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And that ability isn’t exclusive to a fire. Take now for instance. I’ve just met the Talleys, but I clearly understand that the Talleys are circling the wagons, protecting their own—and warning me away. Letting me know I’m not welcome in their family.
Why their obvious censure stings, I can’t begin to explain. Like I said, I don’t know these people. And their opinion of me shouldn’t matter. Them letting me know I’m not wanted shouldn’t mean a thing to me. Damn sure shouldn’t hurt me.
But it does.
God, it does.
“Hey, babe. You ready to go? These guys are waiting to take us to our car.” Noni appears at my side, and behind me, she lays a hand on my back, slowly circling it. Comforting me.
I blink back the sudden burn of tears. Mortification razes a path through me. Oh hell no. I won’t cry in front of these people. I think the fuck not.
“Yes, all ready.” I blink against the still-present sting and force a smile. But I know my best friend can see past it. Her pleasant expression doesn’t betray a thing she’s thinking. But her eyes? They’re spitting fire. “Mr. and Mrs. Talley, this is my friend Monica Crawford. Noni, this is Nathaniel and Caroline Talley, Solomon’s in-laws.”
Noni nods at them, murmuring a greeting that, to my ears, sounds shoved past grinding teeth. She’s fiercely loyal, and knowing my girl like I do, it’s in the best interest of all if I cut this short. Noni doesn’t play about me, and that helps beat back some of my embarrassment and hurt.
“We’re going to head out,” I say to them before switching my attention to Khalil. My smile is more genuine with him, and that sweet little face does more to smooth balm over my heart. “It was awesome seeing you again, Khalil.”
“See you later, Ms. Dina!” He waves his hand, and I do the same.
“If you’ll excuse us. Have a great evening,” I murmur to the Talleys and ease around them, climbing the stairs to the exit.
And to a space that isn’t filled with the choking, acrid scent of disapproval.
Chapter Eleven
SOLOMON
“Great game.” I slap Mont on the shoulder on my way out of the locker room, and the younger man jerks up his chin.
He doesn’t say much. Definitely not the gregarious chatterbox Harry Morgan, our former goalie, was. But he doesn’t need to say a word when he plays like he does. When he originally joined the team, some of us—yeah, me included—cast judgment. Harry was legendary and one of the best in the NHL. Hell, in the history of the game, period. Plus, he was an integral part of this team, a leader, and a friend. We hated losing him even as we were happy for him voluntarily retiring while he was healthy and to spend time with his family. So this quiet, aloof, younger goalie coming in? Nah, we cast judgment. Until we saw Mont Hannah play. He’s a fucking god on the ice. A good part of our successful winning season so far is due to him. His positional saves, phenomenal athleticism, and reflexes, as well as his damn near instinctive balance between aggression and patience, have already made him invaluable to us. Shit, Mont can remain selectively nonverbal as long as he keeps playing like a beast.
Besides, I can identify pain and trauma when I see it. And something in Mont’s eyes, his closed-off manner ... yeah, like knows like, and our goalie has secrets, painful secrets, that he’s not ready to share.
I follow him out of the locker room, hooking my duffel bag over my shoulder.
“What’re you getting into tonight?” Ares Dent, our right defenseman, asks as we near the door.
A snicker comes from behind me. “We all know what you’re getting into. Pussy. Lots of pussy,” Erik says.
Completely unoffended, Ares grins. The man’s a ho and proud of it.
“Don’t hate on me. I’m willing to share.”
And Ares means that. Literally. The defenseman never met a threesome or orgy he didn’t love.
“Yeah, I’m good on that.” I pull the locker-room door open. “The only plans I have include reading my son a bedtime story, putting him down for the night, and kicking back with a beer.”
“Same,” Ken adds. “Except for with my wife.”
Ares arches an eyebrow. “You reading her a bedtime story too?”
“Damn right. Whatchu think this is?”
I snort while Ares and Erik crack up.
“Ay, Sol, we saw the chick you got caught tonguing down out there. Is that coincidence or ...” Ares wiggles his eyebrows, looking manic as hell.
“Yeah, I caught that too. She was sitting beside Patrice,” Ken adds.
