Page 27 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

My eyes snapped open, I shot up to sitting, my gaze shot to the door of Kailey’s apartment.

It was vibrating like it was going to fly off its hinges.

“What the?—”

Next to me, Kailey gasped and sat up.

At the same time, her phone began blowing up.

“—fuck?” I finished, the pounding not relenting.

Kailey grabbed her cell. I tossed back the blankets, headed for the door.

“Wait,” Kailey said.

But I was already looking through the peephole, seeing that an older guy in a suit was the one doing the knocking. He had one arm in the air, fist pounding against the door. The other was at his ear, holding a phone.

Seriously. What. The. Fuck?

I whipped open the door.

The man had his fist raised, ready to knock again, and the incredulous expression on his face as he took me in, who for what it was worth, probably should have tugged on a pair of underwear before opening the door.

But I hadn’t, and we were here now and?—

“Who are you?” Disdain in the question, the incredulity that had been present for a moment as he’d presumably been taking in a six-foot, two-hundred-twenty-pound man standing naked in the doorway.

“Why the fuck are you pounding on my girlfriend’s door in the middle of the night?”

A flick down, back up. Brows lifting. “Your girlfriend’s?”

A hand on my side, and then Kailey was pressing into me, her robe belted tight. “Dad,” she said, and there was definite frost in her tone.

Frost that was fucking Antarctica in my body as I realized this man, showing up and acting like this in the middle of the night, was the one who’d wounded Kailey so deeply.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, leaning a little heavier against me.

“You didn’t pick up your phone.”

As though that were explanation enough.

A door down the hall cracked open, an older woman peeking her head out. “Kailey? Is everything”—her eyes flicked down, and I doubly realized that my comfort with being naked hadn’t served me well in this situation—“okay?” she finished slowly.

“We’re fine, Bernie,” Kailey called. “Sorry to disturb you.” A flick of her eyes to her father. “Wh-why don’t you come in and we can talk about this?”

A flicker of nerves.

I slid my hand down her back.

Her father huffed, but when Kailey opened the door a little wider, allowing her dad entry, he moved into the apartment.

“Okay?” I murmured, taking her hand and drawing her toward the bed. My underwear had to be somewhere in the vicinity.

A shake of her head had my heart clenching.

Fuck.

“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’ll make it okay.”

“I know,” she whispered back. “But he’s?—”

Her gaze went across the room, where her father was glaring, arms crossed, his impatience palpable and almost whip-like.

“—he can be really…mean.” The last almost inaudible.

There.

My underwear was halfway under the foot of the bed.

I tagged it, dragged it up my legs. Then I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, tucking Kailey close, and went to face the fucking dick who was pacing across the rug in her living room.

She was trembling, but she still managed to ask. “Why did you come?”

Her father’s expression soured further. “I told you?—”

“I didn’t answer my phone?” she interrupted, nails biting into my side. “That doesn’t explain why you flew across the country and invaded my apartment in the middle of the night.”

“You’re my only daughter.” A snapped-out response. “And it’s incredibly disrespectful to be questioning me when I’m only concerned for your well-being.”

“I-I didn’t answer for twenty-four hours, and instead of waiting like a normal person for a response, you took the jet and?—”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay?” His volume increased, and Kailey flinched.

“You sh-should have?—”

Venom in his tone that had her flinching again. “I should have what exactly?”

And that was enough.

I shifted, tucking Kailey behind me. “You need to go.”

Her father rocked back slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re acting like an asshole and scaring your daughter.

” Rage roiled across the father’s face, but I pressed on.

“If you want to be in her life”—fuck that, but I wouldn’t deny Kailey anything, not even this—“then you need to get your shit together, come back at a reasonable time with a better fucking attitude.”

“And who the fuck are you?” her father snapped.

“I’m the man who loves your daughter and won’t stand by while she gets abused.”

A vein flickered in her father’s forehead, but he didn’t say anything, just spun on his heel and strode toward the door, whipping it wide.

He turned back on the threshold, bypassing me completely, his gaze moving to Kailey’s, who’d sidled forward slightly and was glued to my side. “Next time I call, pick up the phone.”

The order brought another tremble through her body.

“She’ll decide when and where to answer her calls,” I said.

Cold green eyes coming to mine.

I stood my ground.

Then her father was through the door, the heavy panel slamming loudly behind him.

Moving quickly, I drew Kailey close as I locked the door then lifted her into my arms as I strode back to bed. Blankets up and over her. Arms wrapped tight.

But her trembles were intense, only growing stronger.

So, I held tighter and waited long minutes, practicing patience even though my insides were clawing at me to do something, to chase after that fucker and help him understand what an NHL player’s fist felt like.

But I was learning that sometimes the strongest thing I could do was to be still, be silent, be there.

And eventually, her shaking subsided.

Eventually, her gaze met mine. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?” I asked, stroking my fingers through her hair.

“I-I—” A breath, her lids sliding closed then opened. “Every time he’s like that, I can’t say anything. I just stand there and?—”

“Baby,” I said, hating to interrupt her, but she needed to know.

“What?” Her eyes drifted away, shame in those emerald depths.

“ You participated in that conversation. You held him accountable—or tried to, anyway. Did he listen? Fuck no, he didn’t.” I tilted her head back. “But you weren’t silent, little bird. You were strong, and you communicated your thoughts and?—”

“I didn’t tell him to leave, didn’t get him to go out the door.”

Ah.

That was what this was about.

“That’s my job, little bird,” I said. “I’m big and strong and good at scaring people and hitting shit”—her brows dragged together—“I’m good at being the one doing the enforcing, and I don’t mind taking your back when you need it.”

Still. Her body went still.

Then it relaxed, her hand coming to my cheek, my jaw.

“Big and strong,” she murmured, and hell if I didn’t feel that right in my cock. “But what happens when you’re not strong, baby?” she asked. “What happens when you need me to be the enforcer, and I struggle to step up in the same way?”

First, that would never happen.

Second, that would never happen.

But…

“You helped me with Hazel’s shit,” I said.

“And you made the plug-in for me. You found ways to care for me and”—I smiled, really wanting to lighten the mood so that I could either get my woman the rest she needed, or to get my woman off—“I doubt that you’ll stop finding them.

Plus,” I added, “I think we both know that strength doesn’t always pair with size or the ability to make a scene. ”

“Oliver,” she whispered.

I nodded.

My friend, who’d lost his leg and rebuilt his life without seeing it as a loss.

“And Pru,” she added.

Another nod. The scout had experienced her share of childhood trauma, but she’d made a great life for herself.

“And others.”

I pressed my lips to her forehead.

“And you, little bird. You’re the strongest person I know.”