He uses his thumb to brush away the moisture glistening on my cheek.
My stomach rolls with nausea. “My date. H-he—I said no…” I choke, the sweat on my brow now covering every bare inch of skin.
Kit’s eyes heat with understanding, and every muscle in his upper body ripples with iron-hot rage. The cords in his neck are taut, the veins in his forearms like individual rivers of power snaking up to bulging biceps.
“Did he—”
“No,” I whisper. “It wasn’t his fault. I sent mixed signals.”
I’d gone back to his place, we’d started kissing, and then he’d rolled on top of me, and that long ago night came rushing back with such ferocity that I froze. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, and he took that as a sign to start undoing my dress. It felt like he was peeling off the tattered walls that protected my soul.
“There’s no such thing as mixed signals. Either you’re into it or you’re not. And it’s pretty fucking clear when a chick isn’t.”
“But I was,” I whisper. “Until I wasn’t.”
Kit reaches out to, I don’t know, maybe cup my cheek, and I flinch. He stops and lets out a litany of swears so harsh they feel like sandpaper grating against my skin.
“Where. Is. He.”
It’s not a question.
I trap the plumpness of my bottom lip between my teeth. “Kit, stop.”
A guttural rumble stirs deep within his chest. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”
“Kit…” I reach out to lightly touch his arm, and he seems to melt a little, but not much.
With a bracing breath, he rakes his hand through the front of his hair, looking about a second away from hitting whatever poor, helpless object is in the vicinity.
“I’m not doing this with you right now, do you understand?” he snaps, gritting his teeth. “You’re going to get in the car and go to the police station.”
I flinch at the bite in his tone, wrapping my arms around my midsection. “Nothing happened.”
“Well, clearly something happened.”
Unable to maintain eye contact, I drop my watery gaze to stare at the middle of his chest. “Not tonight.”
“A long time ago.”
“Does Hayes know?”
At the idea of telling my brother the truth, panic whirls through me like a Category 5 hurricane, determined to bring me to my knees. “No. And he can’t know.”
Okay. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have said that, because the lid that Kit’s already struggling to keep on his anger has completely blown off into the stratosphere.
“You’re calling him.” He firmly grabs my wrist, urging me toward his car.
I plant my heels into the ground and pull back, managing to break free from his steel vise. Granted, it takes all my strength and a good amount of my breath.
“If I go with you, we can’t tell Hayes.”
“Faye…”
I’m thrown by his gentle protectiveness, the uncharacteristic softness I didn’t think Kit was capable of, much less willing to show me. Kit’s callous. He isn’t compassionate or particularly thoughtful, and it’s not because he actively chooses to be an asshole. He just isn’t perceptive when it comes to others’ emotions. But I’ve never seen him so distraught before.
“Please, Kit. I can’t bring Hayes into this. You know how reckless he can be. If he finds out, he’ll lose it.”
Humorless laughter dances out of him. “Oh, and you think I’m super calm, cool, and collected right now?”
Even with my skittering pulse, there’s enough fire inside of me to light a match. It scalds my insides, wanting to burn every weak part of me, wanting to turn that meek little girl still crying out for her mother into flakes of ash. “I don’t need you to play hero! I just need you to be here for me. I called you because…”
His eyebrows jerk together expectantly. “Because?”
“Because I trust you,” I finish.
Ever since Hayes joined the Riverside Reapers—a National Hockey League team born and bred in Riverside, California—I’ve had a crush on Kit. He and my brother have only been friends for two years, and even though they don’t always see eye to eye, they’re always there for each other.
As much as I trust Kit, I don’t think I could trust him with my heart.
Kit doesn’t believe in strings, whether they’re attached or not.
I know liking an unreformable womanizer is a disaster waiting to happen. Kit doesn’t date. He never has. He’s almost always pictured with a new girl, and their relationship lasts as long as a hockey game. If I wanted to get my heart broken, I’d let Kit manhandle it all he wants. As much as I wish things could work out between us, I’m smart enough to know that Kit can’t give me what I need—he can’t give me stability or reassurance or unconditional love.
Like any well-adjusted young woman with a burning hatred for romance, my endless search for love is in part thanks to my absent father. When my mother died of cancer, my father abandoned his parental duties, leaving me and my brother to fend for ourselves. The only thing he was good for was the money he sent us.
He’s made a promise to be in our lives from now on, but I’m hesitant to trust him. I think Hayes forgave him so easily because he was exhausted from carrying such a humongous responsibility. I just…I can’t forget all the pain he put us through—the pain of us blaming ourselves for his absence, the pain from losing our mother, the pain of having to grow up without a support system.
I knew Kit was going to be in town this week. And a part of me wanted to reach out, to grab lunch with him, to just see him. But I knew better. So I was going to let him coast through Pennsylvania without so much as a text.
Not only would keeping my distance benefit me, but it would probably save Hayes from going into cardiac arrest. Hayes is a…protective…older brother. He’s never approved of my previous boyfriends. He never thought they were good enough for me. If he found out I liked one of his best friends, his whole world would implode. He’d probably ship me off to a nunnery overseas. After he castrates Kit.
Kit’s lips wrench into a frown, and I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. I wish he was disarming me with that million-dollar grin of his, the one that makes paper-thin wings flutter in the pit of my belly.
“I’m sorry for losing my cool.” He sighs, letting the knots of his muscles slacken, his voice returning to a lukewarm drawl. “You’re scared. Flying off the handle isn’t going to help either of us.”
Upon seeing me shiver, he glides his hands gingerly over my arms, generating a spark of heat within me.
“Come on. Let’s at least sit in the car while we talk things over.”
I nod through the debilitating lump in my throat, letting him guide me to the passenger door.
The minute I get into the safety of his Jeep, the roar of the outside world comes to an anticlimactic stop. All I can hear is the mingling of our breaths and the jittery whirring of the heater coming to life.
“What happened?” he asks, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.
I shift uncomfortably against the leather seat, a yawning hole of dread opening inside of me, threatening to drag me under and fill my lungs until they forget what crisp air feels like.