Climbing onto me, she tips up my chin, examining my face. I know from the bathroom mirror that there’s a small bruise blooming, but it’s minor compared to what I did to him.
“Oof. Does that hurt?” Soft fingertips trail along the mark, tracing it.
“Nah. You shoulda seen the other guy.” Even then, Rob got off easy. He deserves so much worse. What if they’d been somewhere else? What if they’d been alone? Just thinking about it makes me sick.
“I appreciate that you care, but you shouldn’t have done that because of me,” she adds. “I’d hate for you to get in trouble.”
“After that dirtbag did that? Couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried. Probably wasn’t the best way to tell your brother about us, though.”
“Tomorrow’s problem. I’m an adult, and Chase can get over it.”
Questions simmer inside of me, heating until they come to a boil and I can’t hold it in any longer. “What’s the deal with Rob, anyway? Can you give me a little backstory?”
She hesitates. “We hooked up a long time ago, but it was a one-time thing. I always thought he was my friend, but clearly I misread that and ignored a bunch of red flags.”
A long time ago? What does that even mean? Two years? Three? She’s only twenty now. I’m left with more questions than answers, but I also don’t want to pry into her past more than she’s comfortable with.
“This isn’t your fault, Ser.” Setting the ice pack aside, I cup her cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I get the impression she’s come down here to make me feel better, but I’m not the one who deserves the concern.
Her mouth twitches. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal. Rob was just drunk.”
That she’s downplaying what he did makes me exponentially angrier with him because it is a big deal.
“Drunk or not, no asshole has the right to touch you without your permission. Especially not a guy who’s supposed to be your ‘friend.’” The words come out more harshly than I intend. “I’m sorry. I can’t stand the idea of someone hurting you.”
Seraphina shrugs off my comment, shifting closer to me on my lap. Her palms land on my shoulders as her lips lower to mine. My entire body fires up in response, and my dick perks up, making for a confusing combination of emotions when added to the primal anger coursing through my veins. As much as I love having her here, I’m fucking furious. I’m going to stay furious for a good couple of days, if not longer.
And if I ever see Rob again, he’s going to wish I hadn’t.
As if sensing my anger, she tears away from our kiss. Her breasts brush my chest, then my abs, as she slides to the floor and her knees hit the carpet.
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore, okay?” Her chocolate eyes look up at me, almost pleading. More paradoxical feelings arise. It’s a face that’s impossible to say no to. It’s also the person I have the strongest urge to protect, and that’s why I’m so pissed.
“Okay, Tink.” I’m not going to argue with her over that asshole.
“Do you want your birthday present now?” Her hands coast up my thighs, past my hips, then tug at my waistband.
“What is it?” I tease, smoothing her hair.
She dips her head, kissing the dip of my cock through the black material of my boxer briefs. “Whatever you want.”
The good: Seraphina slept in my room last night without any sneaking out required.
The bad: Chase hasn’t said a single word to me all day.
Instead of carpooling with me and Dallas to the arena—which has been our routine for as long as I can remember—he left the house without telling either of us and drove alone. He beat us there, changed in silence, and stalked out of the dressing room, making a point to ignore both of us entirely.
This whole silent treatment thing is unnerving. I expected a heated confrontation, or maybe an ass kicking. Instead, he’s been quiet. Too quiet for someone who’s normally loud and outspoken.
It feels like the calm before the storm, and I have no idea when the sky is going to erupt or what the magnitude will be. The longer this drags on, the worse I suspect the fallout will be when it hits.
“You good, Donohue?” Reid nudges me with his padded elbow. Most of the team is already out on the ice, save for us and a handful of stragglers. I’m in no hurry to step onto the ice, even if it means Miller is going to chew me out for being late.
I grab my goalie helmet from my stall without looking at him. “Yeah.”
“Carter’s pissed, huh?”
“That’s an understatement.” Beneath my equipment, my chest heaves with a sigh. “Pretty sure he’s plotting my murder as we speak.”
Jokes aside, a physical altercation isn’t what I’m worried about. It’s that I fucked up our friendship. Fucked up my living situation in the process. And potentially fucked up the team dynamic along the way.
Even worse, I dragged Seraphina into it. I can live with Chase being angry with me but him icing Sera out would break her heart, and one thing I can’t live with is hurting her.
“He’ll get over it,” Reid says, grabbing his gloves. “He just needs some time.”
“Have you met Carter? He’s not exactly the forgive and forget type.”
“At the end of the day, he wants his sister to be happy. If you’re good to her, he’ll have no choice other than to be okay with it eventually.”
Will he, though? Not sure he’ll ever be on board with our nebulous “having fun” arrangement.
“I suppose that depends how you define ‘eventually.’ In a couple years, sure. Maybe. Any time soon, probably not.”
I start for the door and Reid deftly steps in front of me, blocking my path. While I’m broader than he is with my equipment on, he’s got a slight height advantage, and he’s clearly not going to budge until he deems this conversation finished.
“Would you take it back?” he asks.
I shuffle back a step. “What?”
“If you could go back in time, would you change anything with you and Sera? Telling Carter doesn’t count. I’m talking about you guys.”
Everything flashes before my eyes in a single breath. The first time I laid eyes on her dressed as Tinker Bell at XS. Move-in day. Our near kiss in the kitchen. Picking her up from Rob’s the night she called me. The time she lost her keys. The way her nose scrunches up when she laughs. Movie nights. Twenty-one questions. Falling asleep with her in my arms. Coconut shampoo. And so much pink.
“No. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”
“Exactly, so drop the fucking pity party. If he wants to stew, let him. His feelings are his issue. Problem ownership, my friend.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a lot of therapy.”
He grunts. “You don’t know the half of it.”
The first half of practice goes smoothly. The second half, not so much. Coach Miller breaks us into groups to run drills, and he sticks me and Chase together at the net for shot practice. As we skate over to our end, Chase refuses to even acknowledge me.
My eyes track the puck as he approaches, and I mentally calculate his next move. Knowing Chase, he’s either going to toe drag and snap it five-hole or fake me out and pull it across backhand. To my surprise, he does neither and levels me with a screamer of a slapshot instead. It narrowly misses my neck, one of the most vulnerable spots for a goalie.