Chapter 8
Eight
Colt
Exhaustion pulls at my limbs as I make the drive home.
Practice was tough, but not anything insane.
Coach wants to make sure we’re at the top of our games and well-conditioned, but she doesn’t want to burn us out early in the season.
No, we push it in the weight room, on the bikes.
But on the ice we…finesse.
We work hard, we battle and get our heart rates up, but it’s the finer details rather than the intense exercise that conditions us for the season.
Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not ready to get home, shove some food in my mouth, and pass out.
Only…
It doesn’t work out that way.
Because as I turn the corner, thoughts on dinner and my bed, I see a familiar little red SUV on the turnout.
On our turnout.
Frowning, I slow and pull to a stop behind Kylie’s car.
It’s leaning heavily to the side…
The tire blown out.
The irony of the situation slides through my head, but it’s quickly chased out by concern as I shove open my door and hurry toward her car. Hers isn’t a tire that’s low on air. It’s one that’s in shreds and…
This near to the edge of the road, to the drop-off that’s far too close, to the cluster of evergreens and the giant granite boulder—
Fuck.
My heart is pounding by the time I reach the driver’s side door.
I don’t think as I reach for the handle and find it locked.
“Fuck,” I whisper. Her hands are clenched on the steering wheel, forehead resting between them, and the engine’s still running. I knock on the window, watch as she jumps.
The car drifts forward a couple of feet before she realizes what’s happening and slams on the brakes.
“Unlock the door, Kylie,” I say loudly enough to be heard through the glass.
There’s a pause, her eyes holding mine for a moment.
“Hit the locks, baby.”
She jerks, but her hand reaches toward the door and a second later, I hear the locks disengage.
I have the door open and I’m leaning over her, shoving the transmission into park and turning off the engine before I realize that I’m crowding her, that I might be scaring her.
“Fuck, Ky. I’m sorry,” I say, maneuvering out and crouching.
Her hands are still clenched on the steering wheel and I’m close enough to see her throat work as she swallows. “I-it’s okay,” she whispers. “Thanks.”
“What happened?”
She finally releases a hand from the steering wheel and shoves it through her hair. I don’t miss that it’s shaking as it disappears into the long brown strands of her ponytail, and I want to snag it, to wrap my fingers around hers and hold it tight.
But I don’t.
“Tire blew,” she says a moment later, dropping it into her lap.
But when I watch it clench into a fist I can’t stop myself, can’t remember why I’m supposed to keep my distance.
So, fuck it, I take her hand, gently lace our fingers together.
“It wasn’t me,” I blurt.
She jerks but doesn’t pull out of my hold.
Nope, her fingers tighten around mine and then she’s holding me right back.
Fuck.
That’s…
Well, it’s almost as good as that stroke of her fingers through my stubble back at the arena.
Almost.
Then she laughs and the mental order I’ve been making of all the good of Kylie Connors is scattered again.
Because that tops everything.
“Who are you?” she teases. “Shaggy?”
I snort, but the slice of dry humor referencing the old two thousands song relaxes me enough that I reach up and brush my thumb beneath her eye. “You’ve been crying.”
Not a question because those beautiful blue eyes are reddened and a little swollen, her lashes clinging together from the tears that left faint tracks on her cheeks.
Her exhale is a little shaky but I don’t pull back.
Or maybe it’s that I can’t.
“Why, baby?”
Half of her mouth quirks up and she exhales again, though this time it’s not shaky. It’s…frustrated. I lurch toward the emotion, hoarding the new piece of her like I’m Gollum and she’s the shining gold ring.
Mine. Mine.
My precious.
“I had a day,” she says ruefully.
“The kids?”
A sigh. “They’re always challenging, but they’re good kids and that challenge is good, is something that makes the days interesting.”
“How?”
“There’s routine and yet, they’re never the same.” She lifts one delicate shoulder in a shrug, lets it fall. “They’re never boring.”
“I know what you mean,” I tell her.
Her head tilts, her ponytail sliding over the back of my hand.
Silk.
God, what I wouldn’t give to have the strands spread on my pillow.
“I guess you do.” She smiles softly and I take that piece of her too.
Because I’m greedy when it comes to Kylie Connors.
“And I know it wasn’t you,” she says. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”
I freeze, fingers flexing on her cheek.
Yup. At this point I’m going to have to make a whole new list of things I love about Kylie.
And number one is going to be the way she can eviscerate me with only four words.
I should say something, should reaffirm, make it clear I’d cut off my arm before I allow harm to come to her.
But she speaks before I can get my head together enough to give voice to that.
“But, for old time’s sake”—her lips curve into a smile I’ve seen her give others, but never me—“would you put your tire changing skills to use for me?”
I’d crawl through a mile of broken glass for her.
But all I say is, “Yeah, baby.”
Pink on her cheeks, warming the skin beneath my fingertips, and fuck, I want to lean in, to close the distance between us, to taste those plump lips.
Instead…I pull back.
I need to get her safe, need to get her home, need to find out why her day was a day and figure out how to make it better.
Need to figure out how to tell her I’m never letting her go.
But first I need to change her tire.
So I get on that.