Chapter 12
Twelve
Colt
Her mouth clamps closed, as though she can’t believe she’s said that out loud, her cheeks flaring bright red, her eyes skating away.
Give her something better?
I’d give her anything she asked for.
So, it’s not even a second thought to say, “Okay.”
Now her mouth falls open, eyes going wide. “I—uh—”
I cross over to her, extend my hand.
Those eyes go wider. “Uh…I’m…now?”
The scandalized look on her face almost has me smiling. “Let’s take a walk, starfire.”
She exhales. “Oh.”
Then she places her hand in mine, allowing me to draw her up, to guide her to the front door I intended to leave through, intended to go and to walk off this rage inside me.
Yet I found myself not able to step across the threshold, not with her hurting in the other room.
Pausing to snag her coat, I help her into it before I twist the handle and lead us out into the night air.
It’s cool and quiet, a thousand stars overhead.
Fucking beautiful, and even though it’s something I’ve seen many times over since I moved to Tahoe, the sight of that dark sky full of glittering diamonds is still one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
But it doesn’t even begin to compare to the woman who’s standing next to me, our hands linked.
Please don’t touch me.
I’m broken.
Yet, she’s here.
With me, courage and strength in that slender body that shouldn’t have had to shelter so much pain.
I’m so tired of this shit.
Carrying the weight of her past for too long.
Alone because she doesn’t want the world to know she’s still hurting, still coping.
Doesn’t want her brother to know—
Because he suffered too.
Fuck, do I understand that.
But tonight I don’t want to allow that in—the suffering, the pain, the regrets.
I want to give her something better.
“You still want to know what the guys give me shit about?” I ask as we weave through the parking lot and turn onto the faintly lit trail that leads up into the pines she likes to walk along.
She misses a step then tilts her head to the side, face tipping up so I can see her mouth is curved. “Without the aforementioned payment?”
My mouth quirks. “Consider this one on the house.”
“Okay.”
“No mercy, huh?” I ask as we start making our way up the slight outcropping.
A sound of pure outrage. “You’re the one who offered!”
“Maybe I didn’t expect you to take me up on it,” I counter, drawing her a little closer when the trail drops off, not wanting her that near to the edge.
“Maybe,” she says, her eyes flicking up to mine, something in the depths telling me she knew exactly what I was doing with that maneuver. “Or maybe you’re trying to distract me.”
“Is it working?”
She laughs then slips her hand from mine as we crest the final hill, moving to sit on a fallen log. “No,” she says, patting the spot beside me. “Tell me.”
She’s laughing.
Smiling.
At me.
No fear, no tears, no panic.
Just the beautiful sky overhead and the beauty that is Kylie.
So, I can no more stop myself from walking over to the log and sitting next to her than I could stop my heart from beating.
Same as I can no more stop myself from telling her what my share of the locker room shit-giving is about.
“No, you didn’t!” she gasps.
I nod. “Would I lie to you?”
Her head tilts to the side, gaze locked with mine, eyes suddenly serious. “I hope not,” she says quietly. “But I don’t know you well enough to say for certain.”
That’s fair.
More than fair.
It still feels like an actual physical blow though. A blocked shot missing my pads, the puck colliding with exposed flesh.
“Colt,” she says quietly.
“In this case, unfortunately, I’m telling the truth.”
A pause, then her eyes dance, her reply quiet. “Brutal.”
“Some might say it was well-earned.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She exhales. “But it is hockey.”
“Exactly.” I wink and she smiles at me before she returns her focus to the vista in front of us. It’s dark, only a few lights glimmering in the distance, but it’s enough to outline the shadows of the trees, the border of the lake.
I know if we walked all the way to its edge we’d hear the soft lapping of the waves on the shore, if we dipped our fingers inside it would be icy cold.
“Tell me about the papers?”
She ducks her head and I know if it was light, her cheeks would be pink.
“Tell me,” I order, turning my body on the log so I’m facing her.
She nibbles at her lip but when she looks up at me, mischief is creeping back into her eyes.
“What?”
“I guess…” She sighs and turns to face me, mirroring my position. “I guess you showed me yours so I should show you mine.”
A flicker of heat in my belly, sliding down, wrapping invisible fingers around my dick and stroking.
I ignore it, know there’s no room for it, not right now.
Not when I have to give her something good.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I begin.
“Don’t I?”
“Baby—”
She presses a finger to my mouth, halting my words.
“I’m a terrible grader. There.” She tosses up her hands.
“I admitted it, okay? Every year—hell, every quarter, I have the best of intentions. I tell myself I’m going to stay ahead of the papers, give the kids their essays back on time, and it never fails that I find something ‘more important’ to do and the papers start multiplying. ”
“They do that?” I ask lightly.
“Like bacteria,” she says in a mock-grumble. “Within twenty-four hours they start reproducing—one paper turns into two turns into four turns into sixteen. And then I’m overrun.”
My reply is dry. “I didn’t know they could do that.”
She grins up at me. “Didn’t you?”
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
“What are these more important things?” I ask lightly. “The ones that cause your grading to start reproducing?”
Her grin widens. “Oh you know,” she says off-handedly.
“I don’t know.” A beat. “Hence why I asked.”
“Hence? That’s a big word for a big, dumb hockey player,” she teases, mimicking my earlier words.
I tug lightly at her ponytail. “Brat.”
She giggles. “Just channeling my younger sisterliness.”
If there’s anything I’m thinking about Kylie, it sure as fuck isn’t sisterly.
“Still, considering Damon is your brother, I don’t think you’re unfamiliar with hockey players using big words.”
“Maybe not.”
“There’s no maybe about it.”
She laughs. “Crocheting and reality TV and wine.”
The conversational left turn has my brows dragging together. “What?”
“The more important things.”
I get it then and I chuckle. “Well, considering I’ve seen what you call crocheting, I don’t think that can reasonably be blamed for the lack of grading.”
“Hey!” She glares at me. “Who’s being the bratty sibling now?”
I want to kiss that frown off her face.
The urge is so strong, so all-encompassing I almost do exactly that.
But she’s not ready.
So, I just stand. “Come on.”
The glare gives way to confusion. “What?”
I start down the hill.
“Colt?” she calls. “Where are you going?”
My lips twitch as I glance over my shoulder at her.
“To grade some papers.”