AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It would be convenient for me to pretend that I did because she was a woman in trouble, that I was the kind of man who would have intervened even if it wasn’t Brit.
But that would be a fucking lie.
Because, yes, I was a man who wouldn’t stand by and let someone be abused or hurt or assaulted, not when there was something I could do about it.
But that wasn’t why I’d intervened—or not the only reason.
I’d started moving toward Brit and that douchebag the moment I came around the corner and saw them pressed together—my mind shutting down, rage slicing through me…
Possessiveness and anger and…
Well, I’d been ready to tear that fucker to shreds even before I heard her tell him no.
And after that point?
Murder was the first thing on my mind.
Still. Fucking stupid.
Brit is my ex. The papers are filed. The news is all over the media. It’s all but official.
But…
Seeing another man touch her?—
Christ.
Grinding my teeth together, I clench the steering wheel so fiercely that it creaks in protest.
I need to get the fuck out of this car. I need to get the fuck away from her.
A feeling Brit notices—because of course she does.
Intuitive, smart, and with a heart that’s as gold as the glittering metallic nugget that’s the team’s mascot, Goldie.
“You can drop me off anywhere,” she says. “I’ll get a Lyft home.”
And she means it.
Not passive aggressively. Not with bitterness.
She cares about people and their comfort and what makes them happy—she somehow still even cares about me, her asshole ex.
Some might think that makes her stupid. But she’s not. She’s got that heart. And they don’t get it, don’t get her. It’s the same as people who think she’s too bright, too loud, too outspoken, that she takes up too much space in an area that should belong solely to men.
Dumbasses. Because Brit deserves that space, has more than earned the right to burn brightly and take up room in a male-dominated sport, to just…be herself.
Her kind, thoughtful self.
Case in point? Her pulling out her cell before I get the chance to answer, tapping at the screen, pulling up the rideshare app.
Her kind, thoughtful, stubborn as shit (because professional hockey players can’t make it to the NHL without being stubborn) self. Which means, I know that even if I reassure her that I’m not pissed about taking her home (a lie because I am, just not for the reasons she would expect), she will still call for the Lyft and tuck and roll her ass out of my car.
I reach over, snag her phone from her hand, and shove it into the plastic pocket built into the door.
Then hit the locks—even though they automatically engage—just for good measure.
“What the hell, Stefan?—?”
