Page 84 of Stick Break
Love.
There it is. Shit. I said it.
Not out loud, but in my head. And it’s terrifyingly real. Like a puck straight to the chest—no padding.
I lean in closer, dropping my voice just for her. “No, you go ahead. But later, my little rebel, you’re going to have to explain these suspiciously honed carnival skills to me.”
She tosses me a coy grin. “We’ll see.”
Charley steps up again, calm and focused, and, of course, wins again. Like the damn game was designed for her. The carnival guy hands over the plush kitty Emma had her heart set on, and Emma squeals in delight. It warms me from the inside out.
“Grandma, I’m getting hungry,” Emma says, rubbing her belly with dramatic flair.
“Me too,” I add, tossing in a groan for effect.
“Food tent,” Mrs. Callahan declares, already halfway through the crowd in her orthopedic sneakers like she’s training for a senior sprint relay. “Try to keep up.”
I blink. “What the hell does she eat for breakfast?”
Sloth tucked under my arm, Emma’s little hand in mine, we hustle to catch up, though the image of Charley at that game, completely focused, is still flickering like a firework in the back of my mind.
“I can carry that for you, you know,” Charley offers, eyeing the caped sloth clutched to my side.
“Nope. It’s mine. Stop trying to steal it.”
She laughs. “You’re not embarrassed walking around with that thing?” Then she pauses, eyes widening as her hand smacks her forehead. “Wait, what am I saying? This is the guy who wore water wings.”
“Proudly,” I say, chuckling.
I catch her hand and give it a tug, pulling her into my side. She stumbles a little and bumps against me, soft, warm, perfect.
“Oops. Sorry,” she says quickly, brow furrowing in concern. “I didn’t mean to jostle you. Are you… okay?”
Her words are careful, layered with that unspoken understanding. She’s asking about me. My injury. I meet her gaze, heat flickering low in my stomach. “I mean… technically, I’ve been on my feet too long.”
“Damn,” she says, guilt threading through her voice. She glances back. “Want to head home?”
I tilt my head, giving her a look that says exactly what I’m thinking, because, obviously, subtlety is overrated at this point.
“Oh,” she breathes, her lips curling as her eyes spark. “I get it.”
I lean in, murmuring near her ear, my voice a warm whisper just for her. “You get that I want to be off my feet for a different reason?”
Her lips twitch, but she’s trying hard not to smile. “Yes, Rip. You don’t have to spell it out for me.”
I grin and run my tongue slowly over my bottom lip. “You sure? You once told me I was great with the alphabet. Want me to start with A?”
“Oh. My. God.” She covers her face, laughing, cheeks flushed.
Emma, oblivious to our increasingly flirty undertones, skips beside us singing a made-up song about cotton candy and sloths.
Me? Well I’m floating. On air. On fire. On her.
She rolls her eyes—but doesn’t say no—as we turn toward Mrs. Callahan, who’s waving us over to a picnic table. But just as we’re about to step forward, someone jumps in front of us and flash…a blinding burst of light goes off.
I flinch, blinking stars from my eyes. “What the hell…?”
Emma lets go of my hand and bolts toward her grandmother. I nearly panic, but remember we’re not in the city.
