Page 11 of Knotted Laces

Speaking of which, I need to go.

But something keeps my feet glued to the concrete of the porch. “You played good tonight,” I say then freeze when something crosses his face. Something like?—

Pain.

Cam Jackson is in pain.

“What is it?” I ask, heart kicking against my rib cage. “Did you get hurt in the game?”

Just that quickly, the emotion is gone, tucked away, shoved down, and…fuck, if that doesn’t make me want to rage against the world. He shouldn’t have to bury his emotions, shouldn’t have to hide.

Not Cam.

He’sgood.

Which might be why I do something stupid.

Something that sends me down a slippery slope of inevitability.

It’s why—instead of leaving—I close the distance between us and…

Hug him tightly.

CHAPTER THREE

Cam

“Meow!”

I grunt when the cat lands on my stomach and immediately starts making biscuits, ignoring the fact that I was trying to get up off the floor. She plunks down, taking her time to make herself comfortable, clearly not giving a fuck about anything other than finding a place to sleep.

A place that’s inconvenient for me, so it’s better for her.

“Joan,” I grumble, giving in to the inevitable and lowering myself back to the floor.

At least I have an actual pillow for my head—that’s a perk that comes from entertaining a gaggle of rescue kittens that Chrissy, Rome’s girlfriend, Jean-Michel’s daughter—and the owner of a local cat charity—is currently housing.

Joan turns her head and fixes me with a stern stare. “Meow,” she warns.

“Joan ofFreakingArc,” I correct quickly.

“Meow,” she says, pleased and closes her eyes, purrs vibrating through her furry body.

“If, six months ago, I thought she’d be doing anything but hissing at everyone and trying to go full Assault Cat, I’d be lying,” Chrissy says.

I turn my head, careful not to disturb the warrior queen of cats and glance over at Rome’s girlfriend, my lips tugging up at the sight of her sprawled out like I am and covered nearly head to toe in sleeping kittens. Then I return my focus to my own bundle of fur. I dare to slowly reach out and gently scratch the top of Joan’s head. She rumbles a bit in warning—because she used to be that surly, assault cat—but tolerates my indiscretion. “She just needed a persistent hockey player to melt that icy exterior,” I declare.

An icy exterior that another woman in my life has.

One who is prickly and great at slamming down frosty, impenetrable walls and didn’t even tell me she moved twenty-five hundred miles across the country to put down roots in my city.

Ats has always been distant, untouchable, and not for me.

Because she looks at Lex like he’s her world—orhadanyway, before he fell for Frankie, and she moved across the country, and?—

She started doing things like hugging me and whispering, “You’re good, Cam. So damned good. I hope you know that.”

For a second last night I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misread all of it, the years, the closeness, the soft smiles she had for my brother.

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