Chapter 10
Chapter ten
I want more, I want too much
Reid
Idon’t know what the fuck that was, but somehow, I’ve now got to act like nothing happened.
As though my hand didn’t just memorize the shape of her jaw, and my mouth doesn’t still feel warm with the ghost of her breath.
Stepping back into the event room, the noise hits first. Music, laughter, the scrape of chairs mixed with the clink of glasses.
The fundraiser has tipped into that late-night sweet spot where everything feels looser and louder, probably because it’s been earned.
People are smiling with their whole faces now. Relief will do that.
I don’t stop moving, because I fucking can’t. Standing still will give my body too much time to catch up to my brain, and I’m not interested in seeing how that ends.
Instead, I grab a fresh drink from the bar, nodding thanks to the bartender, then weave straight into the cluster of guys near the auction tables.
“Hutchy!” Chase calls the second he spots me. He’s got his phone out, still replaying the mascot dance-off on repeat. “You realize that video’s already hit half a million views?”
“Give it five minutes,” Jake adds. “It’ll double once you add one of your stupid comments.”
“Hey,” Chase protests. “My comments are witty.”
“They are all just suggestive emojis,” Viktor says from my left, his eyes on Heidi across the room. “And you use too many of them.”
Chase jabs a finger at him. “You hearted it! That means you liked it!”
Jake steps in close and bumps my shoulder with his, ignoring Jekyll and Hyde beside us entirely. “You wanna explain how you turned a medical fundraiser into an All-Star Weekend?”
“I didn’t,” I say. “The mascots did.”
Jake snorts. “Right. And here I thought you’d finally gone soft.”
“Don’t spread rumors.”
A couple of the Miners guys drift over then, still laughing about the Dynamite mascot’s breakdancing. One of them claps me on the back hard enough that I have to adjust my stance.
“Hutchy baby,” he says. “Heard your knee’s on the mend.”
“Depends who’s asking.”
He grins. “I’m asking as someone who’s blown out an ACL twice. Rehab sucks.”
“It’s a character-building experience,” I say. “Or so I’m told.”
From behind him, the Denver Dynamite captain appears with an amused smile. “I hear you’re the one responsible for that circus?”
“Allegedly.”
She laughs. “Best fundraiser I’ve been to in years. If these mascot dance-offs become a regular thing, I’m blaming you.”
“Happy to take the heat.”
Chase holds up his phone as evidence. “You broke the internet, bro. The Dynamite mascot did a body roll. A body roll. In cleats!”
“Technically not my fault,” I mutter.
Jake snorts into his drink. “You invited them.”
“Didn’t tell them to hump the air in front of the donation box.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Chase says, shaking his head. “Zoe said online donations spiked fifteen percent in under ten minutes once she loaded the reel.”
I shake my head, taking another sip of my beer. I lean harder against the high-top and let the rhythm of the banter settle around me. I should feel good about this. The turnout’s solid, and the donation total keeps ticking up every few minutes.
But I’m not really here.
I’m stuck back in that hallway with the weight of Carina Park leaning into me. The scent of her perfume, the sharp catch in her breath right before she pulled away.
And the look on her face when she left—like she was mad at herself for almost wanting it.
Fuck, I want her to want it.
The banter flows easily, loud and familiar and blessedly distracting, which is good. I let the noise carry me, let the jokes land where they land. I even laugh when Chase starts loudly bidding on what is supposed to be another silent auction item.
But I keep clocking the room without meaning to, skimming over faces and bodies until I find her again.
Carina stands near the edge of the crowd with a glass in hand, her hair more loose around her shoulders now. She looks different without the tight focus she wears at the clinic, or the stress she had about reaching the goal tonight.
She’s softer. Brighter. Alive in a way that has nothing to do with that phenomenal dress she’s wearing, and everything to do with the weight she’s been carrying finally easing.
Heidi leans in and says something to her, and she laughs, her head tipping back. She takes another sip of champagne, then another, her cheeks a little flushed. She’s drinking more than usual, but she’s not sloppy. Just looser.
Relief will do that, too.
I don’t move toward her, even though every instinct I have wants to close the distance again, wants to feel the heat of her at my side and see if that almost-kiss would still be waiting for us if we tried again. I bet it fucking would, and I really want to test it.
But I don’t.
I lean back against a high table instead, folding my arms, keeping my feet planted.
It’s deliberate restraint. She’s not my responsibility, and she doesn’t need someone hovering.
She’s more than capable of handling herself, and she deserves the space to enjoy this night without me looming in her orbit.
Levi’s high-pitched, joyful laugh cuts through the room again, and my attention snaps there. He’s in the middle of it all, surrounded by players who’ve dropped to his level, who are listening to him explain mascots with the seriousness of a seasoned analyst.
His parents watch from nearby with their hands linked and eyes shining with something that looks close to relief. Or maybe hope.
I make my way over.
“Hey, bud,” I say, and the kid lights up.
“Mr. Hutchison, did you see them?” he asks, vibrating. “The mascots all dancing?”
“I did.”
“And Dynamite the Fireball did the floss, and then Horton the Mustang, he dabbed, and it was so cool!”
His mom laughs, pressing a hand to her chest to try and keep from crying again as she steps toward me.
“We just wanted to say thank you,” she says quietly. “For all of this. You’ve made his night so special, and you didn’t have to.”
I glance at Levi, who’s now miming the entire mascot routine with wild, jerky arms.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I did.”
I make my way back over to the bar to grab another beer, leaning against it while I wait, my eyes sweeping the crowd once more.
Carina’s watching me, a soft smile on her face. A fresh bottle is slid into my hands, and I return her stare as I slowly raise the beer to my lips. I watch her eyes dart to my mouth, and back up again, holding mine until Heidi interrupts her.
The night’s getting late now, and once Levi and his parents leave, I make my final rounds—say hi to a few of the other guys from the Miners, thank the out-of-town players who showed up, shake hands with some of the clinic donors, and let Moreno parade me around to some of his associates.
I try my best not to think about how close her mouth was to mine earlier, or how she’s been avoiding me since. But every time I look up, I’m checking for her. She’s always in the corner of my eye, talking to someone. Laughing. Moving through the crowd with that cool, unbothered composure.
Until she’s not.
There’s a guy next to her now, not anyone I recognize. Someone from Moreno’s circle, maybe. He’s tall and polished, probably wearing cologne that costs more than I make in a week, and he’s talking and smiling and way too close.
My first reaction is irritation, then dismissal—this is not my business.
She’s more than capable, and probably handled worse than a smooth-talking donor with shit cologne.
And apart from that, she hasn’t looked my way, hasn’t asked for help, hasn’t given any signal that she wants me anywhere near this interaction. That matters.
I watch anyway, and I tell myself that whatever this tight, restless thing in my chest is, it’s mine to manage alone.
But then he touches her arm, and Carina steps back.
She shifts slightly, polite, but purposefully leaning away. Her smile’s tight, and she glances past him, her eyes landing on mine for a beat.
I tell myself to look away, but I don’t. I’m zeroed in.
Carina’s angled away now, shoulders squared, chin tipped just enough to stay civil. Her smile is back, but it’s the professional one.
I recognize that smile because I’ve worn that smile.
The guy—whoever the hell he is—says something else, and she laughs again, but this time, I see the strain behind it.
His hand lands on her arm again, and she shifts immediately, stepping sideways, putting the table between them. That tight, restless feeling in my chest sharpens.
A cardiologist I recognize, only because I chatted with him earlier, joins them, and says something that makes Carina laugh, and for half a second, I think maybe that’s it. Maybe the moment will pass.
But the other guy steps closer again, and his hand slides to the small of her back.
It’s the way she stills that gets me. The way her spine straightens, and her shoulders draw in. She tries to shift again, but she’s cornered now—table behind her, the men in front of her.
His palm starts to move downward, over her ass. It’s a deliberate slide that assumes she won’t stop him, and he rests it there. Like he has the goddamn right.
And no one does a fucking thing.
The room drops out, and I don’t remember deciding to move. I’m already there, already stepping into their space.
“Evening,” I say as calmly as I can, pointedly looking to where his hand still rests on her ass. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
He looks startled, his hand snapping back like he’s just realized it’s attached to him.
“Hutchison,” he says, forcing a smile. “Great event. Your doing, right? The mascots?”
“Part of it.” I don’t look at him when I answer. I’m looking at Carina. “We need to grab a quick debrief before the event ends.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either—it’s merely an out for her, if she wants it. Her eyes hold mine, then she nods.
“Of course,” she says, already stepping forward.
The guy raises his hand as though he’ll try to stop her. “I was just about to—”