Altercation (Playmaker Duet #1; Prescott Family #4; Love In All Places #6)

by Mignon Mykel

  Asher’s body trembled against mine. I could feel as each one wracked through her. Not wanting to lose the connection just yet, I tapped her thigh until she unhooked her feet from behind me, laying us back so she was on top of me. The movement had my cock twitching inside her again but shit, I was tired.

  I wrapped both my arms around her, holding her tight, and moved my lips to her ear. “You good?”

  She nodded, her head still down. I realized that I hadn’t heard a true word from her, not once had her husky, sexy voice broken into the room. I released her back so I could take her face in my hands, lifting her so I could get her eyes.

  They were still clear. Her pupils were dilated and her face still flushed, but she didn’t look to be in the throes of anxiety or fear.

  “Talk to me, Ash,” I said quietly.

  “Thank you.”

  I frowned. Not what I was expecting. “For?”

  She just gave me her small smile and the slightest shakes of her head. “Just, thank you.”

  I had Asher pull on one of my shirts before I got rid of the condom, leaving for the bathroom to clean up and to grab a washcloth for her. It was a damn good thing I pulled on lounge pants, too, because no sooner than I eased my bedroom door shut behind me, I could hear the television on in the living room.

  I went into the bathroom to do my business, hoping I could get back to my room without Nico noticing, but the damn guy had his head looking over the back of the couch, waiting for me.

  His grin was fucking wide and he opened his mouth to say something, but I pointed at him. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  “I was just going to say, my baby boy’s all grown up,” the asshole laughed. “And damn, are you a loud fucker. I may have to find a new place to stay whenever Asher’s in town.”

  I checked my bedroom door to be sure it hadn’t cracked open. “Don’t say anything to her.”

  He shook his head, still grinning, but turned back to the television. “I wouldn’t say anything to her. You though, brother, are fair game.”

  “Whatever.” I turned back toward my room, but I couldn’t stop the grin on my own face. Everything with Asher felt right, and if I had to live through some good-natured ribbing from my roommate, I was cool with it.

  “Asher coming to practice in the morning?” he called out.

  “We hadn’t talked about it yet.”

  Just before I pushed into my room though, the damn asshole added, “Keep it down, you animal.”

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose and stepped into my room, closing the door behind me with a click, and then locking it. I glanced over at my bed and saw Asher sitting in her corner, cross-legged with my shirt draped over her, and while her face was red with embarrassment, she didn’t look put out in the least.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled and she shook her head.

  “It’s okay. I like Nico,” she added. “He’s fun. He reminds me of how Caleb and Jonny tease you.”

  “It’s that damned big brother mentality.” I walked over to the bed and crawled over to her. When she put her hand to the back of my head, I leaned in to kiss her.

  “Still good?” I asked against her lips.

  “Fantastic,” she whispered back.

  I kissed her once more before moving back the sheets and duvet, holding them up for her to slide under. I followed suit, pulling her close to my side.

  “Tomorrow, I have an optional morning skate,” I told her. The room was still light enough to see, but the sun was sinking and it wouldn’t be long until the room was completely dark.

  “Which you’re going to.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  She rubbed her hand familiarly over my stomach. “You’re going to go.”

  “Alright. So, I have a morning skate that I’m going to. And then it’s a seven-o’clock game.”

  “I brought my camera,” she said. “I can go out and shoot pictures while you nap.” She remembered the routine.

  The few times she was here last season during a game day, I either didn’t nap and played like shit, or she watched a movie in the other room. It didn’t surprise me that she came with an idea in mind for those three hours of the day.

  But it was a new season.

  I was a new player.

  And I had this amazing girl.

  “Nah, I think I want you here.”

  “It’s three hours of your day, Porter.”

  “Yeah, and I want you here.”

  She shook her head good-naturedly but didn’t further argue the point, as I continued, “Depending on the outcome, the guys will probably want to go out after.”

  “You’re still not twenty-one, Porter,” she laughed.

  “Sometimes we go to Ant’s house.” But with it being a Thursday, his kids would probably be in bed after the game and Marie didn’t take too kindly to them being woken up at ten at night.

  “Speaking of my not being twenty-one,” I added. “Someone has a birthday soon.”

  “Perhaps.” She turned her face into my side and I could feel as she smiled against me.

  “Should we do breakfast on Saturday?” I knew damn well when we figured out this long weekend, that her birthday fell on it.

  “Don’t you have a game Saturday? You’ll have morning skate.”

  “It’s your birthday, Ash. It’s optional, and I’ll be skipping that one.” I felt her start to protest, but quickly added, “I won’t skip tomorrow. But I am skipping Saturday.”

  “Fine.” She didn’t sound pleased but I wasn’t bending on that one. “We’ll do breakfast. Same place?”

  I nodded, rubbing her shoulder. “Make it a tradition.”

  She needed those in her life, and I was more than willing to give them to her.

  “So, you’re going to feed me Saturday, but what about tonight?”

  I grinned wide. She was such a smartass. “I suppose I could feed you tonight yet. I’m just really damn comfortable right now.”

  “Maybe in a few minutes, then.”

  I was beginning to get her number. Any time we would settle in for a movie, her ‘few minutes’ turned into her fully relaxed at my side, her lips slightly parted. Asher fell asleep against me quickly, likely worn out from both traveling and our playing. I’d give her a few minutes, but I still had to feed her. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let her go to bed hungry?

  I grinned to myself at the label.

  I’d been against labels in high school, but it felt right when Mo and I took that step. That was the first, and only other, time I was good wearing the label.

  And if it had felt right then?

  Right now, it felt as if the universe was on its correct axis. ‘Right’ didn’t even begin to define how I felt.

  Careful to not disturb Asher, I reached over for my phone, flipping on the camera and turning it to forward-facing. I reached above, and took the picture of Asher lying against me, my chest bare, with her hand over my heart, but realized her face was completely visible.

  I took this picture for myself, but then carefully moved her hair so her face was partially hidden. This one was being posted. I knew from the WAGs picture incident that Ash wasn’t too keen on the idea of her face being plastered all over the internet. She didn’t tell me as much, but I had a feeling it had a lot to do with why she changed her name. And while I was posting this on my private Instagram, an account that only my family and close friends had access to, pictures were stolen often.

  I snapped the new picture and applied a grungy black and white filter, before adding the description, “Right. #mine #offthemarket.”

  My sisters would have a field day.

  Shit, the moment Ace saw it, she’d probably be blowing up Asher’s phone.

  Everyone knew Asher and I were together, but this was one of those public declarations that put any questions to rest.

  Asher was mine.

  And I was pretty sure she always would be.

 
Before turning off my phone, I ventured onto the book of faces. Facebook could be such a timewarp, but I had to check to be sure my Instagram post didn’t post to my Facebook account. If any of my sisters friended just one wrong person, anything I posted could be floating around the WAGs site.

  It did post—I was terrible at deselecting the option before posting—so I quickly deleted it. Then I mindlessly scrolled through my newsfeed, stopping at memes. Before I closed out of the app though, an older picture of Mo filled the timeline, posted by Alex, a girl Mo and I had been friends with in high school.

  I frowned but scrolled past it to read the caption. I can’t believe it’s been ten months, Mo. #rip

  Huh? I could feel the confused look on my face as I tried to do investigating. I clicked into the search bar, pulling up Mo’s profile. Her timeline was filled with messages of people saying they missed her, that life wasn’t nearly as bright without her.

  I kept scrolling through the posts, stopping when I reached a post from her, dated back in January. It was just a post saying how she loved everyone at home, and that she was going to miss them when she went back to school the next week.

  The next post on her wall was from one of her cheerleading friends.

  I can’t believe you’re gone.

  What the hell happened? I was so fucking out of the loop.

  A few posts later, someone posted a news article. I clicked into it and came face-to-face with a picture of Mo’s car wrapped around a tree. My brows rose, shocked.

  I read through the article—she hit black ice on a curve. The roads near our houses weren’t always the safest dry, let alone in the winter.

  How the hell hadn’t I heard this? Why didn’t my parents tell me?

  She and I may have had a falling out, but she had still been my friend for years. How the hell did I not know that she died?

  How the hell did I find out on Facebook—ten months later?

  My chest ached at the thought that the last time I talked to her, she left upset. I looked down at Asher beside me.

  If I hadn’t have met Asher, would I have let Mo stay that weekend?

  If she had stayed, would we have started something up again?

  Would she have died?

  I knew that ‘what ifs’ were pointless. Besides, I felt with every fiber of my being that this was where I was supposed to be.

  But it didn’t help with the fact that a girl who was once my best friend, who was my only other serious girlfriend, fucking died and I didn’t know about it.

  I swallowed past the lump of disappointment in my throat before opening up my photo gallery to look at the first picture I took with Asher just now.

  Right.

  This was right.

  I turned off my phone—I didn’t want any interruptions from well-meaning family members tonight when they saw the second picture—and put it on the nightstand before pulling Asher close again. She sighed in her sleep and I pressed my lips to her forehead.

  “Asher,” I murmured against her skin. She needed to wake up because I needed to feed her, but also because I needed her to ground me.

  She didn’t stir.

  I pressed kisses down her temple, over her cheek, down her jawline. I readjusted myself beside her, allowing her to roll to her back, as I moved my kisses down the side of her neck, nibbling along her collarbone.

  Above me, she made a small mewling noise. I moved my lips to her other side, sucking along her collarbone there as I brought my other hand to the lower hem of the shirt she wore. I dragged my fingers up her outside thigh slowly and whispered against her skin between kisses, “Wake up, sweetheart.”

  And she did.

  With a gasp.

  And then her hands were slapping at me, and I wasn’t sure what the hell was happening. I sat up quickly, my hands out and in the air. “Ash! It’s me. It’s just fucking me.”

  She scrambled to sit in the corner—it was a damn defense mechanism and fuck, I hated it—her knees drawn up and her arms hugging them tight. If it weren’t for the panic all over her face, I would likely question every damn moment we had spent together over the last year.

  I still had fucking questions though.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. She was visibly shaking, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. She obviously didn’t want my hands on her. “I’m clau—”

  “-strophobic, yeah. I know,” I bit out, my words angrier than I intended them to be, the last ten minutes of my life all heading into the tone of my words. “That’s not fucking claustrophobia, Asher.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and I felt like ten times the biggest heel on the history of earth. “Fuck, Asher.” I rubbed the palm of my hand into my eye socket. “I can’t play this game without all the rules.” I started reaching toward her but took my hand back at the last moment.

  I still didn’t know if she wanted my hands on her. She was so closed off right now.

  Did I leave? Stay?

  Offer to hold her?

  Keep quiet?

  I had no fucking clue and every time something like this happened, it was a quick punch back to reality—

  As much as I thought I knew her, I really didn’t know shit.

  I needed a moment.

  No sooner than I stood up though, Asher was on her knees, reaching for me. “Don’t go. Please don’t leave.” Her hand found mine and she tugged on my arm.

  “I don’t know what to do for you,” I admitted quietly, still standing beside the bed. “We start moving somewhere, Ash, and then…” I shook my head. “I just need a minute. I’ll be back.” I squeezed her hand. “I promise.”

  Her hand dropped to the bed, freeing me, but before I could open the door and leave the room, I learned just what kind of chokehold this girl had on me, because her whispered words knocked the fucking life out of me.

  “I was raped.”

  My heart was pounding frantically.

  It was the first time I admitted the words out loud. I hadn’t even said the words to Marie.

  Pulling my lips between my teeth, I bit down, trying to focus on that pain rather than the pain of the memories.

  Stale beer in the air. Calling me sweetheart. His hands more daring each night.

  My body’s reaction.

  I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, bringing my fist up to my mouth as a sudden sob wracked through me.

  “Shit, Asher,” I heard Porter murmur, though it was difficult to hear much of anything over the roar in my ears. I held my breath as sobs shook my body, tears fighting through my closed lids.

  The mattress dipped a moment before I was engulfed in Porter’s strong arms. He pulled me to him as my body shook against his, silently crying onto his chest.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so goddamned sorry,” I heard him murmur into my hair. His lips were pressed to the crown of my head and he rocked us back and forth as I cried. We kneeled like that, my arms crushed between us as he held me tight while I pressed my fist against my mouth. After what felt like forever, my body finally stopped shaking and the tears dried. I still shook though, with small hiccups moving through me.

  I pushed back from him, my head angled down so he couldn’t see my face. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

  I knew better than to hope he’d leave it at that. That wasn’t Porter’s way.

  He gently took my chin, lifting my face toward his. “No. Not that.”

  His expression on mine wasn’t filled with pity. Concern and sadness, yes, but he also looked hurt and angry on my behalf.

  I couldn’t tell him everything about those nights. I couldn’t tell him that it was the man deemed my guardian who did it. I couldn’t tell him that my body liked what he had done to it.

  But still, “I should have told you.” I should have been honest on that front, at least.

  “Is that the real reason why you can’t…” He glanced to the bed before his eyes met mine again. “Is that the rea
son you can’t be on the bottom?” His hand dropped from my chin but he didn’t go far; he just moved his hand to rest on my thigh.

  I nodded. “He also called me ‘sweetheart’,” I admitted. “I think that was the real aggravator right now though.” My voice was low and gritty; I hardly recognized it. “Because I know it’s you. I just…” I took a deep breath and brought my eyes down again. “Sometimes the memories are just there.”

  Porter moved to sit more comfortably and he pulled me into his lap. “Thank you for telling me. I don’t…” His sigh was heavy and he squeezed me tighter. “I can’t fix things if I don’t know what’s wrong. And I gotta tell you, Ash, you and me? I like you and me. I don’t want to do anything to drive a wrench between us.”

  I slid my arms around his waist, holding him back as tightly. He may like us now, but what would he think if he knew what really happened?

  Dirty. Disgusting. Broken.

  “I promise to be honest with you, but I need you to be honest with me too,” he added.

  “Okay.”

  I was on my feet with the rest of the crowd. Thirty-two seconds left on the clock in a game that could determine the Stanley Cup winner. The score was tied at three, but Portland had the advantage of a well-timed—for them—power play.

  Five Portland players on the ice, compared to the four Rockets.

  Over the months, I learned a lot about hockey. Between the Prescott parents, spending time with Avery, and then coming down literally every other week, I knew the ins and outs of hockey nearly as well as Porter did.

  Just don’t trust me on the ice with a stick and puck. I’d probably pull all sorts of fouls.

  If I could stay up on my skates.

  I knew that the four men on ice right now—Porter, Nico, their captain Ant, and another player named Ricky Stein—were the Rockets’ top penalty kill group, meaning that while they were at the man disadvantage, they were a strong group of players and usually able to keep the puck from getting near Armie in goal.