Page 37 of Second Draft

I narrow my eyes at her, and say sarcastically, “Right.”

“I’m serious. Maybe this is a second chance. Not just for you, but for them too.”

“I’ll think about telling them I’m pregnant when you tell your parents your living with Max.”

She snorts. “Point taken. But–”

“I’d rather not talk about them.”

“Okay.” She smiles sadly, then grabs the remote and turns on the television, flipping the channels until she finds one of those cheesy made for TV movies.

I appreciate the distraction. I know Kira means well, but she doesn’t know the whole story. The real reason I ran. I’ve never told anyone, and I probably never will.

There are some things that are just too dark to share. Some demons that are better left buried in the past.

Chapter 15

Carter

It’s hell being away from Layla.

Three weeks and I feel like another year has passed. But this is the first time I’ve been able to get away. At least now, hockey is over, and I don’t have to go back to New York for two more weeks.

My boss is on me to renew my contract for next season, but I haven’t made up my mind, and I won’t until I know what I’m going to do about Layla.

If it was up to me I’d quit my damn job tomorrow, sell my New York apartment, and move in with her permanently. But I’m not sure how well that would go over. Every time I called over the past few weeks to check in on her, she seemed to have grown more and more withdrawn, like she’s purposefully distancing herself from me.

I get it. She’s scared. And who wouldn’t be in her position.

But I need her to realize that I’m not my brother. I won’t leave her the second things get hard.

It’s past eleven when I pull up to the house in my rental car. The lights inside are off, except a small lamp in the front living room.

I know she’s probably already asleep, but the buzz of excitement, just being back in the same house as her, tingles through me. I’m a grown-ass man, but she makes me feel like a goddamn teenager again with his first crush.

The house is quiet when I shut the front door behind me, locking it.

I put my bags down when I see her. Fast asleep on the couch, Layla is curled up, a book lying open on her chest. Her lips are slightly parted, her light brown hair hangs over one soft cheek.

God, she’s beautiful, and my fingers itch to touch her.

“Layla?” I take the book and place it on the coffee table, but she doesn’t respond.

Her neck is tilted in a funny direction, and I know she’s going to be stiff tomorrow if I let her sleep down here.

One arm under her knees, I pick her up, cradling her to my chest.

She stirs slightly, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.

“Carter,” she mumbles, not opening her eyes.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

She mutters something incoherent, then buries her face against my chest.

My heart does one of those flip flop things, the one that warns me that this thing between us is more than just physical.

Taking my time, because I want to prolong every moment I can holding her, I carry her up the stairs, glancing once at my bedroom door and for a brief moment contemplating taking her in there.

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