This morning’srain is long gone when we step out of the arena later that day. The sun is just beginning to set as I climb into Killer’s car and he heads out.
Freya and I have sent videos and memes back and forth throughout the day, but we haven’t talked. And I certainly haven’t told her about the car. I need to do that in person, and at a time when she’s unable to refuse when I hand her the key. Much like I did this morning.
I don’t think there’s a chance in hell that she’d have used it. But I didn’t like the thought of her stuck there and being forced to call an Uber should she decide to go somewhere. Idon’t want her in the back of some asshole’s car. I want her safe. She’s already been hurt enough by men; I won’t risk anyone else battering her confidence when she’s finally rediscovering who she is.
Am I being too overprotective of a woman who isn’t mine to protect? Yes, probably. But do I care? Nope. Not even a little bit.
“You’ve cheered up,” Killer points out once we’ve left the parking garage beneath the arena.
“You would have as well if you had the session I just did..”
“Nice try,” he deadpans, aware that my mood has nothing to do with my session with our goalie coach being over.
“What? Your training is a walk in the park compared to mine, and you know it.”
I’m baiting him, but I don’t care. Anything to keep him away from the topic of Freya.
“Fuck right off, man. Who do you think are the ones protecting your ass out there?”
This kind of banter comes as naturally to us as breathing.
Family.
The word floats around my head again.
“I’m grateful, you know,” I confess.
“For what?”
“Having your kick-ass skills in front of me. I’m good, but I’m better with you guys protecting the crease.”
“Don’t we fucking know it. What’s with the heartfelt shit?”
I shrug despite the fact that he’s too focused on the road ahead to see.
“Dunno. Just wanted you to know that I appreciate you.”
“Holy shit, Hands. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her.”
“What? No. Don’t be crazy. She’s my chef.”
“No. She’s your friend. A friend you want to?—”
“Stop, just stop,” I beg, terrified he’s touching a little too close to the truth.
30
FREYA
Unable to fight it, my lips part on a yawn. I haven’t had a particularly busy day, but by the time I’ve cleaned up from dinner, I’m exhausted.
I guess there’s one benefit to not having a car: at least I don’t have to drive home. Cole told me earlier that he’d take me, and I must admit, I’m more than happy to be his passenger. Even if it means he has to spend his evening being my taxi. He could be doing a million and one other things, but seeing as he’s refusing to let me get an Uber, I don’t really have much choice.
“Tired?” he asks, looking over from where he’s sitting on the couch, watching tonight’s hockey game.
“Apparently so.”
“Come and sit down,” he says, his eyes darting to the other side of his sectional.
