Page 19 of Puck Block

I picture the last game I played and remember the number of assists I had. I think of everything about the game so I can hide from the trauma that’s creeping toward me from hearing her cry. I block out the sterile scent of the hospital that I know isn’t really there and pretend I’m in the middle of the rink, celebrating with my team, instead of in a room, watching the doctor’s failed attempt at bringing my mother back.

My hand grips Taytum’s head a little tighter, and when she pulls back and peers at me with watery eyes, I know I’ll do anything to make her stop crying.

“I don’t want to die alone,” she whispers, licking her swollen lips.

Her hiccup cuts through her cries, and I swallow.What?

“You’re not going to. You have me,” I say.

“That’s not what I mean!” She’s getting worked up again, and I try to ground myself.

My hands find her cheeks, and I wipe away the moisture soaking her soft skin when I sit us on the couch. “I’m sick of pleasing everyone. The pressure is suffocating, Ford.” She turns away and holds back the rest of her ambitions before snapping her soul-wrecking blue eyes to mine. “Don’t you get it? I’m justsotired. I don’t want to feel apologetic for experiencing college and dating, or losing myself to some guy in a random room at a party when I’m already apologetic for this.” She points to the monitor that I know is under her shirt. “I can’t control this, and I can’t control everyone worrying about me.” There’s a hitch in her voice, and I hate it.

“Stop being so perfect, and maybe we’ll stop worrying that we’re going to lose you,” I crack, trying to lighten the mood. My eyes bounce between hers, and I say something a little too emotional. “If I could take your diabetes away, I would.” It’s a staggering truth, but it’s out there in the open now. “But we can’t control that.”

Her head pops up, and I’m not sure I like the look festering in her glossy eyes. “You’re right. That’s why you’re going to help me.”

My heart beats a little too fast, especially with her on my lap. “Help you with what?”

The hope blossoms, and her tears start to dry. She doesn’t know it, but I could be swayed to do anything with her looking at me like she is right now. “You’re going to help me date.”

No.

No way.

Nope.

Taytum sits up, and I’m too shocked by her straddling me to muster up my refusal. She flips her blonde hair over hershoulder, and her desires begin to fall from her mouth like a waterfall. I’m drowning by the end.

I want to talk to a guy without you and Emory sending him a death glare.

I want to go on dates.

I want to have one-night stands.

I want to feel as confident as I make myself seem.

I want to fall in love.

Each of her wants is a knife in my stomach, but the last one twists in real good. The thought of her falling in love and getting her heart broken will send me and Emory to prison. The thought of her falling in love and him loving her back? That’ll kill me.

“You owe me, Ford.”

I snap to attention.

“You’ve ruined every date I’ve ever had. Guys look at me like I’m a game instead of a potential girlfriend, and that’s your fault.”

I swallow because she’s right. I’ve always been on a one-track mindset that was planted by Emory years ago. Taytum has been off-limits to everyone, and if I couldn’t have her, no one could.

I sigh. “Fine.”

She perks up, and I think about other guys touching her to keep my dick from getting hard beneath her shifting in my lap. “You’ll help me? You’ll take care of Emory? And you’ll stop interfering?”

I nod.

Taytum rolls her eyes. “Say it.”

The look I give her causes her to raise her eyebrow with attitude. “Fine,” I grit. “I will hide your little rendezvous from Emory, and I won’t interfere…”

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