Page 138 of Lace 'em Up

She stills, eyes lifting from the book she’d been reading—one I recommended—and connecting with mine. She sets the paperback to the side. “Yup.” She slides down from the counter, leans back against it. “How was practice?”

I move toward her, cupping her face in my hands, tilting her head up and kissing her deeply. “Pat’s an asshole,” I say when I break the kiss, “but that’s not a surprise.” I tuck an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. “How was your day?”

She stills.

“What?” I ask, leaning back, staring into unfathomable green eyes. “What happened?”

“I…” She presses her lips together.

My heart starts pounding, speeding up further when her eyes close for a long moment, panic making my voice hoarse. “Princess.”

She inhales, exhales, and her lids peel back.

And I know what she’s about to tell me is going to change everything.

Going to destroy it.

And—

“Where’s Zeus?” I ask. “He needs a walk.” I spin away from her, searching the room for my mom, almost desperate for her brand of interruption right now. I’d seen her jacket on the hook, her rental at the curb. She’s got to be close. “Did my mom take him out? I can go meet them, catch up and give you some time to decompress. I know you’ve got a lot happening with the gala and?—”

“King,” she whispers.

I freeze.

Because the way she says my name.

Fuck.

This is going to be bad.

“I need you to look at me,” she says. “I need you to hear me.” Another breath. “And I need you to recognize that I’m here and I’m okay.”

Now I’m freaked the fuck out.

She lifts her hand, extends it in my direction. “Come here, honey.”

I can’t deny her that, can’t deny her anything, even though my pulse is thundering through my veins and my knees feel shaky and my lungs can’t pull in enough air.

It’s like I’m sprinting down the ice at the end of a long shift.

And it’s double overtime in game seven of a series.

And I’m trying to catch a motherfucker from the other team as he bears down on my goalie.

And when I’m close enough to stop him, I catch an edge, eat shit, and slam into the boards.

While the asshole goes on to score.

And…it’s all over.

Because I’m too slow. Too incapable.

You’re not your father.

“King,” Rory says. “Come here, baby.”

I close the final few steps between us, stilling when she takes my hand, laces our fingers together. “I’m here. I’m safe. I’m fine.” A squeeze. “Okay?”

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