Page 96 of Branded (Breakers Hockey)

Twenty-Five

Cas

I was breaking through.

I could taste it on the back of my tongue, could feel it in the imprint of her fingertips on my skin, could sense it in the way her body had finally relaxed against mine.

The rink itself had been the final thing I’d showed Ethan and Jules, even though I would have continued to find shit to extend the tour if not for the fact that the late night seemed to have finally caught up with Ethan.

When his yawns had punctuated his excitement, I had called it.

Now I’d walked Jules and Ethan back through the arena and out into the cold night air.

And when Ethan had stumbled as we made our way up the long flight of stairs leading to Jules’s car, I had scooped him up, carried him to give his little legs a breather, and fuck, the little boy had sewn himself even tighter into my heart.

Because within a minute Ethan had been out , his head dropping to my shoulder, one arm around my neck, the other hanging at my side.

“I can—” Jules began, probably because my arms were also laden with the bags of souvenirs I’d sent them earlier.

“I got him, gorgeous,” I said. “You just get your keys out, yeah?”

She bit her lip—which had the side effect of making me want to kiss her—but then she nodded and dug through her purse and pulled out her keys.

“Did you have a nice night?” I asked softly, finding that with Ethan asleep, I needed to fill the silence, needed to hear her voice, needed to know that she was here with me and not thinking about something else.

Footsteps halting, her body spinning toward me so fast I barely processed it. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. Her tone was full-on porcupine, and I decided to proceed with caution. “I mean, I know that it was just a game and looking through a bunch of rooms, but?—”

Her fingers touched my jaw. “It was the best night of my life,” she whispered, and then she smoothed her hand over Ethan’s head.

“Because I got to see him have the best night of his life.” She looked up, held my gaze, her voice so soft I could barely hear it.

“So, thank you for letting me be part of giving that to him.”

Then she was spinning away from me, walking with near furious speed, but not before I’d seen that soft voice of hers on her face…and not before I’d watched all that soft disappear, chased out by panic.

I felt a bit deflated, if I was honest. Losing that soft was like losing a limb.

But then I saw my name on her back.

And instead, I knew I needed to focus on the fact that I was making progress.

She’d shared her past. She was letting me hold her son. She cared about my bruised ribs enough to bring it up several times. And she was wearing my name on her back.

So yeah, progress.

Jules unlocked her car when we got close, tugged open the back door, and through some maneuvering that had my ribs reminding me angrily that they didn’t like me bending and twisting, I got Ethan into his booster seat and carefully straightened, stepping back so that Jules could check to make sure his belt was buckled correctly.

Then she was quietly shutting the door and turning to face me.

Yup. All panic. No soft.

Two steps forward. One step back.

“You okay to drive, gorgeous?” I asked, giving in to the urge to touch her and smoothing my fingers over her cheek.

She blinked wide eyes. “What?”

“It’s late. We had a rough night last night”—I brushed her forearm, below the spot where my bitch of an ex had hurt her—“and it’s late again tonight. So, I’m asking, sweetheart, are you okay to drive?”

A shrug, which had the bonus side effect of rubbing her body against mine. Not as good as holding her, but still, feeling any part of her was fucking incredible. However, then her response permeated my tired, hurting, sleep-lacking brain. “I’m used to it.”

Anger prickled at the base of my spine, alertness sliding through me. “What do you mean?”

Anger that apparently permeated my tone and face and body, if her eyes skittering away from mine and her taking a step back were any indication.

Cool it, dumbass.

“I should let you get home,” she murmured. “You’ve had a couple of late nights, too.”

I was wiped, yes, but didn’t want to say goodbye, didn’t want to go home to my empty house, didn’t want to sleep in my bed alone again, and I didn’t want to leave her, not with that look in her eyes, not with her telling me she was used to it .

The fatigue? The staying up late? The rough nights?

All of the above?

“Gorgeous,” I said, stepping closer, boxing her in, her scent in my nose, all those soft curves against my body. “What exactly are you used to?”

“I…” She bit her lip, looked away. “It’s late. I should get going.”

Fingers in her hair, tilting her head back, locking my gaze with hers, needing to know what the fuck was going through her head, what was putting that look on her face.

Was it the past? Because then I’d do my fucking best to make it so that those memories didn’t intrude on her present.

But if it was that present, was in her life now, then I was going to lose my mind… and then I was going to fix it.

“Spill, Jules,” I ordered. “Is someone hurting you?”

Her brows dragged together. “No one is hurting me,” she said, that frown still in place. “Well, outside of last night.” Her soft addition fucking eviscerated me.

“Fuck,” I whispered, dropping my hand, stepping away.

I’d gotten it in my mind that I was going to fix her life, going to make things right for her.

But she’d already built out her life into a good one, already had a job and a son and a place that was more like a home than my empty ass house. And what did I bring to her? A psycho ex who’d hurt her, who’d kept her up, who’d?—

Her body was suddenly against mine, hand resting on my jaw. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She wouldn’t.

Jules was nice. She didn’t drive the knife home, didn’t twist it and try to wound in the biggest, most painful way.

She stroked gentle fingers through my beard, said softly, “I really didn’t.”

“I know,” I said, covering her hand with my own, peeling her fingers back and pressing a kiss to her palm.

“I just meant that I’m a single mom,” she explained. “One who works the closing shift at a bar. I’m always tired and I’m equally used to not getting enough sleep.”

I hated that for her.

Fucking hated it.

“But the hurting stopped when I left California,” she whispered.

“Matt—you know, the owner of CeCe’s—I got lucky when I applied.

We clicked, and he watched out for me until I got settled.

He and his partner found my apartment, and they were great when Ethan was little.

” Her tone held love, and fuck, I was jealous of a gay couple again, jealous of the way they’d taken care of my woman.

“They’re still great,” she whispered. “But they have their own lives, especially now that they adopted their little girl. We’re still close, but I’m not at their place all the time anymore.

” Her lips turned up. “Something they probably prefer.”

They’d be idiots if they preferred that.

Jules was fucking beautiful—and not just on the outside. She had an inner light that shone brightly, that filled the space around her.

I craved that light.

Needed it.

But I needed to know all of her. Including the heavy parts she might want to keep buried.

“Was your dad physical with you?”

In other words, who in the fuck did I need to kill?

That froze her, set her light dimming slightly. “No,” she whispered. “His expertise was hurting me by not giving a fuck about me, emotionally, bodily, or otherwise. Oh. And eviscerating me with words on the odd times I deigned to notice me.”

“And Nate?” I ground out.

A flash of pain in her eyes. “Nate didn’t get physical either.

He just…manipulated me, made me feel safe, and then the moment I dared to step outside the tiny, lidded box he wanted to keep me inside, he smashed my heart.

” A breath. “He was really good at eviscerating me with words too.” Her throat worked.

“And, of course, he hurt me when he decided that he wasn’t going to be a father to Ethan.

Mostly because I knew that one day it was going to hurt Ethan, hurt the little baby that I already loved even though he hadn’t even been born yet.

” Another breath, a deeper, longer sigh, sad in her eyes.

“Which, I think, is his worst crime of all. How”—she gestured to her sleeping son—“how could someone not want that in your life?”

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “How he could not understand the gift that Ethan is—the gift that you are…” I shook my head this time. “Miller is a fucking idiot. And the same goes for your father. You are both fucking wonderful .”

Her eyes went glassy. “Cas…”

I cupped her cheek. “You are beautiful and bright, a good mom, smart as hell, and bright, Jules. I mean it, sweetheart. You fill every room you’re in with all that bright inside you.”

“Honey, I—” She shook her head again, watery eyes drifting over my shoulder. “I’m just…me.”

“And you just being you is fucking beautiful.”

Her eyes shot back to mine, held for a long moment, emotions swirling in her pretty brown eyes.

And then she lost it.