Page 296 of Branded
My inner cynic snorted.
That wasn’t exactly a surprise, was it?
It was the middle of the night, and we were the only two people awake in the vicinity.
Which was a nice excuse, a nice idea to hold on to in order to keep my heart safe.
If only he didn’t make me feel like the only woman on the planet all the time—in a crowded bar, when I was chatting with the girls and stealing bites of cheese, when I was working my ass off to handle demanding tables, in a quiet kitchen taking care of me, and in the hushed softness of night here on my porch.
“I can’t go there again,” I said, because I had to give him something.
A pause that was long enough to settle heavy on my chest before he eventually asked, “Go where?”
I glanced away from those piercing eyes, stared up at the dark sky. “Get involved with a hockey player.”
Since I wasn’t watching him, I couldn’t see him go still. But I could feel it, knew it with the same part of me that always knew what he was doing—laughing with a teammate, almost able to hear his rough chuckle, no matter where I was in the bar; sensing the warm weight of his gaze on me as I moved through my tables, feeling the slight rasp of his stubble on my cheek, the heat of his breath, the strength of his body.
“Someone from the team?”
His words were quiet, but there was a note in them that sent a thrill through me. Jealousy. Winding through each word and making me feel…
Stupid.
I’d dealt with jealousy before, with possession, with a man wanting me above all else.
Until I’d actually given myself.
And then he’d?—
“Not from the Breakers,” I whispered.
He went even more still. I felt that in my bones. “From where?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Quiet.
Pulse of protectiveness in the air. “Gorgeous,” he warned.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, found my body shifting back to face him, even though it was smarter—safer—to not look at him.
But, as I’d already pointed out, I was real dumb when it came to this hockey player.
“He plays on the Sierra now.”
A muscle flickered in Cas’s cheek.
“He didn’t then,” I whispered. “We were kids. I was the hometown one. He was the junior player living far from home.” A breath. “And I worked at the rink, so I knew all the guys.” I felt my lips turn up. The memories of that time crowding into my mind, washing away the hurt that had followed my time with Nate. “I was a rink rat even though I didn’t play.” Even if I’d been remotely athletically inclined, my father would have flipped his shit. “But I loved being there. The rink became my home when my real one wasn’t…” Christ, how did I encapsulate everything into a few sentences? In the end, I decided to just lay it out there. I’d never hidden from the truth. I had never been able to. Not when my dad had made it so fucking clear that I was unwanted, that I was basically a murderer. “My home life wasn’t good. My father loved one person in his life—and that was my mother.” A sigh. “Who I killed.”
Cas sucked in a breath, reached for me, and tugged me back against his body, enfolding me in strong, warm arms. I didn’t resist, couldn’t resist—not when this old truth hurt so fucking much. “Jules.”
“It’s true,” I whispered, giving in, burying deeper into his hold.
A hand smoothing down my arm. Cas didn’t say anything, but the touch centered me, and his hold kept me here in the present. “She died giving birth to me,” I whispered. “And from the time I was old enough to know that fact, he made sure I never forgot it.”
His arms convulsed. “Gorgeous.”
That cracked open my chest and settled deep inside, and under the quiet of the cold, late night, I gave him the rest of it. “The rink was my sanctuary, and the hockey boys were my best friends.” A sigh. “And I was young and stupid, and he was…” More of that stillness in Cas’s frame, and it distracted me for a moment. It truly was impressive that he could control his big body so completely. Then I knew I had to keep going, that he had to understand. “He seemed to like me for me.”
