"Don't ever call me your brother again," I mutter into her ear the second we push through the door.
She laughs easily. She doesn't let go of my arm either, so we cross the parking lot like that, her tucked against my side, and I don't do a single thing to change it. I like it. I've missed it. She'd probably touch me more if I didn't make it so difficult. If I didn't run hot and cold and give her every reason to keep her distance. That's on me. I know that. I just know it’s better for her this way.
“He was hitting on you,” I mutter as we make it to the car. The feel of a sticky, late-night August day envelopes us in silence.
“I figured.”
I open her door and let her slide in, making sure she’s buckled before slamming it shut, then head to the passenger side. Pressing the button on the side of the chair, I push it back as far as it can go, trying to stretch out my legs but Bri’s car isn’t built for a six-foot five professional goaltender. The ache is settling in now, deep and throbbing and I don’t even realize I’m making a pained face until she asks me, “Does your hamstring hurt?” as she backs out of the gas station and merges back onto the quiet and dark highway.
“Just a little.” I shift to find a better position. “Legs are just aching in general. First game back after a long summer and all.”
She nods, her eyes flicking to me briefly before returning to the road. “Want to lay down in the back?”
“I’m fine here.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I’m fine here.”
We fall into a stiff silence for a few minutes, the hum of the engine filling the space between us while I try to think of ways to tell her I’m sorry again for being a dick. A minutes later the silence is broken when I hear the rustling of a snack bag as she tears into the candy and pops the cap on her drink. Cue the satisfied gasp and an accompanying sigh like she just had the best orgasm of her life.
And I’d know because that’s what I gave her the night we first met.
“Ah. That hits the spot,” she breathes out on a half moan.
Chill, woman.
“Do you mind if I put on some music?” she asks, her voice chipper, like we’re on some fun road trip and not barreling down the highway to rescue my panicked daughter.
Yes.
Yes, I mind.I’ve already told her that twice now but it’s not for the reasons she thinks.
I’d rather sit here and stew in my own self-loathing, replaying all the ways I’ve failed my daughter and am pushing Bri away. I’d rather dredge up the past with her mother dying before she could remember her and somehow blame myself for her cancer diagnosis. Then I’d like to revisit the fact I married a woman who never really liked the idea of being a family and only wanted me for my money and status. I’d rather wallow in the guilt; let it gnaw at me for the next two hours as I berate myself for having a demanding career when I also have a daughter who clearly needs me much more. A daughter whose life I uprooted from California and moved across the country to be closer to family.
Instead, I force out a clipped, “That’s fine.”
She taps a button on the screen, and the speakers instantly fill the car with a familiar, gritty guitar riff.
I blink, recognizing the opening chords immediately and cutting my eyes to see her expression. Her smile is smug.
“Creed? Really? That’s your choice for road trip jams?”
She grins, her eyes flicking to mine for a brief second, mischief dancing in her gaze.
“What did you expect? Something light and poppy?”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me, low and under my breath.
“Definitely not this. Are we reliving your middle school years? Were you an emo girl?”
“Come on,” she grins wider, turning up the volume. “This is a classic. Everyone was listening to this back then.”
A classic? I shake my head, leaning back against the headrest and closing my eyes as the familiar lyrics kick in. And despite the ache in my legs, the exhaustion settling into my bones, and the anxiety that’s still clawing at my chest, I let it happen.
Because for the first time tonight, with Bri beside me and Creed blasting through the speakers… none of it feels so heavy.
I roll my head to the side to look at her again. She looks so pretty with just the moonlight reflecting off her. It’s too intimate in here. Way too intimate. Everything between us is stripped down to just the console of her car. There are no cameras. No reminder of who her father is and none of my family or teammates to witness what we’re doing. And maybe it’s the fact that we’re far away from everything and everyone we know that makes me want to close the distance I’ve put between us. Lean over, press my lips to the soft, smooth skin of her neck that I know smells like flower. Maybe I’d kiss her there—maybe bite down and suck, just to hear that sweet little gasp I know she makes.
