Page 32 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Thirty

Kailey

I didn’t realize until I was in Smitty’s arms, and he was spinning me, pinning me against the door roughly enough that all my breath was squeezed out of my lungs that I should have announced myself.

“Kailey?” he exclaimed, quickly releasing the pressure he’d put on my body.

He pulled me away from the door.

“Shit, little bird,” he began, running his hands over me, starting at my head. “Did I hurt you? Fuck”—he spun me around again, stroked over my shoulders, my back, my butt and legs. He even checked my ankles—“shit. I hurt you, didn’t I?”

His voice broke, and my heart squeezed tight.

“Baby,” I said. “ Baby .” I grabbed his hands, stilling him when he began investigating me from the front. “I’m okay.”

He started to pull away from me. “I—” A shake of his head. “I’m so sorry. I?—”

“Smitty. Stop .”

He stopped.

“Breathe.”

He breathed.

“Good,” I said, cupping his cheeks, his beard tickling my palms. “Now, I’m guessing that you didn’t get my text?”

A shake of his head. “No, little bird,” he said. “I’m?—”

“Stop apologizing and kiss me.”

Gentle brown eyes, conflict and worry and…something else…written into the lines of his face.

“Smitty,” I ordered. “Take me back into your arms and kiss me.”

Thankfully, that unstuck him enough that he did.

And when he pulled back, some of the worry had faded. “You’re really okay?”

I nodded. “I’m really okay, and I’ve made a mental note to announce myself before jumping you in the future.”

His mouth quirked, just on one side. “I like it when you jump me.”

“Yeah?” I felt a curl of embarrassment creep in. “Is it…I mean…is it okay that I’m here?”

A tremor went through his body, his chest hitching against mine. Then laughter bubbled up and over, filling the air, coating my skin. “Is it okay?” His arms wound tighter around me. “Little bird, when have I ever given you the impression that I don’t want you to be here with me?”

I bit my lip. “I…I guess never?”

He kissed the tip of my nose, tugged my lip free of my teeth.

“ Never is right, honey.” He nudged me back so we weren’t standing in the hallway any longer.

“Come on in and sit down, little bird, and tell me why you thought it was a good idea to be traveling in the middle of the night. How’d you get in, anyway? ”

“Claire and I?—”

“Hell, never mind, tell me why in the morning,” he said, drawing me close again, but just as he hit my chest, he rolled so that he was on his back. “It’s late. I’m tired, and I want to fuck you before we both pass out.”

I grinned.

I was exhausted, knew that he had to be with the back-to-back travel, the games and practice and knowing that he had a few more games, including one that would require him to fly out to St. Louis for the next game.

Then Minnesota. Then Dallas. All of which had to happen before he was going to be able to head home and we’d have our weekend together.

But I was up to being fucked.

Really ready for it.

The worst part of having a professional hockey player boyfriend was having him not be home when I was horny.

So, getting fucked then passing out in his arms sounded real good.

“I take it that you agree,” he said, reaching for the hem of my sweatshirt and tugging it over my head. My T-shirt was gone a second after that. His lips hit mine just as he reached around behind me and began unclasping my bra when there was a pounding at the door.

The response in Smitty was instantaneous.

He went ramrod stiff, tore his mouth from mine. “Fuck,” he said. “ Fuck.”

“What is it?”

His hand came to my face, and he cupped my cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

For a second, my heart squeezed. Had I interrupted something—some one —coming over? Was there a woman outside that door and he’d been?—

No.

Not Smitty.

And anyway, the pounding sounded familiar.

Instead of squeezing, my heart sank .

“Baby?” I asked.

His eyes slid closed and then opened back up, regret in their depths. “I forgot,” he said. “I was supposed to go back down, and then you were here, and…” His voice dropped. “I forgot.”

My body trembled. “My father.”

Not a question.

Only a sigh.

Then a nod. “I’m so sorry, little bird. I?—”

Something inside me snapped.

Just…snapped.

I pushed Smitty off me, grabbed my shirt from where it had landed on the carpet, then tugged it over my head and marched to the door.

I’d had enough.

More than fucking enough of this man barreling his way into my life and?—

Fuck. Him.

Fuck the cold, inconsiderate bastard right up the…the… nose .

Yup.

Right.

Up.

The—

I whipped the door open.

The shocked expression on my father’s face was almost enough to make me laugh.

Almost.

But I was too pissed to actually be amused.

Too pissed for the words to be stoppered up in my throat, to be stuck and not come out, for my father to use my struggle and my silence like a weapon, to wield it like a sword and strike me down. Too pissed to stand by and be quiet.

I’d found my voice.

And I wasn’t going to let my father take it away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snapped, stepping forward—and yeah, I wasn’t proud of it, but I stepped forward and shoved my father, hard enough that he slid back a step. “You’re showing up at three in the morning at my boyfriend’s hotel room?—”

“He didn’t come down. He said?—”

The door across the hall opened, same as the ones on either side of Smitty’s room, and Theo emerged, along with Raph and Marcel, concern on their faces, and at my back?

My man.

Warm and strong, his hand dropping to my waist, tugging me back against his chest.

Silent support.

Unwavering support.

And then, barely another moment passed before the guys— my guys because I was part of them, part of the team now—closed ranks, standing between me and my father, me and Smitty and Hank, his bodyguard.

A vein in my father’s forehead pulsed, and he opened his mouth?—

“I don’t give a fuck that he didn’t come down,” I snapped.

“This is his hotel, a place you didn’t have permission to come barge in on.

He’s tired”—I swept a hand around the hall—" all the guys are tired, and here you are, making a scene again. And for what reason?” I asked.

“To interject yourself into my life for your ten minutes a week? To pretend like you actually give a damn about me when you couldn’t have given two shits my entire life? ”

He opened his mouth.

But I didn’t let him get anything out.

This was my turn.

Not his.

“But because I took this job and it wasn’t your idea, because I love a man you don’t know and didn’t pick.

” I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Because I’m living my life, finally living it without your opinions or interference, you think that you have the right to show up in the middle of the night and verbally assault my boyfriend?

” Smitty’s arm tightened around me, and I realized I was almost leaning forward, like I was going to launch myself at my father and scratch his eyes out.

Which, I had to face, wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Especially when my gaze drifted down, and I saw the manila envelope.

“And please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Smitty’s fingers expanded on my rib cage, flexing slightly as I straightened, glaring up at my father.

“What, little bird?” he murmured.

I didn’t take my eyes off my father or the envelope. “Either a proposal to pay you off to leave me alone,” I murmured back, “or a prenup that will make you sign your life away if we ever break up.”

“No amount of money could make me leave you,” he murmured. “And I’d be happy to sign a prenup.”

God, I loved this man.

“Not the point,” I whispered, cupping his cheek.

His mouth tipped up. “I know.” A beat. “But I’m stalling because…”

The elevator doors opened, and a pair of security guards stepped off.

“…Marcel called security.”

My eyes shot to the other man, who knew something about scary invaders shoving themselves into lives, who I knew didn’t mess around. Because it had almost lost him Pru.

“Thanks,” I mouthed.

A nod from the handsome forward.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for you,” my father said, voice growing in volume as the guards closed in.

Doing what was best? That was…unfathomable.

Because when had he ever done that? When he’d told me that if I only tried harder, my anxiety would go away?

Or maybe to stop having a panic attack because it was inconvenient to his schedule and the charity event he wanted to attend?

Or how about when I’d wanted more therapy or had asked to not perform at a piano recital or?—

A hundred other things.

Big and small.

But never, never showing courtesy for my thoughts, my feelings, my emotions.

But…it was late, and I was tired, and I was seriously done with this night.

I wanted bed.

I wanted fucking.

I wanted?—

“Did you hear me?” he snapped.

My head jerked up, the thoughts that had been weaving together in my mind scattering, a pulse of anger shooting forward. “You want to do what’s best for me,” I said coldly.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course, I?—”

“Then leave,” I said, and it wasn’t kind.

“Leave me to my life and don’t come back.

Leave and stop hurting me over and over again.

Stop making me feel like a failure and broken.

Leave and make it a fucking habit for the rest of your life to not fucking barge in on people’s lives, especially in the middle of the freaking night. Just leave and go home.”

I spun in Smitty’s arms, nodded to our room. “Let’s all go to bed.”

“Kailey.”

Unfortunately, my head spun back, locking eyes with my father. The security guards had closed in, were shepherding him toward the elevator.

“I’m—”

I put my hand up. “And I’m not interested in what you have to say.

Not at three in the morning, not accompanied by you trying to bully your way into my life, into my boyfriend’s life, into these men’s lives—all of whom had shown more care in knowing me months than you’ve shown me in years.

So, yeah, I’m not interested in you trying to make me feel bad so that you can feel big and important.

” I sighed, shook my head, dropping my arm back to my side.

“I think… no . I know that I’m not interested in you and what you bring into my life.

Not any longer. Not when you’re… this .”

I turned back to the guys. “I’m sorry, guys,” I said. “I know you’re probably tired, so why don’t you all just head to bed?—”

“I know about you, son,” my dad said, tossing the envelope of papers onto the floor. The security guards reacted quickly, one grabbing him and dragging him back to the elevator, the other nodding at Hank, who got onto the car without argument.

He might be big, but Hank was a smart one. Always had been.

“And let me be frank here,” my father yelled, “you’re not good enough for my daughter! Not nearly good enough. A man who barely passed high school? Who doesn’t have a college degree? With my daughter, who got into?—”

“Bed,” I said, grabbing his face and turning it toward me. “No more,” I whispered. “He’s not in my—in our lives. Not any longer, baby. Not any longer.”

Stark emotion in his eyes.

His shoulders tensing.

I heard the guys mumble their goodbyes and I managed some whispered, “Thanks” and “Goodnight,” but I couldn’t pull my gaze from Smitty’s.

Not when he was staring at me, emotions swirling.

Then he pushed the door behind him back with his heel, tugged me inside.

The door slammed.

His arms came around me again.

And...his mouth hit mine.