“Thanks,” she murmurs, squeezing my forearm as she moves by me, “Storm. You need to chat?”
“Yeah, Coach. Thanks.”
She pats his shoulder, tilts her head to the door.
He extends his hand, silently telling her to precede him, and though he’s not a fucking pig about it, Storm looks.
At her ass.
Atmyass.
Myass.Mine. Every inch of Joey is fucking mine.
Red hazes into the edges of my vision and I take a stepforward before I catch myself, my temper slipping enough to send a bucket of cold reality over my head.
Fuck.
Because it takes everything in me to stop, to not get in the kid’s face, to not warn him to leave my fucking woman alone, and it takes even more to turn and walk away.
But I manage to do it, gritting my teeth together, fisting my hands, holding myself so goddamned taut that I barely breathe as I turn the corner and stride into one of the empty offices, closing the door.
Each movement careful.
Slowed.
Controlled.
So as not send a single spark toward my already primed and explosive temper.
I did that once.
And it ruined everything.
It was worth it, worth the peace it brought to my sister…but it brought a fuck-ton of pain first.
And I won’t risk Joey’s future.
“Fuck,” I whisper, dropping my head to the door and breathing slowly.
In and out.
In and out.
This is why I don’t do relationships.
This is why I keep my distance from any woman who might have a hold on me.
It’s dangerous for them. And I’ve already proven that I can’t be trusted to protect the women I care for?—
Mid-spiral, my phone rings.
And I’m so fucking close to the edge that normally I would ignore it.
But it’s on vibrate.
It doesn’t ring for anyone other than?—
“Kylie,” I say after swiping across the screen and quickly lifting my phone to my ear. “Is everything okay?”
