Page 59 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twenty-Five

Raph

She’d stayed at my place last night.

Not necessarily her idea, but because I’d plied her with two mugs of my special hot chocolate (which wasn’t really special hot chocolate at all, just expensive chocolate, a dollop of caramel, and a large pinch of cumin).

My mother’s recipe.

Though I never could be bothered to whip my own cream.

She was gone now, too.

Had left me when I was thirteen, in the hands of my father.

Another disappointment, or two, rather—the leaving of my mother, the resultant anger and abuse from my sperm donor of a father.

Thank God for hockey.

And, truthfully, thank God for my big ass hockey body.

I’d gotten big early in life, lived up to the giant hockey player stereotype.

I was no Smitty, but I was six-three, two hundred pounds.

I’d gotten taller than my father early, had bulked up because time in the gym meant time away from home when my mother had left.

That bulk had been slimmed as years went on, as I focused on speed and flexibility.

But I was still big, much bigger than Beth.

And much bigger than my sperm donor, who’d lost interest when he realized he couldn’t bully me.

“Raph?”

I blinked, realized I’d been standing there on Beth’s porch like an idiot, back in the past, in my head, thinking about shit that I’d wanted to long forget, and…running late, I thought, cursing softly as I glanced down at my watch.

This was my last free evening for more than a week, what with the season heating up and a road trip on the calendar, and I was standing, staring at nothing, thinking about long-dead shit, wasting time when I didn’t have a whole lot of it, especially this time of year.

“Hey, sugarpie,” I murmured, bending and sliding my lips across hers.

Her tongue dipped out and the brush of mouths turned deeper.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

My hot chocolates had made her drowsy, and paired with fresh popcorn and an action movie, she’d fallen asleep in my arms. I’d taken advantage, not moving her, not so much as twitching a muscle for fear of waking her.

Not until the movie was over and my own eyelids were growing heavy.

Then I’d shifted her against my chest, carried her up the stairs and into my bedroom, holding tight to my control so I didn’t kiss her, wake her up, and taste every inch of her again.

I needed to be smart now. To move slowly.

To not trigger her fear and panic again.

I cupped Beth’s cheek. “You just miss my hot chocolate.”

“Nope.” A grin. “It was the popcorn. That seasoning on top.” She chef kissed.

I grinned, slid her close, tucked her under my shoulder, where she fit perfectly, where I could feel her, soak in her warmth, scent the soft floral perfume of her hair sprayed across her skin.

The seasoning I’d sprinkled over the top of the popcorn was another one of my mother’s specialties—mostly salt, but also a dash of pepper, a teaspoon of sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon all mixed in with the buttery, oily goodness.

It was delicious.

But then again, most of my mother’s cooking had been.

It had been most of the good she’d left me, and the memories were the rest. Because what came after?—

A hand on my jaw, and I glanced down into Beth’s concerned face. “What is it?” she asked.

I didn’t want to talk about this. I wanted to concentrate on the now, on this date with Beth. I didn’t want to drag up the past.

But how could I expect that she would share hers if I continued to bury mine deep?

It was why I’d opened the door the night before.

It was time for me to let the wounds in me air out, to heal in the light, to allow the shadows I’d carried for too long to be extinguished.

So I said, “My parents weren’t great. Dad was— is —an asshole who likes to drink too much, yell too much, smoke too much, and work too little.

Mom got tired of it. Left me. Left me, and I didn’t hear from her until after we won our first Cup.

She wanted me to bring it to her so her kids from the new family she’d created could see it. ”

Silence.

Then, Beth’s voice shook with anger. “Are you serious?”

A quiet question, but the words reverberated through me.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

A breath, her eyes snapping and sparking, as though she were an avenging angel.

“It’s a shitty truth, sugarpie, but it is my truth.

” A shrug. Not to dismiss it, but because my shoulders were taut and I needed to loosen the tension.

“I had a lot of shit—parents, teachers, coaches—but I’ve shoveled my way out of it now,” I said.

“I’ve got good friends now. A good woman.

” I smoothed my thumb along her bottom lip.

“And a good family that I’ve created. We’re not related, but I don’t need biology to tell me what is a good thing and what’s not. ”

Her lips parted.

“For the record, you’re a good thing. You’re the good woman.”

Dampness drifting across blue eyes.

“And you’re part of that good family I’ve been lucky enough to create.”

Her shoulders lifted, pushing against the underside of my arm. Then dropped. “Raph,” she whispered, the tip of her tongue dipping out, dampening her lips, tempting me again, wanting to taste and take.

“I’m okay, honey.”

“They shouldn’t be like that.”

“No,” I whispered. “They shouldn’t. But they are, and there’s no changing it, no going back.”

Her mouth pressed flat.

Then she sighed again.

Her mouth relaxed. “I hate that you had that.”

“Me too. But”—my fingers on her cheek—“it also showed me what kind of man, what kind of parent I won’t ever be.”

Something stark in her eyes, her face.

Her body going so so still.

Fuck.

But almost as quickly, the stillness eased. “How are you so fucking gorgeous inside and out?” she whispered, her fingers sliding over my jaw, over the bristles already growing there, even though I’d shaved just before I’d left the house.

“Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I whispered back.

Her cheeks went a little pink, but she didn’t argue with me, just joked lightly, “Well, aren’t we all about the compliments?”

I laughed softly. “Misery loves company?”

“If misery is me being with a man who calls me beautiful, then I can’t really complain now, can I?”

“No,” I said on a grin. “I don’t think you can.”

Her arm came around my waist. “Then I think we should prolong our misery, don’t you?”

I loved that she was joking.

I loved that she was smiling with me and cuddling close.

I loved that we’d just created our first inside joke.

I loved…her.

That truth didn’t course through me like a shock, didn’t lock my muscles, make my breath catch. It merely settled onto my soul like a feather drifting down to the ground, slowly wobbling until it rested gently on the soil below.

That was it exactly.

A settling.

I loved her.

Yes, that was right.

“More misery,” I said, shuffling her forward so she could lock her door and then guiding her to my car. “Consider it coming right up.”