Puck & Make Up (A Rush Hockey #7)

Chapter 6

Six

Dessie

O h God.

I’m crying—something I never allow myself to do—and I’m doing it in Fox Brown’s arms.

And he’s not telling me to stop.

Instead, he’s just wrapped his big, strong arms around me and tugged me into his body, cradling me against his chest, rubbing one broad hand gently up and down my spine. “Easy, sugar,” he murmurs. “Just breathe.”

That feels impossible right now—my lungs shuddering, my breaths coming in rapid gusts, my tears pouring down my cheeks.

I buried this all so long ago, and I don’t know why it’s coming out now.

And, worst of all, why it’s coming out with Fox, the man who lives to torment me.

No, that’s not fair.

He’s the man who pushes my buttons as much as I push his.

Because from the first time I saw him, I wanted him.

And if I’ve learned anything over the last years is that if I want a man, he’s destined to break my heart.

Case in point?

My high school boyfriend dumped me for the head cheerleader the night before prom.

And my college boyfriend, well, he left me because he found his “soulmate”…who happened to be my room mate.

Not to mention that my dating experiences as an adult have been littered with matches on apps and failed dates (including one where the man I was interested took me to dinner the left me with a big-ass bill because he was hungry and another who tried to get me to play a DoorDash driver by picking up dinner—and paying for it—then driving it out to his place because he didn’t have a car).

Winners.

I always picked winners.

And there was Jett. The man I dated before moving home to River’s Bend. The man who proposed to me, who I was so excited to spend the rest of my life with—so much so that I was willing to leave my job for him.

Only to find out he was cheating on me.

And when did I find out?

The same night I accepted his ring.

Ugh.

Jett was an asshole—I know that now, understand it, especially after seeing how Axel and Joel interact with Bailey and Billie Rose, after seeing my best friends so happy and in love.

I wasn’t like that with Jett.

I wasn’t… me .

I was smaller, quieter…diminished.

And he certainly didn’t adore me in the same way the guys love my best friends.

My throat burns, and I know I should lift my head, should pull away from Fox. Should shove this all down and keep pushing forward.

Don’t back down.

But…I’m tired.

And there’s something wrong with me, something broken with my “picker.”

All of which to say?—

I know— fucking know—by now that if I want a man, that’s the clearest signal to me to run the fuck away.

And if I can’t run?

Then it’s time to put up as many barriers as possible, bricks and barbed wire and bombs that will detonate to keep the danger at a distance.

Like a cornered dog growling to get someone to leave it alone.

Normally it works—far too well.

But, just now, when Fox looked at my body and?—

Dammit.

That look of derision.

It’s so fucking familiar.

Jett perfected it.

My other boyfriends tried it.

And I…well, I tried to logic my way through it.

But…

It still hurts.

I’ll never be slender and petite like Bailey. Nor a curvy dynamo like Rosie. I’m tall with broad shoulders and muscular biceps, and I can dead lift more than most of the guys at the gym I attend.

And Fox’s look brought that all up again—the vulnerability, the need, the…

Loneliness.

Knowing I’ll never find someone to love me for me. Not really.

Ugh. Why didn’t he just leave when I asked?

Then he would have never seen me like this, and I could go back to pretending to hate him, spending all my spare energy turning Monroe’s into the best bar on the planet, and being happy for my friends and how wonderful their lives have turned out.

This, though?

This I can’t undo.

He’s seen behind the veil, and if I know anything about Fox it’s that he’s not the kind of man to let this go.

Stubborn.

Pushy.

Damn.

I tremble and he murmurs, “Easy,” again, still rubbing my back with that big hand, still holding me gently even though, looking at him, there should be nothing gentle about the huge hockey player. He’s so tall that I feel small, so strong and built that when I’m pressed against him, I feel delicate and feminine.

And for a woman whose dream it was to spend her life saving lives in between hauling hoses, using axes to break down walls, carrying gear and oxygen tanks and the occasional unconscious body out of buildings, feeling small and delicate and feminine…

Is not common.

That Fox manages to invoke those feelings just while holding me in the hallway of my apartment when he doesn’t really like me, when we’re always picking at each other…

It’s not the Fox I know.

Not the Fox who’s always prepped with a joke, who loves kids, who cares deeply about my friends just because they love his people—and who’ve become his people now too.

And not just because Rosie’s his half-sister.

I always knew Fox Brown was dangerous to me—hence the barbed wire and brick walls and big ass bombs—but in this moment, with his arms around me?

I’ve never realized anything is more true.

Wrapped in his embrace, smelling his spicy, male scent, feeling his body pressed to mine…makes me want so much more than I know I can have.

Makes me want so much more than I would ever allow myself to even think I could have again.

But I still can’t make myself step away.

Can’t pull out of his hold, can’t drag myself from the heat of his body, the scent of him in my nose. Can’t bring myself to stop him from murmuring gentle words at me, from soaking in the comfort he’s offering.

Only…when he leans back and swipes a thumb beneath one of my eyes and then the other, gently brushing my tears away, I know I have to.

Have to go cold turkey before I get addicted and deal with withdrawal from the drug known as Fox.

But even as I gather my defenses, as I prepare to erect them between this man and my heart, I get a glimpse of his face.

And yep, I know I’ve ruined everything.

Panic slices through me.

“You should go,” I say quickly, jerking out of his hold and rushing to the front door.

I wrap my fingers around the metal handle, but before I can turn the knob, he’s there, his chest against my back, his body surrounding mine, his palm settling on my hand.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper back.

His fingers flex around mine, but the rest of his body grows still. “Sugar.”

“You should just go.”

He shifts a little closer, and my eyes slide closed at the feel of him. “You won’t tell me?”

God, I want to, especially when he uses that soft voice to gentle me, when he’s so close, when he’s being so, so careful with his strength.

But—as previously explained—my picker is broken.

I’m broken.

And I want him too much to risk letting him in.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“You just spent the last twenty minutes crying in my arms, baby.”

My heart squeezes hard. “I told you I was PMSing.”

He’s quiet and statue still for a long, long moment.

Then he exhales and the blip of guilt I feel when I hear the disappointment in his voice cuts deep. “Okay, sugar,” he says quietly. “I’ll go home, even though you didn’t give a second thought to standing me up.”

And…cue more guilt.

“Fox—” I begin.

He lets his hand drop, steps back, and stomach twisting, I turn to face him.

“I’m sor—” But my words cut off because the moment I see his face, I realize I’ve been had.

Jesus, he’s laying it on thick.

“Just go,” I mutter.

His beautiful brown eyes are dancing—clearly recognizing that I’ve picked up on his shenanigans. He holds up a bag. “But if you kick me out, I’ll keep these for myself.”

My stomach rumbles.

That zip top bag is full of his cookies.

The best fucking chocolate chip cookies on the planet.

“Seriously?” I glare. “You’re going to tease me like that?”

A wicked smile. “Oh no, sugar. I never tease.”

I shiver, his words stroking like fingers between my legs. “Fox,” I warn.

His smile just widens, and he shakes the bag. “So, you going to tell me why you don’t like me?”

“That’s easy,” I grumble, reaching for the bag, which, annoyingly, he sweeps out of reach, “because you won’t share the cookies.”

“ Pft. That’s not the only reason.”

Ugh.

I clamp my lips together, reach for the bag again.

He chuckles. “Thought so. Well then”—a nod to the door—“I’ll just take my treats and leave.”

“Fine.” Scowling, I start to step back.

He reaches for the handle, stops. “Unless….”

Right. I’m this close to pushing a certain hockey player over the second story railing. “Just go, Fox.”

“Unless…you want to share the cookies,” he offers.

My temple throbs. “And what do you get in exchange in this arrangement?”

There’s a long pause, the tension in the room seeming to ratchet up before he grins again. “Got any beer?”

And that’s how— somehow —I end up spending the night with the man I hate the most.

Or maybe that’s how— somehow —I finally start coming back to myself.