Page 42 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Eight

Beth

Truthfully, I’d sat on the couch after Raph left, the memories still tightly clutching at my brain, mixing with the way Raph’s face had looked when he’d touched me, how it had felt for him to carry me into the hospital, to his car, what it meant that he’d cooked for me, and I’d cried.

Truthfully , I would have liked to pretend it was pregnancy hormones.

But as I curled up on the couch, staring at the full cup of water, I knew it wasn’t hormones.

It was the memories.

It was Raph.

So it took me a long time to lose it, to cry out all the shit twisted inside, to let loose all that pressure so the doors would lock tight again.

Then it took me a long time to summon up the energy to get off the couch and get on with my day.

I drank the water first.

Then I moved into my downstairs bathroom, where Pru had moved all of my makeup and face stuff—cleanser, age-defying creams and lotions, moisturizer, serum, and primer—so I did my thing, taking my time and doing it slowly, making sure I’d hidden every trace of my freak-out beneath the concealer and foundation.

And I knew that it would be hidden.

Because I had lots of practice at it.

I’d shed so many tears in my life that I could fill the Hoover Dam.

I just did it silently, on my couch or in my bed or—my favorite—in the shower. Easy to wash away, easy to explain the pinkened skin.

Of course, it would be easier if I didn’t cry so much, if I could be one of those women for whom their nightmares tempered their spines, forged them into steel.

But I wasn’t strong like that. I had a whole fucking castle worth of demons, locked behind doors, with only a few people allowed inside, and fewer of those allowed in just a couple of rooms on the first floor.

Because those spaces were bright and had a lot of windows and pretty decorations and tons of candelabras to scare away the shadows.

Any demons that might show in those rooms were baby-sized.

Ones easily shared and excised.

Ones that made me relatable.

Ones that I could tuck away without effort.

Because the rooms I allowed Hazel and Pru into weren’t the basement or the attic or the shadowy little eaves where blackness seemed to cling. I could share them, could rid myself of them.

The rest, the ones with the big, gaping maws, the sharp teeth and claws, the power to frighten me so thoroughly that I’d crash to my knees, beg them to leave me alone…I attempted to keep them locked away.

So when I cried, it wasn’t about the baby demons. My tears were for the biggest ones, those straining at the chains, threatening to break free and ravage, leaving only waste and destruction in their wake.

My makeup hid that.

Expertly contoured cheeks and nose, forehead and jaw, fake lashes every day, perfectly applied liner that had taken me an age to learn how to get just right. Cream shadows with just a hint of glimmer. Brows filled in to frame my eyes. Lips painted my typical bright red.

To hide.

To make sure no one had a reason to find fault, to look deeper, to get angry about.

A perfect representation of everything I was supposed to be.

My clothes completed that image.

They were flattering and sexy, but not too much.

Because if she looked perfect, he would leave her alone, wouldn’t notice her, wouldn’t hit her. Because if I do the same, I’ll be safe too.

“Enough,” I whispered.

But I couldn’t stop myself from studying my reflection, from adding just a tiny bit more blush, one more coat of mascara.

Then I moved back into my family room, to that table Pru and Marcel had set up for me, gaze locking on the empty glass, and before I headed into the spare bedroom where Pru had also moved some clothes and shoes so that I wouldn’t have to risk the stairs, just in case, I went back into the kitchen, filled the glass, and drank it down.

I was so going to have to pee every five minutes.

But at least I was upright.

For a non-fashionista, Pru had done a good job.

My friend was the least girlie of our trio, eschewing dresses and heels for sneakers, sweats, and T-shirts, but she’d pulled together some Beth-level outfits, even minus all the tight.

Of course, tight was relative.

Because even my period pants were tight on my belly, and my normal shirts made boobalicious seem conservative.

All of which was a problem.

Because my period pants were my biggest pants, which meant that shopping was going to need to commence, and it was going to have to commence today.

Oh, the humanity.

Lips twitching, I moved hangers until I found something that would do.

I had one pair of maternity leggings and I could pair that with my blue sweater that spent the majority of its time slipping off one shoulder.

I had to be careful with blues sometimes, between my skin tone—olive—and my hair—a bright red that had settled into an auburn over the years—but this shade was perfect, and I loved its slouchy, cozy feel.

Normally, though, I reserved it for days in.

Today, it would have to do for a shopping extravaganza.

And—I turned, studied the shoes on the bed—I’d wear it with my chunky boots.

No heel to trip on, still cute enough that I’d have my shield and, hell, I liked them, so I was going to wear them.

So…Pru had done good.

Smiling, I made a mental note to tell my friend she passed the Beth Mason outfit selecting test.

But now I needed to shop, and then when I came home from that, I would bust out my computer, get my work done, and I would make sure all the doors in my mental castle were locked.

Firmly.

With extra chains.

On that thought, I shimmied into my leggings, that slouchy sweater, snagged the boots from the bed and moved back to the couch, sitting down and moving carefully to slip them on.

But I wasn’t dizzy, hadn’t been from the moment I’d woken up and started chugging water.

No, from the moment I’d sat up and stared into beautiful blue eyes.

Warm blue eyes, like a spring morning, the sun shining down, hands on my arms, face close, and none of the prickly, angry yelling .

Just Raph.

And that glimpse of beauty had taken my breath away.

I’d only seen it a few times, and all of those times had come before he’d been with Monica…before things had ended with Monica.

Once at CeCe’s. I’d been outrageous then in a way that would have made my stepfather lose his shit, but since I’d been out of New York and with my friends and they always got a kick out of me being outrageous, I’d been going full tilt.

Another sort of mask, I supposed.

Another way to hide.

If I could be fun and loud and make them laugh, then they wouldn’t see through, they wouldn’t notice all the doors that were blocked off.

But that night, I’d made an outrageous joke on the heels of many other outrageous jokes, and Hazel and Oliver and Pru and Marcel and Smitty had been cracking up.

Even Jules, our favorite server, had dropped her tray onto the table and bowed her head, her shoulders rocking with laughter. And Raph…he’d laughed.

It was masculine and strong and intense, and I’d fucking loved it.

That glimpse of warm blue eyes.

The turning up of his lips.

The way he’d looked at me.

Another time, I’d watched that light fill his face when he’d looked through the glass at a little girl who was cheering raucously for the team.

One final time when I’d been over at Hazel and Oliver’s place, after Oliver’s career-ending injury. It hadn’t been easy on Hazel’s man to lose his leg, to lose his career, but in doing so, he’d come full circle, and he’d found Hazel.

And we’d all been eating dinner, just pizza and beer, and sitting around watching a crappy action movie, and Hazel had said something…

something that I didn’t remember, probably something sweet because that was Hazel, and I remembered watching Oliver’s face change, soften in a way it only did for her.

Then he had leaned in and gently cupped her cheek.

I hadn’t been able to take that gentle, that sweet.

It had been a battering ram to my castle’s gates.

To ease the burn I’d turned away…and had seen Raph’s expression.

And…it had been so beautiful that it had awakened something in me that was absolutely terrifying.

Need .

Desperation to see that look again.

“Enough.”

And God, it was enough. Being in my mind, my memories, my past was enough.

I stood, grabbed my purse, and battened down the house.

Then I took a Lyft to CeCe’s, picked up my car, and went shopping.

Alone.

Right.