Page 94 of A Little Tempting

He scratches along his jaw, avoiding my gaze. “You could say so. He’s not so bad as long as I keep my distance, but thanks to my side gig, sometimes it’s a little easier said than done.”

“He seemed like he had it out for you.”

“He’s always had it out for me,” he explains. “But at least now I’m able to defend myself.”

My body ices at his insinuation. At the idea of anyone hurtinganyoneunder the guise of discipline. “He hit you?”

“All the time.” Reeves smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he stretches his legs out in front of him, getting comfortable beside me on the couch with only the moonlight peeking through the windows. “A few of my teachers had a hunch about what was going down, but that kind of accusation, in general, is messy. That kind of accusation against a cop when you live in a small town?” He grimaces. “Yeah, not so much.”

He’s right. Who do you call when the police aren’t an option? I mean, technically, they are, but I’m not an idiot. I’ve heard the stories. Officers band together, and it’s usually a good thing, but there’s a flip side to camaraderie, and in this instance? A teacher’s word against a police officer’s, especially if they’re wrong, would make a huge mess for everyone involved. But to deal with something like that and to see so many people turn a blind eye to your pain would be…awful. And so unfair, I can barely stomach it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be.” He shrugs. “Sometimes we get the shit end of the deal. What matters is how you handle it.”

“And how do you handle it?” I ask.

“By protecting those I can,” he murmurs.

Noticing his bandaged knuckles resting in his lap, I grimace. “Speaking of protection, are your hands okay?”

“I’m a hockey player. My hands have been busted up more times than I can count.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t exactly make me feel better.” I grab his hands from his lap and bring them between us, examining the damage to his knuckles. Blood splotches the white bandages, and I can only imagine how busted up they must be beneath the gauze.

“Speaking of damage,” Concern creases the outer corners of his eyes. “How’s the head?”

“I already told you I’m fine.”

“All right, I’ll be more specific. Any headache? Is it the reason you were rummaging through the medicine cabinet?”

My brows dip, but instead of confirming or denying him, I keep my lips pressed tightly together.

“You gonna tell me about it?” he pushes.

“I believe we already had this conversation,” I point out.

“And yet you still manage to dodge it anytime I ask for specifics.”

“Fine.” Blowing the air from my lungs, I give in. “Let me repeat for the billionth time how this isn’t a big deal.”

“Small deal. Got it.” He winks. “Continue.”

“When I was younger, I took a hit to the head with a puck.” I touch my hairline and the scar hidden beneath it, then place my hand back in my lap. “I don’t even remember it. We were playing roller hockey, and then I woke up in the hospital. I was out for two days. They were afraid I wouldn’t wake up at all.”

I wait for the inevitable pity to spark in his eyes, but it’s absent.

“It was Everett, wasn’t it.” It isn’t a question. It doesn’t need to be. “He’s the one who hit you.”

With a nod, I curl the sleeves of his hoodie into my palms and fold my arms. “Like I said, it was an accident. No one holds it against him, but…well, it is what it is, and apparently, he’s dead set on spending the rest of his life feeling like he owes me or something.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Our fight tonight,” I admit, hating how stupid it was. Everything. My reaction. His response. The last few weeks altogether.

So. Freaking. Stupid.

“What’d you fight about?” Reeves prods.

---