Page 39

THIRTY-EIGHT

Damon

“I thought you were flying out this morning.”

I turn, tear my gaze away from the guys warming up below, and see Kylie hovering in the doorway of the owner’s box.

“I changed my flight.”

She nibbles at her bottom lip. “Because of what happened with Joey?”

My head jerks and I set my tablet aside. “What happened with Joey?”

“What do you mean?” She frowns. “You said you talked to her last night and everything was fine.”

I push out of my chair, move to the back of the suite, tugging her fully inside and out of view of any errant cameras, then close the door behind her.

“Ky,” I say, the edges of my temper fraying. “I need you to spell it out for me, babe.”

“I…” Worry skitters across my sister’s face.

“Tell me,” I order quietly.

Carefully.

Catching those frayed edges, clinging to them desperately to keep them contained.

“She knows about Hiller’s case going bad.”

My heart spasms, my hold on those strands slipping. “What?” I rasp.

Kylie reaches for me, but I step back. “Damon,” she whispers.

I think about Joey on the ice last night, think about that sad, tortured smile in the parking lot. I think about the bath, the weird sweetheart that sounded like a goodbye, think about going to sleep with her in my arms…

And then I think about waking up alone in my empty bed.

“Fuck!”

“I didn’t mean to tell her,” she says in a rush. “I know you were trying to protect her and that eventually you would talk to her, but she saw something was wrong with me and then I couldn’t hold it in and—and—” A tear slips down her cheek. “We were talking and it just came out. I think she’s okay,” she adds in a hurry. “We’ve been working through our…stuff together and we’ve been talking and…”

“Kylie.”

“It’s been good. Helpful for both of us. But I still wanted to check in with you guys, so when you said it was fine…” She lifts a shaky hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I never should have?—”

“Ky.”

“Really,” she says. “I’ll talk to her, make sure she knows that it’s not your fault?—”

I close my eyes, exhale, trying to shove down the red haze at the edges of my vision, to keep control of my temper.

Fuck, after all I’ve done for my sister, she told Joey?—

No.

Not after all I’ve done. I didn’t almost kill that motherfucker because of Kylie—or not entirely anyway.

It was me, my anger, my inability to protect her from what was done to her.

“Don’t worry,” she says, dropping her hand to her side and coming close, staring at me with earnest blue eyes. “I’ll fix this. I promise, I’ll fix it.”

I open my mouth to tell her that I’ve got it.

But I don’t get the words out.

Because the lights go down and the national anthem plays and then the puck drops.

And she doesn’t have time to fix it.

And neither do I.

* * *

Over the next three hours I manage to convince Kylie that I’m not mad, that I’ll handle Joey—with care—and that everything is going to be fine.

The Sierra win handily, but between all that convincing and the anger gnawing at my insides (how could she not fucking talk to me, how could she skip out this morning, how could she leave me in the dark?) I’m hardly paying attention to the action on the ice.

I distantly hear the crowd roar for the Sierra’s goals, blearily stare at the Jumbotron to track the score, but it’s not at the forefront of my consciousness.

Not at all.

After the game ends and I’ve walked Ky to her car, she pauses, snags my hand, squeezing it tight. “Are you sure you’re?—?”

“I’m sure,” I say, nudging her toward the open driver’s side door. “I’m fine. It’ll all be fine.”

“But—”

“Ky,” I murmur, “I’ll just give her time to wrap up her post-game and then we’ll talk.”

My sister nibbles at the corner of her mouth.

“I promise.”

“I love you,” she whispers. “And I’m so?—”

“Christ, kid,” I grumble, but do it gently because she needs it. “Get out of here and let me fix this.”

Her eyes hold mine. “Because you can fix anything.”

My lungs spasm, worry eating its way through my temper.

I fucking hope she’s right.

“Drive carefully,” I tell her. “Then text me when you get home.”

She nods and climbs into her car before backing out of the spot and heading for the exit.

Afterward, I stare at the door to the arena, trying to figure out the best way to handle this. When the answer doesn’t immediately come, I shake my head. Nothing to do except push forward.

I weave my way through the halls and park my ass in Joey’s office.

Her purse and computer are here.

She’s not leaving without them.

There’s a knock, and I look up, see Tera standing in the cracked door. “She okay?”

My brows drag together.

“Joey,” she murmurs, gaze sliding around the room before she shifts inside. “I know she just coached a hell of a game, but talking about what happened to her with the D.A. and detective this morning couldn’t have been easy.”

Alarm bells blare and I’m barely able to hear Tera’s next words.

“Deciding to press charges and then going right back to work”—Tera shakes her head—“I’m in awe of her strength.”

Joey is pressing charges?

She talked to the fucking detective and district attorney this morning?

Without me at her side, making sure?—

“So, anyway,” Tera finishes, “I just wanted to make sure she was fine.”

Fine.

Fine.

Everyone’s checking in to make sure she’s fine.

After she blew up her life and put herself back in Hiller’s crosshairs.

My anger ramps.

I’m going to fucking throttle her.

What the hell is she thinking?

Still, Tera’s waiting for an answer, so I rasp out, “She’s fine.” And no, the irony of that lie is not lost on me.

Tera’s gaze connects with mine. Then she exhales. “But you’re not.”

I exhale silently, clench my hands into fists. “I’ll deal.”

She studies me, as though trying to decide if that’s truth or fiction, but all she says is, “You’ll let me know if that changes?”

I nod tersely.

Then, thank fuck, she leaves.

And I’m left to stew for the next hour before Joey pushes into her office, her lips parting in surprise. “Damon,” she whispers, worry gathering on her face.

I stalk toward her, watching the concern bloom in her eyes. “What the fuck, Red?”

She backs up. “Why are you here?”

“I asked, what the fuck? ” I growl.

“What the fuck what?” she snaps, chin lifting.

“Hiller.” Her green eyes flare. “The district attorney.” I bend, my face an inch from hers. “The fucking detective.”

She side-steps me, moving to her desk and packing up her things. “Look, I’m not happy that you kept what was happening with the case from me.” Her head comes up. “ Really not happy.”

Those threads of my temper, the ones I’ve been struggling to contain all night…snap.

I stride over to her, but she’s still talking.

“But I understand what you’ve been struggling with, all the feelings this must bring up for you. Do I wish you would have talked to me about it? Yeah, of course I do. Same as I know that I didn’t handle my response to finding out what you kept from me well because I did the same thing—I didn’t discuss it with you and then I kept what I was going to do in response from you.”

“Yeah,” I grit out. “You fucking did.”

Her expression doesn’t waver. “But, the truth is, I needed to do it on my own.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Damon.” She sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “Look. I get we have a lot to talk about, a lot to work out about how we communicate. But this is an extreme situation and this has been a really long day. A shit day. Can we just table this for tonight and talk about everything tomorrow?”

That’s reasonable.

Logical .

But the rage I’ve worked for years to bury, to tame…it’s fucking spiraling out of control.

And she’s caught in the crossfire.

“No.”

She blinks, eyes going wide. “N-no?”

“No. Fucking no.” I turn away from her, gripping my hair as I try to tamp down my rage.

She talked to?—

She exposed herself to people who might hurt her, fuck up the career she loves?—

No. Hell fucking no.

Fury, hot and furious and completely out of control, bursts free.

And then, unbidden of any logic or love, the words just fly out of me, sharp as a knife and just as dangerous. “Christ,” I snap, “if this is what it’s going to mean to be in a relationship with you, where you don’t fucking trust me to protect you, then I don’t want it.”

There’s silence.

Long enough for me to process the idiocy I’ve just spouted, for my temper to disappear like a puff of smoke.

“Fuck.” I spin back to face her. “I didn’t?—”

But I don’t get the chance to let her know I know precisely how fucking stupid I am.

Because she says, “You d-don’t want it? Don’t want us? ”

“Baby, I?—”

My cell rings, and if it was anyone else calling, I would have ignored it.

But it’s Kylie’s ringtone.

And Joey knows it too.

“Pick up your sister’s call,” she says.

“Red—” I begin.

“Pick up,” she orders.

“Red—”

“ Answer it .”

I take a look at the frozen emerald eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders, the fucking hurt in every inch of her body and I know I have to fix this.

I open my mouth?—

“Answer. The. Fucking. Call. Damon.”

Shaking myself, I swipe across the screen, lift the phone to my ear.

And standing there, listening to the sound of my sister’s voice, I watch as Joey grabs her bag, her phone, her keys…

And then I watch as she leaves.