Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Me
I told him. It was a disaster. He walked out.
I jab my finger at “send” and let my forehead slump onto the steering wheel. The silence inside the car wraps tight around me, like something slowly closing in, muffling out even the low hum of the engine. There’s a particular, twisting kind of loneliness reserved for the exact moment you stand up for yourself. For the split second when you let go of what everyone else wants for you, and you realize the people who claim to love you best are the ones pulling the leash the tightest. The thought stings, but it’s not new. For way too long, I’ve just been Ryan Coleman’s little sister, and I’m tired of living my life through someone else’s name. From now on, I’m just me—Harper Coleman.
My phone buzzes immediately, lighting up with Jaxson’s name. I stare at it, my heart doing weird cartwheels. “Hello,” I answer, settling back into the car seat.
“Are you okay, firecracker?” His voice is tight, worry flaring hot beneath the words and sparking at the back of my mind.
“No, but I will be.” I have to believe it. Somewhere deep in my soul, I know my brother will see that I’m not betraying him by being true to my feelings. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
“Do you want to come over and tell me all about it?” That sounds like heaven.
“I’m on my way.”
I drive straight across the city, not even noticing the skyline or the busy streets. By the time I hit the elevator inside Jaxson’s building, I’m ready to feel his powerful arms wrapped around me.
He’s waiting in the doorway, barefoot, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and hair all messed up like he’s been running his fingers through it. The second he sees me, the wariness drops from his face, and the concern takes over.
“I love you.” His voice goes rough, which shouldn’t make me feel better but does.
I drop my purse and walk straight into his arms. “I know.”
His chest expands, then he hugs me hard. Then he leans over and kisses me. He doesn’t just press his lips to mine. His hands come up and bracket my jaw.
My brain short-circuits as the taste of him scrambles every sad thought in my head, every echo of my brother’s rage. All I know is the way Jaxson’s mouth moves against mine, soft at first, then deepening until I can’t breathe for the need pouring through me.
His tongue teases the seam of my lips, and suddenly, I’m desperate, clutching at his shoulders for balance. He growls against my mouth, and I open to him. He takes that invitation and runs with it. Kissing me harder, until my knees are like Jello, and my lungs forget their job description.
When he finally pulls back, I’m dizzy. Wrecked and put back together, all at once. He tilts my chin up, blue eyes scorching, and whispers, “I’ll take care of you.”
“I know.” I believe him. And I believe in us.
For those few seconds, I forget everything except Jaxson. He doesn’t press me. Jaxson knows what I need, and he stands there and just holds me until I’m ready. “Ryan threw a hissy fit,” I mumble into his shirt. “He stormed out. I’m pretty sure he’s plotting your murder.”
The rumble that comes out of Jaxson is half laugh, half growl. “Want me to talk to him?”
“No.” I shake my head, hugging him closer. “This is my circus, and my crazy monkeys. I’ll handle Ryan.”
“I have no doubt you can handle this.” He presses a kiss into my hair, holding me tight. I plan to go to the game tomorrow night and show my brother that I can be both his sister and Jaxson’s girlfriend.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JAXSON
The roar of the crowd is a physical weight against the plexiglass, a tidal wave of sound that usually centers me. Tonight, it feels like a distraction. I glide across the crease, my skates carving rhythmic groans into the fresh ice, and try to ignore the way my skin feels three sizes too small for my padding. The 'Ice Wall' is supposed to be cold, unyielding, and entirely devoid of anything resembling a heartbeat, but my pulse is currently hammering a frantic rhythm against the roof of my mouth.
Across the center line, Ryan Coleman is a blur of blue and white, his jaw set in a line so rigid I can practically hear it cracking from thirty yards away. He doesn't look at the puck. He looks at me. His eyes are dark pits of rage, and every time he touches the rubber, he isn't just trying to score; he’s trying to put a hole through my chest.
I drop into a butterfly, my pads hitting the ice with a thud that vibrates up my spine. Ryan lets a slap shot fly from the top of the circle. It’s a wicked, screaming thing that catches the edge of my glove and stings like a hornet, but I squeeze the leather shut. The whistle blows, and for a split second, the arena holds its breath. I don't celebrate. I don't even look at the stands where I know Harper is sitting, because seeing her would distract me.