Page 26 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twenty-Five

Smitty

I was sitting on her little blue couch—so little it was almost comical trying to fit my big body on it, even without Kailey beside me—a beer in my hand, a Gold game on TV.

Watching Brit Plantain in net was incredible, especially since rumor had it that she’d be retiring when her contract was up in two years.

Having played against her many times in both of our long tenures in the league, I knew that she was legit one of the toughest goalies I’d ever played against. This was mostly because she was extremely agile and a hard worker.

If there was a weakness in her game, she didn’t rest until it was remedied.

She had the best goals against average in the league. The highest save percentage.

And it had been that way for three years.

But her husband, and former captain, Stefan Barie, had retired several years back, and they’d recently adopted an adorable little girl named Roxie, and were planning on expanding their family.

Stefan was playing the stay-at-home dad and rocking that shit if the video feed of him cradling their baby in decked out Gold gear, a sparkling golden bow on her peach-fuzz-covered head was any indication, but I understood the urge to not be away from the family for half the year, especially when Brit had played in the league for as long as she had.

I lived and breathed the sport.

But if I had kids at home, it would be hard as hell to leave them behind.

I didn’t envy Raph.

Gotta get that big-league money before we retired, though.

Play it smart, retire on top, live happily ever after.

That was my plan, anyway. And Brit was smart enough to have a plan of her own, so I was just going to enjoy the magic—be proud as fuck that we’d managed to eke out four wins against them in the finals to take home the Cup and enjoy feeling domestic.

Because I was by myself on that tiny couch, that beer in hand, the game in hand, and Kailey was working on her computer.

She’d shyly asked if I minded her working on a side project for a few hours, since she was close to being done, and I’d told her the truth.

I didn’t mind at all.

We’d come back to her place the night before, stayed up for hours worshipping each other’s bodies, and every time she’d told me she loved me, I had felt a little jolt in my body. I would never ever get tired of her saying those words to me.

So today, when we’d woken up late, with a day off for me, and it being the weekend for her (off minus her side projects that was), I hadn’t been in any hurry to move.

We’d lazed in bed.

We’d showered together.

We’d ordered in lunch and cuddled on that small ass couch.

And then Kailey had gone to her computer, and I’d caught up on some shows, unable to resist the urge to glance at her at regular intervals, to watch her work, her fingers moving furiously on the keyboard, her eyes glued to the screen. Totally transfixed and in the zone.

For hours.

It was fascinating.

She was amazing.

I could never find that kind of stillness in myself, always moving—my leg bouncing or tossing a ball when off the ice, or when on it, shooting a puck, working on my edges, flexing my stick. Even studying tape had to be done on the treadmill.

In fact, the only time I’d found stillness was with Kailey.

Talking to her.

Holding her.

Even just being here in this apartment.

I didn’t think I could sit at a computer for six hours, though, even if she wanted to play that dragon game she’d shown me before she’d begun working.

Cool game.

Something I’d definitely be down for, at least for a few hours.

But I didn’t have the patience to sit down and muddy my way through programming.

Thankfully, I had a really smart girlfriend who was good at it.

So, I’d left her to her project, cleaned up the food from lunch, washed the sheets we’d made a mess of because we’d eaten in bed and got crumbs everywhere (not to mention our activities of the previous day and last night), and remade the bed.

Then I’d searched her cabinets, found enough in them to make a simple meal of a salad and pasta, unfreezing some garlic bread, and somehow managing to not burn it.

I’d made her a plate, brought her that and a beer, placing both on her desk and earning myself a slightly dazed smile, her pretty green eyes blinking up at me.

“You need me to stop?” she asked, the work haze beginning to leave her face.

“No,” I murmured. “Just…sustenance. Can’t have you wasting away.”

She snorted, but smoothed her hand over my cheek, my beard in that way that never failed to make my heart skip a beat. “With this body?”

Slowly I’d spun her chair, planted my palms on her thighs. “I know you’re not talking shit about yourself, little bird. I happen to love this body.”

A smile, that other hand coming up to join the first on my face. “You’ve shown me that, and I like my body. It’s strong. It’s capable. It…”

“Gives you orgasms so long as you’re watching reality TV?”

Laughter in her eyes. “I thought you were responsible for those.”

“Nope,” I said, playing innocent. “It was the vibrator class.”

That sent the laughter from her eyes and onto her tongue, filling the air with the soft, melodic sound of her amusement.

“Eat, little bird,” I’d ordered before I could distract her further, “Or I’ll have to punish you again.”

More humor. Another smile that hit me right in the solar plexus. “Now you’re just tempting me.”

She’d been tempting me.

But I’d managed to just press a kiss to her lips (and keep it relatively short) then had retreated to the couch, turning occasionally to make sure she was eating.

When she’d finished, I’d retrieved the plate, soaked in some hockey and the very talented Brit Plantain, and just enjoyed the domesticity, the stillness, the settling of being with her, even though we weren’t doing the same thing.

“Baby?”

I blinked, realized I’d been daydreaming and the game had gone to intermission while I’d been thinking about all things that were my wonderful, perfect woman, and meanwhile had missed that my wonderful, perfect woman was approaching.

Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she had those tortoiseshell frames perched on her nose, the smattering of freckles beneath them and polka dotting the bridge and the tops of her cheeks.

But it was her hands that had me blinking away the relaxed fog the day had brought.

They were wringing together.

Fingers woven and sitting just beneath her belly button, as though trying to contain something—butterflies? Nerves? A creepy monster that would burst out a la Alien (though, for the record, I’d still love her, even with a baby alien inside her).

The skin of her hands was turning white and pink as her fingers squeezed and released, her fingers shifting along each other, clenching and relaxing.

I placed my palm over the top of her hands, stilling the movement, stopping her from hurting herself. “What do you need, little bird?”

Nerves and excitement in emerald eyes. “Can I show you something?”

On my feet in a second, my palm going to the side of her neck. “Of course, honey.”

“Right.” A breath. Her chin went up, shoulders straightened. “It’s over here,” she said, turning away and leading me to her computer. When I made it there, she placed a hand on my arm. “Will you sit?”

I sank down into her chair, let her roll me close.

“I—” A breath. “I made this for you thinking it’d be helpful, but now I’m worried that you might be upset because you don’t need it and it’s presumptuous, and I didn’t mean to make it seem like you needed it and?—”

“Little bird,” I said, covering her hand. “I won’t be mad, I promise.”

“Right.” She inhaled again. “Okay, so I was thinking about your dyslexia and how it’s a struggle sometimes”—her eyes flicked to mine—“not that you can’t manage it and?—”

“Honey.”

She swallowed. “Right,” she whispered. “So, I was thinking that this might help.” Leaning forward, Kailey brought her hand to the mouse, clicked the button.

“So, I made this.” Teeth into her lip. “It’s just a simple plug-in, but if you click this”—another press on the mouse—“then it’ll take the text on the page and change it into one of the open-source dyslexia fonts that are supposed to make it easier to read. ”

I went still.

She kept talking. “There are a few different fonts, and I didn’t know if you had a preference, so I just picked the ones with the best reviews and?—”

I looked at the page in front of me.

It was about her game.

And I could see that— read that—without a struggle.

The pile of hair on her head tipped precariously when she turned back to me. “And it’s totally something that you don’t have to use if?—”

She’d made it for me. She’d made this for me .

For. Me.

“—you don’t want to and?—”

She squeaked.

Because I tugged her down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her tightly—too tight probably—but fuck if my eyes weren’t burning as I buried my face into her throat, holding her to me and trying to breathe through the emotion that was so thick it was choking me.

“Smitty,” she whispered after several long moments. Then, “Baby” after several more.

I lifted my head, let her see what she’d done to me.

That hand on my cheek.

Her expression was soft. “You like it,” she whispered.

“I love it,” I said. “I don’t think anyone has ever done anything more thoughtful for me.”

“Really?” Her brows dragged together.

“Really.”

“That’s not right,” she told me, that frown deepening. “You deserve so much, baby. You deserve everything.”

“Fuck.”

More frowning.

“Now I need to kiss you.”

The frown smoothed. “And that’s a problem?”

“It’s a problem because I want to use it and I want to hear how you made it and I want to say thank you so fucking much because it is the most incredible thing someone has done for me, but instead, I’m going to kiss you and then I won’t be able to say all of that and?—”

Her lips hit mine.

And I found that I could show my gratitude without words.

Loud knocking woke me many hours later.