Page 39 of Blitz
I followed him to the bathroom, my mind racing. Tom had this way of making complicated things feel simple—just shower, coffee, and to be with me. As if all the barriers I’d built could be washed away with hot water and soap. Then, I could get security fixed.
Then, I could keep Rebecca safe.
Talk to my father.
Promise him anything to stay away from her.
Under the spray, Tom pulled me to him—not sexual, just steady and grounding. His arms wrapped around me with the kind of care I didn’t know I’d craved, his hands moving in slow, calming circles across my back. I stood there, every muscle tense, waiting for the urge to pull away. But it didn’t come. Instead, I leaned in, resting my forehead on his shoulder, letting myself sink into his warmth. Letting myself be held.
It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about control. It was about letting someone else carry the weight for a second. And in thatmoment, I allowed it. I let myself feel small, feel safe, feel…cared for. It scared the hell out of me. But I stayed in his arms anyway, because maybe, for once, I didn’t have to be the one holding everything together.
The shower was quick. We were silent under the spray as I tried to organize my thoughts. I watched water sluice down his broad back, tracing old scars and the defined muscles that spoke of years of physical punishment disguised as sport.
“So, your sister,” he finally said, voice gentle as he handed me a towel when we were done. “The one you didn’t have yesterday.”
“Half-sister,” I mumbled, wrapping the towel around my waist. “Rebecca. I just found out about her recently.”
“Tell me about her,” he murmured against my temple.
“Her name’s Rebecca. Father forced her mom to have nothing to do with him. She’s in college. My father… he doesn’t want us to have any contact. His lawyers have offered her money to stay away from me, and she’s said no, and so they’re threatening her and?—”
“Slowly, sweetheart,” Tom encouraged, his hands stilling briefly before continuing their gentle circles. His voice was low and coaxing, not demanding, as though he already knew what I wanted to say was buried under layers I wasn’t ready to peel back. I didn’t want to talk about my father—not now—but I had to. I closed my eyes, jaw tight, the words scraping out like they’d been lodged there for years. He was asking because he cared, and that alone almost undid me. “Why would he want to hurt her?”
“Because she’s proof he had an affair and isn’t the righteous man he pretends to be.” I’d moved way past trying to defend him—hell, maybe I never really had. There’d never been loyalty, just silence. A numb detachment so complete I hadn’t even realized how deep it went until Rebecca had cracked it open.
“No one can stop you from knowing your sister.”
I pulled away from him, went into the small kitchen, made more coffee, and stayed quiet, the mug warm in my hands as my thoughts tangled and collided. I couldn’t stop picturing Rebecca’s face, the fierce conviction in her voice, the stubborn way she refused to be afraid. It echoed inside me, louder than I wanted to admit.
But fear clung to me like a second skin. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop—for the moment he’d tighten his grip and remind me how easily he could rip my world apart. I leaned my hip into the counter, staring at the swirling coffee, willing it to offer answers.
Tom followed me, stood behind me, his hand on my lower back, steadying me. I wanted to be brave like Rebecca, defiant. But I wasn’t there yet. Not fully. So, I breathed in steam and caffeine, trying to believe his words. Trying to believe Tom.
“He’ll destroy you too.”
“I don’t have skeletons in my past,” Tom said. “I’m the son of heart-of-gold parents who know all my secrets, with siblings who are strong and love me.”
“All your secrets?” I said, freaked out.
“All apart from you.” He shook his head. “And hell, I’m coming out, so he can’t hold that on me.”
“No, you don’t get it! Do you remember Dyna Bubble Mint?”
Tom’s brows lifted. “The rap artist who had her juvie records leaked?”
I nodded, throat tightening. “Dyna was my first real friend after I broke free of Dad. He was adamant I try out for the NHL after conversion therapy, as though it was some reward that he’d given me, and not my hard work and talent that had paid off. I brought her to the draft as a fuck you. An openly queer woman on my arm, proud and loud. And she paid the price for my rebellion.”
“What the hell, Trick?” Tom growled. “Conversion therapy?” Fuck, did I actually mean to tell him that? I wish I could rewind. “Trick?”
“It was him,” I said, my voice flat, ignoring that question. “He got Dyna’s records from before she transitioned, medical stuff, trouble she’d gotten into as a kid trying to find her place. He leaked them. Buried whatever career she had and turned her into a cautionary tale to remind me he was still watching.”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “You’re sure it was him?”
“He told me,” I whispered. “He fucking stood there and told me, like he was proud of it. Smiled like it was justice. Like hurting her was the Lord’s work. I was so stunned I couldn’t even move. I went on and financed the documentary she did, the tell-all—it was my way of trying to fix something, give her a platform again. And thank fuck, she’s clawed her way back, but Tom… that was a warning shot. He’ll find something. He always does. He’ll destroy Rebecca, me, anyone who chips at the image he’s built.” I was getting stressed again, worked up, and I needed to be at practice in two hours, and I’d be taking so much aggression with me if I went now. “I’ll ask the team, about security, someone has to know someone.”
“Okay.”
Then, I gripped Tom, kissed him hard, deep, and shoved at my clothes until I was naked, leaning over the counter. “I need this,” I begged, “fuck me.”
