Page 53 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Nineteen

Raph

I felt Beth slip from the bed, the blankets shifting ever so slightly as she moved, and I wondered how in the fuck to play this.

Because we had made love, and it was the best sex of my life, and I’d been lying there in the throes of all that goodness, reliving every moment and adding things to my mental sex list left and right and she’d gotten increasingly tense against me.

Until I’d snapped out of the post-orgasm haze, and I’d started paying attention.

I knew it had been a bit for her and her body had changed, and she had lots of hormones flowing through her and we’d been dancing around this for a while, but when we’d moved, we moved fast. I’d thought she’d needed gentling, so I’d cuddled her closer, gentled my touches.

I’d kissed her hair, murmured soft words.

And all the while, she’d turned into a fucking statue against me.

Finally, I’d asked her if she was okay.

And she’d lied, faked the fakest yawn I’d ever heard in my life (and Monica had been party to numerous fake yawns, feigning fatigue like it was an Olympic sport), and had curled into me saying, “I’m just tired.”

It was late.

Really late.

She was growing two babies after a stressful week.

She probably was tired.

But that wasn’t what had her playing a statue after the best sex of my life, after we’d both come twice, after we’d shared something in this bed, and it was less to do with orgasms and more to do with actual feelings that were blooming.

At least in me.

Maybe the two orgasms were enough for her.

Maybe she was done with me.

Maybe—

The door to the bathroom clicked closed.

I rolled to the side, watched a band of light at the bottom of that wooden door appear.

Soft and sweet, gentle eyes and curved lips…turning into tense lines bracketing her mouth, eyes that wouldn’t meet mine, a body that was turned into mine but wasn’t holding me, was just there.

Next to me.

Not connected.

I lifted my hands to my eyes, dug my palms in. “Fuck,” I whispered, realizing that I was totally out of practice with this shit, realizing that I both somehow knew Beth and yet didn’t know her at all.

At. All .

Which meant I had no clue how to play this. Had it meant as much to her as it did me? Because of that, did she need space? Or did she need me to break through the walls she was trying to rebuild?

All questions I had no fucking answers to.

“Shit,” I muttered, digging my palms in harder.

A noise in the bathroom had me freezing.

It wasn’t the sink running or the toilet flushing. It wasn’t the sound of the shower turning on.

It was?—

I threw the sheets back, stood, and was across the room before I even fully processed what I was hearing. Because I knew what I was hearing. It sat heavy in my gut, squeezed my heart tight in a fist, throttling the organ, ripping, tearing, shredding my insides.

Then I was in the bathroom.

And she was…curled in a ball on the floor, her head in her hands.

And…she was sobbing.

Quietly, almost silently, but a steady stream of tears was pouring down her cheeks, her chest was shaking, and she was curled so tightly into that ball, rocking so fiercely that I was worried she was going to hurt herself.

I moved to her, started to reach for her, but she must have heard me, because she crammed herself back into the corner further. “No! Don’t touch me!”

That had me freezing.

That had my outstretched hands halting, drawing back. “Beth, honey.”

She pressed her forehead to her knees, tightened further. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.”

“Beth,” I whispered.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t touch?—”

I knew I shouldn’t touch her, knew it. But I also knew that she wasn’t there, wasn’t in that time, that moment. It was cold in the house, and she was sitting on the floor naked, and she was shaking so hard that I was worried she was going to hurt herself.

So, I went with my instincts.

Maybe wrong. Maybe stupid.

But…it was all I had in that moment.

I slipped my arms around her.

“Don’t—”

“I have you.” And I did, lifting her gently, carrying her back into the bedroom, tucking her into bed.

“Don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

I went still.

“Don’t hurt me,” she whispered again.

I cupped her cheeks. “Beth, honey. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

Her eyes weren’t focused, not on anything in the present. She was trapped somewhere deep, somewhere dark. “Don’t hurt me. Please. I won’t tell. I won’t. I promise.”

“Beth.”

Her eyes hit mine, but they were still unfocused, and she shoved out of the bed, hit the floor, body bending on itself again. “I promise. I promise I won’t tell the demons. I won’t let them out. I won’t. I won’t. I won’t ? — ”

Fuck .

This was…I didn’t know how to deal with this.

I stood up, grabbed the jersey from the floor, tugging it over her head, covering her body, trying to keep her warm in the cool house. A yank had the blanket from the bed, and I wrapped it around her.

“Beth, honey. It’s Raph. You’re here with me now. You’re safe. I promise.”

She quieted, but didn’t come back to me, just huddled in that blanket, rocking lightly back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“Can you talk to me, honey? Tell me what’s wrong?”

Her forehead pressed to her knees; her arms wrapped tighter. “The demons are trying to escape. They’ll hurt everyone, ruin everything. I can’t let them out. I can’t let them out. I can’t?—”

“I’m here with you,” I said gently, moving closer, carefully peeling her hand free, lacing our fingers together. “I can help you with the demons. I can?—”

Her head jerked off her knees, eyes wide and wild and still not here . “They’ll hurt you. They’ll hurt you. They’ll?—”

“I’m strong, sugarpie.”

Just rocking. Just repeating that they would hurt me over and over again.

I carefully peeled her other hand free, slowly, gently, incrementally brought her into my side. “I’m here. You’re okay,” I whispered in answer to those chanted words that had no context in the now, in this moment, from the woman I’d come to know.

But it didn’t break through, didn’t bring her back to me.

And as I held her, as she sat on the floor, rocking and shivering and not herself, I hated to do it.

Hated that I couldn’t make this go away.

Hated that this wasn’t a moment I could just hold her and talk to her and make everything okay.

This was…deep and heavy, and I didn’t have one fucking clue how to handle it.

So I hated to do it, but I also didn’t know what else to do.

Keeping my arms around her, that soft chant slicing through me, I reached to the side, snagged my pants, and pulled out my cell.

Then I called the one person I thought might be able to help.

Hazel.