Page 83 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twelve

Jules

How the fuck he could tell I was pretending to be okay, I didn’t know.

I also didn’t like it.

Many a year had gone into building my mask and no one was allowed to see through it, thank you very much.

He brushed that slightly rough thumb over my wrist again, making me have to clench my jaw so that I didn’t shiver.

Okay, so I failed at the whole not shivering thing.

Which, of course, he noticed, releasing my wrist, leaning back and started to strip off the sweatshirt he was wearing.

Goody, my inner demon thought. Another sweatshirt to steal.

Then my inner demon cackled because one, it wanted more stripping, and two, it really liked that with his movements, Cas’s shirt lifted, giving me a glimpse of skin, of his flat abs.

I sucked in a breath, but then I was assaulted by the heat of him, the power of him as he carefully tugged the sweatshirt over my head, gently moving my arms into the sleeves, slipping my hands through the cuffs.

Just like before, my head spun when I was surrounded by his scent.

Floating up into my nose, covering up the remnants of the odor of heavy bar food, of the busy kitchen that rarely ever stopped being frantic from open to close and reminding me of spice and man and the forested mountains that were in Cas’s eyes.

My pussy clenched.

And seriously, what the fuck was that?

I didn’t do need and desire and men . Remember?

When I got the occasional itch—rare, because I existed in a state of exhaustion that only occasionally required me buzzing friend to help scratch it—I definitely didn’t seek out men.

For one, I spent too much time away from Ethan as it was.

For another, I wasn’t willing to let another man into my body.

Not after it had all gone so wrong after I’d ended up pregnant?—

And… nope .

Not what I needed to be thinking about right then.

But what excuse could I give to throw him off my track? I inhaled deeply, holding it for long enough that my lungs began to burn, that my head began to swim. I was tired, that was it. Tired and emotional and just…upset that his ex had gone full-on eagle talons on me.

Yeah.

That last one.

Except, when I opened my mouth to spit out that excuse, to spew the others, he slowly lifted his hand, his thumb brushing against my lashes.

To my horror, I realized that there was a tear there.

That somehow some of the emotions I kept so carefully bottled up inside me were escaping, and worse, that they were manifesting themselves in tears.

Cas leaned in.

I sucked in another breath, more emotions, more roiling.

Because the kiss in the bathroom? It had been the best I’d ever had. Ever.

His lips hit my forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

Then he was backing away from me, slipping out through the swinging door, leaving me in the quiet kitchen.

I heard glasses clink, the rattle of ice, the swoosh of the soda machine, and it didn’t surprise me in the least when he pushed back into the kitchen, a glass filled to the top with Sprite, bubbles skating up the insides, bursting at the top. He placed it in my hand.

“Drink.”

A soft order.

And then he was rooting through the bag again. Considering all the bandages were on the steel countertop and the antibiotic ointment was sitting next to it, there wasn’t really anything I needed.

Then he held up the small packet of ibuprofen and my heart squeezed tight.

How he knew my arm was beginning to throb, I didn’t know. Or maybe he was just assuming that the gouges had to be hurting…because that was what any normal person would assume. It wasn’t anything special about me or him or our situation.

He just was a thoughtful human being.

That was all.

Except then he paused, the packet grasped in between fingers and thumb. “Have you eaten tonight?”

And right on cue, my stomach grumbled.

I had eaten—Matt had shoved something at me during the beginning of my shift, convinced that I never ate enough.

A few years ago, when I’d first gotten a job here, that might have been right.

Things had been Tight , with italics and a capital T, because between the move and medical bills and getting my apartment set up and childcare and security deposits and?—

Yeah, I’d skipped more than a few meals.

Thus was the life of a single mom who seemed to make a career out of getting fucked over by men.

“I ate earlier. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, holding my hand out for the packet.

Cas shoved it into his pocket, then turned away from me and moved to the big walk-in fridge. Curious, I didn’t protest, just sat there and watched him survey the contents for a long moment before he reached in and…

Pulled out an apple.

That hit the counter next to him and then he was reaching up to the top shelf, shirt riding up again and making more clenching happening between my legs.

For fuck’s sake.

I needed to get a grip, but it was hard as hell when his scent was surrounding me, when I was fascinated by his movements, by what he was going to do next.

A plate on the counter. A cutting board next to it.

The apple was in slices in a few seconds.

Then he was scooping into a jar he’d retrieved from the top shelf, filling a little ramekin that he set on the plate. More searching, reaching for a small container from Matt’s rack of spices.

Before I could figure out what it was, he’d used it and put it back, was picking up the plate and walking over to my stool.

“Eat,” he ordered softly.

My gaze went to the plate, simple slices of apples arranged neatly in a circle, the ramekin filled with peanut butter. I leaned in, sniffed.

He’d topped the apples with cinnamon.

Just a little.

Oh shit .

My heart did that squeezing thing again.

No one—outside of Matt—took care of me. No one.

It wasn’t Ethan’s job, and I was going to make damned sure that he never expected it to be.

My father had stopped any care the moment he’d found out I was pregnant, and any protection or guidance or love before that had been strictly bare minimum and loaded with resentment.

Don’t die care.

Food in the fridge. A bedroom and clean clothes (that latter at least until I’d turned eight and had started doing my own laundry).

Shoes on my feet. Doctors and dentist appointments once a year until I could schedule them myself.

Heat in the house. Hot water. A TV that, more often than not, was blaring a sports game.

Blaring a Sierra game.

I shoved that memory down, not willing to go there.

Because if I hadn’t been close with most of the local guys who played hockey, hadn’t worked my ass off in the rink where they’d practiced, renting out skates and serving concessions and generally coordinating chaos, I would have thought all hockey players were assholes.

But they weren’t.

Hell, most of them were nice.

Like Lake Jordan—my only true friend growing up—and the man who’d later been the only reason I’d been able to make a life in Baltimore for me and Ethan in the first place.

He’d given me means to make the move, encouraged the distance and fresh start.

He’d even helped me find a place to stay until I got on my feet, and had made the connection with Matt, who was the son of a family friend, so I had a way to provide for me and Ethan.

Lake was a good person, a good man who had wanted to do more for me. But…I had too many memories, too much pain linked to him, to the past and present he represented. So, I’d had to let him go, had to pull back and limit our communication.

Plus, his career had been taking off, and he didn’t need me to drag him down and…I couldn’t be tied to a hockey player.

And…now I had found myself mixed up with hockey players all over again.

Smitty and Oliver and Raph and?—

Cas.

Cas who’d sliced apples and sprinkled cinnamon and scooped peanut butter and…

And it was just who I’d picked who’d been an asshole.

The rest of them were good.

Fingers on my wrist, bringing me back into the present, to the big, beautiful man with soft eyes watching me. “Eat,” he ordered again and then he lifted a slice of apple to my lips.

My lungs inflated. “Cas?—”

He slipped the piece between my parted lips, taking advantage of me speaking, and I bit down, the juicy, ripe fruit bursting to life on my tastebuds.

I chewed, swallowed. “Cas?—”

He simply dipped the slice into the peanut butter, scooped up a dollop, and shoved the fruit into my mouth again.

Another bite.

The tart and sweet interspersed with the creamy nuttiness of the peanut butter.

God, it had been a long time since I’d had something like this, and while it was a simple snack, it was delicious and filling and?—

I couldn’t lie.

What I like most about it was that Cas had made it for me. I liked that he was feeding me.

I should stop him, should feed my damn self.

But for some reason, I didn’t…or couldn’t…or…

Maybe tonight I didn’t want to take care of myself.

Just for tonight.