Page 13 of One Good Puck
“Everything okay?”
Gavin’s low, rumbly voice is a shock to my system. I stand up and quickly wipe at the tears just starting to fall down my cheeks.
When I look up, he’s standing a half-dozen feet from me.
“Um, uh…yeah.” I sniffle and step aside so I’m out of his way. “Sorry, you’re probably trying to use the restroom.”
I move to walk past him, but he stops me with a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m not actually. I just needed a quiet place to check my voicemail.” His brow furrows in concern. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nod. It’s an instinct at this point, after years of holding it together as a single mom, always telling people that I’ve got everything under control, even though sometimes I feel like I’m drowning.
Like right now, when I’m going to lose my home in not even two months.
I stop nodding, stop fighting, stop pushing everything down somewhere deep where I can’t get to it. I let myself cry.
I look up at Gavin, his eyes wide with worry and panic. Poor guy. He’s probably freaked out at witnessing my breakdown.
“I’m not okay,” my voice breaks.
For a second, I just stand there, Gavin’s face blurry through my tears. I’m about to turn around and head for the ladies’ room so I can have my emotional breakdown in private, but then I feel warmth on my arms.
Gavin wraps his massive arms around me and pulls me against his chest. He hugs me tight and says, “Come here,” in the softest, sweetest voice.
I’ve never heard his voice sound like this before. So warm. So comforting. It feels like someone’s wrapping the thickest, coziest blanket around me.
I rest the side of my face against his chest, relaxing into his embrace. Instantly, I feel calmer.
I’m going to regret this later, letting him see me break down like this. I know I will. But right now, I don’t care about that. Right now, all I want is to stay cuddled in Gavin’s arms.
Chapter 6
Gavin
Iwrap my arms tight around Abby, my chest aching at seeing her like this.
Her beautiful face is streaked with tears, twisted in pain.
I still can’t believe I grabbed her and hugged her. I’m not a touchy-feely kind of guy. The only person I hug and am affectionate with is my daughter. But with everyone else, I’m hands-off. I shake hands. I smack helmets and pads during practices and games. That’s it.
But with Abby, it was instinctual. I saw her slumped against the wall, tears streaking her face, clearly upset, and I wanted to go to her. To hold her and comfort her. Despite her saying that she was okay. I could tell she was just saying that to minimize herself.
I breathe in and get a whiff of whatever perfume or shampoo she’s wearing. It’s sweet and citrusy. Light and musky at the same time.
We stand like that for what feels like a minute, and not one second of it feels awkward or weird, at least not for me.
My chin is propped on top of her head, and it’s like she fits me perfectly.
“I’m sorry, Gavin,” she whispers before stepping back and out of my arms.
She wipes her eyes and looks at my chest. “Crap, your suit jacket. I got makeup on it.”
“It’s fine,” I say without even looking down.
“It’s not fine. That’s probably a really expensive suit.” She lets out a breath, and her delicate shoulders fall. Like she’s defeated. “I can take it to get drycleaned. I know this really good place near my parents’ neighborhood…”
She trails off when I shake my head. “You’re not doing that, Abby. I have a million suits. I don’t even really like this one that much.”
A chuckle falls from her mouth. It sounds so light and happy. God, it feels good hearing her laugh after seeing her so sad.
