Chapter 15
MADDOX
Pain fills her eyes as a tear falls. Then another. And another.
She’s crying right in front of me, and fuck it all to hell, but I can’t stop myself from reaching for her.
I slide one arm around her back and another across her front in order to wrap her up and pull her into a tight hold.
My chest tightens when a sob racks through her, and she tries to pull away from me.
She swats at my arms and shakes her head, sending her tears flying. The second one hits my neck, I’m done.
“Enough, Braxton. Stop fighting me.”
“Let me cry! Just let me hate myself for this a bit longer, and then I’ll stop,” she pleads.
I would if I could. Instead, I clasp my hands at her back and pull her all the way across the couch until she’s settled on my lap.
She sniffles and buries her face in the skin where my shoulder and neck meet before going lax.
Slowly, I unclasp my hands and cautiously place them on her back.
I should move them up and down in a rubbing motion or something, but I stay frozen like a fucking loser.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, repeating the words I’ve waited to hear for so long. The same words I promised myself I wouldn’t accept when and if I did hear them.
The smell of her fruity shampoo is so overwhelming in this position that I have to tilt my head back and rest it on the back of the couch to get away from it.
I refuse to give in to the voice in my head telling me to bury my face in the tight black curls and take a whiff of it straight from the source.
But I’m not as strong as I thought I was because while I don’t give in to the one urge, I do another.
I shut my eyes and drag my hand up her spine and along the bare skin of her neck until my fingers slip through those curls and spread wide over the base of her skull.
Fuck. Me. She shivers against me, and I grit my teeth at the rush of pleasure that follows.
Soft and warm and fitted goddamn perfectly against me.
“I can’t forgive you,” I say roughly, the words scraping my throat on the way up. “Not right now. Not yet.”
A soft, choked cry, and then she nods so slightly I barely feel the movement. “Okay.”
“But we still need to do this. I still need your help, so I’ll try to focus more on the present and not the past. That’s the best I can do.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help you. I promise.”
My fingers tighten their hold on her hair before I relax them, not wanting to hurt her.
“Our next game is at home again in two days, and if we win, we’ll enter the second round.
Whenever our first game is, you’ll need to be there.
I know you don’t like to fly, but you should come to a few away games too.
I can get it arranged so you can fly on the team plane. ”
“You don’t have to do that. I can fly on my own.”
My mind is already made up, so I move on. “We need to figure out public appearances outside of just games. The adoption day is a given, but until then, we need to be seen together.”
“Do you go out after games? To bars?”
“Not really. Sometimes.”
“I think we should start there. Adalyn mentioned posting pictures of each other online too.”
Right. Like the one she took and tagged me in during my game. I had to silence my phone after that, but it was Alexander’s idea, and what he says goes. “That works.”
Slowly, she lifts her head from my shoulder and looks away before wiping at her face. A sniffle cuts through the silence just as easily as it does my chest before she’s looking back at me with a timid smile.
“Sorry about that. I’m just going to . . .” She frantically climbs off my lap and drops to the cushion beside me. Her cheeks are flaming red, and while younger Maddox would have teased her about being embarrassed over something so small, the older version does not. “Thank you for . . . that.”
I shrug and pick an invisible lint off my chest. The movement has a burst of her perfume flying from my shirt, and I decide right now that I’m tossing it out as soon as I get home.
“I’ll text you tomorrow, and we can go from there.”
She nods. “Okay.”
An awkward silence falls over us, and I take that as my sign to get the hell out of here. Standing, I push my hands into my pockets and nip at my bottom lip. Do I just say bye? Fuck, I hate awkwardness.
“I’ll walk you out,” she says, sensing my discomfort. I release a breath and follow her back through the small portion of her house she showed me to the front entry.
I slip my shoes on, and she opens the door for me. My muscles are tight and bunched as I walk outside and stiffly turn to face her.
“So . . . I’ll text you, then,” I say.
Her lips twitch. “You said that already.”
“Right.”
“Drive safe.”
I tip my head. “Yeah. Lock up after me.”
And with that, I’m practically jumping down the porch steps and taking off down the sidewalk. After checking that she’s shut the door behind me, I get in my truck, start it up, and then peel onto the street, feeling more rattled than the last time I got my ass thrown into the boards.
I’ve barely sunken into bed and pulled my blanket over my chest later that night when my phone buzzes on my bedside. I debate leaving it, but something has me scrolling through the messages, spotting one I should ignore at this hour but don’t.
Braxton: What about kissing?
Me: Not unless absolutely necessary.
Especially if the annoying pang of excitement that just ricocheted through me is anything to go by.
Braxton: Should we make some sort of agreement?
Me: Like in that stupid movie with Noah Centipede?
Braxton: To All The Boys? That’s rude and so not his name.
Braxton: Wait . . . did Addie make you watch that, or are you into teen romance now?
Me: Addie.
I get roped into every kind of movie when it comes to my sister. I’ve been forced to watch the entire Twilight saga enough to hit fangirl status.
Braxton: Is that a no to the agreement? I can do one up tonight.
Me: Do you think we really need one? Just don’t kiss me and we’ll be good.
Braxton: That’s it? So, everything else is on the table, then?
Me: Are you planning on doing something I won’t like? What’s with the 20 questions?
Braxton: Just want to make sure we’re on the same page.
I drag a hand down my face and heave a sigh. It’s a fair enough reason, but there’s something bugging me about it. Maybe it’s that I don’t want to plan this entire thing out with a list of do’s and don’ts. It will be more believable to just go with the flow.
That’s what I’m going with, anyway.
Me: Let go of the planner, Braxton. When it comes down to it, we need to be believable. That means we should do whatever is necessary to ensure it is.
Braxton: Okay. Yeah.
Me: You good now?
Braxton: Yes. Thank you.
Me: All good. Goodnight.
Braxton: Night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.
They don’t, and two days later, I park my truck in front of Dad’s and step out into the afternoon sunshine.
My parents’ house is the same as it’s been since I was a baby—large and in charge but somehow warm and homey at the same time.
A wraparound porch with flower baskets hung along the entire length of it, a looped stone driveway, big windows, and a balcony that comes off my parents’ bedroom and looks out to the trees at the back of the property.
Today, there are pink and white balloons and streamers joining the flower baskets on the porch, and I chuckle at the Happy Birthday banner hung above the door.
The driveway is full of vehicles that I weave around before coming up to the front door and pushing my way inside. The pile of shoes spread around the foyer isn’t the least bit surprising. My family is massive, and even in this big house, it can get a bit crowded.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” I shout after I’ve added my shoes to the pile.
“Is that what I am? And here I thought I was just an old woman now,” Mom teases, coming toward me with her arms open.
I step into her hug and squeeze her tight. “Happy late birthday, Ma.”
“Thank you, baby.”
After a moment, we pull back, and I toss my arm over her shoulder as she leads us through the house toward the backyard, where I assume everyone else is.
“Your gift is in my truck. I know how much you hate crying in front of people, and my present is a guaranteed eye gusher,” I gloat, feeling smug.
She pinches my stomach, and I bark a laugh. “You’re a little shit. I thought you already gave me my gift.”
“That was only the first one.” I give her a soft squeeze. “You know if I could have made this party work earlier, I would have, but—”
“No apologies. You’re here now. I know how hockey season is, especially right before playoffs.”
If anyone would know and understand the life of a hockey player, it would be the woman who married Oakley Hutton, but the guilt is still there.
I wish I had more time off around her birthday so that we didn’t have to celebrate it with the entire family well over a month later. But at least I was able to see her on the actual day, and I think that meant more to her than a big party.
“Dad spoiled you, yeah?”
She giggles. “Of course he did. You know him better than that.”
“I told him to buy you a yacht, and he laughed at me, so I doubt his gift could have been that good.”
“You could have gotten me a yacht,” she points out.
“You got me there.”
“He booked us a trip to Greece because I’ve been wanting to go since your uncle went years ago. I think he did just fine.”
“Oh, swoon,” I sigh dramatically, and she pinches me again before laughing.
“You tease, but one day, you’ll do the same things for someone.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Ma. Your hair might turn grey before then.”
She scowls up at me and scoffs, “We both know I’ll never go grey.”
“Are you sure? I think I see . . .” I pinch a piece of hair between my fingers and hold it up in front of my face.
“You do not!” She swats at my hand, and I drop the hair.
I snort a laugh. “Look at that. A false alarm.”
We stop in front of the patio door, and she says, “Go say hi to everyone. They’re antsy.”