“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “Now.”
He lets out a sound that’s half a laugh, half disbelief. “You know how long I hated you? Really hated you?”
“Probably about as long as I hated myself,” I answer.
He shakes his head, pacing once, like his skin is too tight. “I didn’t just hate you for Gina. I hated myself for letting it turn me into the person it did. I always knew it was her fault, but I let it get to me. She was the first woman I ever loved. But she didn’t feel the same. I was just a stepping stone...” His voice drops. “And I’ve been terrified—absolutely terrified—that you’d do the same thing to my sister, to get back at me.”
This time, I flinch. Because I feel the fear that’s wafting off of him. I understand it.
“She’s not Gina,” I say quietly. “I thought I loved Gina; that’s why it angered me so much. But I was wrong. I realized that the minute Bayleigh stepped into our lives. I’ll never hurt her. I promise you that.”
The muscles in his neck twitch as he clenches and unclenches his jaw.
“I’d rather die than hurt her,” I add. “And if you still want to punch me for the past, fine. I probably deserve it. But you don’t get to use Gina as an excuse to keep Bayleigh from people who care about her now.”
Benton pauses as he studies me. His eyes burn a hole right through me. He’s full of focus, reminding me of how he looks on the ice when he’s in the heat of the game.
A full minute passes. And I start to worry that Benton’s approval of our courting Bayleigh—more specifically me—will never happen, only leading to continued tension between us.
Then he sighs, lifts his bottle to his mouth, downing the rest of the liquid in it. Shaking his head, he pushes off the counter,tossing the empty bottle in the trash, and walks to the fridge. He pulls out two bottles of Corona, handing one to me like it’s a ceremonial offering to the ancient hockey gods.
“We were idiots,” he mutters.
I crack the bottle open. “Yeah. But Bayleigh doesn’t deserve to have it carry over to her.”
“Agreed. It may take some time to warm up to you and all,” he says.
“Understandable.”
“But the three of you have my blessing to court Bayleigh. All I’ll ever want is for her to be happy. If any of you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
“I fully expect that. But trust me, hurting her is not in my plans.”
We clink bottles.
It’s not friendship. Not yet. But it’s peace. And that’s a start.
We talk awkwardly, honestly. About Gina, about the Devils, about the stupid tension that calcified between us. We don’t laugh, not at first.
But then Benton tells me the story of how Gina once asked if hockey players got paid by the goal, and I choke on my drink laughing.
“She didn’t,” I wheeze.
“She did,” he mutters, but there’s a grin tugging at his mouth.
The tension that’s lived between us for years finally loosens its grip. Not gone, but not festering at the surface any longer.
“You and Milton are too good for that shit team you’re on,” he blurts.
“We know. We’re working our asses off to get traded to another team. Our main stipulation is that we go together,” I confess to him.
He just nods his head, but there’s something in his eyes.
Soft footsteps, followed by Lincoln’s deep laugh draws my attention.
Bayleigh steps back into the kitchen, cheeks flushed and hair a little mussed, with the guys right behind her. She freezes at the sight of us—two alphas leaning against the counters, laughing like friends and not the enemies we’ve been up to this point.
Is everything… okay here? Or…?She signs as Benton translates.
