Page 2 of The Worst Kind of Promise
It’s not a question.
I trap the plumpness of my bottom lip between my teeth. “Kit, stop.”
A guttural rumble stirs deep within his chest. “I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”
“Kit…” I reach out to lightly touch his arm, and he seems to melt a little, but not much.
With a bracing breath, he rakes his hand through the front of his hair, looking about a second away from hitting whatever poor, helpless object is in the vicinity.
“I’m taking you to file a report.”
“No,” I say, panicked. The last thing I want to do is explain this whole horrid, confusing story to another person.
“I’m not doing this with you right now, do you understand?” he snaps, gritting his teeth. “You’re going to get in the car and go to the police station.”
I flinch at the bite in his tone, wrapping my arms around my midsection. “Nothing happened.”
“Well, clearly something happened.”
Unable to maintain eye contact, I drop my watery gaze to stare at the middle of his chest. “Not tonight.”
“Then when?”
“A long time ago.”
“Does Hayes know?”
At the idea of telling my brother the truth, panic whirls through me like a Category 5 hurricane, determined to bring me to my knees. “No. And he can’t know.”
In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have said that, because the lid that Kit’s already struggling to keep on his anger has completely blown off into the stratosphere.
“You’re calling him.” He firmly grabs my wrist, urging me toward his car.
I plant my heels into the ground and pull back, managing to break free from his steel vise. Granted, it takes all my strength and a good amount of my breath.
“If I go with you, we can’t tell Hayes.”
“Faye…”
I’m thrown by his gentle protectiveness, the uncharacteristic softness I didn’t think Kit was capable of, much less willing to show me. Kit’s callous. He isn’t compassionate or particularly thoughtful, but it’s not because he actively chooses to be an asshole. He just isn’t perceptive when it comes to others’ emotions. But I’ve never seen him so distraught before.
“Please, Kit. I can’t bring Hayes into this. You know how reckless he can be. If he finds out, he’ll lose it.”
Humorless laughter dances out of him. “Oh, and you think I’m super calm, cool, and collected right now?”
Even with my skittering pulse, there’s enough fire inside of me to light a match. It scalds my insides, wanting to burn every weak part of me, wanting to turn that meek little girl still crying out for her mother into flakes of ash. “I don’t need you to play hero! I just need you to be here for me. I called you because…”
His eyebrows jerk together expectantly. “Because?”
“Because I trust you,” I finish.
Ever since Hayes joined the Riverside Reapers—a National Hockey League team born and bred in Riverside, California—I’ve had a crush on Kit. He and my brother have been friends for four years, and even though they don’t always see eye to eye, they’re always there for each other.
As much as I trustKit, I don’t think I could trust him with myheart.
Kit doesn’t believe in strings, whether they’re attached or not.
I know liking an unreformable womanizer is a disaster waiting to happen. Kit doesn’t date. He never has. He’s almost always pictured with a new girl, and each relationship lasts as long as a hockey game. If I wanted to get my heart broken, I’d let Kit manhandle it all he wants. As much as I wish things could work out between us, I’m smart enough to know that Kit can’t give me what I need—he can’t give me stability or reassurance or unconditional love.
