Page 4 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Four

Kailey

Normally, I would be in my own world, not noticing the noise that came from the locker room.

Making a special effort to avoid the locker room altogether.

To not even be on the same side of the building.

Because there were naked men in there.

Because…there was a naked Conner Smith in there.

And as I was now part of the team, I had all sorts of inside information about the team. Including knowing that Smitty enjoyed being naked.

That …

Created all sorts of problems—at least inside my head. Because I’d thought of the deep brown eyes, the mouth quirking beneath his thick beard, his strong hands steadying me…

Way too much in the last few days.

He’d gotten into my head.

And that spelled trouble.

I could blame it on a weird spell or the aforementioned trouble or just Conner being Conner.

Or, I supposed, I could blame it on the fact that after my meeting with Luc and Oliver and several people from the social media strategy team about the new app the Breakers wanted to release to the public, I’d been off my game due to too much peopling.

Or I could place that blame on Luc asking me to stay after that meeting, remaining in his office and talking about some bugs that had come up in the program I’d built to track player development, the reason I was here in Baltimore in the first place, drawing on my already faltering reserves and making my head a little muzzy.

Because now, it was late, and I was tired.

But I was going back to my office to get my purse, and instead of going home, I was going to Hazel and Oliver’s place.

Food.

A boardgame.

Cuddling with baby Dominic, who wouldn’t judge me for being weird.

Checking out Oliver’s new gaming computer.

He’d just finished building it and considering we’d first met in an online Discord chat about one of our favorite games and had become virtual friends way before real-life friends, eating food, playing a game, and checking out some tech sounded like my idea of perfection…

Only second to spending the night alone in my bath with my book.

I was thinking about his processor, wondering if it’d be able to handle the latest update of the game we both still played, happy to be in my head for a little while because it meant that I could escape a bit from the socializing of the meeting.

Oliver was okay.

Luc…was problematic. Not that I didn’t like him. I did. A lot, actually. He was really cool and easy going and super smart. But he was my boss, in a way that was clearly my boss, not in the sort-of-friend, sort-of-boss way that described my working relationship with Oliver.

He let me do my thing.

I did my thing.

There wasn’t a lot of boss-employee overlap with our friendship.

With Luc, there was no overlap.

He was my boss . Well, actually, he was my boss’s boss and so that put him firmly in the category of scary and anxiety-inducing. Would I say something that would be weird or awkward or put Oliver’s job at risk? He’d vouched for me, and I could be weird, so…

And that wasn’t even including all the weird things I could say that would hurt my own chances in this new position.

Or might not say.

Like what if I was spinning so rapidly in my own head that I didn’t respond in time and then I’d look like an idiot and?—

Meetings were exhausting.

All that being said, I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going when I realized I was walking by the locker room.

The locker room with the naked men…and based on the rumbling voice echoing out into the hall, the naked Conner Smith.

“Fuck,” I whispered, feet slowing, teeth coming to my bottom lip.

I pressed hard, the bite of pain clearing the fog in my brain.

Of course, I couldn’t just stand there in the hall, biting my lip and wringing my hands. I needed to get the fuck out of there and I needed to do it fast and?—

Deep breath.

Just walk by.

I wasn’t creeping.

I belonged here and I wouldn’t look and?—

Right.

Shit. Someone was coming around the corner at the far end of the hall and if I did continue to stand here staring off into space, I would look like a creeper and then I’d be fired, and then I would probably get Oliver fired and?—

Fuck, Kailey. Move your ass.

Right. Okay. I could do that.

Lean forward, use gravity to my advantage, start my feet moving, and go. Eyes forward. Gaze not drifting toward the open locker room door ( no fucking way, Henderson! ). Go. Go. Go!

I went.

Wall. Wall. Opening. Not looking. Not looking. Not lo?—

“Oof!”

Every bit of the air in my lungs left in a rush as I found myself colliding with something hard…and big…and broad…and a handsome, bearded face with deep brown eyes and black hair, with plump lips and a scar across his temple.

I collided with Smitty.

And, fuck, he smelled good.

Spicy and manly, his body close to mine, his expression going from shock to horror in the blink of an eye. And literally, in the blink of an eye was how long it took for me to process that I hadn’t avoided him, that I was standing smack dab in the open doorway.

Or had been, anyway.

Because now I was falling right in front of that open doorway, Conner’s broad body taking me out as efficiently as he’d laid out players on opposing teams.

His broad hands held something blue and white, but that was all I could see before his fingers opened, whatever he held dropped to the floor. Before he reached for me. Before time seemed to speed up again.

Only, he was too late.

He made a valiant effort, hands reaching for me.

But I was falling and in another blink of that eye, I hit the industrial carpeting hard.

Maybe if I’d fallen to the black skate mat on the public side of the locker room (where they let media in and the occasional fan or visitor) it wouldn’t have hurt so much.

But this was the private side of the space.

Where the guys changed and showered. They didn’t need thick rubber mats to protect their edges because they wore shoes here, not skates.

This was concrete with a thin layer of durable carpet.

This meant that getting checked to it by a player who outweighed me by a good hundred pounds and was taller than me by an entire foot hurt like hell.

The air had been knocked out of my lungs by the initial impact but dropping to the floor somehow shook free a few more air molecules. Then I wasn’t thinking about air or my lungs or even the floor. I was just gritting my teeth together and blinking back tears.

“Fuck,” Smitty whispered, dropping to his knees at my side, his hands outstretched.

He didn’t touch me, just sort of floated them through the air, as though he were going to magically heal me through his palms. Either that, or he was scared to touch me again.

“Kailey, sweetheart, are you okay?” Then he did touch me, his palm resting lightly on my arm.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you walking by. ”

That wasn’t a surprise.

People didn’t normally see me.

People who weren’t this man anyway.

“Kay?” Concern on his face, in the V of his brows. “Are you okay?” A beat. “Do I need to get Samantha?”

Samantha?

Wait. That was the trainer. The woman who would presumably be able to confirm if I was concussed because a six-foot-six-inch, two-hundred-twenty-pound (yes, I’d looked up his stats) hockey player had taken me out.

I felt concussed.

I felt broken.

Getting knocked down by that big hockey player wasn’t a sport, or at least not one I wanted to be part of, especially since it fucking hurt.

But getting checked out for concussions would mean drawing this out.

Would mean more peopling.

So, no, that couldn’t happen.

I put my hands beneath me and shoved up, ignoring the throbbing pain in my hip. Warm palms gripped my arms before I made it to my feet, helping me the rest of the way.

Smitty’s concerned face dropped into view. “Kailey, honey, talk to me.”

And, fuck, wouldn’t that be easy?

To just be able to open my mouth and say the right thing would be fucking incredible.

But that wasn’t me .

I sucked in a breath, closed my eyes. It was easier that way. It was better . “Please, let go.”

The words were barely audible, especially with the noise in the locker room, teasing and yelling and the odd, “What, Smitty? It’s not bad enough that you lay people out on the ice, now you have to do it off as well?”

But he heard me.

Because his big body went still, and his hands opened.

And I was free.

“Do you need a doctor?” he asked quietly.

My eyes remained closed, and I slowly shook my head. “No.” It was raspy. Garbled. But a sound that was a word. And that helped me take a breath in, to let it out. Free my lungs, my throat, my tongue. “No,” I said again. “I’m fine.”

A pause.

But though my lids were firmly shut, I knew he hadn’t gone. Not when I could feel him.

On my skin, his now-quiet presence prickling along my nerve endings.

In my stomach, swirling and tightening.

“Will you look at me?” he asked softly.

Fuck.

“No,” I whispered

More quiet.

Then a breath.

Then, “I’m going to back away,” he said, “and I know you want me to leave you alone, and I will, but I’m going to make sure you can move okay first and aren’t going to pass out.”

My tongue pressed hard to the roof of my mouth.

“All right?”

No.

Not all right.

But also, my tongue wasn’t working and that was all I had and?—

Right.

I needed to get out of this.

So…I nodded.

My eyes stayed closed as I felt his presence lessen, the heat that surrounded him, that was disconcerting me so intensely, cooled slightly as he backed away.

But my feet didn’t move, and my eyes didn’t open and?—

“Go on, Kay.”

Right.

I dropped my chin to my chest, forced my eyes to open, blinking against the bright lights of the hall until the pale gray of my shoelaces came into focus.

Then I tilted my head up—avoiding the big man altogether, though I did get a glimpse of a wide expanse of ugly plaid—before turning and moving down the hall.

It hurt, but I did my best to pretend it didn’t, to move normally and smoothly.

I had the feeling he knew it hurt anyway.