Page 30 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twenty-Eight

Kailey

Smitty had called me when he’d gotten to the hotel, told me about Raph, and…I’d wanted to go to him, to be there as he struggled to find a way to help his friend.

Hell, I wanted to go to Raph and give him a big hug.

How…

How Monica could do such a thing, could hurt Raph in that way, live that lie…

It was all kinds of fucked up that I couldn’t begin to process.

A baby…was something innocent and fragile and not a joke, not a scam.

Not a lie.

But Smitty had it covered.

He, Theo, Cas, and Marcel had taken Raph out.

Gotten him liquored up, the venom out, and put him to bed, Smitty staying in his room to make sure he stayed asleep and hadn’t done anything stupid.

He was ready to play, though, from what Smitty had told me.

“Ready to fight and hit and be a mean son of a bitch” were Smitty’s exact words, and I felt more than a little scared for their opponent that night.

Raph was bound to take someone’s head off.

I’d thought about going up there, something driving me to be with them—maybe it was Raph’s pranks that regularly had the team in peals of laughter and usually left the person on the receiving end of them grinning.

Or maybe it was the mischief-filled smiles he directed toward me in the hall, the way he’d taken to poking his head in occasionally since the ice had broken between us, asking me about my “dragon babies” from my game.

Or perhaps it was the dog harness I’d found on Herman, embroidered with his name, just a few days before.

But it was mostly…I felt like part of the family

And I hated that he was hurting.

Hated that someone would do that to him.

Unfortunately, the only thing I could do at the moment was pop into his house, to make sure Monica had remained gone and to retrieve his plant.

The last I’d taken upon myself.

A stupid, silly thing to do, but also one that I was going to do anyway.

Me and Tawny were going to be good friends until Raph was ready to take her back.

Now, however, Tawny had been fertilized and watered, had been set in a nice sunny window, and I needed to go to my meeting with Marcel’s dad.

I had the skeleton of what Leo had asked for, and then a slightly modified version of the website he’d asked me to create, tweaking some items I thought would provide a better user experience, some simple design things I preferred to do if I was the one doing the creating.

However, because this was my first presentation and meeting with him since I’d taken the project on, I anticipated that there would be a long list of issues to address.

The functionality was there.

But clients often had thoughts.

And usually that meant more work for me—and often workarounds.

That was this job, however, and I couldn’t complain.

Plus, these little projects, being able to use my skills in ways that I didn’t always get to day-to-day, meant finding fulfillment in something that wasn’t just work.

Okay, well it was work, but it wasn’t and…

Right.

Now I actually needed to go into the restaurant where I was meeting Leo.

Pushing through the door, I spotted him at a booth in the back and felt the nerves kick up.

Words were hard, but by the time I sat down and pulled out my computer, Leo was already peppering me with questions.

Which meant that I was talking about stuff in my wheelhouse, and that meant the words didn’t stopper up.

They came and came freely, even through the ordering and when things drifted to small talk.

Did they still come easier when I was talking about the project? Definitely.

But were they getting easier because I’d found a group of people that weren’t like my family, weren’t like the people I’d grown up with?

Fuck yes.

And even better? Leo loved the project.

He had no major complaints, just a few minor tweaks (none of which would require major workarounds) and wanted to sit with what I’d come up with for a few days. To play with it and have Cathy, his wife, who was not a tech hound, do the same.

All of that worked for me.

But truthfully, I was having a hard time focusing on work—shocking, I knew. However, there was a TV on behind Leo, and it was showing the Breakers game and?—

My eyes kept flicking to the screen.

Not that Leo wasn’t watching, too.

His son was playing, but I was having a hard time focusing on anything else.

Because Smitty was on TV, and Raph was struggling—in the box (look at me go with the hockey terms! Some of the lessons Smitty had given me had actually stuck) more than out of it before the coach seemed to have decided to keep him on the bench more and on the ice less.

But even more than Raph—and my worry for his mental state—I couldn’t take my eyes off Smitty.

He was big and strong and fast.

So damned impressive, when I was like Bambi on the ice, legs going in each direction. Smitty made it seem natural and smooth and?—

Impressive.

“Marcel mentioned that you were seeing Conner.”

My eyes flicked back to Leo, guilt weaving through me. “Sorry,” I said. “That was unprofessional. I just…”

“…Am in love?” he asked easily, turning his chair so that it was directed toward the TV.

I blushed.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s written all over your face.

” He grinned. “That’s okay. I’m totally in love with my Cathy.

We flew out for her work conference in town, and I’ve spent two days twiddling my thumbs, moaning about being apart”—he’d mentioned earlier that his wife was busy networking—“and I miss her.” His mouth quirked. “Pathetic, huh?”

“How long have you been married?”

A fond expression. “Thirty-seven years,” he said. “And I still love her more today than yesterday. Conner is a good man. I’m glad he found a nice girl.”

An easy compliment.

Given without strings, without an underlying barb.

So different than my father, who never gave a compliment that wasn’t underhanded.

“Thanks,” I whispered. Then offered, for a reason I didn’t quite process, except that, perhaps, I’d been thinking so much about him since he’d left that it was impossible to not offer it. “He actually asked if I’d go on the trip since it’s short and falls mostly over the weekend.”

Leo tilted his head to the side. “Why didn’t you go?”

“Well, we had the meeting…” I trailed off when his brows went up. “What?”

“You didn’t go with him because of me?”

“The project,” I began, but he set his hand lightly onto mine. “Forgive me if I overstep, but in the future, please tell me to go pound sand if a side project of mine that you’ve been nice enough to take on stops you from spending time with the man you love.”

“But you paid me.”

A squeeze of my hand. “And I’m telling you that your happiness is more important than my project. You want to put me off because you and Conner can’t leave your Love Den”—I bit back a laugh—“then put me off.”

“I don’t think that?—”

He dropped his hand. “I found love, and I know what a precious gift that is. You don’t waste it or put it off because of work. You grab on to it, you hold it tight, you keep it safe.” His lips twitched. “Even if that means telling me you need to reschedule.”

It was unprofessional.

I knew that.

But what he was saying resonated with me deeply.

Love was too precious a gift to waste.

Not for a paycheck. Not because of worry or anxiety or fearing that I’d look bad.

It was precious.

“Right,” I whispered and reached for my wallet. “I think that means I’d better go book a flight.”

Leo’s expression turned appreciative, but he stayed me when I went to put some cash on the table. “I got this.” A nod to the door. “And I think it does.”

Heart pounding because I was doing this—hopping on a plane, surprising Smitty, being more impulsive than I’d ever been in my life—I got up from the table and hit the door, hustled to my car.

And by the time I’d reached the airport, my phone chimed with a text.

From Leo.

With a confirmation number for the flight he’d booked me.