Page 4 of He Has Trouble (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
She snorted and laughed. “Out of the blue you’re worried about me?”
“I’ve always worried about you. Always cared.”
Her mouth clamped shut and she stared at me, daring me to keep going.
I leaned against the side of the old car inside the garage. Glancing at the open door, I thought maybe I should close it, give us some privacy, but that might be one leap too far. For both of us.
Tugging on her arm again, I pulled her in close so that she was up against me, and I circled my arms around her, swearing to myself when my hand shook. I remembered being in this position with her before, when we were both too young and inexperienced. Innocent. All I could do now was stare into her eyes the same way I’d done then.
When I did, I saw the memory in her eyes too.
“You can’t do this, Brady. You can’t just come back here and pretend like you never left me high and dry, like you never broke my heart, and expect to pick up where we left off before you turned into a self-important, cold-hearted bastard.”
Even if I hadn’t heard the break in her voice, seen the tears glistening in her eyes in the dark shadowy light, I wouldn’t have felt the hurt, the pain and heartbreak. It seared through me, through all the scar tissue of my damaged heart and soul and slammed into me, choking me up. I closed my eyes and breathed, willing myself to hold it together, arms shaking.
Without realizing it, I’d squeezed her closer to me and caressed her back through the wool coat. My leather jacket was open and I could feel the buttons of her coat pressing into my chest.
“Don’t you dare clam up. You need to answer to me, you—”
I shot a hand up to the back of her head and pressed it forward, capturing her mouth with mine, needing to communicate how I felt yet unable to form words. Turmoil swirled a mess of confusion in my head and heart. I couldn’t tell where my head was, whether my heart had banished it forever.
All I knew was the need to feel her lips, to taste their sweetness again, to test their magic. To see if they still held the power to calm my soul, to ease the excruciating pain of loss. Most of all, to cut through the numbness I’d shrouded myself in these past years without her.
Her stiffness relented within two heartbeats as she opened her mouth to me, warm and velvety. My heart thumped wildly, my head buzzed with drunken desire, and my cock leapt to life.Damn. Plunging my tongue into her depths, I imagined plunging my hard cock inside her. She was my magic elixir, still, my lifeline to sanity and peace. How had I forgotten that for so long? Why had I refused to believe it?
Because I was a worthless piece of shit and she deserved better.
Was that still true?
I feared it was truer than ever and let her mouth go, let go of her hair, slid my arms down her back. But before I could take my hands from her so that she could escape, I looked into her eyes.
“You are so damn beautiful. Inside and out. I never did deserve you.”
She grabbed the front of my jacket and pressed against me, startling me with her force.
“Don’t say that. It wasn’t true then and it’s not true now. You deserve everything in the world, Brady Mackenzie. I don’t know where you ever got it in your head—”
“I got it from life.”
“Bullshit.”
I almost smiled at that. “Spoken like a lucky little girl from a warm, loving family.”
“Yourfamily. We’ve always been your family too, Brady.”
“Right. The adopted son.” I paused and then decided to test my limits. “If that’s true then the last thing I should be doing is kissing my sister.” My words weren’t playful. They were dark. As dark as her eyes went now as she glared back at me. She’d never been the kind to back down. I’d always loved that about her.
Still did, if the colossal gulp in my chest meant anything.
“Adopted sisters are perfect for kissing. Didn’t you know? How many kisses, how many times did we need to make love for you to realize that?” Her words were soft and pleading now and disconcertingly vulnerable. I didn’t know if I could stand her letting down her defenses. Maybe I’d counted on her to hold me back, to keep me away from her, from destroying us both. I was trouble, right?
I touched her forehead with mine when I knew touching was the last thing I should be doing. When I should be shoving her away from me to protect her from getting swept up in my self-destructive streak.
“You know I’m a selfish bastard, right?” My voice lacked the conviction and strength it should have had. I cleared my throat.
“I know exactly who you are. You’re a sorry, self-pitying martyr.”
I lifted my head and studied her serious, angelic face. She was the same Angela. Only older, wiser maybe. These were the words I’d heard only one other person tell me.
