Page 116 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Cas, Six weeks later

I was glad that the news of her father’s death came when I was home.

Jules leaned on me.

Not by curling into my chest and crying, by growing depressed, or losing herself for long periods of time.

She went on with her days, with her busy life.

But she was vulnerable and retrospective and quiet.

So, I’d been there to feed her, to watch after Ethan, to make sure she had time to process her feelings rather than burying them and having to deal with life’s heavy like she’d had to do way too many times over the last years.

I wanted to make sure she had space for her emotions, that she could cry if she needed.

But all she wanted was time with me and Ethan, time with her family.

Much like she’d wanted in the hours and days after the visit home.

Worried that she’d returned to life—to work and school and our various groupings of hockey and biological families—I’d talked to Hazel. The team’s sports psychologist was solid, and while grief wasn’t her specialty, she’d advised me to just be there, to lend an ear, and to watch out for Ethan.

So, I had been there.

I’d waited, prepared, but once she’d shed the quiet, retrospective mood, it had stayed gone—even though I’d been prepared for it to come back by reading books, watching a shit-ton of YouTube videos, and keeping the names of several therapists that Hazel had provided close at hand.

All of which was too much worry, apparently, because Jules had pulled me aside, ordered me to relax, and had thoroughly reassured me that she was okay.

“I spent too much time living on the sidelines, honey,” she’d said, cupping my face and staring into my eyes. “Now is my chance to live.”

And she had.

We had.

We’d had Valentine’s Day together (where she’d given me the hundred-dollar bill back once and for all, centered in a black frame that I kept on my desk), and we’d celebrated Ethan’s sixth birthday twice—once with his school and hockey friends and once with our family of Breakers players, their significant others, their kiddos (including Pru and Marcel’s scrunchy-faced twins) along with Grandpa Ace and Nonna JoJo and Kathy and Tim and even Sam and Margot had made it.

Now, it had been several hours since Lake had called, and Jules had retreated into that quiet, and I was prepared again.

Turned out, I didn’t need to be. Again.

She came out of the bedroom, her cell to her ear. “Yeah, six is good. We’re home, but Cas needs to take off for the rink soon.”

I frowned.

I wasn’t going to my game that evening. I’d cleared it with Coach already.

“Yup,” Jules said with a pop. “I’ll meet you at your place when I take off.” She laughed. “Yeah, Ethan too. Be prepared because I already packed the UNO cards.”

My frown deepened, but Jules had already wandered off, her voice echoing through the kitchen.

I slipped away from Sparky, my pooch having fallen asleep during his daily brushing, followed her, and made it into the kitchen right as she was hanging up the phone. Her gaze hit mine after she’d set her cell on the counter, and I inhaled sharply.

The light was back.

“I’m not going to the game,” I blurted.

The light in her grew so bright it was almost blinding. Then she was in my arms. “Honey,” she murmured, fingers in my beard, body flush against mine. “I’m okay?—”

“Your dad?—”

“Not my dad,” she told me. “My father. My sperm donor. The person who kept me alive.” A shake of her head. “But he’s not my dad.”

“Gorgeous—”

“So,” she whispered, “I’m not taking any more time for him.

I got the closure I needed. I got the explanation—or lack of one, anyway.

I heard that he had regrets, but that was pretty much it, and even if he groveled or begged my forgiveness—which he didn’t—I decided after that trip to not waste my life by looking back on what he did.

” She leaned more heavily against me, wove her arms around my shoulders.

“Because I know now that I’m never going to understand how he could do that to me.

It’s never going to make sense, but I’m done trying.

I’m done taking that on me . I have Ethan and you and my family, and that’s more than enough. ”

“Sweetheart,” I began.

“And I have a family that is awesome enough to come out and watch the man who loves me play his five hundredth NHL game.” She rose on tiptoe, brushed her mouth over mine.

“A game that there is no way in hell you’re going to miss, honey.

Not for him. Not for the bad memories. We’re going to jump into the light and live. ”

I’d forgotten.

Forgotten that the ceremony was tonight.

Forgotten about the hoopla the team had planned and had run by me earlier in the week. Because nothing was more important than the family Jules and I had built together.

“The game?—”

“Before you tell me it doesn’t matter”—another brush of her lips over mine—“you’ve taken care of me so often, honey. Now it’s my turn.”

“Your father?—”

Her eyes holding mine. “Ace will be there if I need him.”

Fuck.

That sat heavy on my chest, squeezed my heart, stung my eyes. I knew she and my dad had gotten close, but the fact they had that , the fact that Jules saw it that way…

I loved her and was so thankful she had it.

That I’d helped her get it.

“My picker isn’t broken.”

Her lips curved. “No, honey.” One more brush of her lips. Except this time it turned into something more, something hotter and longer and wetter—and for my part harder .

But then footsteps echoed our way, and we pulled apart, turning to the hall just in time to see Ethan appear, fully kitted out in Breakers gear. “It’s Game Day!” he shouted and turned for the family room, giving me a glimpse of the back of his jersey, showing me my name there.

And that hit heavy too.

And that was… perfect .

“Get ready for the game, baby,” Jules murmured, nudging me toward the stairs.

I didn’t argue further, just got ready, and later that night, when I looked up into the stands and saw my family— all of them—cheering like lunatics, I knew my earlier statement was right.

My picker wasn’t broken.

It had been a little dinged from misuse, dusty because I’d thrust it up on a high shelf, but mostly it had been on standby.

Waiting.

For Jules.

Eva

I slipped out from the arena, leaned back against the wall.

The playoffs were closing in, and I should be down in the locker room, asking all the questions I’d spent hours preparing.

But Theo was down there.

I’d heard his voice echoing out into the hall.

That I could identify him talking through the din of other noises was concerning, but there had been a lot of concerning things about Theo from the very beginning.

Like the fact that we’d fucked.

And it had been life changing.

The man was built, his cock was magnificent, and he knew how to use it—and his lips and teeth and tongue and fingers and?—

He’d blown my mind.

Then had moved right on.

Ouch, yeah?

But he was a professional athlete. I was familiar with their antics and how many of them had an allergy to committing to one woman.

And I was just one woman.

An average one at that.

And one who was now ruined for all other men. Maybe I’d switch to women. I liked a good set of boobs, could get behind curves?—

Ha .

Who was I kidding?

I liked hard and built and thick.

And Theo.

I’d really liked him.

But he hadn’t called. In fact, he hadn’t even let me stay the night. He’d fucked me senseless, sent me on my way and yeah, being blown off hurt, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise. I was me. He was him.

And so…I’d gotten over it.

Then I’d gotten on with work—which, uncomfortably, was in the Breakers’ locker room.

He’d made his disapproval of that clear, and at first, I’d been determined to prove he didn’t affect me, to ignore what happened, to demonstrate that he meant nothing to me, so I’d forced myself to interview him like normal, to report on him like normal.

Were all the stories nice and kind?

No.

I’d sucked the guy off, and he’d still been ready to fuck me senseless. Hell, my pussy had throbbed for two straight days after we’d fucked, and I’d left his bed feeling like I’d run a marathon—something I didn’t bother with because exercise , blegh.

But that was it.

Nothing else.

No catching feelings. No repeat performance. Just…moving on.

So, no, not all the stories about Theo were nice, but that wasn’t because we’d fucked. I just…didn’t always shy away from tough questions, and he’d made it clear that my tough questions, that my reporting in general made him unhappy.

But, I repeated, moving on.

Making the best of it. Doing my job.

Getting opportunities I’d dreamed of and staying busy enough that dealing with Theo Young had gotten easier.

Until he’d eviscerated me in front of Smitty and Cas and Raph and Julie and Lake Jordan.

That , surprisingly, was harder to get over than never having his dick inside me again, never tasting his skin, or feeling his big body come over mine.

He didn’t like me.

He didn’t respect me.

And I’d still gotten wet in the face of all that derision.

I was despicable. And pathetic. And desperate. And?—

The heavy metal door swung open so fast that I didn’t have the chance to stop it, to dodge it. The panel of steel slammed into me, nose to toes, and then the pain was flooding my senses, sending me to my knees on the concrete.

More pain.

But then there was warmth—liquid warmth. Blood gushing out of my nose, dripping down…onto my blouse.

Shit .

Not the expensive silk blouse I’d borrowed from my sister.

It cost who knew how much—and I was terrified it would be a lot, considering that Dommie had expensive taste.

That wasn’t the worst of it.

Nope.

There was something even more terrible than the thought of having to replace an overpriced shirt, than the pain in my kneecaps and my face and my hands and my chest and my toes.

It was the voice.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, frantic hands on my arms, my shoulders, my waist. “Are you okay?”

The voice .

I heard it in my fantasies, my dreams.

Rough and soft, like velvet sandpaper, if that was even a thing.

And I supposed it was.

At least in Theo Young’s world.

Thank you for reading! I hope you loved meeting Cat and Julie as much as I did! The next book in the Breakers Hockey series is brEATHE . He’d never been interested in settling down…until he met her.

CLICK HERE TO READ brEATHE NOW

And if you enjoyed BLOWOUT, pick up book one in my brand new Grizzlies Hockey series, MARRIED TO NUMBER TWENTY-TWO . I signed the contract. I just didn't expect her to show up ten years later, ready to cash it in.