Brayden wins the first face-off of the night. Watching it on TV while I shovel ice cream in my mouth makes me wish I had actually gone to the game. For two hours, I had decided to go. And then, I changed my mind. What changed? I finally talked to Rose.
“Working together was ruining our friendship,” she said.
Somehow, her quitting on me with no notice helped keep our friendship together. I think she’s lying. When I asked if she had another job already, she said yes. Which makes me wonder if she started her plan to leave after our chat, after I thought things were better, and obviously they weren’t. Friendship-wise, she acts like we’re all fine and good. She wanted to chit-chat about Brayden. She told me how she broke up with her boyfriend. When she asked if I’d set her up with Zane, since he seemed like a good guy, I told her no.
That pissed her off and she hung up.
If Zane deserves better than me, then he also deserves better than Rose. No way would I ever consider setting him up with one of my friends. That’d be weird, I think. With a sigh, I drag my attention back to the screen.
I still don’t understand this game. Right now, the Rebels are on a power play, it seems. The other team has their four players in a loose square formation in front of their goalie, while our players are on the outer edges, passing the puck to one another. I can’t see all the names and numbers, so I’m not sure if Brayden is out there or not. I’ll have to wait to see if one of the announcers says his name.
One Rebel passes the puck to another one. This guy is the farthest from the net, yet he rears his stick back and sends the puck past all of those players and their goalie. None of whom are able to stop it or defer it. It sails through the air until it hits the back of the net.
The thunderous cheers of the spectators are almost louder than the goal horn. Who knew North Carolina housed so many hockey fans? There are only a few gaps of three or four rows of empty seats throughout what I can see of the arena. I wonder if it’s like that all the time. I didn’t pay attention before.
Cameras zoom in on the celebrating Rebels. Yep. Brayden is on the ice. He’s the only one not smiling. Well, he does have that faint, corners-are-barely-tipped-up kind of smile. I jab my spoon into my butter pecan ice cream and dig out a big spoonful. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what Maryann said about his past relationship. Why I’m worrying about it, I don’t know. It has nothing to do with us. On the surface, at least.
Brayden says he’s committed; I should be happy! Yet I worry that we’re both fooling ourselves here. I was firmly against relationships, but here I am because I feel like Brayden could be a guy who doesn’t make me settle. Shouldn’t it be easier than this? Why do I have doubts? My eyes flick to Mom’s notebooks. Reading them has only reminded me of every last bad decision I’ve ever made. I haven’t even gotten to the most recent ones yet.
How do I know Brayden is a good decision? How do I know I’m capable of such a thing? I just want some space to clear my head without Brayden clouding my judgment. I reach for the remote to change the channel when the announcers start talking about a breakaway. What stops me is they mention Brayden’s name. He skates down the ice, releases his shot, and scores.
My stupid heart warms with excitement for him. Maybe I can watch a little more. The regret over not going causes me to eat more ice cream. What if he goes up to the box? He’ll turn stiff because it’ll be an uncomfortable situation since I’m not there. Why am I worrying about Brayden? He can handle himself.
Otis jumps off the couch and walks to the door. That’s my cue to walk him. While we’re outside, exciting stuff happened with the game. Someone on the enemy team scored, but so did a Rebel. I don’t know which came first or who scored the Rebels goal. That brings the score to three-one in favor of the Rebels. There are two guys on the ice now with the last name Kessy. One jersey has “Co. Kessy” and the other has “Ca. Kessy.” It’s kind of weird to see people you’ve met or know on TV. The twins are difficult for me to keep up with. I barely saw their jerseys long enough to see their names. Plus, they keep weaving in and out of any traffic that’s around them. How does anyone keep up with them?
They regularly make passes without looking at each other. I get invested in the game, but not for Brayden. I’m fascinated by the Kessy twins. Sometimes, I wouldn’t think that one knows where the other is, yet they make a flawless pass, one of which leads to a goal in the third period. I can’t tell if they’re actually faster than some of the other guys on the ice, or if that’s just me since I can barely keep up with what’s happening anyway. Man, if I were the Rebels, I’d be showing off those twins and gathering all the attention they could get. Then again, maybe they already are and I don’t know it because I’m not a serious follower.
When the game ends, I put away my nearly empty carton of ice cream. I shower, taking my time as if I have all of it in the world. I slip on a pair of panties and search for a tank top. It’s honestly a bit too cold to wear one, but even in the colder months, I can wake up sweating. Let me wake up with a slight chill and not wanting to get out of bed because it’s even colder outside of my blankets instead. That’s my motto. I don’t want to wake up hot at this point, and it’s basically December.
There’s a banging on my door. Otis runs out of the room, nearly knocking me into my dresser. I grab my robe from my bed where I tossed it, slip into it as I walk to the door where Otis viciously barks at whomever is on the other side.
“Calm down, Otis. Quiet. Sit,” I order. His barks turn into a low growl while I peer through the peephole.
Brayden.
I open the door and step aside for Otis to charge forward. He attacks Brayden by licking his hand.
“Hey, boy,” he says, rubbing his head while he wiggles his body from excitement. Does Otis ever wiggle that much when he sees me? Maybe he loves Brayden more. He should. He’s in a suit again and I almost want to shake my head at how ridiculously hot he looks.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, one hand on the door, the other propped on my hip.
Brayden lifts his head to look at me. His eyes scour my appearance, which reminds me that I’m wearing my robe and panties. I pull it closed to shield myself from his ravenous eyes as he steps into my house and closes the door without answering my question.
“Take the robe off.”
I frown. He thinks he can come over without notice after I ditched his game, not tell me why he’s here, and then order me to undress? No. I’m not interested in that tonight.
He reaches out to rub strands of my wet hair between two of his fingers. “It’ll be worth it.”
Of course it will. When is it not? Brayden doesn’t wait for an answer. He steps forward until he’s so completely invading my space that he eliminates it. He is my space now. My breathing hitches, those damn lungs are always traitors, and my hands move to rest on his stomach. I need something to hold onto, something to steady me. He’s all I have right now.
Brayden’s eyes fall to the long line of skin, three inches wide, now exposed. He grips each side of the robe, his hands just underneath my breasts. My heart hammers in my chest as I wait to see what he’ll do. Slowly, his eyes hit mine. It’s like a punch to the gut that steals my breath for a moment.
“I need to get something out of the way before we go to your bedroom.” I nod; it’s about the only thing I can do. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I don’t like it.” The world stills at his words. Is he fed up with me once and for all? Is he fucking me one last time and then leaving for good? “Whatever you need to do to get your shit together, do it. I really want to have patience, and I’m trying here, but this is driving me crazy. Either you’ll talk to me, or you get your shit together sooner rather than later. Understood?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t want a sure, darlin’. I want a definite yes.” His hands move underneath the robe to grab my waist.
“Yes, Brayden.”
He picks me up, my legs and arms wrap around him, and he kisses me immediately. I wanted to resist this? I’m an idiot. His kiss dominates my thoughts. My senses hone in on Brayden. The heat coming from his body, how hard his hands grip my waist, every move of his mouth and his tongue, and every nip and bite he does. Landing on the bed is like ramming into a door because I was so distracted by his mouth that I didn’t pay attention to anything else.
Brayden quickly removes my panties. He kisses me again, his hands roam all over my body for a moment before I only feel the brief touch of his knuckles as he undoes his tie. I try to help with undressing him, but he slaps my hands away. My heart nearly catapults out of my chest when his tie slides off, tickles my skin, and then, without even looking, he ties my wrists together over my head. I can’t budge them at all. This isn’t the first time he’s done this to someone. I don’t know if that thrills me or terrifies me a little.
He pulls away for a moment to pull something out of his pocket. A blindfold. An actual blindfold! He owns a blindfold! I can’t even acknowledge how he obviously came prepared. My breathing shallows as he covers my eyes. I’ve never been with anyone who actually tied me up and blindfolded me. One guy talked about it, but he never did it.
The heat of Brayden’s body disappears, but I can hear the sounds of fabric sliding against fabric as he undresses. Then, I hear footsteps, but they’re going away, not coming closer.
“Brayden?”
“Still here,” he says from across the room, though I don’t know what he’s doing over there. What is he doing?
“I haven’t ever done this before,” I find myself saying, my nerves getting the best of me. There’s mostly excitement, and there’s a lot of trust because it’s Brayden, but I can’t exactly get rid of all the nerves.
His footsteps come closer and then his hands are on my body. He lifts me further up the bed, which dips as he then climbs on. I think he’s hovering over me. A soft kiss graces the spot between my breasts. “Want me to remove them?”
“No.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
Another kiss. “That’s the point I want you to remember.” As his lips find mine and his hands grab my breasts, I have a feeling he isn’t talking about my trust in him in the bedroom.
I wake in the morning with a smile on my face, stretching as if that could clear away all of the soreness in my body. During my stretch, my feet bump into Otis, who makes a noise like he’s annoyed, and then I bump into Brayden.
“That’s one hell of a smile to wake up with,” he grumbles.
I lean over and kiss him. “Thanks to you.”
He grins. “You seem normal again. If I’d known that was all you needed, I would’ve done it sooner.”
I laugh, but don’t say anything. We’ll see how I feel once the high of sex wears off. I almost feel brave enough to ask him if he actually sees some kind of future for us or not.
Almost.
“I watched your game last night.”
His smile stays in place. “You did?”
“You don’t believe me? I did! You scored. So did some other people.” At this, he laughs. “Those twins are something else, too. That pass and that goal in the third?” I shake my head in amazement, which leads to Brayden laughing harder.
“I can’t believe you watched.”
“Why? You wanted me to come to do the same thing.”
“It just sounds like you got invested.”
“I did. Those twins did it for me.”
His smile leaves. “That is not a sentence I need to hear you say.”
This time it’s me laughing. “Just being honest with you. Is it me or are they really good? You’re the only one who knows hockey between the two of us.”
“They’re good. They’re also little assholes. They’ve started talking at the same time; freaks me out.” I laugh harder until Brayden kisses my neck. “I leave later today for a road trip.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Come back late Saturday night. There’s a game Sunday, so might not see you until Monday, but I’ll try.”
“Okay.” This is perfect timing. He’ll be gone for a few days, I’ll get some much-needed space, and I’ll have my shit together by the time he gets back as requested. This feeling of optimism stays with me as he kisses me goodbye and I get ready for work. I can do this. I can almost hear Rose in my mind, telling me not to fuck this up.
Life has other plans for me.
Brayden comes into the shop around eleven with a container of food. “I cooked you lunch.”
“Really? Thanks.”
“I need payment.” He folds his arms on the counter and leans forward with a grin.
“Is that the only reason why you came?” I tease.
He nods seriously, causing me to laugh, but I lean over to give him the goodbye kiss he’s looking forward to. He takes more than I bargained for and I’m almost embarrassed that he’s kissing me like this in front of customers when he pulls away. “I’ll see you Sunday once I get back,” he promises.
A dreamy sigh escapes me as I watch him leave. A snort snaps me out of it. I glance around the store and see a woman whose eyes keep flicking back and forth between me and the elderly lady she’s with.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” I finally ask in my friendliest voice.
Her mouth parts, but she hesitates. “Are you dating Brayden?”
She knows Brayden? Maybe it’s because she follows the team. “Are you a fan?” I ask.
She snorts. “God, no. I’m an ex-girlfriend. I’m sorry for the snorts. I hope for your sake that he’s a lot better now than when I was with him.” Without another word, she turns toward the elderly lady and seems to help her pick fabric.
I’m left stunned, though. She has to have a lot of hurt or a big grudge or both to say something like that to me, right? She basically said he was terrible with her. A sinking feeling slams into my gut as I cut fabric for the lady with her, who by eavesdropping, I discover is her grandmother. Why couldn’t she have kept her mouth shut? I have enough doubts as it is without her unknowingly fueling the fire.
I’m tempted to text Brayden and say I ran into one of his ex-girlfriends. Where exactly would that conversation go? He’s already told me a different version than what Maryann said. Who’s to say he won’t continue with that? These thoughts plague me all day.
It may be Wednesday, but it sounds like Barday to me. I head straight to the closest bar after work. Things only worsen there. My first drink is in my hand for all of two seconds when a guy comes up to me, so close his chest touches my entire side. One glance at him is all it takes for my body to stiffen, not that he notices.
“Steven, what do you want?” Hello, bad decision, number I-lost-count.
“That’s no way to greet an old friend.” His grin makes me shiver from the creeps. Just because I liked him once, or at least liked him enough to fuck him, doesn’t mean he can’t gross me out now.
“Go away.”
His hand moves to rest on my mid-thigh and I immediately shove it off, which makes him laugh. He leans in even closer, his lips touching my ear and making me wish I could cut it off. “I’ve heard a rumor about you.”
“There are rumors about me?”
“Of course there are rumors about one of the city’s whores.” He says it so casually as if it’s so obvious and as if I should already know this. Steven was one of those guys who liked to call me names. Unfortunately, I let him get away with it far too many times. Between that and him knowing that I can’t stand it when he does call me a whore, he would say it even more.
“What’s the rumor, Steven?” I ask. The sooner I can get to the bottom of whatever he wants, the sooner he’ll go away.
“That my old whore has settled down. That you’ve turned into a one-man woman. That Brayden Hayes was the man to turn you.” Steven props an elbow on the bar and rests his chin in his hand. I want to smack his head right off. “Tell me, does Brayden know about your past?”
“What do you want if you already know the rumor is true?”
He grins. “To annoy the hell out of you.” With his free hand, he runs a finger down my jaw. “I have missed doing that.”
I shove his hand away. “Too bad.” There’s only so much I can take from Steven these days and I’ve reached my limit. Standing, I leave my half-empty glass of alcohol behind and head home.
How did I ever get involved with a guy like that? He has asshole stamped on his forehead. And that’s without opening his mouth. My forehead probably says worst decision maker, despite what Steven would say. He’d have whore plastered over my entire face. Sure, I’ve made some questionable decisions, including deciding to sleep around, but at the same time, I don’t regret that. I regret who I chose to sleep with more than the act of sleeping around.
I regret letting them get close. Duping me into thinking we were friends on a most basic level, or something more in some cases. I regret not paying attention to the subtle signs when I was being wronged. I regret my actions when it comes to guys like Zane.
“Hey, big fella,” I coo at Otis when I open the door to the house. He’s about the only boy I can count on these days. After our walk, I refill his food and water bowls and then head to my bedroom to change into something more comfortable. To further torture myself, I settle in on the couch to continue reading my mom’s diaries.
Half of the time, she’s complaining about how I slept around. The other half, she wished I’d get pregnant, only to turn around and say she would end up raising the kid because I’m clearly irresponsible. Thinking of my past choices, I shudder at the thought of having a baby with any of them. Only a handful would likely be good dads.
She talks the most about the quilt shop. How she thinks I’m mismanaging it, how I’m surely running it into the ground, and how pissed she is that Grandma left it to me and not her. Mom was never in the shop that I can remember. It’s always confused me why she wanted it so badly once Grandma died. Why the sudden interest in it?
Her diaries don’t tell me much.
I do uncover a horror. Did Dad read that she cheated on him? Did he make it this far? What am I supposed to do if he wants them back? Conveniently lose this one? Or maybe he knew and that explains his grouchiness. I don’t know.
After a few hours of reading and another walk with Otis, I head to bed. Seeing my birth control pills, I grab the package. I think it’s almost time to refill.
Wait. How is this possible? I could’ve sworn I was due for a refill soon, which would mean my period should be starting, but I just picked these up last week. Checking the date on my calendar, it was the same date as Brayden’s concussion. No wonder I forgot I picked them up.
But more importantly, where in the fuck is my period?
“Well?” she pushes. “Do you want kids?”
“Mom, what the fuck are you doing?”
I gulp. This is not happening. I don’t want kids. Mom never thought I could take care of one. I’m not ready for one. Brayden clearly doesn’t want one. No, no, no. Nope, I can’t deal with this. Brayden isn’t here. What am I going to do?
Without hesitating, I find a suitcase and start packing.