Page 9 of Wrap Around (Forbidden Goals #7)

GIDEON

I've barely rung the doorbell when I see the top of her head peek through the windows that run vertically on either side of the front door. Her eyes are wide, mouth parted in surprise like she didn't think I'd actually show. She pulls back, and then the door swings open.

My little sister, my partner in crime. Lily is only ten months younger than I am, but I’ve always been protective of her. It makes the guilt of not coming sooner sit heavier in my stomach.

I know I deserve every ounce of shame rotting a hole through my chest. Just like I deserve the hefty fine and suspension the league slapped me with the moment I walked off the ice.

I’m not happy about mandatory counseling with the team therapist, but I’m thankful I’m even being given a chance.

I’ve been dropped to the third line while Coach tries to figure out what to do with me.

With me . Not with Silas, because he’s been working hard and doing his best while I’ve been doing nothing but making his game suffer. I put my entire team at risk, and then I lost it.

“You want to tell me what the hell is going on with you?” Dempsey groused once he was finally able to calm himself enough to sit down.

He’d spent nearly twenty minutes berating me with barely a breath between words while I stood quietly with my eyes trained on the floor between my feet.

I almost knelt the way I would as a kid when my father would lecture me.

I’d almost welcome the pain of my knees against the hard flooring.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly, barely able to get the words out.

“Bullshit, Shepherd! You body-checked your own teammate into the boards, nearly breaking his nose! It’d be bad enough if he was on the other side, but your own teammate? Have you lost your damn mind?!”

I clenched my jaw and swallowed down the instinct to defend myself. What would I even say? That it is personal? That I snapped because Silas Caldwell is a shadow from my past that has crawled under my skin and makes me feel like I’m losing my mind?

It wouldn’t be a lie. This rage has been building inside me since the day I looked up and saw him watching me.

It’s grown bigger and hotter day by day, week by week, game by game.

Like an allergic reaction that gets worse the more I’m exposed, itching so badly it’s driving me insane.

But there’s no medicine to make it better.

I can’t escape him. Can’t escape that knowing look in his eyes, the glint of something almost warm and understanding but comes off as taunting because neither of us has any business looking at each other that way.

In the hallway between periods, I was so close to…

I don’t know. Something reckless. Strangling the life out of him with my hands around his neck.

Or worse. Sucking the air from his lungs through his mouth.

I pushed and pushed, wanting him to fight back, to give me a reason to unleash all of this pent-up torment.

Instead, the warmth of his body and the hard length of him jutting into my pelvis only stoked the flames .

When he said it out loud on the ice—that he noticed I was hard too, I panicked.

First, that someone near us might have heard.

That one of the guys or a fan with especially good hearing would have figured us out.

Then it would get out. Broadcasted for the entire world, finding its way back home to my father, my mother, and the congregation that raised me.

To everyone who still sees me as something I’m not.

How could he say that? How dare he look me in the eye like he wasn’t ashamed?

Like he doesn’t have a wife and daughter and an entire life that means more than our fleeting moment of weakness ever will.

He should be just as sick over it as I am.

He should’ve buried it, hidden it, burned it to ashes and pretended none of it ever happened.

Instead, he laughed at me. And I knew then that every moment he has tormented me, all the flirting and temptation, it’s all been on purpose.

And it boiled over. All of it. The shame, the rage, the fear. It wrapped around my heart like the thorns on my tattoo, pulled tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see past it all.

I didn’t even realize I was moving until he hit the boards.

Lily clears her throat. She’s standing in the doorway wearing a pair of black leggings, a white tank top, and a plaid flannel that must be Silas' because it's way too big on her.

Her hair is swept back in a messy bun, and there's something purple smeared on her cheek.

She looks tired, but beautiful. The same as she did the day I left, but a decade older rather than just a few years.

I suppose being a teen mom would do that.

"You're here," she says, voice soft with disbelief. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I, uh…. I figured it was ti me."

She doesn't say anything else. Doesn't chastise me or chew me out for being a shitty brother. She steps forward and throws her arms around me.

My hesitation makes it awkward at first, but it quickly settles into something warm and familiar. When I notice her shoulders shaking, I hold her even tighter.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into her temple, pressing a kiss there.

She pulls back and wipes at her eyes. Just like when we were kids, she pretends she wasn't crying and I go along with it, but I'd be lying if I said it's just for her. Neither of us has ever handled emotion very well. Our father wasn’t abusive like Silas’ was, but he was stern and guided us through life with an iron fist, micromanaging every expression, every move.

It was our role to be examples to the other youth in our community.

We were to be above reproach, never weak enough to succumb to something as trivial as emotions.

"Your hair," I say, to fill the silence, and I reach up to push a loose bang behind her ear.

She touches it self-consciously, smoothing a few loose tendrils. "I cut it after Addy was born," she says, and then lets out a small huff when she notices my eyebrows raised. "What was one more disappointment when I'd been the walking embodiment of shame for nine months?"

There were many women in our congregation that didn't follow the tradition of not cutting their hair, but as the pastor's daughter, Lily had to follow more rules than most. Much like our mother, she was discouraged from speaking her mind, raising her voice, cutting her hair, or even wearing pants. She almost wasn’t allowed to go to public school with us when we aged out of the homeschool co-op our church was part of. Our whole co-op group, which consisted of five kids, including the three of us, banded together to advocate for her to go. One of the stipulations was that she was absolutely forbidden to do any sort of after-school clubs or activities that weren’t Christian-based.

She desperately wanted to be part of the science club but was stuck with Bible Club.

Looking back, it's no wonder my father blamed me for not keeping my sister out of trouble. Her safety and well-being were my responsibility when we were outside the church grounds.

"I didn't mean to imply anything about that," I say gently. "I just meant that you look different."

"I am different," she says, pushing the door open wider before she turns and walks into the house. I follow, slipping out of my shoes just inside the door.

"This is nice." Despite only living here for a few weeks, the house already feels warm and lived-in. There are pictures on the walls, and toys on the floor. Baby powder and vanilla hang in the air, mostly masking the faint scent of paint.

"It's a far cry from the trailer behind Mama and Daddy’s place, that's for sure." She opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of tea, pouring me a glass without even asking, she knows I can't turn down a cold glass of sweet tea.

I accept the glass with a murmured thanks and take several deep gulps. "Good Lord, that tastes like home. It’s just not the same when I try to make it, and sweet tea is not a thing up here."

"Good to hear. Hopefully, it'll be some incentive to come back around." She gives me a teasing smile, her dimples popping, and then winks.

When she walks out of the kitchen, I follow. "I didn't mean to avoid you."

"Liar," she says, raising an eyebrow .

I huff and take a spot opposite her on the couch.

The problem with growing up so close, is that she knows me better than anyone else in this world.

She knows all my tells. We were ten months apart, but we were like twins.

More often than not, she could read my mind, my expressions, any moods as well as her own.

Her smile falters. "I know I disappointed you," she says quietly. "Believe me, I know I disappointed everyone. I was all but shunned back home. None of our old friends would talk to me. Hell, I was lucky Daddy let me stay at all, and even then it was only because Silas married me."

There's something in her voice that makes my stomach cramp. After what I saw in the hallway, and the conversations I've overheard between her and Silas, I’d gotten the impression that they were happy and in love. But her words are tinged with sadness and regret.

I look over at her sharply. "Are you unhappy with Silas?"

She gives me a look. "Gideon…"

"Because if he's not doing right by you, I'll–"

"Gideon! You need to calm down," she says in a sharp tone, holding up both hands. "Seriously. It's been three years. Are you really going to hold a grudge forever? He was your best friend."

"Yes. He was. And he betrayed me, betrayed my trust," I amend.

"Did he though? I was the one that–"

"And how did you get that way, huh? I don't think the way our dad and the rest of the church does, Lily. It takes two people to make a baby. He did this to you, and you were the one that was punished for it."

"Maybe I deserved it. If I hadn't been so damn ignorant, maybe it wouldn't have happened. "