Page 40 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Six

Beth

I was in the corner of the room.

Plush carpet beneath my bottom, silk on my body.

The air conditioning was pumping in the house, like it always did, summer or winter or in between, and since I wasn’t under the thick, down comforter my mom had picked out for my bed, I was shivering.

But it wasn’t just the air conditioning that had me shivering.

He was hurting her.

Again.

The thunks were familiar, and they always meant that my mom walked carefully the next day, winced when she went up the stairs, and I had to be really really gentle if I hugged her.

And I was in the corner of the room, hiding behind my five-story dollhouse, being quiet.

Like my mom had said to do.

Because I always listened to my mom.

Always.

But that night the thunks were louder than normal. That night my mom, who normally was silent, began crying out.

And…I couldn’t take it.

So I stood up and stepped out of that shadowed corner, goose bumps spreading on my skin as the air-conditioned air moved over my body.

But the thunks weren’t stopping.

And I could hear my mom crying out, louder with each whoosh of noise.

My bare toes sank into the carpet as I walked across the room, reached for the knob. My fingers slipped on the cool metal, trying to turn it, but eventually, I managed to get it open and moved into the hall.

The noise was louder there.

But I didn’t go back into my room. Because my mom was nice, so much nicer than my stepdad.

We’d made cookies that afternoon, with extra chocolate chips, and my mom had even let me eat some of the dough before it was cooked.

Even though my stepdad said sweets made little girls fat.

I had liked the cookies even better than the dough, but I’d liked making them with my mom even more.

So I needed to make the thunks stop.

So I walked down the hall, reached for the handle of my mom and stepdad’s room.

Turned it and?—

Gasping, I sat upright, the memories choking me…like those hands had done that night.

“Baby.” Warm palms on my arms, fingers wrapping securely and holding me in place when I would have bolted, and I was so entrenched in the past that it took me several long moments to realize that the hands were gentle.

Not squeezing.

Not bruising.

Not hurting.

Just lightly running up and down my arms.

And paired with a gentle voice.

“Baby, wake up. You’re okay. You’re safe.” Raph’s voice. “Beth, honey. Sugarpie, you’re good, sweetie. You’re okay.”

Eyes flashing open, I saw that I wasn’t hallucinating.

Having nightmares, yes. But not hallucinating.

I was in my house, on my couch. The setup Pru and Marcel had left me with still in place.

And Raph was there.

In my house.

Kneeling in front of my couch.

Putting his hands on my body.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“You’re safe,” he said again, still in that gentle voice.

That wasn’t what I’d asked.

“What are you doing here?” I repeated.

His eyes were pools of deep blue ocean water, hiding mysteries and secrets and a man who was as scary as he was interesting.

I wanted to know all of those depths, ferret out the enigma that was beneath.

I wanted to heal the breach in him, to make him understand that not all women were bad, but I wasn’t going to do it.

Because I didn’t want it enough to reveal my own secrets in the process.

And to have an actual relationship built on trust and mutual respect and love, sharing secrets was kind of par for the course—or puck for the net, or whatever.

“You need to go,” I whispered when the silence between us had stretched long enough so that I knew he wasn’t going to answer.

“You dizzy?” he asked instead of moving, his warm hands still on my arms.

A beat. “No.”

His eyes narrowed, studying me closely.

“You need to go,” I said again.

“You hungry?”

Not only not going to answer me about why he was in my house, but also not going to listen to me about leaving.

Fucking great .

And yet, I was also trying to ignore the little tingle inside me, the one that liked that he was there in my house.

The idiotic tingle that liked his deep, mysterious eyes on mine, relished in his touch, was jumping with joy and throwing a total told-you-so my way, considering I’d been playing with fire for the better part of three years trying to get his attention.

Now I had it.

And I couldn’t decide if I was terrified or really freaking excited.

Both. None. All of that and more.

Which was why I whispered, “You need to go,” for a third time.

Which he ignored. For a third time.

But then he stood up, and I thought that perhaps, for one second, he was going to listen to me.

I should have known better.

Because instead of marching to my front door (and out it, preferably), he moved into my kitchen.

“What is going on?” I muttered under my breath, the sentiment seemingly asked twice over when the sound of pots and pans rattling, my fridge opening and closing met my ears.

My cell rang just as I heard the click-click-click of my stove lighting.

What. The. Fuck?

Eyes drifting from the kitchen to my cell’s screen, I saw that Pru was calling—probably from the airport, probably worried, probably hating that I had forced her to go home the night before.

So I didn’t delay in answering my phone.

“Hey,” I said.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Not dizzy at all this morning.” Not after my head had cleared because Raph had put his hands on me, rubbed gently up and down my arms, had used those soft words, that gentle tone with me.

Of course, I hadn’t tried to stand up either, so that might be a game changer.

But, truthfully, I did feel better.

Hopefully, it would be like the doctor said, here temporarily and passing like the wind—or passing like the brief moments of Raph pretending to give a shit about me.

The dizziness would be here again, gone tomorrow.

“You sure?” Pru asked. “I can?—”

“Honey. We’re fine. If something comes up, which it won’t because I’ll take it easy and follow the doctor’s advice and drink seven million gallons of water and retire my tight clothes and eat more—though that’s something I’m not even sure is possible—but if it does come back, I’ll call Marcel and the doctor, and then I’ll let you know. ”

Quiet in my ear. Then, “If something happens to you because of me?—”

“I’m healthy,” I whispered. “ They’re healthy, and I’ll keep you posted every step of the way.

Remember, babe, I wanted to do this for you.

” I’d wanted to do something good for my friend, something that would wash away the cloying stench that seemed impossible for me to rid myself of.

“I’m okay . I know it’s hard because this isn’t your body, but don’t doubt for one minute that I’m treating these babies like the precious cargo they are. ”

“That was never in doubt, Bethie.”

Warmth sliding along cold tile floors, seeping under the bottom of a closed door. “Thanks, honey,” I whispered. “Now, try not to worry, and know I’ll send you and Marcel a bajillion texts today.”

“A bajillion?” Pru asked lightly.

“How about a bajillion and one?”

Laughter in my friend’s tone. “That’s better.”

“Good. Now have fun scouting the players,” I said, a la The Princess Bride and my favorite line from it (“ Have fun storming the castle.”).

Pru chuckled and said her goodbyes.

And just for good measure, I immediately sent a text to her and Marcel.

Baby update 1024 We’re comfortably sequestered on the couch.

Pru replied,

Love you, Bethie.

Marcel, man of few words, just sent a thumb’s up.

Quiet. Effective.

A plunk in front of me .

My gaze shot up from my phone screen, saw that Raph had emerged from the kitchen, a scraper in one hand. The other was empty, having presumably carried the large cup of water recently plunked onto the table Pru had dragged over the night before.

“Drink,” my man of few words ordered before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Not my man, I thought, watching him walk, studying the heavy muscles of his legs, the lean strength of his shoulders and waist. Big and tall and strong, but not a behemoth like Smitty, who played defense and could battle along the boards with the toughest in the league.

His strength hid a huge, soft heart (that had been wrapped up and passed over to the woman he loved, Kailey, on a puck-colored platter).

That wasn’t Raph.

His heart was buried deep, protected with spikes and armor and a whole forest of cat-o-nines.

Also, he wasn’t mine , wouldn’t ever be.

Biting back a sigh, I glanced down at the glass of water, condensation gathering on its outside, and I picked it up, drank deeply.

Drank and drank until the entire glass was empty.

For Pru.

For Marcel.

For the babies in my belly.

For…well, I couldn’t ignore the niggling feeling that perhaps a small part of me drank it for herself.