23. Karla
KARLA
Weeks went by with Brayden and me texting and talking a lot, but actually landing in the same place at the same time felt like trying to schedule a meeting with Beyoncé.
Our calendars hated us. His team traveled, I worked double shifts, life did its “let me ruin that plan for you” thing, and after a string of missed dates and last-minute changes, date number three finally materialized.
Except… something felt off.
Like, off-off. Like the air between us wasn’t doing its usual fizzy-champagne thing.
So, of course, instead of waiting for a normal moment like a normal, patient person, I blurted it out while he was mid-chew. “Are we okay?”
Brayden froze, a chunk of steak halfway to heaven, his eyes going wide and shiny like I’d just asked him which one of his teammates he would sacrifice first in a zombie apocalypse.
“Yeah—of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be?” Concern spread across his face instantly.
“You just seem a little distant tonight.” I picked at the napkin in my lap, twisting it between my fingers. Nervous fidgeting—my Olympic sport.
He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and muttered, “Myla is dating Gavin Hayes.”
By the look of dread on his face, I knew this was huge in his world, but I didn’t quite get what the big catastrophe was supposed to be.
“And?” I prompted gently. “Help me understand why this is so troubling for you.”
“He’s the biggest douchebag on the face of the planet.” Brayden tossed his fork down dramatically.
“That was a cute tantrum,” I teased.
He shot me a glare that could have melted the ice in his water glass.
“He’s the captain of your team,” I added, tilting my head. “And he has to be some sort of good guy for Myla to want to be with him.”
“She snuck out of the house and tried to keep it from me,” he barked, then grabbed his whiskey ginger like it had personally wronged him and chugged the rest.
“Ah! There it is.” I grinned.
“What?” His brow furrowed as he waved his empty glass at the server in a silent cry for help.
“You’re not upset about Gavin. You’re upset that Myla tried to hide it from you.” I lifted my brows. “For the first time ever, your little sister didn’t tell you something because she knew you’d react exactly like this.”
He opened his mouth, shut it again, and stared at me like I’d just solved a cold case.
“And honestly,” I shrugged, “yeah—maybe you’d pick someone else for her. But if he’s as big of an ass as you claim, she’ll figure it out. Or he’s a good guy who just has a shitty reputation because of his past. People grow.”
Brayden sat in silence, his jaw flexing as he processed. Finally, he pointed his fork at me accusingly. “I see what you did there. You turned that all around on me because of my reputation.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes you need an outside perspective.”
He groaned dramatically, leaning back in his chair just as the server dropped off his new drink. “I still don’t like it.”
“No one is asking you to like it,” I said softly. “But for your sister’s sake? Maybe keep your opinions to yourself until this plays out. At least wait until there’s an actual problem before you Hulk out on her.”
“Fine!” he exclaimed, grabbing both my hands across the table as if I’d just negotiated world peace. “As long as you help distract me.”
His thumbs brushed over my knuckles in lazy circles, the kind that were definitely illegal in three states. It sent heat up my arms, down my spine, everywhere. I melted into the touch before my brain could form a coherent protest.
We’d kissed twice—once soft, curious, and sweet; once hot enough I’d briefly questioned whether firefighters were on standby anywhere nearby. But tonight? Something felt… more. Like the energy between us had shifted from flirty potential to actual gravity.
The restaurant lighting flickered against his jawline, highlighting the faint bruise near his temple from last week’s game.
Hockey players had this way of looking halfway invincible and halfway breakable all at once.
Maybe that was the draw—strength with vulnerability tucked underneath like a secret.
I squeezed his hands back. “What kind of distraction are we talking about here, Mr. Hockey?”
“Oh, definitely the wholesome kind,” he deadpanned. “You know me. Pure. Innocent.”
I snorted. “Right. That’s definitely the first word people use to describe you.”
A slow grin crawled across his face, the kind that made my stomach somersault. “Hey, I can be innocent.”
“Mmhmm. And I can be a space alien sent to observe human dating habits.”
He leaned closer, voice low enough that goosebumps danced down my arms. “If you’re an alien, please abduct me. I could use a vacation.”
I laughed so loudly the couple at the next table looked over. “Calm down, E.T.”
“You started it.” He grinned, then took a sip of his drink. “Seriously though… I missed this.”
“Missed what?”
“You.” He said it so simply, so straightforwardly, I stopped breathing for a full second. “Even when we’re not together, I feel like we are. And I… I like that.”
My heart did a stupid, dramatic swoop. Damn him.
I wasn’t used to this kind of softness. My past relationships were full of sharp edges, people taking advantage of my people-pleasing or exploiting my quiet nature. And Brayden—loud, sarcastic, grumpy Brayden—was somehow the safest person I’d been around in years.
Maybe I was allowed to want soft things again.
“You’re kind of addictive,” I murmured before my brain could veto it.
His eyes brightened instantly, warmth spreading across his expression. “You’re kinda addictive too.”
I looked away, flustered but glowing. “Stop being sweet. I can’t handle it.”
“You can handle anything,” he said, kicking my leg gently under the table. “But I get it. I’ll tone down the charm.”
“I didn’t say that,” I whispered.
He stilled. Just… stilled. Like I’d touched something inside him he didn’t even know was exposed.
“You really like me, huh?” he asked quietly, almost boyishly.
There it was again—that mix of bruised vulnerability and impossible strength.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I really do.”
And then the air changed.
He leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. “Good. Because I’m falling for you in a way that is absolutely ruining my ability to think straight.”
My pulse thundered. “Brayden…”
He laughed under his breath. “I know, I know. Too much. Too soon. Shut up, Brayden.”
“I didn’t say that.” I looked away. His gaze was heavy and electric.
“You didn’t have to,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over my hand again. “I can see your whole internal panic monologue in your eyes.”
“Well,” I admitted, “I didn’t expect to like you this much. Or this quickly.”
“Same. And yes, that terrifies me. But it also feels… good? Like we’re supposed to be doing this.”
The honesty of it hit me in the chest. I swallowed carefully. “It does feel good.”
His smile softened. “Then let’s keep going.”
We ate in a comfortable quiet after that. His knee pressed lightly against mine under the table—not heavy, not clingy, just… there. Like an anchor. Like a reminder.
There wasn’t a single moment in the evening that felt forced, even with the earlier tension.
We talked about his upcoming game schedule, my insane workweek, ridiculous reality shows, Myla’s terrible taste in late-night snacks, Gavin’s surprisingly decent playlist, and whether we should go somewhere after dinner or just walk around outside for a bit.
After dessert, Brayden stood and offered me his hand.
“Come on,” he said. “I want more time with you before I have to hit the road again.”
His voice dropped low as he added, “Even if it’s just walking to the car holding your hand.”
God. This man was going to single-handedly melt my spine.
I slipped my hand into his.
Warm. Steady. Sure.
He smiled like he felt it too.
And for the first time in a long, long time, I felt like maybe the universe wasn’t punishing me—maybe it was handing me something right.
Maybe it was letting me fall.