Chapter 23
MADDOX
PRESENT
She’s giving me an out. An easy one at that.
We could chalk this up to a bad call on Dougie’s part, and they could find me someone different to play this game with—someone I have no connection to, someone free of the ghosts of our pasts—or I could just figure something else out on my own.
I’ve never wanted to be that guy. The one who rebelled against the help of people who really did know what the fuck they were talking about because he’s too damn stubborn to listen, but this entire time .
. . I’ve been fighting the process. All because I haven’t given myself the chance to move on and forgive the rash decisions of a teenage girl.
The broken heart and self-pity that I’ve carried when it comes to Braxton has blurred my judgment, and it’s abundantly clear to me now as I watch her face crumple and her eyes well with tears that I’ve hurt her along the way.
I’ve never wanted to hurt Braxton. The thought alone used to tear me up inside; eight years later, it still does. You don’t spend thirteen years with someone and not still hold a light to them somewhere inside of you.
This is a woman who I planned to spend my entire life with. Who I knew inside and out and, in turn, knew me the exact same. Love like that might dull after what we went through, but it didn’t fade. Not with distance or time or the trail of broken pieces left behind.
I was a fucking idiot to think I could keep her from peeling back the covers and revealing those feelings again. And for her to think she misread me all those years ago? Fuck. That.
I’d been planning my proposal since I was twelve. Her thinking she wasn’t my entire universe for the better part of my life is just offensive. To both her and me.
The realization strikes deep, and I have to focus on not passing out on the pavement at the intrusion of it.
“Nobody is going their own way. You’re not leaving me again.” My tone is sharp, focused.
Braxton blinks slowly, clearly confused with my sudden change in demeanour. I don’t blame her.
“Then what? All of a sudden, you’re ready to move forward? I’m not in the mood for pity, if that’s what this is.”
“It’s not pity. It’s me hating the way your eyes don’t shimmer with happiness as you stare at me right now but with tears I’m responsible for.
It’s me accepting that I’ve been a surly fucking dickhead since I saw you in your clinic and wanting to do better.
It’s me telling you that you’re a goddamn idiot if you think for one second that you were misreading me.
That if I knew you would have said yes and that both of our families wouldn’t have killed me, I would have gotten down on one knee and asked you to marry me when we were teenagers.
I might not ever forget what happened, and it might take me a little while to fully forgive you, but I want to move on. With you.
“That’s real. That’s raw. That’s the furthest thing from pity. We’re going to do this damn thing, and I’m going to get my best friend back in the process. There’s nowhere for you to run that I won’t find you this time. You got that?”
My chest is heaving, but I don’t let that stop me from storming toward her and trapping her against the truck door between my arms like back in her office.
It’s not arrogance that has me noticing the rapid rise and fall of her chest as I dip my head and look into the blue depths of her eyes but simply my inability to focus on anything else.
When she’s close, she’s the only fucking thing I see.
“Say something,” I breathe, nerves alive in the words.
She rolls her lips and swallows, and like a horny idiot, I follow the curve of her throat to watch it bob, pulling tight before relaxing.
“You’ve stunned me to silence. Some would say you’re a lucky man.”
My jaw ticks. “Lucky? I want as many words from you as possible. Tell me the name of the person who told you it was lucky to have you be silent, Curly.”
“I don’t need you to vanquish my enemies,” she whispers.
“I want to. Every single one of them.” It’s blunt. Honest. Real.
Gentle fingers prod my side, searching for something that I don’t care how long it takes her to find. Her touch seeps into my bones, and I press our foreheads together, finding it hard to breathe with our closeness but not ready to back away quite yet.
“Do you really think you can do this?” she asks, breath hot on my jaw.
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. “But only if you don’t chicken out of this bet because I’m starving, and I can’t wait to see you in my jersey again.” Smirking, I drop a quick kiss to her forehead and step back, offering her my arm. “Shall we?”
Her laugh is more of a harsh snort, and her cheeks redden as I laugh with her.
“Aren’t we taking the truck?” she asks after a moment, suspicion growing in her eyes.
“That wasn’t in the rules. It’s such a beautiful night that I thought we could walk there.” My smile is pure evil.
Her eyes bulge. “That’s most definitely cheating.”
“Cheating or using the lack of rules to my advantage?”
“Both.”
“Nah, you’re just a sore loser.”
“I haven’t lost anything yet.” She lifts her chin stubbornly.
“Then, by all means. Let’s go.” I shake my arm and flick my eyes down to it before returning them to her just in time to catch her half-hearted glare. “You know what, just because I’m so nice, I’ll even take care of your brutalized feet afterward. How does that sound?”
“Like you deserve a smack across the head.”
“Harsh, baby girl.”
She takes my arm, digging her nails into it just enough to have me hissing a rough laugh.
“There’s that name again,” she scolds.
“I’m as stubborn as a mule.”
She shakes her head as I take her hand, softly lacing our fingers before we start down the street.
We veer out of the small, quiet business complex where the clinic is located and onto the busy sidewalk.
It’s all hustle and bustle as bodies swarm the streets, and suddenly, I wish I had grabbed a hat or something on my way over.
“Do you even know what time it is?” she asks.
“They’ll find us another table if we’ve lost ours when we get there. Don’t worry about the reservation.”
She nods. “The perks of being famous. How could I forget?”
I look down at her and smile. Her snark is welcomed. I missed it.
“It comes with its disadvantages,” I say.
She hums. “Right. Like the underwear bandit who posted pictures of your intimates on social media?”
“That’s right. It was a few years ago, though. I don’t let people I don’t know into my space anymore.”
A dramatic gasp. “But then how do you meet women? I doubt you’re on Tinder.”
“Easy. I don’t.”
“What do you mean you don’t? Come on, don’t lie to me.”
I shrug. “No, really. There isn’t anyone that’s going to cause any problems with the plan, if that’s why you’re asking. I don’t date. I haven’t in a long time.”
Of course, I don’t plan on telling her why I haven’t dated since the disaster with Rory three years ago, but she has other plans.
“Why not? I thought that once you were in the league, you would try to make up for lost time. You never dated anyone before you were drafted.”
We come to a stop behind a crowd of people waiting at a crosswalk, and I step up behind her, so close I can smell her coconut shampoo. Pulling our joined hands behind her, I press them to her back and lean in, lowering my voice.
“It’s hard to date when the only woman you want, you can’t have.”
She sucks in a sharp breath as the stick man blinks across the street. I move back to her side and pull her across my body, taking the outside of the sidewalk while smiling at a few people who are looking at me as if they know who I am.
It’s almost comical how stunned I’ve made her over the past half an hour. Her mind has to be spinning like a mouse on a wheel at this point.
“Hockey has been my focus, anyway. It’s life consuming. Especially right now with playoffs. I dated one girl a few years back, but I was an awful boyfriend. Didn’t give her the time or attention she needed.”
“That’s sad but also understandable. I remember how busy you were when we were just teenagers. I can’t imagine your schedule now,” she says.
“It keeps me on my toes, but I think I just didn’t want to put the effort into the relationship either. Couldn’t see myself with her long term. I don’t think I would have a problem giving my all to someone if I could see a future, you know?” Like I do with you.
She looks up at me and smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. I dated in university, but it wasn’t anything life changing either.”
I hear a record scratch in my ears as my mind halts, snagged on the words I dated. Who did she date? And why does the thought of her in another man’s arms have my blood starting to simmer?
“Oh. Who did you date?” My words are scratchy, like I swallowed a handful of glass shards in the past five seconds.
Her body shakes with the smallest of laughs, and I scowl. “I’m not telling you that.”
“Rory Tellerman. That’s the woman I dated,” I blurt out.
“Okay . . .” She trails off.
“Now it’s your turn.”
She makes that snorting laugh sound again. “You’re relentless.”
“What if one of them decided to come back and try to win you back? I have to know who to prepare myself for. You know, as your fake boyfriend.” Yeah, that makes sense.
“Hunter King and Logan Parker. And I doubt either of them so much as remember me, let alone want to try winning me back.”
I furrow my brows, frowning. “Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like the idea of them wanting you back is at all unrealistic.”
The wooden sign with cursive letters spelling out the name of our restaurant peeks out above a long row of shops, and I start to slow my steps, not wanting to cut this conversation short.
Braxton is taking too long to answer me, so I give her hand a squeeze, hoping to reassure her enough to speak whatever she’s thinking.
“You know I’m not skinny, Maddox. It’s hard to miss.
I’m not everyone’s type, and I’ve accepted that.
Hell, I’ve even grown to appreciate the honesty I get from the men who tell me that straight to my face, even if it’s a blow to my pride every time.
I would rather the honesty than be used as some experiment for men who have never been with a chubby girl before.
That’s all I was to those guys. A na?ve girl who thought that a guy was into me, even though he really only wanted to know if he was attracted to bigger girls. ”
Rage. Red, blinding rage roars deep inside of me. Words evade me. All I can think is how badly I want to hurt those guys for hurting her. For tainting how she thinks of herself and how much she’s worth in a relationship.
All it takes is one pull on her hand and she’s following after me, trying to keep up, her heels clicking at a fast pace on the sidewalk.
I pull us into a break in the buildings and grip her hips, pulling her in close to my body.
The soft flesh beneath my fingers is the furthest thing from a turnoff.
I rumble a groan at how easily this woman turns me all the way on.
There are questions in her eyes, along with far too much doubt. One look at her has me willing to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness on behalf of every single man who has stopped her from feeling like she’s the most beautiful woman to exist.
“First of all, if you refer to yourself as chubby again as if it’s a big, bad thing, I will spank your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week. And second, I want to kill those men. You . . .” I drop my head and shake it. My tongue feels tangled, but I force myself to keep going.
“You are everything, Braxton. And you deserve to feel like it. There is not a single part of you that I don’t love.
That I don’t want to touch and kiss and memorize.
Those guys, they were boys. Small-dick, insecure pricks.
They wouldn’t know a good thing if it smacked them in the face.
And you? You’re the best fucking thing. Okay? ”
A subtle nod as a tear leaks from her eye. A tear I gently wipe away with the pad of my thumb before pressing my lips to her forehead and holding them there for what feels like hours but is really only a few seconds.
“You’re perfect,” I breathe against her skin before inching back and wrapping my finger in one of her curls. My knuckle brushes her cheek, feeling how warm it is. “I’m proud to have you as my fake girlfriend. There is nobody better. No one.”
She surprises me by stepping up on her tiptoes and kissing my jaw, hovering her mouth over it as she says, “Thank you.”
“There’s no thank you needed. Just have dinner with me and eat until we’re so full we have to waddle home. Can you do that?”
I pull her into my arms and hold her tight, loving the feel of her cheek against my chest, right over my heart as it thumps quick and hard. She lets out a long breath, and it warms my skin beneath my shirt.
“I can do that.”
There’s more I could say. Maybe more than I should have said. But I hope that what I did say made a difference. If it takes me the rest of time, I’ll help erase the damage those assholes caused. That’s a promise that I make to myself right here, right now.
No matter what happens in the coming months, I will be here to remind her just how amazing she is.