Chapter 16 Parker
PARKER
Everything is great, until his voice rocks through me.
Lincoln Storm. The man who’s been a constant in my thoughts recently. Of fucking course he’s in the hotel foyer, looking like the hot ice hockey god that he is.
Images I don’t want erupt in my head as I stare at him, seeing him not as the man and professional athlete he is today, but the young man with stars in his eyes he was six years ago.
It takes a few seconds for my slightly buzzed and exhausted brain to catch up with me.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I snap.
His eyes run down the length of me, taking in my fitted little black dress.
It was an emergency purchase the other day in case of an impromptu night out like this.
Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get a chance to wear it, but I’m glad I did.
I felt like my old self tonight, getting dolled up and going out.
Brooke and Leah are the best.
We started our night with tacos and margs—the only way to start a girls’ night, in my opinion. And then we hit up a club. Leah knew the bouncers, and we were allowed straight in and then directed to the VIP section, where we found a football team to hang out with.
I’ve only had a few drinks. I have work tomorrow, so I cut myself off earlier than the other two. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t need to be wasted to have the time of my life with them.
I may have only met Leah today, and known Brooke for a short time, but we all connected in a way I often don’t with other girls.
I can’t remember the last time I laughed until my throat was sore and my stomach hurt with anyone but Casey. It felt so fucking good, even if a little guilt lingers because my best friend didn’t get to experience it with me.
My feet ache, and my muscles are tired and ready for bed. It’s late, and I need to call it a night so I can be fresh for the game tomorrow, so we dropped Leah off at a hotel a few blocks away before promising to catch up with her tomorrow.
Linc shrugs one shoulder but doesn’t speak until his eyes meet my narrowed ones.
“What’s the point? It’s not like I’m going to be any use to anyone tomorrow.”
His accusation isn’t lost on me, but I don’t have the energy to spar with him. Now that we’re back, the only thing I can think about is stripping out of my dress and falling into bed.
“Your team needs you, Storm. Even if it is support from the bench while you recover.”
Thankfully, the elevator doors open before he can respond, and Brooke and I race forward.
She pushes the button for her floor as Linc joins us and presses the one for the floor above.
We ride in silence, the air thick around us, and it doesn’t help that Brooke stares at me the entire time as if she’s hoping I’ll do something.
I’m not sure what she’s expecting, but she’s going to be disappointed. After the death glares I’ve received from our first-line winger all day, the last thing I want to do is hang around and have a conversation with him.
Come on, I silently beg, desperate to get out of this elevator.
When the car finally stops and the doors open, Linc steps out.
“It’s okay, I’m right here,” Brooke says, pointing to a door just a little farther down.
She taps her key to the panel and opens the door as Linc holds the elevator doors open so he can see she’s safe.
How very gentlemanly of him.
“I’m not a total asshole, you know,” he mutters after Brooke waves and lets her door click closed.
“U-uh…” I stutter, not realizing I said that out loud. Maybe I’m drunker than I thought.
“What floor?” he asks, ignoring my previous comment.
“Same as you,” I confess quietly. Why I couldn’t have been next door to Brooke, I have no idea. Maybe I should have pretended I was, just so we didn’t have to be stuck together in this enclosed space for the next two minutes.
“Okay then,” he says, jabbing his finger into the door closed button repeatedly.
The second they slide together, I take a deep breath, praying it’ll be enough because something tells me all the air is about to be sucked right out of this car.
The elevator jolts as it continues its ascent.
Silent seconds pass. If it weren’t for Linc’s stare burning the side of my body, I’d think he didn’t care.
But it seems that he can’t take his eyes off me, and that does things to my insides that it really shouldn’t.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough to forget this exchange in the morning.”
“Huh.”
“What?” I snap.
“Nothing.”
Fired up by his attitude all day, and with a little extra confidence thanks to the cocktails tonight, I step a little closer.
“If you’ve got something to say, Storm, I suggest you just—”
The elevator dings and the doors open.
“I don’t have anything to say, Donnelly,” he says a beat before he presses his hand to the small of my back and gives me a gentle shove to get me moving. “What number?”
“Excuse me?” I balk as my feet hit the carpet. I very nearly let out a loud sigh. My feet really are hurting.
“What is your room number?”
“I’m more than capable of getting myself to my room. I don’t need you to protect me. I’ve never needed you.”
His hand slips away as those final words erupt. I didn’t mean to say them, but it’s too late; they’re in the universe now.
“No, I got that memo.”
“Number?” he demands again.
“Twelve-twenty-two.”
“Of course,” he mutters under his breath as we continue down the hallway.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means the universe is fucking with me, that’s all.”
“What—”
“Here you go,” he says, stopping outside my room.
I glance at the number and then at the keypad before my eyes finally land on my purse hanging over my shoulder.
“Fuck’s sake. Hold these,” I demand, thrusting my cup and hot dog at him. But he doesn’t move an inch. Well, apart from his brows, which shoot up. “Please?”
With an unnecessarily dramatic eyeroll, he takes my late-night treats, allowing me to dive into my purse for my key.
Once I have it, I tap it to the panel and push the door open. Spinning around, I almost knock the cup clean out of his hand because he’s followed me in as if I’ve invited him.
“What are you doing?” I cry.
“Uh…bringing these in?” he says, looking between the cup and hot dog with his brows pinched.
“I’m more than capable of handling it from here.”
Dropping my purse at my feet, I hold my hands out to take everything back, so he has no excuse to stay.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m what?”
“Your foot, Parker. You’re bleeding. There’s fucking loads of it.”
Suddenly, he’s storming past me, and I have to stand and watch as the door swings closed, leaving us alone in my hotel room.
One second, I’m standing there, apparently bleeding all over the carpet, and the next, my feet are leaving the floor and I’m being carried into the bathroom.
“Linc, get the hell off me.” I wriggle and kick, but he’s too strong.
Twisting me in his hold, he sits me on the counter before dropping to his knees before me. The sight makes my head spin, but all of that confusion is forgotten when my eyes lock on my foot.
“Oh fuck,” I gasp, watching as blood drips to the floor. He wasn’t joking; it really is bleeding.
I watch, enthralled, as he takes my foot in his hands and carefully inspects it.
“I think you might have some glass in it,” he explains.
“I didn’t walk far. It’s probably just a—” His determined eyes find mine, and my words die on my lips.
“I’m going to call for a first-aid kit. If I can’t get it out, then—”
“Just get it out. I’m not going to the ER.”
He quirks one brow but chooses not to argue. I fear that if he can’t get the glass out, I might not have a leg to stand on, figuratively and metaphorically.
“Don’t move,” he demands before pushing to his feet and marching from the room.
“Where the fuck am I going to go?” I mutter to myself before his voice fills the hotel room as he demands to have a first-aid kit brought up immediately.
“Don’t you think this is all a bit overdramatic?” I ask when he returns. His eyes drop to the puddle I’ve no doubt made on the floor before running up the length of my bare leg, and all the way to my face.
My blood turns to lava at the possessive and protective look in his eyes, and it takes everything in me not to squirm on the counter.
It’s Lincoln Storm. We don’t want him, I silently remind my body.
It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. He isn’t the one to end our dry spell.
“No, Donnelly. I don’t think I’m being overdramatic. I’m also not leaving until this is patched up, so don’t even try it.”
I tilt my head to the side in an attempt to look innocent, because the thought of demanding he leave so that I can deal with this alone never crossed my mind…
“You want to tell me off, don’t you?” I ask, hating that judgmental look in his eyes.
He remains silent.
“Go on, say what you’ve got to say.”
He shakes his head, as if he needs to clear his thoughts.
“I’m not going to tell you off,” he states.
“But,” I urge.
“But…I fucking hate that you’ve been out and got hurt.” The second the words are out, he slams his lips shut.
My fuzzy brain works overtime, trying to decipher what he means, as he holds a tissue against my foot to catch the blood.
“Because I’m Rett’s little sister?” I ask quietly.
Linc being protective isn’t new. He and Rett used to be overbearing nightmares when I was growing up. Things have been different in the last few years, and I’m not sure how I feel going back to having him watch over my every move.
He clears his throat. “Yeah. It’s my job to make sure you're safe, especially now that he’s out of town.”
“Hmm.”
Thankfully, a knock sounds out, and in a flash, Linc is on his feet and racing toward the door.
When he returns, he’s got a first-aid kit in his hand and determination in his eyes.
“You know, we could just call Eddie,” I say, mentioning the team doctor.