Page 66 of Arresting the Hockey Player
Turns out, there’s a lot that I can’t seem to anticipate when it comes to Charlotte. The girl has my life easily turned upside down.
Or maybe it’s women in general. It’s not like I had even an inkling that I was a father.
“Charlotte?” I say, bending down to check on her. She has a steady pulse, and I lift her with ease into my arms, the elevator doors dinging open on the penthouse floor.
I carry her inside my place, walk her into my bedroom, and lay her down on the mattress.
“Noah?” her sleepy voice murmurs my name, and it sends my cock stirring.
I hate how she still has a hold on my heart and my body. I want nothing more than to write her off and never see her again, like I said to her the night she got me thrown behind bars, but something is holding me back.
Anger.
Desire.
Lust.
They swirl together and burn inside me. I’d love to forget about her and slam another door shut on whatever it is that we shared, but I need answers, like why she betrayed me. Because every word that she said the night of the incident, all of it vanished in the heat of rage that consumed me.
I should feel nothing for her, but there’s a sadness, a loss for something that never was, that consumes me. And maybe those emotions and feelings are getting tangled with my son, whom I haven’t gotten to raise or know from the beginning.
Hatred at Charlotte for that is unwarranted. It isn’t her fault Jasmine kept Zayn from me. And maybe it’s my grief of that loss that consumes me as much as what she did that night.
“Rest,” I say, standing at the edge of the bed, refusing to sit or lie beside her. I grab a trashcan and bring it beside the bed.
I head out of the bedroom, wanting to grab a water bottle from the fridge and a couple of aspirin. Plus, I need a minute to clear my head.
She’s just a girl. My feelings for her are dead. Well, they should be, but they’re not exactly flat lining. Anger brews at the surface, bubbling with disgust.
On the way back to the living room, her purse is abandoned on the floor, and I pick it up to keep from tripping over it.
Her phone vibrates inside.
It’s probably Amber checking up on her. I should leave it well enough alone, but the compartment isn’t zipped, and I let the phone “accidentally” fall onto the kitchen counter as I place her purse on there as well.
The screen lights up with a dozen messages, but none are from her friend. They’re all from her father.
If we were dating, I’d feel like this is highly inappropriate to read her texts, but she’s being bombarded with messages from her dad.
Is this why she went out with Amber tonight and got drunk? Jasper had mentioned Amber’s twenty-first birthday, but I’m not sure that Charlotte didn’t have an ulterior motive.
I read the beginning of one of the texts from the screen, but I unlock the phone to read the entire thread, which isn’t hard to guess her password. I’ve seen her type it into her phone, her birth month, repeated.
Well, if she wanted to keep her phone secure, she probably should have chosen a better passcode.
I scroll through the texts from her father, not so much as looking at her other threads or who the messages are from. It should be none of my business. I know I’m invading her privacy, breaking every boundary she’d set if we were dating—but we’re not together.
Not that it makes what I’m doing okay. I know I’m being a bit of a shit going through her phone. But I’m only reading the messages from her dad.
What if they were important? What if she had plans and forgot, and now he’s worried that she’s lying dead in a ditch or calling the cops to send out an APB on a missing person?
Okay, so that isn’t what any of the texts are about, but they’re heated and all one-sided. Charlotte hasn’t answered any of his messages in the past week, but the brunt of them have arrived today.
Dad: You better be attending the charity event alone. You’re not bringing that sloth Reece to MY party.
Dad: I don’t need Ice Dragon drama happening on my turf.
Dad: At least have the decency to answer your father!
