Page 80 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Nine

Cas

“Come on, Spark,” I muttered when my elderly ass dog tried to stop and sniff another freaking bush.

Spark was Sparky.

My golden retriever, who was closing in on sixteen and was still one of the best presents my parents had ever gotten for me.

All I’d wanted growing up had been a dog.

But I’d stopped asking when I’d gotten old enough to understand that pets were expensive—food, vet bills, toys, treats, beds, crates, collars, leashes, and all the other paraphernalia that came with them.

Then, for my thirteenth birthday, my parents had packed us all up in the car and we’d met a woman from our father’s work at a park. Her dog had played Houdini, escaped the yard, and returned home knocked up. A few months later, they’d had eight tiny puppies they needed to find homes for, and…

I had gotten first choice.

The shock and happiness from that day still filled a large part of my heart.

Because Sparky was the shit.

Even if my thirteen-year-old self had let then seven-year-old Margot give him a dumbass name.

Spark ignored me, taking his time sniffing that bush, clearly discovering myriad new smells he’d never been lucky enough to have in his nose before despite his sixteen years’ experience of sniffing.

Cat piss. Dog piss. Flowers. Bugs. Maybe a soda dumped in the plant so someone didn’t have to carry it to their car.

Bird poop. Dirt. Other shit that dogs got off on, if Sparky’s intent smelling was any indication.

God, I remembered when I’d barely been able to hold back my exuberant pooch, when Spark had made it his mission to pull my arm out of the socket to get sniffing.

Hell, being dragged around by my pooch in my teenaged years was the best off-ice training I’d ever had.

Now, at fifteen (well, sixteen next month, since at this point I rounded up), Sparky was moving much slower.

Mostly, I coaxed him around the block and then called it good.

Less exercise.

More of Sparky sniffing himself into blissful oblivion.

Eventually, Spark managed to tear himself from the bush, and we continued meandering our way down the sidewalk at a snail’s pace, eventually turning into the park.

Soon enough the path would be cold and covered with snow, but today, with the sun shining and the sky a clear blue overhead, it was filled with kids running on the grass, clambering on the playground equipment.

Some adults were tossing a football around.

A soccer practice was being held in the distance.

Spark’s ears pricked, but where once, he would have been quivering to join in on the excitement, today he wagged his tail a couple of times and ambled toward another bush.

Which was when I heard it.

“I know, bud.” Her voice slid like fingers down my spine. “But we can’t always get everything we want.”

A knot in my gut, that statement hitting too close to the childhood memories of my parents struggling.

Those memories and how they’d still found a way to give me so much clung to the edges of my mind, and that paired with the voice —a voice I knew as well as any of my teammates, as any of my family, had my fingers tingling.

I looked up from where I’d been watching Spark sniff his thousandth bush and watched Jules walking toward me with a boy who must be her son. The little boy held her hand as he skipped by her side, and I couldn’t help but frown as I tried to ferret out the resemblance.

The boy was stocky where Jules was thin. His hair was dark, a deep brown that rivaled my own, not the light blond of Julie’s, and his skin tone more olive than the peach of hers.

But when they came closer, the resemblance became obvious.

His coloring was similar to mine, but his face was Julie’s.

They had the same lips and eyes and nose. They even wore the same expression—serious as it was. Drawn brows, flat mouths, though only Jules had the shadows in her eyes.

Fuck that shit.

The thought rippled through my mind like a rock splashing into a lake, crashing into the water with a huge impact, radiating fault lines, and then, eventually, settling to the bottom, an ever-present reminder.

I was processing that feeling, the intense promise that had just sewn its way into my soul, when Spark barked.

Drawing both of the Blackstars’ attention.

The serious expression disappeared from Jules’s face, the shadows evaporated, and her lips turned up as Sparky pulled at his leash, tail wagging, a glimpse of that puppy energy from long ago.

“Look, Mom!” her son cried. “It’s a golden retriever!”

Now those lips turned up higher. “Yeah, bud, it—” Her words cut off as her gaze rose, sliding up, reaching mine, her smile and pace faltering so abruptly, it was almost comical.

“And he’s got a handkerchief!”

Of course he did.

Sparky needed to look good when he went out, and his bandana was quite dapper in my opinion.

“Mom!” He tugged on Jules’s hand when her feet slid to a stop and she didn’t reply. “Mom, look!”

Jules was looking, just not at Sparky. She was looking at me and, fuck, I could just spend all day doing the same, staring back at her, noting every minute change in her face.

So fucking beautiful.

“Can I pet him, Mom?” Her son tugged at her hand. “Can I?”

“He’s friendly,” I said, moving toward them, not going to be an idiot—not this time, anyway. I was taking the opening, but I was doing it slowly. Carefully. “If your mom says it’s okay,” I added quickly. “Spark would love to have some scratches.”

Wide guileless eyes pointing up toward Jules. “Mom, can I?”

A long moment of quiet. Then her shoulders rose and fell on a breath, and she nodded.

“Okay, Ethan, but just do it the slow and steady way that I taught you, all right?” The little boy had started to drop down already, was reaching for Sparky (not that Spark would have minded—he loved people, but he loved kids most especially and didn’t mind them crawling all over him), but Ethan stopped at the first mention of his mom’s but , had waited for her to finish. Then he nodded.

A good kid.

A good mom.

Easy enough to see.

Especially when Ethan slowed down his movements, crouching to Sparky’s height and holding out a fist so that Spark could smell.

Once he’d passed Spark’s inspection, Ethan began scratching him under the chin.

Which led to Sparky kissing him under his chin.

Boyish laughter in the air. Ethan’s smile wide. Sparky’s tail going crazy.

“Why’s his face white?” Ethan asked, having moved on to scratching Spark’s head and ears (and making the pup practically drool in pleasure).

“He’s old,” I said, bending down and stroking a hand along Sparky’s back, the soft hair parting and flowing through my fingers. “Almost sixteen in human years, which is like ninety in big dog years.”

Ethan glanced up at me, eyes wide pools of dark chocolate. “Really?”

“Really,” I said solemnly.

“Whoa.” Then he was giggling again because Sparky got tired of standing and just plopped down in Ethan’s lap, taking them both to the ground.

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” I told him, steadying him so he didn’t tip backward. “Spark gets tired sometimes.”

Brows furrowing, but not seemingly in any discomfort because of the takedown, Ethan hugged Spark and endured more licking before resuming his scratches again. “His name is Spark?” he asked, and it was clear that he didn’t approve.

“Sparky,” I said. “But don’t look at me. I let my sister name him.”

“You have a sister?” Ethan asked.

I nodded. “Two.”

Ethan scowled. “My mom won’t let me have one of those.”

The scowl. The statement. Fuck, this kid was going to make me laugh.

“It’s not as simple as going to the store and just picking up a sister,” Jules said dryly. “As I just told you.”

Ethan’s scowl didn’t ease. “ Chase has a sister.”

Now I did chuckle—they were both funny—and earned a scowl from Julie.

“It’s not funny, Cas,” she muttered, closing the distance between us and bending to scratch Sparky. That bend was… chef’s kiss. A glimpse of curves, a brush of her body against mine a hint of flowers in my nose.

“Who’s Cas?” Ethan asked.

“That’s Cas,” Julie said, pointing. “I know him from CeCe’s. He comes in and eats with his hockey player friends sometimes.”

Wide eyes and enough awe in his voice that my ego pulsed with joy. “You play for the Breakers?”

Biting back a grin, I nodded solemnly.

“Whoa,” Ethan said again.

My lips turned up. “You like hockey?”

“It’s the best ,” Ethan breathed. “Mom sometimes lets me stay up late to watch you guys play.”

“Does Mom watch too?”

The wry question had Jules going still beside me.

“Yup! Every game.”

I glanced at her, saw her cheeks had gone pink and she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Hmm.

But Ethan had perked up again, clearly already over the awe. “She said I could be a hockey player when I grow up if I practice hard.”

My brows rose. “You play?”

A nod that was almost bobblehead-esque. “Yup,” he said, the p at the end popping.

I opened my mouth to ask what position, but Jules straightened, announced, “We should let Cas get on with his day.” One more scratch to Sparky’s head. “Come on, bud.”

“Maybe we can go skating sometime,” I blurted, seizing the opening less than gracefully (though at least it wasn’t a yell this time). “Shoot some pucks around,” I said, “and I could give you some pointers if you want.”

“Really?” Ethan asked, his eyes wide, the awe back. “You and me?”

“Yeah.”

“Whoa.”

I grinned, full-out. “How about your mom and I talk it over, okay?” I said, catching a look at Jules’s expression and knowing this would take careful navigating on my part. “See if we can come up with a time and day that works.”

“ Whoa.”

That final whoa finally unstuck Jules and she laughed softly, shaking her head.

Though the look she shot me told me it wasn’t all amusement in her reaction.

She knew she’d been had, at least in this situation.

And I, for my part, was trying to not fist pump like a moron at having secured a little more time with her.

Plus, Ethan was fucking cute, and I liked kids, liked teaching kids, too.

It wouldn’t be a trial to spend a little time on the ice with him.

“Come on, bud,” she said, brushing off her hands. “Cas and I will talk later. But, for now, you have a date with your homework and then the bathtub.”

“Aw, man,” Ethan muttered, but he still scooted away from Spark, who seemed to have fallen asleep under his careful attention, and stood up.

Sparky didn’t move.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked after I had tugged lightly on the leash, called my pooch’s name, and Sparky still didn’t bother to so much as open his eyes.

I shrugged and did what I always did when my pup had had enough of his walks?—

I bent and scooped Sparky up.

Jules laughed, and it was a real one this time, and it was so fucking beautiful that every nerve in my body shot to attention.

Ethan’s eyes were wide, and he said his trademark, “Whoa,” though this time it was a whisper.

“You do this every time?” she asked.

I shrugged again, albeit with arms full of golden floof. “He’s old, and he gets tired.”

A softening in her face, one that set my heart pounding.

She leaned in.

I held very, very still.

She pressed her lips to Spark’s head and my pooch sighed in contentment.

Then she looked up at me, studied me for a long, long time, and her face went a little soft (I thought, I hoped ) as she said again, this time softly, “We’ll talk later.”

A moment after that, she and Ethan had gone.

Only then did I allow myself a tiny fist pump.

“Good boy, Spark,” I whispered.

Sparky’s tail thumped against my abdomen…and then I took my pooch on the remainder of his walk, Spark’s fluffy body warm in my arms.