“You were practically drooling on your desk,” she teased.
“Please,” I said, shuffling around some case files that I’d had scattered over the top of my desk. “I didn’t fall asleep.” Though I could totally use a power nap. After last weekend I’d had nothing but restless sleep. Hours of tossing and turning, heavy breaths and tense muscles.
That’s what I get for enjoying the luxury resort Porter had taken us to. The bed alone was like falling into a cloud of lavender scented marshmallows. I couldn’t even dare to think about how deep the tub had been. God, I could’ve swum in it.
The experience was amazing and yet, I’d never realized just how small our home was before now.
“I didn’t say you fell asleep,” Grace said, tapping her pen on the arm of her chair. “But you certainly went somewhere.” She fiddled with the end of the pen to avoid looking me in the eye. “Perhaps back to the mansion that giant whisked you off to?”
Heat filled my cheeks, guilt twisting my stomach.
I kind of hated how much I’d enjoyed the weekend—despite the work I’d had to do on Saturday. I’d reveled in the comforts of luxury, something I never allowed myself to do.
Every day since I was sixteen I’d worked toward one goal—keeping Elliott safe. And alongside safety came stability. Stability equaled money and being smart with it. I never splurged on myself, and I made sure to save most of what I made. I knew Elliott was capable of earning a scholarship, but I didn’t ever want to put that kind of pressure on her. Plus, she’d need a car before college, and probably a slew of sports fees and equipment too. I’d manage it all to give her the future she deserved. Because I remembered all too well what it felt like to go hungry. To wear the same dirty clothes for weeks at a time.
But, for just a few days?
It had been freeing to not calculate every penny.
It had been nice to not worry that ordering a desert might set us back for school clothes.
It had been nice to be taken care of for a change.
And I hated myself for that.
Because I didn’t need anyone, couldn’t need anyone.
“I still can’t believe you’ve bogarted the details,” Grace said, her words slicing through my guilt and fear and grounding me in the present.
“Well,” I said. “This is hardly the place to talk about it,” I teased.
She gaped at me. “You dirty girl,” she whisper-hissed.
I laughed, shushing her. “Stop that.”
She rolled her chair across the space that separated our cubicles, the heel of her red pumps dragging a line in the carpeted floor. “You could’ve texted. Called me!”
“I told you we’ve been swamped since we got back,” I said, and that was mostly true. The scare with Melissa on Saturday had been enough for me to go out of my way to take some extra precautions for her—like helping her file a restraining order and buying her a can of pepper spray for her purse. Sure, I knew better than anyone that a restraining order was just a formality to help you later on in a court case, but it had offered her comfort just the same. I’d also grabbed a few stem toys for Liam. Funny, the money I’d taken out of savings for those gifts didn’t churn my guilt factory as much as a weekend away with Porter and the Seattle Sharks. I mean, he’d paid for everything.
Not that it put a dent in his account. Not with his net worth. I mean, his car cost more than my apartment for goodness sake.
“I expect a full rundown on girls’ night this weekend,” Grace said, and I bit down on my lip.
I wanted to tell her, I did.
She’d been the best friend I’d had in years and the fact that our daughters loved each other? A huge bonus.
But telling her about the…kiss?
Memories flooded my mind, sharp and edged with heat that made my blood soar.
Porter’s lips claiming mine, drinking me in, melting the chill in my bones like warm honey folding over itself.
His strong hands, gentle on my hips, my neck, the line of my jaw.
The strength radiating from his massive body against mine.
The way his taste had enhanced the chocolate I’d just eaten, and made me crave him more than anything before.
Just a kiss.
One kiss.
And it had shaken the I don’t need a man for pleasure or anything foundation I’d lived on for years.
Sweet Jesus, he’d made me moan from a kiss.
I’d never turned myself on with so little effort.
And now…what?
He was Elliott’s Big. And a multi-million-dollar NHL star. A bruiser, from what Elliott had told me. Someone paid to end fights. Or start them.
Violent.
I couldn’t stand violence. I’d had enough of it to last me a lifetime.
And yet, Porter had been gentle with me. Caring with Elliott, but also strong enough to challenge her to do better. How could someone inherently violent be so…
“We are still on for tonight, right?” Grace asked, and I shook the thoughts away.
“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m all over the place today, Grace. I’m honestly sleep-deprived.”
Grace waggled her eyebrows, pushing back to her desk. “Is a hockey giant the cause of this sleep loss?”
“No,” I said, heat flooding my skin once again. “No,” I said again for good measure.
I was tired because of my cases.
Tired because of the six-year-old, thread-bare mattress I’d come home to after sleeping in the sea of marshmallows at the resort.
Tired because I knew camp would start on Monday for the Sharks and I hated the idea of Elliott being crushed when Porter inevitably lost interest in the program.
At least I wouldn’t see him anymore.
The thought was both a relief and a terror.
Because I realized I’d grown accustomed to seeing that light in my daughter’s pale green eyes, the one that only sparked when she was about to go on an adventure with Porter. He offered her something I never could, and I both loved and hated him for that.
It’s why you got her into the program.
And now I was wondering if it was a mistake. We were both becoming too attached. And I had a feeling the second the season started, he’d bolt—which who could blame him when it came to his career? Then we’d be assigned a new Big who would not be able to compare—no matter how amazing he or she was.
Elliott and Porter were a perfect match—stubborn and strong and lived for the thrill of competition.
“I’ll bring the wine,” Grace said, and I hadn’t realized she’d been staring at me from her desk. How the once teasing and friendly tone had left her voice, and now she was looking at me like she could see the worry and fear written across my face.
“Good idea,” I said, and quickly buried myself in case obligations before I could over-analyze one more detail regarding Hudson freaking Porter.
* * *
“I’m not going out with Porter today?” Elliott asked as I filled a giant bowl with freshly popped popcorn.
I furrowed my brow, reaching an oven-mitt-gloved hand into the oven to pull out the brownies.
Brownies that would be so…empty without Porter’s taste.
“You saw him two nights ago,” I said, hating the breathless way my voice sounded. Mercifully, he’d picked her up and taken her to a ballpark with only a small wink in my direction.
I don’t know why I’d been afraid that I’d open my door and he’d start professing his undying love for me or something. Why I’d been scared he’d blame our little kiss on him leaving the Big program. Or why I’d been terrified that he wouldn’t say anything and pretend like it had never happened. Because surely, it hadn’t been as soul-shaking for him as it had been for me. He wasn’t the one who’d been practically celibate for nine years—as long as you didn’t count my vibrator—which I didn’t. No, he was NHL royalty and likely had a list of girls on call like any good roster for his needs.
“Mom?”
> “Hmm?” I asked.
Elliott eyed the still hot pan of brownies in my hand, her eyebrows raised.
I quickly sat them down on the stovetop and flung the oven-mitt into its drawer.
“I just thought he might come over,” she continued, shrugging. Her favorite baseball team—the Charleston Hurricanes—shirt was slightly rumpled, the athletic pants even more so, but her auburn waves framed her face instead of being tucked into one of her five caps. There was such hope in those eyes—hope for him.
I laid my palms against the countertop, sucking in a sharp breath. “Grace and Charlie are coming over tonight,” I said, blowing out the air that was tight in my lungs.
“Awesome!” She perked up at that. “I can show Charlie the shells I brought back from the beach.” She turned to rush to her room, but I stopped her.
“Elliott,” I said, and she skidded to a stop, her bare feet digging into our thin carpet. “You know…”
Her brows rose higher the longer it took for me to find the right words.
The words that were getting tangled in my throat.
“The Sharks start camp on Monday,” I said, the words coming out loud and declarative.
“Yeah,” she drug out the word. “We talked about it over hot dogs the other day.”
“Good,” I said, at least he was preparing her. “And I just…well, honey, I just don’t want you to be upset if…”
She shifted, her eyes narrowing in a way that was beyond her ten years. “If what?”
“If Porter decides…” I sighed. “If he needs to focus solely on his career and not the program anymore.” I couldn’t say you because it was too damn painful.
She tilted her head, those auburn waves looking like sheets of flame. “He’s not going to do that.”
“He may. And it wouldn’t be his fault. Hockey is time-consuming and hard and...” And honestly I didn’t know much about the sport other than they had a ton of games and most of them involved some sort of blood on the ice.
“He won’t leave,” she said, such determination in her voice that my heart cracked a little.
“The program was never meant to be forever,” I said, swallowing around the lump in my throat. Good gracious, he’d only been in our lives over a month and already I was aching with the pain my daughter would suffer when he inevitably left. Would it be like that with any Big or was it just because it was him?
Elliott crossed her arms over her chest, a hip popping out just slightly. I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing because damn me if that wasn’t my move when digging in for a fight.
“He won’t leave,” she said again. “I know he won’t.”
“He’s not obligated to stay, Elliott.”
She shrugged. “He wants to. He likes me.”
Another crack.
“Of course he likes you. You’re awesomesauce.”
“Mom,” she groaned, but my tease seemed to soften her. She unfolded her arms and walked the distance between us, looking up at me with those pale green eyes. “He’s not my father.”
My eyes flew wide. “No he isn’t, and you can’t see him as that either because—”
“No, ugh,” she said, rolling her eyes.
My heart slowed down a fraction of the breakneck speed it had raced off to. Liking Porter was one thing, but if she started to really attach herself to him and think of him as more than her Big?
“I meant,” she continued, ignoring my near heart attack. “He’s not my father. He won’t leave without talking to me about it first.”
I was so taken aback I had to blink a few times.
Then those old cracks in my heart, those old scars that had healed over but never really smoothed out, they twisted and stung.
Because I’d forced that on her. He may have left for California to explore job options, but I’d ran. So far and so fast. Before he could ever find us again. To protect us. Free us. I’d done that to my daughter. I’d put this knowledge into her mind, her heart—this certainty that there were men in the world who could hurt her, but she was certain Porter wasn’t one of them.
“You’re sure about that?” I asked, wanting to believe it but also not wanting her to get her heart crushed if it didn’t pan out the way she thought.
She nodded, no doubt in her eyes. “We’re friends, Mom. And he’s…good. Trust me, if he needs to bail for work, he’ll let me know. And I’ll let you know.”
I reached out and smoothed back some of her hair. “How old are you again?”
“Ten,” she said, so proud, so innocent and yet so damn mature.
“When did that happen?” I tucked her into my side.
“Somewhere between one case and the next,” she joked, and I chuckled.
“I love you,” I said, squeezing her.
“Love you, too, Mom.” She let me hug her for a few seconds longer than normal, like she knew I needed the confirmation that she was here, safe, cared for, happy—despite the lack of a good father, or the knowledge that hers was never good enough to fight for her, for me.
And as I let her go, let her carelessly race off to her room like only a ten-year-old could, I felt that ice reinforce all those walls and old scars around my heart. I’d constructed them for a reason all those years ago, to protect Elliott, to protect me.
One good month and a mind-blowing kiss from Hudson Porter couldn’t change that.
I sighed and started cutting the brownies, counting down the seconds until Grace would arrive with some much-needed wine.
Chapter 7
Hudson
“Holy shit, Porter,” Kennedy—one of our trainers—commented, his eyebrows raised as he leaned in closer to the scale. “You gained fifteen pounds since last season.”
“You what?” Lukas turned from his own scale. “Too many brownies?”
I flipped the middle finger at him.
“No, he’s good,” Kennedy said, shaking his head as he wrote down my stats. “It’s all muscle. He’s down to eight percent body fat.”
“Well then, fuck you.” Lukas looked over Max’s shoulder—another of our trainers. “Mine is all muscle, too.”
Max chuckled. “You only gained a pound, and still staying at seven percent body fat.”
Lukas smirked. “Lean, mean, and ready to be seen.”
I shook my head. “That is not how that goes.”
“Whatever,” he shrugged.
“Okay, you two are done. Head over to the bike station. VO2 Max test is next,” Kennedy told us, crooking his finger at Noble and Connor, who had just finished being taped.
Fitness day was anything but fun, but I wasn’t sweating it like some of the older players were. Being taped, weighed, measured, tested, and generally evaluated for our comparative physical fitness levels from last season was taxing, but I never altered my workout from the season. Sure, I had days where I maxed out my calories and ate a few things I shouldn’t, but that only happened when I was with Elliott.
Or Shea.
The taste of brownies filled my mouth as if I’d just licked her fingers clean. Damn, it had been two weeks since I’d kissed her, and I was jonesing for another hit of Shea. We’d seen each other a few times when I picked up Elliott, and she’d even joined us when we hit up the Museum of Pop Culture.
She’d narrowed her eyes at me when I’d suggested she let Elliott join the mini-Sharks, a local, developmental junior hockey league. I’d backed out of her apartment with my hands raised.
“Did you see the new crop of rookies?” Lukas asked as we walked through the training facility’s rehab room to the row of bikes that lined up to way more machinery than cycling should require.
“Something like thirty-four tryouts, right?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yep. The three we drafted, and then more than a few hopefuls.” He rolled his neck, stretching the muscles.
“You’re not nervous, are you? Last time I checked you’re our leading scorer as of last season.” I watched Zbrowski and Haversham finish
their ride, both ripping off their masks as their time trial expired.
Those were two guys who should be worried.
“No, of course not. You?” His eyes flickered sideways at me.
“Nope. They wanted me for a reason, and I won’t let them down.” I was a damn good defenseman, and they’d fought hard in the trade to bring me here. I wasn’t stupid.
“Right. Then two of those twenty jerseys are ours.”
“Damn straight.”
There were twenty-three players allowed on an NHL playing roster, but only twenty would dress for games. Eighteen skaters, two goalies. Everyone else the Sharks would decide to sign would go on one of the reserve lists, whether they were injured, or sent down to the minors to skate their game up until they were ready to play.
I sure as fuck wasn’t being sent anywhere besides the Sharks’ locker room. Period.
Our turn came, and we both strapped into the bikes, dealing with the obnoxiousness of being hooked up to the machines.
Chloe placed masks that would measure out oxygen output over our noses and mouth, and adjusted the resistance.
“Damn, I wouldn’t want to be you,” Lukas said, his voice distorted by the mask as he watched her increase mine. It was meant to sit at nine percent of your body’s mass.
I eyed his skinny legs. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be you, either.”
“Hey, lean is good.”
“If you say so.”
Chloe clucked her tongue at us. “Boys, boys. Shut it and get ready to bike. Pedal as hard as you possibly can for the next thirty seconds, and yes, I do reserve the right to mock you after the results.”
Oh, it was on.
The fact that Chloe-- our physical trainer—was married to Bently Rogers only made her that much more prone to give us shit. We all loved her for it.
By mid-afternoon, I was smoked. Exhausted. Ready for bed, which was pretty much geriatric.
As I walked out to my car, my phone rang.
I cringed as I slipped it out of my back pocket, praying it wasn’t another plea from Nat to talk to her. I would have thought that seven months of radio silence would have given her the fucking hint, but nope.
Bruiser Page 8
