Page 171 of Playing the Pucking Game
Her sweet, floral scent fills my nose as I hold her, her body trembling in my arms.
I fucking get it. This place…her home…
It may not have burned, but the damage is devastating. I’m sure there are things that we can salvage, but she’s lost so much.
I soothe her the best I can, whispering words of support and rubbing my hand up and down her back, but I have no idea how much it helps. This isn’t my area of expertise. If she really wanted support, she should have done this with Casey. She’d have known exactly what to say and do.
She was going to do this alone, a little voice points out.
Fuck, I’m so glad I didn’t allow her to do that.
The minutes stretch on as she sobs in my arms, and I stand there helplessly, trying to be the man she needs in this moment.
As time goes on, the self-doubt begins to set in hard.
If you were helping, she’d have stopped crying by now, right?
You have no idea how to support someone else.
Why haven’t you said anything? She needs you.
“P-Parker?” I stutter, needing to banish the voices in my head.
She sucks in a ragged breath, her grip on me tightening for a beat before she finally pulls her head from my chest.
My breath catches as she stares up at me with big, beautiful, teary eyes.
That look…it’s like being hit by a truck.
Suddenly, I’m a teenager again, staring at the girl I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember, breaking down because her asshole of a boyfriend shredded her heart.
Pain rockets through me.
All I wanted to do that night was help. And just like now, I did everything wrong.
But it’s Parker. I’m powerless to resist.
My heart begins to race as memories from that night collide with this moment.
She continues gazing at me. Her eyes are red, her makeup smeared everywhere, and her cheeks are wet.
She’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And watching her in pain is the worst thing in the world.
Her hands shift, and I startle at the movement as they slide around my front and then up my chest. Her brows pinch as if she’s deep in concentration, learning the lines of my body. It’s not necessary; after only a few weeks, I feel like she knows my body better than I do.
But then, my brain short-circuits when she wraps her arms around my neck and lifts up slightly on her toes.
The air between us crackles like a live wire, and I swear, I have to be dreaming. Sure, we’ve become close over the last few weeks. But this…
It’s never felt like this.
My head drops, closing the space between us.
Desperation, grief, and the need for an escape roll off her. She’s using me. Just like she did that night.
But I don’t care.
Parker Donnelly can use me for the rest of my days, and I’d die a very happy man.
