Page 37 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Three

Raph

Fucking save me from fucking stubborn ass women.

She was in the passenger’s seat of my car as I drove her to the hospital she’d bitched about me taking her to just ten minutes before.

This being after she’d bickered with me about sitting in the passenger’s seat of my car, even though it was closer than hers.

I’d won that battle.

Likely successful only because I’d swept her up in my arms again—ignoring the soft curves of her body, her belly—and just carried her the fifteen feet, opened the door, and set her in the seat.

Likely that was successful because she was also still dizzy and not at full force.

Plus, she had a phone call to make.

Now she’d made the call, waited on hold, and then when she began to speak, I struck, taking advantage of her distraction, of her having to listen and respond to buckle her in, to close the door, to round the hood.

I’d folded in, hit the button to turn on my car, and then pulled away from the curb.

All before she could protest…or do something stupid like get out of that seat.

On that note, I checked to make sure the locks were engaged.

Beth was a spitfire. I wouldn’t doubt her ability to pull out some ninja skills and leap from the car, completing several full flips before landing on her feet, of course.

Then again, she was dizzy.

Then again, she was pregnant.

“No,” she said softly. “It hasn’t been this bad before.”

A pause, a female voice in the background.

“Yes, a-a friend,” she said once that female voice stopped, “is driving me. Yes, I’ll do that.” Another beat. “Okay, thank you.”

I glanced over, saw her hand drop away from her ear, the cell phone’s screen showing the call had ended, and I braced, expecting her to tear into me. But she didn’t, just turned toward the window and stared out the glass and went completely quiet.

So quiet that I couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand hearing the tires rolling over the asphalt, the bumps from the potholes—because city fucking roads—and leaned forward, flicking the knob on the radio.

My playlist began sliding through the air, Black Hole Sun picking up right in the middle.

Talking about washing away the rain and warmth being gone.

The perfect song for my mood, for my life.

So perfect, so fucking haunting and captivating that I didn’t immediately recognize Beth had gone still.

Statue still.

Her gaze still on whatever was on the other side of that glass, but not seeing it now.

No, somewhere inside me, I knew she was captivated by the lyrics, by the haunting voice, by the song that sliced right through my middle.

“You like Soundgarden?” I asked when the song wound down, fading into the background, drifting into Creedence, which was kickass because Creedence always was, but it didn’t slice through me in the same way Chris Cornell’s voice did.

A jerk, her eyes remaining away from me, and the tone of her voice had me wishing she would turn toward me, toss one of her cocky smiles my way.

“Yeah.”

Just yeah.

“I thought—” I didn’t know why I was still talking. I should be thankful she’d shut up and wasn’t giving me any lip.

Her shoulders inched up.

I pressed on. “You’d like Madonna or something.”

Silence.

Then, “I do like Madonna and 98 Degrees and the Beatles and Creedence Clearwater Revival,” she said, tilting her head toward the radio, though still not looking at me.

“And Lizzo and Bieber and Stellar and random bands I find on Spotify who hardly have any streams, but their songs kick butt.” A shrug.

“I’m a Swiftie, and I dance to J-Lo. But I’m also down for Motley Crew and Bruce and the Temptations.

If it has a beat, I’ll shake my ass to it or clap my hands or stomp my feet. ”

That wasn’t the most words she’d ever said at once.

Not to me. Not even in my vicinity.

But it was the most words she’d given me that provided me an insight into her mind.

An insight I didn’t want but now had bouncing around my brain anyway.

She liked music.

She liked many different kinds of it.

She…

Was crying.

What the fuck?

I’d stopped at a signal, could see her pale reflection in the window. Which meant I could also see the stark look in her eyes, could see the tears dripping down her cheeks.

And again what the fuck?

Slowly, surreptitiously, she lifted a hand, wiping at those tears, and I knew from the sneaky way she’d attempted the maneuver that she didn’t want me to know she was crying.

Which was fine with me.

I didn’t want to understand that was why her voice had sounded odd as she’d spoken of something innocuous like music. I didn’t want to know why she was upset, didn’t want to find out it was because I was an asshole, didn’t want to discover it was for another reason.

Worry for the babies or for herself. Or maybe just Beth being Beth. Or probably, more likely, it was whatever shit that made women like her cry—a broken nail, her favorite perfume out of stock, her lipstick clashing with her outfit.

A horn blared behind me, and I cursed, hitting the gas, moving forward, lifting a hand in apology to the person behind me.

Which just meant that I got that same person swerving around me, flipping me the bird as they sped by, not giving a fuck that I’d apologized.

Cool.

Moving on.

I was almost to the hospital. Pru and Marcel would be there, and by the sounds of that phone call she’d just finished, her doctor would be meeting her there, too. She wouldn’t be my problem any longer, and I could go home, could enjoy my days off.

I had three of them off in a row, a long weekend that was unusual with the season underway.

Would I be enjoying them by myself? Hopefully.

Was that the way I preferred, even as it was unlikely because my teammates would probably seek me out and try (succeed) to annoy the shit out of me? Yes.

Smothering a sigh, I turned into the driveway of the hospital, pulling up to the front doors, and throwing the transmission into park.

Her shoulders hitched up again when I slid to a stop. “I can walk?—”

“We’re here,” I said, throwing open my door. “You’re not walking.”

I rounded the hood, got to her side just as she was opening the metal panel, putting her feet down and starting to stand.

“What part of not walking don’t you understand?”

“What part of I can walk don’t you understand?”

But I was done arguing. I just bent and picked her up again, bringing her into the ER and setting her on one of the chairs at the reception desk when the woman nodded at me.

Beth glared up at me for a beat then turned to the receptionist and handed over her insurance card and ID, letting her know that her doctor had called ahead.

Which meant that was my cue to go.

Which was exactly what I’d intended to do when I left her in that chair and headed out to my car.

But…I didn’t see Pru and Marcel on the way out, didn’t see their car in the lot when I circled through the rows.

I should have left, pulled right out, and gone back to my empty house.

Beth in that chair.

Alone.

Beth in my car, hiding her tears.

Not alone and yet completely by herself.

Beth—

I parked in an empty spot and, like a goddamned idiot, found myself walking back into that emergency department.