Chapter 5
Five
River
I hate that song. Every time I hear it, I’m taken back to one of the many times Jaxon attacked me.
It was blaring in the background, and the only way I could separate myself from what he was doing to me was to fixate on the music.
The moment I hear the opening notes, it never fails; my entire body locks up, and my mind is carried off to somewhere else.
I keep cutting glances at Carter as we approach the platform.
I’m ninety-nine percent certain he witnessed me having that flashback a few minutes ago, even though he’s not acting weird around me, like some people normally would.
He’s acting as though nothing even happened, but I heard him. He was reminding me of where we were.
Not a single one of the friends I’ve made in New York knows what I went through before moving here, and I want to keep it that way.
I remember the looks I received from the people in town when I returned to Stroud after the accident.
The pity in their eyes from me being caught up in an abusive marriage that almost killed me.
Don’t get me wrong, the people in my hometown are like family, and when shit goes sideways, they are the first to rally around you.
But I don’t want any of my new friends to feel sorry for me.
The entire situation is embarrassing and makes me feel stupid.
The River that everyone in New York knows is the person I want to be. It’s a facade. A lie.
Lying.
Now that’s something I’ve become way too good at over the past couple of years.
Like, how convincing I was when I told Carter I wasn’t scared of riding this thing, but the truth is I’ve never done anything like this.
And as much as I pretend zooming five blocks—eleven stories up in the air—superman style doesn’t faze me, it quite literally scares the ever-loving shit out of me.
Glancing at the tables on the other side of the gate, reality sets in.
Fuck.
I don’t know if I can do this.
I’m frozen to the spot at the platform gate, unable to move, while Carter strides to one of the tables in the middle section.
I swallow down the lump of dread deep in my throat, trying to tame the fear bubbling to the surface.
Thank God no one’s up here to see my mild freak out, well, except for a couple of attendants.
All Carter had to do was snap his fingers, and poof, the ride became private.
I guess that’s one of the perks of being a famous athlete.
Carter stops and peers over his shoulder, then stalks back out of the gate and toward me—his broad build is massive and intimidating.
The way he’s moving quickly in my direction with his brows furrowed, reminds me of how Jaxon would stomp toward me before he would hit me.
Instant fear consumes me. Alarm bells go off in my head.
Deep down, I know there’s nothing to be scared of when it comes to Carter Graham, but trauma doesn’t speak the same language as logic.
My brain has programmed me to defend or conceal myself, and if I’m lucky . . . to run.
This is one of the reasons why I won’t date him. Why I refuse to date anyone. Because I’m not fucking normal, and I can’t trust anyone.
God, I’m so fucked up.
Two big, warm hands gently cradle both my cheeks. The second his skin touches mine, a calm feeling washes over me.
As Carter bends down, his eyes tangle with mine.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You’re okay, baby. I’m right here with you.”
The tenderness in his voice and the way he touches me makes me feel safe.
Tears prick behind my eyelids, and my vision blurs.
I press my head against his chest and wrap my arms around his waist, clinging to his white cotton T-shirt.
His body stiffens, then after a few seconds, his arms wrap around me.
One hand lightly massages the back of my head, and the other one rubs up and down my back in a slow, soothing motion as he whispers against my temple. “We don’t have to do this. We can go back down right now and find something else to do. Okay?”
I’ve never seen this side of him. He’s not acting like the flirty hockey player who flashes his panty-dropping dimples and annoys the ever-loving-shit out of me.
He’s being a friend. One who sees I’m in trouble and is here to throw me a lifeline.
The thing is, I didn’t even have to say a word; he knew something was wrong, and in an instant, he was ready to take care of me.
He has to know. There’s no way he doesn’t.
I lean further into him, allowing the rich earthy tones of his cologne to comfort me.
What was once about the zipline isn’t anymore. Now, I’m struggling with my asshole ex still having a hold on me. The way Jaxon controls my behavior without even being present. How he holds my thoughts captive. The way he can still terrify me from over a thousand miles away.
The thought lights a fire and sets a new determination deep in my soul.
Fuck. Him.
I breathe in deeply one more time, inhaling Carter’s scent, and on an exhale, I release all the negative energy from my body.
“Thank you,” I whisper, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “I needed a moment.”
I can’t explain it, but what he just did for me was enough to let my guard drop a little. My chest swells with emotion, and before I can think better of it, I rise onto my toes to kiss him softly on the cheek.
As he stares at me, his mouth opens, then closes, as if he wants to say something but is thinking better of it.
“She good?” an attendant asks.
Carter gazes into my eyes a little longer, then he glances over my shoulder and nods.
“Yeah, man. She’s good,” he says, then takes me by the hand and leads me to the table.
The attendant begins to secure me into the harness, and Carter doesn’t move an inch.
He stands there beside my table, watching every move, never taking his eyes off what’s being done; not even for a second.
Then he double checks the attendant, pulling on straps, testing the clips, and tugging on every line and wire to make sure I’m safe and secure before striding to his own table and lying down to be clipped in.
I tug on my bottom lip with my teeth and blink back another wave of emotion.
No one has ever taken care of me like this before.
It makes me feel . . . I don’t know . . . cherished.
The attendant begins working to clip Carter in. “You look very familiar,” he says, leaning over to get a good look, then he snaps his fingers. “Holy shit. You’re Carter Graham, winger for the New York Blaze.”
Carter flashes his pearly whites. “I am. You know hockey?”
“Yeah. Became a fan when we got our own team here back in twenty-seventeen. Man, that game in the finals last season was crazy. Sucks Boston won. Can’t stand their goalie,” he says as he double-checks everything.
“Sean Mac? He’s a good guy . . . been a buddy of mine for years. The Blaze picked him up a few months ago.”
“Oh yeah. Think I heard something about that. He is a damn good goalie, which is why I can’t stand him,” he chuckles. “The last couple of times we played Boston, Mac shut us out.”
“I guess that’s reason enough.” Carter laughs.
A buzzer goes off as the wall in front of us lowers.
“Ready?” the attendant asks.
Carter glances at me, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and holds his hands straight out in front of him. “It’s time to fly, baby.”
I don’t know whose genius idea this was, but they obviously didn’t think things through very well.
Fans keep stopping us. I can’t even tell you how many autographs Carter has signed.
We’re both five shots in. Wait. No . . .
way more than that. Hell, whatever. I don’t even know how many shots I’ve had now.
A lot. All I know is, I’m feeling good, and by Carter’s appearance, he’s right there with me.
He’s loud.
And chatty as hell.
And so fucking sweet.
Dammit, he’s hot.
His head tilts back as he laughs with a fan, causing my stomach to dip and my pulse to skyrocket at the sight.
The two men look at me, and I snap a few more pictures.
“Sorry. Might be a little blurry,” I say, handing the phone back to the fan who wanted Carter’s autograph . . . wait . . . no. A picture. Yes! That’s what he wanted. A picture . . . with Carter.
He keeps talking.
Shut up Carter, I want to win this Bingo thingy.
Grabbing him by his shoulder, I pull him down and brush my lips against the shell of his ear as I whisper, “Blowjob.”
His body stiffens, and my hand falls away. I reach out, grabbing him by the hand, and tug, dragging him into the bar.
“Bye,” he calls out. “It was nish meetin’ you. Gettin’ a blowy now.”
“Nish.” Carter laughs at himself. “I just said nish.”
With our hands still locked, I flash the bouncer our hand stamps, stumbling along the way with a giggle. “Told ‘em you were gettin’ a blowy too.”
“I am,” he breathes against my ear as he wraps his arms around me; my back to his front with our fingers still intertwined. “Been dreamin’ ‘bout these pretty lips forvever. Forver.”
He slurs, struggling with the word, then he huffs a sigh. “You and me, yeah? Forvever.”
Everything’s moving too fast. The lights, the people, the room keeps spinning around and around and around. Carter stumbles, his body pushing me into the bar top.
“Sorry, Kitten,” he says, garbling his words and kissing my head.
I giggle and yell across the bar top to the bartender. “He needs a blowjob.”
“So do I, Sweetheart,” someone down the bar yells back.
The bartender wipes down the counter as he makes his way to us. I love his style. He’s got the whole Yungblud rocker vibe thing going with the black hair, tattoos, and black eyeliner.
With a smirk, he asks, “A blowjob shot? What else for you two?”