Page 8 of If You Claim Me

“Please, let’s not.” Her eyes are hard and soft at the same time, pain mixing with anger.

“But you?—”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” She motions to Callie on the ice. “That little girl is my family, so are Lexi and Flip and the rest of the crew. They’re my whole world, Connor. Losing my apartment means I could lose everything. Again. Like I always do. So please, let it go. It already hurts. There’s no need to pour salt on the wound.”

The final buzzer sounds, and the kids file off the ice.

Callie rushes over in her bulky goalie equipment and throws her arms around me. “Did you see my shutout?”

“I sure did! You were awesome on the ice tonight. Good job protecting the net. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks!” She beams up at me. “I feel like I play better when you’re here. You’re my good luck charm.”

“I feel the same way when you come to my games.” I wink, stepping back to let Mildred have her moment.

I find her eyes on me, lips curved in a pretty smile.

I come to Callie’s games because I care, but it’s also nice to feel like I’m important to someone other than Meems.

And I like sitting beside Mildred.

After yesterday, that’s increased exponentially.

Callie goes to the locker room, and the coach stops to talk to Mildred. I want to wait, to walk her out, to ask her questions, but I won’t push. She smiles and waves as I pass.

For a moment, I wish I was the good guy and not the villain.

Or maybe with Mildred, I don’t have to choose.

Maybe I could be both.

CHAPTER 4

DRED

“What are you doing here?”

Standing in the hall outside my apartment is Connor Grace. Dark hair perfectly styled, steel eyes trained on me. He’s wearing black boots, dark-wash denim, and a long-sleeved black shirt, despite the warm weather. Under that shirt he is a canvas covered in beautiful art. I know because I saw it when we were in Aruba for his teammate Tristan’s wedding this summer, though mostly from a distance.

He looks gorgeous as usual, but discordant with his surroundings. Every time I see him outside of the arena, he seems out of place. Though he fits at least a little better in Lucy’s home, amidst the opulence and grandeur.

I glance over his shoulder to the closed door across the hall, where Flip lives.

“I need to talk to you,” Connor states flatly, but he still manages to infuse the sentence with certainty and insistence. His gaze drops to Dewey, tucked into the crook of my elbow. “What the heck is that?”

“Dewey, my pet hedgehog.” I pull Connor inside my apartment, quickly closing the door.

I have enough bullshit going on in my life without him andFlip punching each other out in the hall. Also, I’m terrified that something happened between Callie’s hockey game last night and now, and Lucy has met an untimely end. But Connor doesn’t look destroyed, and I have a feeling losing her would ruin him. Worse, based on the way my heart is thrumming in my chest, it will ruin me too.

Still, I ask the question, just to be sure. “Is Lucy okay?”

“For now.” That’s a painful truth.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, but they only stay there for a second before he laces his fingers behind his neck. Connor glances around my apartment. Not with judgment, but with interest, maybe—like he’s trying to see me in the things I surround myself with. Which, to be honest, is mostly old books and board games.

The apartment is a mausoleum to the life my grandmother left behind. I kept everything she had when I took over the lease after she passed, seeking some kind of connection to my history other than our shared name. It was the one gift she gave me, along with a letter explaining why she stayed out of my life.

“Let me put Dewey away.” I cross to his hedgehog condo and gently set him inside before turning back to Connor. “What do you need to talk to me about?” I cross my arms, then drop them to my sides, then cross them again. Looks like we’re both fidgety. “Can I get you something to drink?” I move to the kitchen, which is all of three steps away, and shove my head in the fridge. I need something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve wringing them.