2 #2
But before I could answer, Kennedy turned back toward us. Amy’s posture straightened, her grip tightening on my arm as she leaned in—close enough to make sure Kennedy noticed.
“I’m Amy,” she said brightly, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “You’re Nash’s friend?”
I bit back a groan. It felt like a claim, and it couldn’t be further from the truth. I didn’t do serious. Not with her. Not with anyone.
“Yeah,” Kennedy said slowly, her eyes shifting from Amy to me. For a second something flashed there—curiosity, maybe even a flicker of disappointment—before she masked it with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Amy. I’m Kennedy.”
It was gone as fast as it came, but I saw it.
That tiny crack in her composure.
The same look she used to get when something bothered her and she didn’t want anyone to know.
Only now it hit different.
Josh glanced over. “Hey, Amy,” he said easily, offering a quick grin.
“Josh,” she acknowledged, her tone cooling as her eyes darted back to Kennedy and me.
I forced an awkward smile and stepped closer to Kennedy, close enough that Amy’s hand slipped off my arm. “Ready?” I asked quietly.
“Sure.” Kennedy nodded.
“Thank you so much for tonight, Josh,” Kennedy said, her voice the polite but distant tone she’d used with Amy. “It was really nice meeting you, and I’ll see you on Sunday.”
That was enough for me. I placed my hand on the small of her back, and yeah, it might’ve been a dick move, but I didn’t like the way he ogled her.
Once we stepped outside, the night air hit us hard. Kennedy shivered instantly, giving me the excuse I needed to wrap my arm around her as I led her to the waiting car.
“What’s on Sunday?” I asked once we were seated next to each other in the back seat of a black Escalade, her thigh brushing against mine, making me think things I hadn’t let myself think in a long time.
She snorted, then blushed, and the familiarity had me relaxing back into the seat with a grin.
“Your hockey game,” she said.
My body tensed as I realized that Josh—the sneaky fucker—had offered her his seats. “I would’ve gotten you tickets, Kennedy.”
“Thanks, Nash. That’s really nice, but Josh offered, so I took him up on it.”
“Okay,” I muttered, letting it go—for now.
At least she’d be there. And maybe seeing her in the crowd would fire me up, the way it used to.
Back when hockey was fun. And I sure as hell could use that.
Lately, the game felt more like a cage. A never-ending line of expectations.
The constant pressure to perform. To be the best. To entertain.
Kennedy had been my biggest cheerleader growing up, braving bad weather and early mornings to tag along with my parents to watch me play. Always cheering louder than anyone else, despite her quiet personality.
The back seat of the Uber went silent, and my thoughts drifted back to those years when sitting next to her was just .
. . normal. When she was the person I could always count on—helping me with homework, cheering me on when I needed it, and calling me out on my shit when I got too cocky.
She’d been the calm to my chaos. The one person I could just be myself around without pretending or trying to show off.
But a lot had changed since then.
I watched how the streetlights flashed across her face as we sped down Broadway, her reflection flickering in the glass, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders, eyes soft and tired from the night.
Outside, the sidewalks were thinning out: people spilling from theaters, couples huddled close against the wind, late-night street vendors packing up, a few sketchy figures lurking by the corner stores.
Kennedy leaned her head against the window with a tired sigh. “Sorry, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “But I wanted to.”
The car rolled to a stop in front of her building, and despite her weak protests, I walked her all the way to her apartment door. No way in hell was I letting her climb those stairs alone, not this late at night.
The sharp click of her heels echoed through the stairwell as she took the steps one at a time.
“Do you need me to carry you?” I teased from behind, trying not to stare at the way her jeans hugged her ass in the most delicious way and failing spectacularly.
“No,” she groaned.
I laughed as she trudged upward, shaking my head. She was still adorably stubborn.
Once we got to her door, she fumbled with the key, and after she’d failed to get it into the door twice, I took it from her and unlocked it. Kennedy stumbled inside, kicked off her heels, and moaned with such relief when her bare feet hit the floor that it sent my mind straight to the gutter.
“Damn, Kenny, your feet must’ve been killing you,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I’d intended.
“You have no idea.” She sighed, leaning back against the wall like the night had finally caught up to her. Then she turned to face me, eyes tired but still so damn expressive.
“I’m sorry, Nash,” she said quietly. “For ruining your night.”
My chest tightened. “You didn’t ruin anything,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m really glad I ran into you.”
“Me too,” she whispered, her lips curling into a small, sleepy smile. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
“Of course, Kennedy. You know I’d do anything for you.”
And I meant it—probably more than she realized.
She pushed off the wall, rambling something about me not needing to stay and needing to take out her contacts, then she darted into the bedroom and almost collided with the door. I chuckled because this version of Kennedy—slightly clumsy, flustered, and adorable—was the same one I’d grown up with.
I didn’t want to leave.
But I knew better than to stay.