through me, electric and exhilarating. I curled my fingers around his coat, pulling him closer. He slanted his mouth against mine, deepening the kiss for a moment, until he pulled back.

"Let's go," he said, nodding to the truck with a crooked grin. "I want to make good on what I said earlier."

Just a cute little bonding chapter. You know, before more smut. Maybe some drama, TBD.

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