Page 84 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Thirteen

Cas

It took everything in me to not kiss the juice that had turned her mouth into a glistening temptation, to not lean in and taste the mix of tart and sweet on her tongue.

She was hungry.

That was the only thing that stopped me from kissing her a few minutes before, from kissing her in that moment—the fact that her stomach had rumbled, that she was hungry.

She worked too hard and barely took breaks and I hardly saw her eat.

Plus, she was hurting and needed the medicine.

And to take it, she needed something in her stomach.

So, I kept feeding her apple slices dipped in peanut butter.

Because I couldn’t make the cuts disappear.

But I could get food in her belly, soothe her hunger. I could do that one small thing for her.

She was just finishing the final slice of apple coated in peanut butter when the door to the kitchen pushed open and her boss and a cop walked in. Matt’s eyes narrowed at me as the police officer strolled toward us, pad and pen in hand, expression serious.

I hated that the softness that had crept into Jules’s body immediately disappeared.

She was tense, her body going stiff next to me, and—ah, the hell with it—I slid an arm around her shoulders and drew her against me. Something her boss really didn’t like, considering that the other man’s scowl was fierce and intense and?—

“Can you tell me what happened?” the officer asked.

Jules recounted her interaction with Chelsea (and seriously, for fuck’s sake, how was the other woman so fucking dumb? ). But any amusement that I might have felt—and it was damned limited in the first place—dissipated when I heard how Jules had gotten those marks.

Chelsea was a fucking bitch.

So, I sat there seething as the officer finished with the statement. I figured that I was going to have to convince her to press charges, but she didn’t argue when the officer asked, just agreed, and held out her arms so that pictures could be taken of the marks.

Which meant she’d straightened away from me, stood so that I couldn’t hold her any longer.

But she’d let me hold her for a time.

So that was…something—it was more than something. It was… right .

Matt huffed out a sigh, reached between us to snatch up the plate, muttering to himself as he strode across the kitchen and dropped it into the sink.

The water went on. The muttering continued, but then Jules wavered slightly, and I moved close to her again, slipping an arm around her waist, tugging her back against my chest. “She needs to get home and sleep.”

The officer’s eyes hit mine before drifting up and over my shoulder, no doubt going to Matt’s—who was still muttering, though this time it was punctuated by the sound of the water going on and off, the plate clanking into the dishwasher, the ramekin joining it.

Not happy I was here.

Not happy I was touching Jules.

Well, the other man was going to have to fuck right off.

I tugged Jules a little closer when she trembled. “She can take your card and call you if she remembers anything else.”

Silence.

Another glance over my shoulder.

Then back to me after a long moment. “I’ll run with this,” he told Jules, “and then be back in touch with you soon.”

“Okay,” Jules whispered.

Goodbyes were exchanged and then Matt and the cop left the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind them.

I shifted, used the bandages I’d laid out earlier from the kit and gently smeared antibiotic cream on her skin before I covered the cuts with the Band-Aids then gently wrapped her arm in gauze to keep everything in place and protected.

A kiss to the inside of her elbow.

A silent apology.

She was shaking slightly, fatigue clouding her eyes, so I kissed that swathe of silken skin again before straightening. “Let’s get you home.”

“Right.” A breath.

More trembling and…fuck it.

I swept her up into my arms, holding her against my chest, hating that she was shaking, despising the lines of exhaustion on her face, furious at the dark circles beneath her eyes. My fault they were getting worse. Her fault for allowing them to get bad in the first place.

“I can?—”

I pushed out the swinging door, carried her down the hall and into the staff room. “Where’s your stuff?” I asked.

“I’m fine, Cas,” she said, pushing at my chest—something I might have listened to if not for the fact that she was shaking so hard that her teeth were clacking together, if not for the fact that her shove against me was weaker than a fucking feather trying to shove back an elephant.

“Where’s your stuff?” I repeated.

Her stare to mine, eyes assessing.

Then she sighed, probably understanding that there wasn’t any assessing that would change the fact that I was going to see her home.

Not her arguments.

Not Matt.

Not the late hour.

I was going to get her safe and then I’d torture myself with all the fucked-up shit that Chelsea could have done to Jules. Then tomorrow, I was going to get my lawyer on making sure that Chelsea stopped fucking around with Jules, and I didn’t care how nasty I had to get.

After a long standoff, Jules sighed and pointed to a row of lockers. “Mine’s on the end.”

I walked there, glanced from the lock and back up to Jules’s eyes, lifting a brow.

“Let me guess,” she muttered, “you’re going to want me to open it from here.”

“Either that or you can tell me the code,” I muttered, keeping her close.

Her eyes flashed with annoyance, but it was better than her trembling from earlier. “You going to escort me to the bathroom, too?” she asked tartly.

I shrugged—which, no lie, had the pleasurable side effect of rubbing her body against mine and, yeah, I was just desperate enough for that to feel really, really good.

Just call me a pervert and be done with it, okay?

“If you need an escort to the bathroom,” I said, ignoring my inner monologue. “I’m there.”

She shook her head. “Right-left-right, 35-12-9.”

“Got it,” I muttered, carrying her to the locker, and also yeah, it wasn’t the smoothest thing to try to open a combination lock while she was in my arms, but I also wasn’t ready to let her go.

And plus, I’d managed to open my locker while making out with my high school girlfriend loads of times.

This wasn’t nearly as hard.

It also had the positive of bringing my lips and nose close to her skin, since I had to look over her shoulder to put in the numbers.

And, oh look, I had to kiss that skin. Yup, had to.

She shivered, relaxed against me.

My tongue flicked out.

The door banged open, causing Jules to go stiff in my arms. And seriously, for fuck’s sake, Matt needed to butt right the fuck out.

“Jules,” Matt said tersely. “I’ll drive you home.”

The lock opened and I shifted Jules enough to tug the metal door wide, to grab out her jacket and purse. I set the jacket gently over her, then placed her purse on top. “I’m taking her,” I announced.

And yes, it was an announcement.

Not necessarily to Jules, because I was guessing she got that already. But it was definitely an announcement to the other man, who was glaring at me, looking like he wanted to rip Jules out of my arms.

I wasn’t going to play tug-a-war with the woman I wanted.

But I also wasn’t going to let Matt put his hands on Jules. Not right then. Not when she was my responsibility, mine to protect.

Something I communicated very clearly with my glare.

Basically, it boiled down to touch her and die.

Matt’s eyes narrowed.

I held his gaze long enough that I braced for a fight.

But then Jules lifted her hand, rested it on my chest. She didn’t speak to me, though. Her words— word —was directed at her boss.

“Matt,” she said softly.

Matt’s glare disengaged from mine, face softening as he looked at Jules.

Then his shoulders hitched up and he sighed before spinning on his heel and disappearing out of the room.

“I didn’t expect you to be a caveman,” Jules muttered when we’d pushed out into the alley, headed to her car.

Yes, I knew that she drove a boring little sedan that got great gas mileage.

I also knew that she wasn’t a fan of signals, drove with a lead foot, and it was filled with crap—trash, zip-top bags, balls, and general kid junk.

No, I wasn’t pulling a Chelsea.

I just…paid attention to every single time when she was in my life, whether it was on the periphery or right in my face.

“Grab your keys,” I ordered, moving to her car.

A shiver ran through her body.

Fuck. Too damned cold out here.

But she didn’t move to get her keys—or not quickly enough, anyway. Because she was too busy yapping. “You’re going to let me drive?”

Fuck no, I wasn’t.

She was shaking. Exhausted.

I’d drive her home and come back for my car later. She’d need hers to get Ethan to school in the morning.

Ignoring her question, I reached into her purse, snagged her keys, and unlocked her car. A moment later, she was in the passenger’s seat and I’d buckled her in and the door was shut, and then I was in the driver’s side with my knees practically in my armpits.

Christ, I’d forgotten how little she was.

Mostly because she took up so much space in my heart and mind.

I jammed the key into the ignition, shoved the seat back, readied to pull out of the spot.

“I guess you’re not going to let me drive.”