Page 21

Every long day, every brutal drill, every hour that used to stretch out cold and empty—all better now.

Because of her.

Because of her fire. Her sass. Her smiles.

Because even when she's pissed at me, even when she's building walls faster than I can climb them, I can still breathe easier just knowing she's close.

And fuck me if that’s not the most fucked up observation of my life. I had everything I ever dreamt I needed… until her. I had all I ever wanted, until Courtney fucking took my puck to the head—and somehow, I’m the one with the brain damage.

I don't even know if she wants me the way I want her.

Not really. She said it herself: she doesn’t do relationships.

So maybe she’s right—it’s better if we stop.

Except… I can’t. The thought alone turns my stomach.

Because for the first time in years, I feel something real.

Something that doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with hockey or expectations or anyone else's idea of who I'm supposed to be.

It’s all her.

Courtney Nilsson. With her stubbornness, her wicked tongue, her blinding smile.

And I can’t let any of it go. I’ll never forget her.

Samson leaps into my lap, smelling of her. A perfect combination of flowery vanilla enveloped with ozonic accord. Fucking sunshine in a lungful of air.

“I’m going to fix this,” I tell him when he tries to curl up into my chest the way he did when I picked him up from the breeder, except he’s bigger and heavier. His light whimpers have become confident snorts. “She’s changed you too, huh?”

Samson grumbles back when I open the door and jump out into the wet afternoon and hewers his way inside my zip-up hoodie.

“She’s turned you into a demanding little shit.” And I like it.

I throw my kit bag across my body so that the strap stops him from slipping down my chest when I take out my phone and pull up the feed to Courtney’s apartment.

The yearning to be close to her is so damn suffocating that I don’t feel bad one bit for watching her sit at her breakfast bar with a bowl of something mushy she’s stirring around with one hand while the other holds her phone up in front of her face.

“Mom…” She's sobbing so hard that her words are broken into hoarse hiccups. “Mom, please… please just?—”

A beep cuts her off and she collapses forward onto her arms crossed the counter. Her sobs don’t stop and my heart cracks wide open.

The quiet devastation she won’t let anyone else see rips through me, spurring my feet to move faster.

I don’t see or hear or care about anything else as I hold Samson tight to my chest and run through the torrential summer rain like my life depends on it.

I think it does.

I think this is it —the moment I prove that we can be more than friends. That in spite of all our fears, we are perfect for each other. There isn’t a thing I won’t do for Courtney.

Because she’s the only thing that feels real anymore.

Because I’d rather bleed out slowly than live one second without the ghost of her breath against my skin.

The doorman gives me a curious look when I run through the door into the lobby and head straight for the elevators.

“Sorry, Mr. Broussard but the lifts are stuck on the sixth floor,” he tells me in his British accent. “New family moving in…”

“Thanks, Alfie,” I say giving him a thumbs up as I head for the stairs.

I race up the first five flights with nothing but the murmur of the burn in my calves from today’s drills and training. My pulse is hammering in my throat by the time I get to the seventh floor, trying not to drop Samson when he panics at my forceful lunges, powering me the rest of the way.

I get to mine and Court’s floor with the pounding of my heart echoing between my ears, sweat misting my sight as I exit the feed on my phone and take a few steadying breaths before I stop outside Courtney’s door.

I ring the doorbell and wipe the sweat beading on my forehead again. My scalp is so fucking itchy from the heat trapped by my coarse, wet hair.

“No pissing,” I warn Samson at the same time as the door inches open and Courtney’s small gasp fills the silent gaps between my ragged breaths.

“What…? What are you doing here?” Tear-swollen eyes widen on me .

Shit. My mind goes blank for anything carefully contrived as my mouth opens and I tell her, “You—” Gasp. “—said you don’t—” Another gasp. “—need this.”

I gesture between us the same way she did in the car. Samson’s already trying to jump ship, but I think the first move now has to be hers.

“Auguste…” A tear rolls down her cheek. Heavy. Lonely.

It’s killing me not to physically pull her to me. So I try with my words.

“I do.” My heart thumps into my lungs mercilessly as I continue between serrated breaths, “I need this. Us. I need you, Court. To hold you and make today better. Let me make it better for you, ple?—”

All the air is throttled from my chest, cutting my words short when she throws herself at me. Arms coiling awkwardly around me with Samson on my chest and my kit bag on my back.

If the rain is torrential, Courtney’s tears are cataclysmic. Guttural sobs wrack her entire body deeper into me while Sammy licks the side of her face closest to him.

“Hold on, baby. Hold on to me,” I murmur into her hair, allowing our bodies to sandwich Samson in place when I grip her hips and lift her up my front. Her arms wrap around my shoulders as I carry her inside her apartment.

I don’t let her go or ease my hold on her for one single second as I set her down on the kitchen island and keep her pressed to me and Samson.

It’s only when he tries to wriggle free that Courtney sits up, pulling back with a sniffle. He’s so quick to get in there and lick her tears away that I don’t get the chance. But I don’t begrudge him one little bit when she chokes out a hoarse giggle.

For a second, I can breathe again. For a second I get a glimpse at the girl I’ve fallen for faster than the wayward puck I hit her with.

“Better?” I ask when she glances up at me above Sammy’s head.

Court shrugs, lips quivering.

It’s only now that I peel my hands from her hips. I drop my kit bag on the floor and grab her a bottle of water from the kitchen before I go about making her a warm compress for her sinuses—a trick Mom uses to open blood vessels and avoid a migraine after crying.

Court doesn’t stop me when I brush her curls back from her face and place the warm dishcloth across her forehead curving the ends around her eyes to the bridge of her nose like a mask.

She doesn’t balk when I unravel her disheveled bun and comb my fingers lightly through her thick curls, collecting them into one hand before twisting the wild strands into a neater one.

I use one of the two hair ties to secure it while I stretch the other over my wrist.

Just another piece of her I’m collecting. I already have one of her pens and her lip gloss… but I’ll collect every piece of Courtney I can until I have all of her.

Smoothing down her baby hairs, I add a little pressure close to her temples.

Fuck , the throaty hum that escapes her rakes all the way through me. It breaks me for her that much more at the same time as it turns me on. The perfect pouty part of her lips glossed over by her tongue…

The thundering gallop of my pulse freezes mid-thought when Court’s cerulean stare blinks open, greeting me with a breathtaking violet hue.

It doesn’t matter that it’s the aftermath of her tears because even with devastation imprinted on her face, Courtney is the most phenomenal being I’ve ever set my sight on.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Courtney smiles, her face tilts just so the spotlight overhead highlights the soft contour of her face.

I’m holding the cooling dishcloth in place, doing everything I can to resist the urge to run my thumb along the shell of her ear, when she murmurs, “I am.”

“Court—”

“No, I was… I don’t know… upset, I guess, and I took it out on you because you were the only person there and—” She swallows, her hands stroking Sammy with more gusto. He doesn’t mind though, not with the way he’s trying to nuzzle deeper into her chest. “—and I was frustrated.”

I want to ask her why, but instead I tell her, “It’s okay, Princess, I don’t mind you using me as a punch bag. I’m used to it.”

Mortification pinches her face, puckering her lips tight. Then my words replay in my head and all I can do not to slap myself is peel the now cold compress from her face. I set it down on the counter before slowly lifting Samson to the side.

There’s nothing between us when I slot between her thighs and take her face in both hands. “I like it when you’re mean to me, Nilsson. I like it when you get sassy and smartassy on me. Fucking love it when you goad me… the way you put up a fight. It’s hot. You’re hot.”

Court’s watery stare blinks between my mouth and my eyes.

She wants to kiss me. I want to kiss her too.

But that’s not why I came to her, and I’m not going to make tonight into something she’ll regret.

When I fucking kiss her, she’s going to beg me to do it again, and again until we pass out from lack of air and even then, she’ll be fucking dreaming of my mouth fucking hers.

“That’s not what I meant though,” I say, lifting her chin so that her gaze is fixed on mine—I won’t be able to control myself if she keeps silently begging me to kiss her.

“So you don’t think I’m hot…?”

“No, I do… I do, Courtney. I just meant that… fuck .” The corners of her pull upwards a tad. “You’re fucking with me again.”

“Yes, Broussard,” she whispers, fingertips graze down the line of my zip. “I’m messing with you.”

The faint smile blooms on her lips, brightening her face. The voice in my head is telling me it’s time to pull my hands away from her jaw, but I can’t. Her skin is so warm. So soft.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

A hand grips my wrist lightly, slowly stroking over the back of mine on her jaw. “You came back.”

“I thought you needed a cuddle with—” I pause, looking past her shoulder to Samson. Seriously? “Dude, stop!”

Courtney bursts out laughing at his puppy growl when I try to take the bowl of mush from him.

“It’s okay, just frozen mashed banana and peanut butter,” she tells me, pulling my arm back.

My hand lands on her legging covered thigh—cold and wet. Just like me.

I totally forgot I got soaked in the rain while I was taking care of Courtney. The instant she opened the door, the only thing that mattered was her. Making her feel better. Seeing her smile again.

The last thing I want right now is for her to become sick because of me.

“Go shower, get warm and cozy,” I tell Court, lifting her off the counter as I take a step back and grab Samson from the kitchen island.

“Don’t go.” She tugs at the hem of my hoodie.

“Court…”

“Stay. We can watch a movie.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Princess.” I unzip my hoodie and shuck it off one arm awkwardly before I place Samson on the floor and finish taking it off. “Coach will really murder me if I get you sick.”

“Okay.” Court nods, giving me a small smile before she turns and heads towards the bedroom hallway. With a quick glimpse over her shoulder, she says, “I’ll be right back.”

And I reply, “I’ll be right here.”