Page 65 of Arresting the Hockey Player

“I’ll grab the subway home,” I say cowardly, and head in the opposite direction.

Noah huffs under his breath. “You’re not walking there alone.” His strides match mine, even as I pick up the pace. He doesn’t touch me. His hands remain at his sides.

We approach the subway station, but a sign warns us of a long delay.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Just come back with me,” he says.

I know that’s not what he wants. It’s the last thing in the world, and even if he’s offering, it’s strictly out of pity.

“You can go home. I’ll wait. It’s fine.”

“And chance that you fall onto the tracks because you’re drunk?” His laugh is dark, his eyes wide. “No. That’s the last thing I need the press getting wind of. You’re coming home with me.”

I don’t argue. There’s no point.

While I want time to explain and talk to him, this isn’t how I envisioned it going.

We walk back up the subway stairs to the street. It isn’t too far of a walk, a couple of blocks in the dark before we enter his fancy building.

I can feel the doorman’s eyes and the concierge staring at me. Were they on shift the night of Noah’s arrest?

I feel like I’m being taken back to the scene of the crime.

My stomach is in knots.

The silence stretches on between us. I can’t fathom why he’s brought me home, even though he says it’s because he’s worried about me falling onto the tracks. He could just put me in a cab. There’s so much that’s unsaid between us. The air is thick, and my heart rate increases as I sway on my feet.

Noah wraps an arm around my waist as he ushers me into the elevator. “Upstairs.” It’s a command. There’s no arguing with him tonight. He has his mind made up that he’s taking me back to his place.

We ride up in the elevator together, and I’ve never felt so claustrophobic in my life. The walls are dancing, caving in on me. Each breath is more pronounced as I gasp for air, but there isn’t enough.

I’m suffocating.

Spots pepper my vision before everything goes black.

SIXTEEN

Noah

I never should have gone with Jasper to the bar, but hearing that Amber and Charlotte needed a ride because they were drinking, I didn’t want to leave it for Jasper to handle both girls. Amber is his girlfriend.

Charlotte, well, she’s not exactly my girlfriend. But I would have liked to have considered us friends before what transpired recently.

And a small part of me wants revenge.

Maybe I showed up because I wanted to see her drunk off her ass and miserable for screwing up my life. Does that make me the bad guy? It’s not like I drove her to drink.

But I also needed to make sure that she made it home all right.

I’m pissed at her, but I’m not an asshole. I don’t want to see anything terrible or tragic happen to Charlotte. I couldn’t live with myself if she stepped out into traffic and got hit by a car or ordered a ride-share and wandered into the wrong vehicle.

Somehow, I’ve found myself bringing the cute and adorable Charlotte Grace home with me. For the record, what she did to my personal and professional life far outweighs the cuteness that she exudes.

I ought to hate her.

But all I feel is concern as I’m standing beside her in the elevator, and she collapses to the ground.

I didn’t see it coming.