Page 34 of Daring the Defender

“I’m fine.” I swallow back the lingering pain. “I’m just learning there’s a lot more to getting out of a serious relationship than breaking up.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I get that.”

I help her up, even though she doesn’t need it in the new clothes. There’s a part of me that likes helping her. Likes feeling her body in my hands. A distraction from the pain in my chest. And as I shut the door, and walk around the front of the truck, I know that even though I will never admit this out loud, I just want to see her cute little ass in those tight jeans.

It’s not until we’re both in the truck and I’m sliding the key into the ignition when I notice she’s studying me from the passenger seat.

“What?” I ask, unable to sit under her scrutiny any longer.

“There’s more to you than I realized.”

I laugh, although it’s not in amusement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “Axel’s never told us much about his friends or teammates. I figured you guys were all just a bunch of meatheads like the football players back home. But you’re a talented artist, and strangely good at picking out women’s clothing–”

“And men’s,” I add.

“Yes, your outfits definitely make a statement.” From the way she says it, I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or not, but I decide to take it as one.

“I’m getting a degree in graphic design,” I tell her, “and recently I’ve been doing a little more with fabrics, like working with textiles or block and screen prints.”

“What about hockey?”

“Hockey is in the forefront, but I knew I needed something to fall back on just in case.” I take the turn into Shotgun. “The team is doing a charity fundraiser next month and the PR department for the team chose a few of my designs for the T-shirts that will be for sale.”

“That’s so great.” She grins. “I’ll be able to get a Reid Wilder original.”

The image of her in one of my shirts, with nothing on underneath, pops into my headandcreates a throb between my legs. God, I like that idea way more than I should.

“What kind of charity event?”

“It’s a community outreach day for kids in foster care. They get to come to the rink and take a few lessons from the guys on the team, then load up on junk food and watch a scrimmage.”

“That sounds really fun.” She tilts her head. “Is this something you did as a kid?”

“Actually, yeah. It’s how I started playing hockey. My foster parents took me to one of these when I first moved in withthem. I’d never even put on a pair of skates before, but I took to it quickly. My parents were grateful. They’d been looking for a sport or activity to get me involved in and hockey was perfect. By the next weekend they had me signed up.”

“And now you’re giving back to the same program.” She beams. “I love that for you.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m happy to help out.” I pull up to the Manor. “I’ve got to get back to campus for class, but I can help you with the bags if you need it.”

“I’m fine.” She shrugs out of the jacket and rests it on the bench between us and grabs the bags at her feet. “Thanks for taking me today. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” I tell her, watching as she hops out of the cab and walks toward the house.

“No problem,”I mutter to myself as I drive off, knowing I have more than a problem.

I’m fucked.

3:04.

Every fucking night.

It’s usually something different that rouses me. Jefferson stumbling in late at night. Nadia using the hall bathroom. The way the upstairs of the house gets so much warmer than downstairs and I have to peel off a layer of clothes. It doesn’t matter what wakes me up, the next thing happens automatically: I think about Darla.

It’s not in a romantic way, but more trying to figure out what went wrong. I can’t stop going over every fight, every final word. This time it’s about the ring, because that’s the thing I keep going back to. I didn’t make up the seriousness of ourrelationship. Darla was a full participant, every step of the way. Including the idea of me designing a ring for her.

“This is stupid,” I mutter, flinging off the sheet. On the nights I can’t get the ruminating to stop, I know the only answer is full distraction. Using my phone light, I look for my laptop next to the bed andshit.It’s in my backpack downstairs.

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