Page 88 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Seventeen

Cas

I soaked in all the details, all the insights into her life, catching more on a second look now that it wasn’t all new.

Ethan’s shoes on the rack by the door. A large winter jacket on a row of hooks, its smaller twin hanging next to it.

A train-themed backpack sitting on the bench beneath them, a toy truck at its side.

Jules had dropped her purse there and now she paused, hand on the wall just above the plain black leather, toeing off her shoes in an unconscious movement that gave me even more insight.

I could picture her doing the same every night, could imagine her doing it in my hallway.

A push from one foot tucked the shoes fully beneath the bench.

Then she turned for the kitchen, flicked on the lights, and tugged out a stool. “I can make you a cup?—”

There were colorful canisters on the counter, a bunch of bananas on a hanger shoved into a corner near the sink. Some sort of craft project in process on the island. And, Christ, there were even drawings held up by colorful magnets on the fridge.

I caught her arm, drew her against me.

I shouldn’t do it.

I shouldn’t .

But I couldn’t stop my head from dipping, from my lips brushing over hers.

She was just so damned wonderful.

“Go to bed,” I whispered, lifting my head, forcing myself to release her, to not taste her again. “I’ll be okay.”

“I—”

A breath, but then she nodded.

And then she moved down the hall.

A door clicked shut.

My gaze caught on a drawing of a dog on the fridge.

Of Sparky written in childish scrawl beneath it .

Christ, I was in deep.

And I didn’t give one fuck.

“Thanks, man,” I said a while later, hopping out of the back of the car, making sure the door latched before taking off for my SUV still parked in the lot.

It was the only car left.

Which wasn’t a surprise, considering the sun was just beginning to rise in the east, a narrow strip of light filling the horizon.

Late. Much later than I normally stayed up, and the team’s schedule meant that I regularly kept odd hours, especially with travel and trying to wind down after games.

One of which I had that night and that meant I needed to sleep at some point, to rest up and focus on my actual job.

Not on what my mind wanted—which was, for the record (in case anyone was unaware of the fact), Jules.

Sighing, I reached into my pocket for my keys and froze when I encountered a thick, crumpled piece of paper. “What?” I muttered, tugging it out.

And suddenly, I wasn’t tired.

My body was exhausted, yes. Was telling me it was time to get in bed and sleep.

But now I was mentally wired.

Because Jules was playing with me. I grinned at the much-abused hundred-dollar bill. She was playing with me, and she’d shared?—

Something that had the smile sliding right off my face.

Because what she’d shared made my blood fucking boil.

She’d been with that douchebag, with Nate fucking Miller, prime asshole in the league and one of the top producers on the Sierra.

And she was living in…

Well, I wasn’t so much of an asshole as to describe her apartment in negative terms. It was a home, and it was clean and bright and cheerful.

She’d created a great place for a kid to live.

But it was small, and a bit worn down, and she worked her ass off into the wee hours of the morning on a regular basis.

Hands clenching into a fist, one around the hundred-dollar bill, crumpling it further, the other around my keys that sent a sharp bite of pain up my arm.

“Fuck,” I muttered, yanking open the driver’s side door and dropping into the seat.

Nate fucking Miller.

God, the man was a jackass—a cheap fucker on the ice and apparently off it as well, considering that Jules had to hustle hard, and she and Ethan were living in that small apartment with the worn cabinets and cracked plaster in the corners and?—

I was going to crush that motherfucker the next time we played.

A jab at the button to start my car. A quick movement to back out of the spot.

And then I was driving home.

Or maybe I should rephrase that.

I should be driving home.

Instead, my car just sort of…pointed itself back in the direction of Jules’s place.

She would have barely gotten any sleep at this point and Ethan had to wake up to go to school and?—

None of that was my problem.

And yet, knowing that, I still found myself driving back across town to Jules’s.

I’d just hang out for a few minutes, make sure that they were up and moving so that Ethan wouldn’t be late for school.

That was just…being neighborly (my house wasn’t all that far from Jules’s).

And her night had been rough because of me and?—

Well, that was pretty much the point I stopped trying to make excuses and just gave into the urge to check up on them.

Insane?

Yup.

But I still drove to the apartment building, still parked at the curb.

Still waited, the sun growing higher, the sky brighter.

Even as there wasn’t a single sign of movement in the house.

No lights on. No movement through the windows.

I was spying on her and that was creepy as fuck, and who really cared if Ethan was late for school one day?

Except…I knew that Jules would care.

She’d beat herself up.

One interaction with the pair of them in the park, coming to know her at CeCe’s over the years, and I knew that she would hate that her son was late for school because she forgot to set her alarm or overslept or?—

“Fuck it,” I whispered, turning off my car and getting out.

I’d just…

Well, I didn’t really have a plan, other than it involved making sure that Jules didn’t have anything else in her life to make her feel sad or disappointed.

I made my way up to the front door, pressed the buttons on the keypad to unlock the door (doing this while ignoring the sliver of guilt— it was for her benefit! ), and…

Then I walked back into Jules’s house.