18. Delaney
18
Delaney
The Ferris wheel looms over the carnival grounds, a behemoth of flashing lights and squealing metal. I should be at the Glissade Center right now, working to smooth out all the little hiccups on our routines, but instead I'm navigating through a sea of cotton candy and questionable life choices. My eyes scan the booths until I spot the Hunter's hockey logo. When I spot the hooded hunter with his hockey stick in hand, my heart does a little pirouette in my chest.
But as I approach, my stomach drops faster than a botched landing. Breck's there alright, but he's not alone. A flock of girls surrounds him, giggling and twirling their hair like it's an Olympic sport. And Breck? He's eating it up, that goofy grin of his on full display as he tosses rings at bottles with exaggerated flourish.
"Ladies, ladies," he says, his voice carrying over the carnival din. "There's enough Breck to go around. Who wants to try their luck next?"
A perky redhead steps forward, batting her eyelashes. "Oh, I don't know if I can throw it far enough."
Breck's laugh booms out. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll give you a special Hunter's advantage."
I watch as he positions himself behind her, guiding her arm in a throwing motion that seems way too intimate for a carnival game. The familiar ache of insecurity blooms in my chest, and I hate myself for it. I'm Delaney freaking Quinn. I don't do jealous.
But as I stand there, frozen, all I can think about is Rafe. Rafe and his charming smile. Rafe and his easy way with girls. Rafe and his manipulative bullshit. Rafe and the way he shattered my heart into a million pieces.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memories. This is different. Breck is different. Right?
But as another peal of laughter erupts from the booth, I'm not so sure anymore. I take a step back, then another, my practiced grace deserting me as I stumble over my own feet.
Suddenly, I feel his eyes on me. That magnetic pull I've been trying so hard to resist tugs at my chest, and I can't help but look up. Breck's gaze locks with mine, and just like that, the world narrows to a pinpoint.
His smile widens, transforming his entire face. It's that goofy, heart-stopping grin that makes my insides turn to jelly every single time. He waves enthusiastically, beckoning me over like an overgrown puppy.
I want to go to him. God, do I want to. But my feet are rooted to the spot, my body refusing to cooperate with my heart's desires.
But I can't shake the doubt that's crept in, insidious and familiar. I watch as he turns back to the group, saying something that makes them all laugh again. He looks so at ease, so comfortable. Like he belongs there, surrounded by adoring fans.
And where do I fit in that picture?
The thought hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. I want to trust him, to believe that what we have is real and not just another game. But Rafe's betrayal echoes in my mind, a constant reminder of how easily trust can be broken.
I hate myself for thinking it, for doubting him. But I can't help it. The fear of being hurt again, of being made a fool of, is too strong. It wraps around my heart like a vise, squeezing until I can barely breathe.
I take a step back, then another, my eyes still locked on Breck. He hasn't noticed my retreat, too caught up in whatever story he's telling. And isn't that just perfect? A metaphor for everything I'm afraid of.
I turn away from the booth, from Breck and his fan club, my heart heavy and my mind racing. Maybe I should have just gone to practice after all. At least on the ice, I know exactly where I stand.
"I can't do this," I mumble, turning away from the booth and the carnival's cheerful chaos. "I'm not ready."
As I walk away, I can still hear the echo of laughter behind me. But this time, it sounds less like joy and more like a warning. A reminder that sometimes, the things we want most are the very things that can hurt us the deepest.
I quicken my pace, my heart pounding in sync with each determined step. The carnival's cheerful cacophony fades behind me, replaced by the urgent whisper of my own doubts. I'm almost free, almost—
"Del!"
Breck's voice cuts through my escape plan like a hot knife through butter. I freeze, caught between the urge to run and the magnetic pull of his presence.
His hand gently catches my arm, and I can feel the warmth of his touch even through my jacket. "Where are you going?" he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. "I thought you were going to say hi."
I turn to face him, my carefully constructed walls threatening to crumble at the sight of his furrowed brow and warm brown eyes. God, why does he have to look at me like that?
"I..." I start, but the words catch in my throat. How do I explain the storm of insecurities raging inside me without sounding like a complete basket case?
Breck's eyes narrow, clearly not buying it. "Del, what's going on? You look upset."
I want to tell him. I want to spill every fear, every doubt that's been plaguing me. But the words stick in my throat, held back by the fear of appearing weak, of giving him the power to hurt me.
Instead, I deflect. "I saw you with those girls," I say, hating how small my voice sounds. "You seemed... cozy."
Breck's eyebrows shoot up, genuine surprise etched across his features. "What are you talking about? I'm just being friendly. I wasn't flirting with anyone." His voice softens, tinged with hurt. "You know that, right?"
I want to believe him. I really do. But the memory of Rafe's betrayal looms large, casting shadows over even the brightest moments with Breck.
"Do I?" I challenge, hating the tremor in my voice. I swallow hard, feeling the weight of my past crushing down on me. "I can't keep doing this, Breck. It's too much for me." The words come out in a rush, raw and honest.
Breck's face falls, a mix of confusion and concern etching across his features. His warm brown eyes search mine, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to understand.
"Del," he says, his voice softening. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away, wrapping my arms around myself. "Look at me. You're the one I want. I'm not doing anything wrong." His lemony scent wafts towards me, familiar and comforting, making this even harder. "Please, just talk to me."
I shake my head, feeling tears well up in my eyes. God, I hate crying in public. I blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. "I can't right now," I manage, my voice thick. "I have practice."
It's true, but it's also an escape. An excuse to run from this conversation, from the vulnerability I'm not ready to face.
Breck looks like he wants to say more, his mouth opening and closing as he struggles to find the right words. I can see the hurt in his eyes, and it kills me to know I put it there. But I can't deal with this right now. I need time to sort through the mess in my head.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, then turn and walk away, leaving Breck standing there, confusion and concern etched across his handsome face.
??????
The ice beneath my blades feels different today. Less like the smooth, comforting surface I've known since childhood, and more like a treacherous minefield of emotions waiting to trip me up. I push off into a warm-up lap, my legs moving mechanically while my mind races faster than my skates ever could.
"Looking a bit off today, Del," Natalie calls from the sidelines. "Everything alright?"
I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. "Just peachy, Coach. Slept weird last night."
Liar, liar, leotard on fire.
I attempt a double axel, a jump I could normally do in my sleep, but my landing is shaky. The ice spray feels like a metaphor for my scattered thoughts, all over the place and impossible to contain.
"Del, focus!" Lachlan hisses as we narrowly avoid colliding during a side-by-side spin sequence. "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing," I snap back, immediately regretting my tone. It's not Lachlan's fault that my brain is currently a Breck Monroe highlight reel, complete with that stupidly charming grin and those warm brown eyes that make me feel... No. Focus, Delaney.
I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. But instead of the calm I'm searching for, all I can see is Breck at that booth, surrounded by giggling girls. My stomach twists uncomfortably.
"Sorry, Lach," I mumble. "Let's try that again."
As we reset our positions, I can't help but think about Breck's words. 'You're the one I want.' God, I want to believe him. I want to trust in the way he looks at me, in the electricity I feel when we're together. But then Rafe's face flashes in my mind, his lies echoing in my ears, and I stumble again.
"Delaney!" Coach Marilyn's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Take five, clear your head."
I nod, grateful for the break but frustrated with myself. As I skate to the side of the rink, I can't help but wonder: will I ever be able to let go of this fear? Or am I doomed to keep everyone at arm's length, terrified of being hurt again?
The cool air of the rink hits my flushed cheeks, and I close my eyes, trying to find that elusive focus. But all I can see is Breck's face, a mixture of confusion and hurt as I walked away from him.
The rest of practice does not go better. Eventually Natalie calls it, frustration evident in her voice. She tells me to figure out whatever is going on with me and get my shit together.
I'm gathering my gear, ready to bolt from the rink and bury myself in a pint of forbidden Ben & Jerry's, when I spot him. Breck. My heart does a traitorous little flip, and I curse under my breath. "Not now," I mutter, trying to slip past him unnoticed.
But Breck, with his stupidly long legs and determination, steps right in front of me. His warm brown eyes lock onto mine, and I feel my carefully constructed walls start to crack.
"Del," he says, his voice low and urgent. "We need to talk."
I try to sidestep him. "I'm not in the mood, Breck. It's been a long practice."
He doesn't budge. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and the words that come out of his mouth next make my knees weak. "I'm not trying to be sweet, Del. I'm trying to show you that every part of me, every thought, every heartbeat... it's all yours, whether you want it or not."
My breath catches in my throat. God, how does he do that? How does he make me want to simultaneously melt into a puddle and run for the hills?
"Breck, I..." I start, but the words die on my lips. What can I say? That I'm terrified? That every time I see him with another girl, I feel like I'm being gutted all over again?
The air between us crackles with tension. His eyes flicker to my lips, and I find myself leaning in, almost against my will. I don't know who moves first—maybe we both do—but suddenly, his lips are on mine, and it's like a dam breaking.
All the pent-up frustration, the fear, the longing—it all pours out in that kiss. His hands cup my face, and I grip his stupid hockey jersey like it's a lifeline. It's messy and desperate and perfect.
I barely register Breck's hand on my wrist as he pulls me away from the rink, my mind still reeling from our kiss. The cool air of the empty changing room hits my flushed skin, and I shiver—though whether from the temperature or anticipation, I'm not sure.
"Breck, what are we—" My question is cut short as he bends me over the bench, his hand firm on my lower back. The slap that lands on my ass makes me gasp, a mixture of shock and arousal coursing through me.
"Do I need to fuck some sense into you?" His voice is low, rough with desire, and it sends a thrill down my spine.
Another slap, then another. Each one punctuated by his words. "You belong to me, Del. And I belong to you. Just you."
My heart races, torn between the lingering doubts and the overwhelming need I feel for him. "Breck, I—"
"Shh," he murmurs, his hands gentle now as they caress where he spanked. "I know you're scared. But I'm not him. I'm yours, completely."
I hear the rustle of foil, and then he's tugging at my leggings. Part of me wants to protest—we're in a public place, for crying out loud—but a larger part of me doesn't care. I need this. I need him. Right now.
When he enters me in one swift thrust, I can't hold back my moan. This isn't like our previous encounters—soft, sweet, exploring. No, this is Breck making a point, and damn if my body isn't on board with his lesson plan.
As he moves inside me, I arch my back, feeling the sheer intensity of our connection. I let out a low whimper. It's a mix of pleasure and pain, the contrast sending me into a frenzy. I'm coming apart at the seams, and every touch, every thrust is pushing me closer to the edge. I don't think I can take much more—the intensity of our connection, the raw emotion in every moment.
Breck's grip on my hips tightens as he drives into me relentlessly. His fingers dig into my flesh, sending shivers down my spine. With his other hand, he grasps the back of my neck, pushing me down against the cool surface of the bench.
"You're mine, Del," he growls, his voice husky with desire. "This pussy belongs to me."
I can't help the moan that escapes my lips as he hits just the right spot. God, how does he always know exactly what I need?
Suddenly, his hand moves from my neck to my throat, pulling me up until my back is flush against his chest. The change in angle makes me gasp.
"Say it," he demands, his breath hot against my ear. "Tell me you belong to me."
I hesitate, my mind warring with my body. Part of me wants to give in, to let go of all my doubts and fears. But another part, the part still scarred by Rafe's betrayal, holds back.
Breck's fingers find my clit, delivering a sharp slap that makes me cry out. "Say it, Del," he repeats, more insistent this time. His teeth graze my neck, sending a jolt through me. "You're mine, Delaney. Only mine. Now say it."
I bite my lip, torn between pleasure and uncertainty. Why can't I just let myself trust him?
When I remain silent, he slaps my clit again, the sting mingling with the waves of pleasure coursing through me. Unable to form words, I bite my lip, my fingers clenching the edge of the bench. I've never been one to submit, but here, with Breck, it feels... right.
"Say it, baby," he growls, the hand on my throat tightening. The mix of force and tenderness makes my toes curl. "Tell me you're mine." His voice is low, almost a growl, and I've never found him hotter.
"Y-yours," gasp out, as his thrusts become harder, deeper. "I'm yours, Breck. Yours only."
He grunts in approval, his grip on my throat pulling me even closer. "And I'm yours?"
"Mine," I pant, my orgasm already barreling towards me like a freight train.
"Good girl," he praises, his voice low in my ear, and the words send me over the edge, my climax crashing over me like a tsunami. I'm vaguely aware of his own release, followed by heavy breathing in my ear.
After a moment, he pulls out and discards the condom, then pulls my leggings up, smoothing down my top. He pulls me up and into his arms, his lips slamming down on mine. When he pulls away, his eyes are filled with a possessive fire that makes me ready for another round.
"Every time you pull away," he grips my ass and then slaps it, "I'm just gonna have to fuck some sense into you, understand?"
When I don’t answer, Breck steps closer, his eyes narrowing. Without warning, he slaps my ass once, sharply. “Do.” Another slap. “You.” Another. “Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.”