Hot Shot (Hot as Puck Book 2)

31. Blake

After Bran leaves to find Landon, the rest of us talk a little more before calling it a night. Mom and Dad headed off to their side of the house holding hands, whispering in each other’s ears. Corbin gives me a tight hug and a sad smile, before heading to the room he and Landon shared when they lived at home and continue to use whenever they’re here.

And I do something I’ve never done before.

I take the back hallway to the suite of rooms Bran and his mother lived in from the day they arrived in Westwood.

It’s bizarre to think I’ve never actually set foot in this part of the house. Not when I was younger, before Bran and his mom arrived, not when I was a teenager still living under my parents’ roof, and not in all the years since.

This has been my family’s home my entire life. Up until I bought my place in Baton Rouge two years ago, this house was my home. And not once did I think about coming to this part of it.

The walls are the same color as the rest of the house, the furnishings a little more worn—faded—and I imagine they were Loretta’s choices, unchanged from when she was alive.

They feel like her. Which is a strange thing to say but it doesn’t make the feeling any less real.

I feel like she could step into the room at any moment. Like she hasn’t been gone for six years.

I wonder how Bran felt sleeping here again after all that time.

Once he went away to college, he never returned for more than a day or two. Not until his mother was killed and even then, I don’t remember him staying down here. Mom put him upstairs in one of the guest rooms. To be closer to the twins—to family. She didn’t want him here alone with his grief and memories.

Although now I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty sure no one slept the night before or the night of Loretta’s funeral. Her death—the suddenness of it—had been a huge shock to all of us, left a gaping hole we all struggled with.

Not once in the last few days has he mentioned anything about staying here, or his mom, so I have to assume he’s comfortable. And glancing around I see signs of his comfort, signs he’s been here. A shirt draped over a chair, shoes kicked off beside the couch, an empty glass on the counter of the small kitchenette.

I can see and feel his presence, and that offers me a small amount of relief. To know he’s made himself at home when in reality this is no longer his home and hasn’t been for a while—if he ever thought of it as home.

I don’t want to intrude but I also don’t want to be hovering like a weirdo in his living room when he’s finished with Landon and finds his way back here.

And I’m honest enough to admit I want to see where he’s been sleeping, where he slept all those years ago when he was a teenager and nothing more to me than my brothers’ friend, our housekeeper’s son, another competitor on the ice.

Leaving a lamp on in the living room, I switch off all the other lights as I make my way toward the bedrooms. It’s a short hall, a door on either side and one at the end. All open.

In front of me is the bathroom. To the left must have been his mom’s room with its frilly lace bedding, and to the right, with its unmade twin bed, has to be Bran’s room.

Stopping in the doorway, I can’t bring myself to step inside; it feels like an invasion of privacy and yet…

My gaze is drawn to the desk in the far corner.

The surface is bare except for Bran’s wallet and a single photo frame. Off to one side, it’s not the silver frame that holds my gaze, it’s the picture in it. A picture that pulls me over the threshold with a visceral tug.

It’s me and Bran.

I don’t remember when it was taken—I’ve never seen it before, but I recognize the couch we’re sitting on. It’s the one my brothers still have. The one they refuse to get rid of even though they bought a huge monstrosity for their living room and it’s now relegated to an unused bedroom in their apartment.

My mind spins. With memories and confusion. I bought them the couch. As a house-warming present the year they signed with the Knights and moved in to an apartment together with Bran in New York.

“I won’t let them get rid of it.”

Bran’s voice startles me but I’m too stuck on the picture to turn. We look so happy. “Why?”

“Because you bought it for us.”

“I didn’t. I bought it for them. I bought you…” I’d bought him a bed. He’d only had the twin he’d used the entire time he’d been in college and refused to buy anything bigger even though he had the money.

“A king bed.” He’s closer now, right behind me if the heat I feel at my back is any indication. “I still have it. In storage along with the rest of my stuff. I never took any of it to the house. Bought everything new for that.”

“They still have the couch. It’s in your old bedroom. Where your bed used to be.”

“I know. I asked them to keep it there for the occasional night I still crashed at their place after I moved out.”

“I don’t understand why you would ask that or why they would agree to it.”

“Some things aren’t explainable.”

“When was this photo taken?”

“The summer before I got my own place. The apartment I’d hoped to share with you.”

I’d known. The minute he told me he’d found a place, signed a lease, I’d known he would ask me to move in with him. But I’d gotten a call from Hockey Canada, about working with the national women’s team, coaching them for the Olympics, and he hadn’t asked…

And I hadn’t offered.

Within months he’d married a woman I’d never met, knew nothing about except what was splashed across the internet, and was expecting a baby.

“We never really talked about what we wanted.” The words are out of my mouth before I think them and I know it’s something we need to address. Why hadn’t we talked?

“We made vague statements about the future. About what we’d do, but you’re right, we never really talked about it being us together in that future. I’m sorry we didn’t. Sorry we both assumed we were on the same page. So sorry.”

“But we were on the same page. Weren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to do it again. I know there aren’t any guarantees in life and things can change in a heartbeat, but I don’t want to leave either of us in the dark, assuming but not really knowing. No more vague future plans, no more this is what I’d like or want.” I spin on my heel and face him. He’s close, like I thought. So close that when I tip my chin up to meet his gaze, our lips are a breath apart. “If we do this?—”

“We are doing this.”

“Then we need to be clear.”

“How’s this for clear? I will play for the Rogues. I will move in with you. I will live with you. I will sleep in your bed. I will put a ring on your finger when you’re ready. I will build a life with you. A life filled with love and family and anything else we want.”

His declaration, because that’s what it is, bring tears to my eyes, makes my nose sting and my throat tight, but I push out my own intentions. “I will coach the Rogues. I will move in with you. I will live with you. I will sleep in your bed. I will put a ring on your finger when I’m ready. I will build a life with you. A life filled with love and family and children and every damn wish either of us ever has.”

“I have a lot of wishes, Blake.”

“I want to give you every last one of them.”

“You already have.”

“When do we start?”

“Now. We start now.”

His mouth claims mine for the first time in our lives and I’m drowning in so many sensations. Love and want and need and regret.

Why haven’t we ever done this?

He tastes like the wine from dinner, a touch of the chocolate and berry tart from dessert. Sweet and spicy with a touch of decadence and I can’t get enough.

I never want to stop, want to keep kissing him until neither of us can breathe or remember our names.

I’m not sure who moves first. Who grabs and pulls—pushes.

One minute we’re standing, the next we’re on the floor.

Urgency rushes through my veins and my fingers grip harder, my nails digging in to tear at fabric in my way. I want the barriers between us gone. Every last one of them.

We’ve broken down the emotional ones, all that’s left is to sort through the rubble and rebuild; now I want to rip away the physical ones. I want nothing and no one to stop us from coming together.

“Blake.” Bran growls my name into my mouth, his lips sliding over mine as he speaks. “I never fucked her.”

His words stop me. My eyes find his but I can’t decipher what he’s saying.

“I never had sex with Celeste. You know that. And this probably isn’t the time, but I need you to understand what you mean to me. Need you to know I’ve never done this with anyone else. Never wanted anyone but you. It’s why I was so confused about what happened, about the lies she told.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. What are you saying?”

He swallows, his eyes searching mine, love and desire and concern rolling through their navy-blue depths.

“I’ve never had sex.”