Page 55 of Locke

I breathe out through my nose and admit the problem.“It was a lot to adjust to.”The words come out quieter than I intend.“First family, I was fourteen.They had two other billet players and three kids of their own and it was—” I stop, trying to reach back for the feelings.“It was loud.Full.The kind of house where people just walked into each other’s rooms and nobody thought twice about it.I didn’t know what to do with that.”

“Because you’d never had it.”

“Because I’d never had it,” I confirm, and I hate how simple that sentence is and how much it contains.

“Did it get easier?Subsequent billet families?”

“Some.”I shift in the chair, and it occurs to me… it’s not so difficult opening up on this subject.“I kept more distance after the first one.It was easier that way.”

“Why easier?”

I look at her.“Because billet situations end.Season’s over, you move on, they take the next kid.”I hold her gaze.“Getting close to people who are temporary is just a specific kind of loss you sign up for voluntarily.I stopped signing up for it.”

I watch her face while she writes more notes.I’ve been watching her long enough to read the small things.The slight tension at the corner of her mouth.The way her pen slows when she’s touched by what she hears.

She knows she’s getting close to a revelation.I can feel it the way you feel a change in pressure before a storm.

“The attachment difficulty,” she says, looking up.“You’ve obviously carried it into your adult relationships.Teammates… maybe romantic relationships?”

“We’re getting near the edge of what I agreed to,” I say.

“We’re still on family.”

“No, romantic relationships are definitely not family.”

She blinks at me.“Have you ever had a serious girlfriend?”

I’m surprised by the question.She knows it’s not within the confines of our agreed-upon subject, but the curiosity I see in her eyes goes beyond professional.

I can’t help but tease.“Why… are you wondering if you’re going to be the future Mrs.Locke Donovan?”

She snorts and shakes her head.“Hardly.But I can’t help my curiosity about if you are able to form personal attachments outside of family and hockey, the two areas you struggle with.”

I lean back in the chair and look at her, letting the silence marinate a bit.She’s close to breaching our agreement and it’s making me feel spicy.“How did it feel?”I ask her, my voice dropping low.“Coming on my hand in my car.”

The color that moves into her face is immediate and she can’t stop it, which is the most satisfying thing I’ve seen in a while.She holds my gaze though.Doesn’t look away, doesn’t stutter, doesn’t reach for the professional composure like a shield.

“I liked it,” she says.Simple and direct, and the admission makes my dick twitch.“More than I should have.”

“Then why didn’t you invite me up?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking now.”

“That’s not—” She stops and recalibrates.“You didn’t push for more for yourself.Why?”

I look at her briefly.The honest answer?I don’t fully know yet.What happened in that car was already more than I’d planned and a part of me needed to stop before I couldn’t.She’s becoming someone I don’t have a category for and that’s the most dangerous thing that’s happened to me in years.

I don’t say any of that.

“I want you begging for it,” I say instead.

Her eyes round but not in shock because she doesn’t shock easily, I’ve learned.She tilts her head slightly.

“Maybe,” she says, her eyes glinting with challenge, “you’re the one who ends up begging.”

That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.I look at her before rising from the chair.