The Langfield Brothers: Box Set

40. Millie

FORTY

MILLIE

“You know your brother is over there.”

Sara, Vivi, and I are set up in the Bolts suite, watching the game. Once the buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the first period, though, I’m heading out so I can get back to the hotel before the little lady’s bedtime.

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious,” I deadpan, tearing my gaze from Gavin.

She flips her blond hair over her shoulder. “Just sayin’. The coach doesn’t actually play in the game.”

“Shouldn’t you be more focused on Brooks? I’ve heard he’s even got a pierced peen. I’m sure that keeps you occupied.”

Her mouth falls open and her eyes go wide. “I’ll kill Lennox.”

“Please don’t.” I grasp her wrist, laughing. “I barely have any friends as it is.”

“Now you have two.” Sara bumps her shoulder against mine. “But seriously, did you see the way Gavin reacted to the jersey? Was I right?”

I can’t help but focus on the sidelines again, where Gavin is currently screaming his head off at his guys on the ice. “I was too focused on how pale he was.” Frowning, I turn back to Sara. “You saw that, right? He was burning up.”

She shrugs. “They’re dropping like flies. Wouldn’t be surprised if he has the flu.”

“Shit.” The second the word is out, I cringe and glance at Vivi, who’s happily bobbing to the music on my lap. “I mean duck. Did I do that right?”

“You’ll fit right in,” Sara says, giving me a warm smile. “And since we’re besties, I gotta tell you, the sparkly peen really is a bedazzling wonder.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “Bedazzling wonder?”

“The entire team has them.” She wiggles in her seat, scanning the ice. “Can you imagine them all in the shower showing off their glittery penises? It’s like Lisa Frank porn.”

I choke at the visual. Ew. “Sara! Please . The last thing I want to do is picture my brother’s penis.”

Eyes wide, she slaps a hand to her mouth and turns in slow motion back to me. “Whoops. Forgot about that.” The shock fades and is replaced with a look of contemplation. “Although I’m not sure if he has one. The guys got them before Daniel signed with the team.”

“This was a team activity ?”

She smiles. “Something like that. Gavin have one?”

“No.” I giggle. “At least not the last time I saw it. Which was a while ago.”

“I could have Brooks talk him into getting one while you aren’t currently banging. It takes a while to heal, but when you finally stop all this ‘we aren’t together’ nonsense, you, too, can ride the bling train.”

“Oh my god.” I flop back against my seat, being sure to keep a good hold on Vivi. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculous?”

“Only every day,” she practically sings, her face split in a grin.

Vivi went down easily, but I held her for a half hour or so after she fell asleep, relishing the baby snuggles. It wasn’t until my brother scored a goal and I squealed in excitement and nearly woke her up that I finally put her in her playpen.

The Bolts won 2-1. Without War, it was a nail-biter, but Camden did well filling in for him. I shot him a text to congratulate him and sent another to my brother.

Then I stared at my contact list, at Coach specifically, just below Camden’s name, wishing we were in a place where I could send him the same kind of text. More than that, I wanted to check on him. He looked like a ghost on the after-game show.

His responses to the media were clipped, his jaw rigid. When they asked if he planned to replace War with Camden for the rest of the season, I could practically see the fire in his eyes.

Stupid fucking reporters.

That’s what he wanted to say.

After that, I spent a dumb amount of time scrolling the internet, looking for posts about him, only to discover that there is an entire fandom dedicated to finding a wife for Gavin Langfield and a mother for Vivi.

The number of women shamelessly using hashtags like #mommylangfield and #marrymegavin is sickening.

And yet I can’t help but wonder if he would entertain any of them. He certainly used to. The thought of him with anyone else makes my stomach lurch violently.

I’m hiding in my room, already in bed for the night, when the door to the suite opens. I drop my phone face down, hit with a ridiculous fear that he’ll catch me searching his name. Even though I’m behind a closed door and the man hasn’t come close to me willingly since we broke up. That’s not changing tonight, I’m sure.

A loud thud makes the wall shake, and when it’s followed by a groan, I jump out of bed and rush out my door. In the living room, Gavin is hunched against the wall, his head hanging and his shoulders rolled in.

“Are you okay?” With my heart in my throat, I shuffle toward him, and as I get closer, the sheen of sweat coating his face makes my pulse take off. “Shit. Gavin, you look awful.”

He merely groans without raising his head.

I flatten my palm to his forehead, and as the heat registers, I suck in a breath. Shit, shit, shit. “Let’s get you changed, and I’ll call down for some medicine.”

“I—” He looks up at me, his eyes hazy. “I can. You go—don’t want you sick,” he stammers, his voice barely a whisper.

He’s so weak he doesn’t fight me when I lift his arm and slip under it, then guide him toward his room. When we’ve shuffled over to his bed, I turn him around so he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress. He sways, so for several seconds, I hold him by the upper arms. Once the movement stops and I’m sure he won’t fall over, I call the front desk and ask for a fever reducer. Then I run a lukewarm bath. It’s what my dad always did when we were sick. Whether it really helps, I don’t know, but he’s covered in sweat, and I can’t have him sleeping like that.

When I come back into the room, Gavin is lying on his side, still in his suit, eyes shut and knees pulled up.

“You have to stay awake for me,” I plead, settling next to him but being sure not to touch him. He’s told me to keep my distance, but if I don’t get him up, he can’t take the medicine, and I can’t get him into the tub. “Gav,” I say softly, giving in and pressing my hand to his forehead again.

He groans in response to my touch, but he doesn’t recoil. I swipe softly at the perspiration coating his skin and rake my fingers through his damp hair to get it off his face.

He lets out a whimper. “Don’t stop,” he rasps.

God, the way those words steal my breath. I do it again, digging into his scalp, spreading my fingers wide and then closing them again.

This time he moans in response.

I lean down so my mouth is next to his ear. “Gav, let’s get you in the bath, okay?”

He moans again and opens his eyes, and now we’re just staring at one another. His eyes are bloodshot and smudged with dark circles. Even so, he’s still the most breathtaking person I’ve ever seen.

“Can you get up for me? I really think a bath will help.”

He swallows and gives me the smallest of nods, but his eyes don’t leave mine, and he doesn’t get up, like he’s been entranced.

“You can go. I’ll be fine.” His voice is like sandpaper, scratchy and rough.

I ignore the shiver it sends down my spine. It’s not the time to be turned on. “No. I don’t trust you in the bath by yourself.”

“You can’t?—”

“Gavin,” I huff, “I’ve seen every inch of you. I swear I’m not going to try anything.”

He grunts and closes his eyes. “Fine.”

My heart screams as I push away from him. Already, I miss his proximity, but I have to get up so I can help him. For a few short seconds, it was like we were lying in bed together. Just like we used to. Heads on the same pillow, talking late into the night about everything and nothing at all.

Gavin splays one hand on the mattress and pushes, but his arm shakes as he tries to rise, leaving me vindicated in my push to help him.

“Come on, big guy,” I say, going with a flirty tone to mask my concern.

With a heavy breath, he tries again, and this time he manages to sit up and brace himself with a hand on the bed on either side of him. I grasp one hand and tug on the cuff of his jacket’s sleeve, then do the same to the other side. As I angle in and work the buttons of his shirt loose, he studies me, his attention fixed on my face.

“Hi,” I say rather awkwardly. I work as quickly as I can. We’re too close, and I can only handle so much.

As his bare chest comes into view, I have to bite back a groan. With both hands, I push his shirt over his shoulders, and then I undo the buttons at his wrist. That’s when the bracelets he always wears come into view. Friendship bracelets he made with Finn and Winnie. They were obsessed with them last year, and his eyes had lit up when he recounted how thrilled Winnie was when her uncles proudly wore her creations. All four Langfield brothers wear them.

The ache in my chest grows stronger at the memories and loss—of the intimacy we used to share; I used to know everything about him—as I adjust them and read each one.

Best Uncle.

Boston Bolts.

Vivi Girl.

Peaches.

I hold my breath as I read and reread the word and examine the orange and white beads. My mind trips over the letters, as if certain I’m not reading them right. As if those seven letters put together in that order could spell anything else.

“Pay attention to the little things. He still keeps a piece of you close to him. He’s not over you.” Sara’s words echo in my brain as I thumb the beads, rolling them. What he cares about most is represented here. His team, his status as an uncle, his daughter …and me.

Trembling at the thought, I look up, unsure of whether he’ll be wearing an angry expression or something wholly different, but his eyes are closed and his brows are pinched in physical pain. He’s oblivious to what I’ve found.

My pulse thrums at this new information. It’s hard to tamp down on the elation that rushes through me. Because, though I’m still worried about him, I’m no longer worried about us.

He’s not over us. He hasn’t given up on us.

And there’s no way in hell I’ll give up on him.