Page 81 of Worth the Shot

He didn’t protect it.

And now I’m supposed to lace up tomorrow and treat him like a brother in arms? Trust him to protect the net behind me? Pretend he didn’t destroy the heart of the woman I…

Jesus Christ.

The woman I love.

Because that’s what she is and I know it now with a clarity that makes me feel sick. It’s too late to walk that back, the truth is tattooed across my fucking heart.

“Brennan?”

She squeezes my hand again, and I remember it’s my turn to talk. I look over at her and force a smile, but it comes out tight, rougher than I mean it to.

“Sorry,” I breathe. “I was just thinking.”

“Talk to me,” she says softly. “I’m right here.”

“I’m okay. I promise. I’m just…half relieved it wasn’t me. And the other half is still trying to wrap my head around who it is.”

“It doesn’t change anything, Brennan. Not for me,” she says again, and this time she looks more steady. Certain.

“I know.” I squeeze her hand back. “I trust you.”

But how am I supposed to watch them cross paths without wondering if he’ll spark something old, something painful, something she didn’t choose but might still haunt her. And that’s not even the worst part. What if she sees him and remembers who she was with him? The thought of her pulling away from me because I’m the safer choice, not the one she’d have picked first, is enough to make my chest feel like it’s going to implode.

The team wants to make a run at the Cup. I want her. And now the two things feel like they’re pointing in opposite fucking directions. I run both hands through my hair, grip hard enough to let it hurt, and let the rain pound on the roof of the truck.

I don’t know how to chase a championship while the man who broke the woman I love is standing in my crease.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmurs. “Spend the rest of the night snuggled in your bed…not watching a movie.”

She reaches over, her hand sliding along my jaw, turning my head until I’m looking at her. Then she leans in, pressing her forehead to mine, and I breathe her in. My favorite scent. The only one that already feels like home.

Her mouth is so close to mine that I close the distance without thinking, kissing her slowly, wanting to hold onto it for as long as I can. This is what matters more than anything else right now.

I pull back just enough to look at her, to make sure she’s still right here with me.

“Okay,” I say quietly, before leaning in and kissing her again.

I lean back, finally putting my truck in Drive as we head toward my apartment. I don’t let go of her hand, not even for a second, the entire fifteen-minute drive.

The radio hums softly in the background as her head falls against my shoulder. Our arms rest on the center console, hands intertwined, while her free hand traces slow lines up and down my bicep. Each pass sends a quiet chill down my spine, and that four-letter L word sits heavy on my tongue, threatening to slip out with every grounding touch.

We finally pull into the lot, and even after I park and kill the engine, Delaney doesn’t move. She just grips into my arm harder, holding it like if she lets go she might fall apart.

“Baby,” I say softly, reaching over to brush the hair from her face. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just breathes. Shallow, uneven.

I flip the center console up to reveal the middle seat, giving her space to move, and she shifts over. The second she’s close, she folds into me, arms wrapping tight around my middle, face buried in my chest like she’s trying to hide there.

“I think I…” she says, but the rest comes out muffled and messy. Like gibberish.

I peel her back, gentle but firm, until I can see her. Then I guide her face up so she can’t disappear on me.

“You think what?” I search her eyes, her face. Confused and a little nervous, I repeat myself, softer this time, “You think what, Laney?”

The rain beats heavily on the dash and the soft lights from the parking lot are the only visible glow. Still, though, when she looks at me this time, green eyes a little glazed over, I see the tears threatening to spill.