Page 178 of Power Play

Charm placed her hand in mine and held on.

“Come upstairs.”

I threaded our fingers together and led her toward the elevators while Briggs called something behind us about them heading out. Charm’s grip tightened instead of loosening.

I felt it.

Three nights earlier, she pulled away when strangers looked. Tonight, she crossed state lines and held my hand in front of teammates, friends, hotel staff, and half the damn lobby.

I noticed every fucking thing she did.

When the elevator doors closed, I stopped pretending the last three days hadn’t gotten under my skin.

They had.

I spent most of the drive to Flint telling myself Charm needed space and I would respect it because that was what I asked for. Then she started answering me like I was somebody she barely knew, and every clipped response scraped harder than the one before it.

I kept telling myself not to read too much into it. She was overwhelmed. She was pissed. She was thinking.

None of that stopped me from checking my phone every time it buzzed. It didn’t stop me from noticing when she didn’t call or feeling like a fucking idiot when I sent I miss talking to you and got nothing back.

Now Charm stood beside me with her hand wrapped around mine.

She glanced at me once before looking down at our fingers.

I felt her grip tighten.

That tiny movement hit harder than it should have.

She had crossed a hotel lobby full of people who mattered to both of us and chosen me where everyone could see. I understood how much that cost her, but some wounded part of me still needed to know whether tonight was the beginning of something she could keep doing or one grand gesture fear would erase the next time Lance entered the room.

When the elevator reached my floor, I led her toward my room without saying much because I didn’t trust myself yet. The team bus left in less than an hour, my duffel was half-packed, and Charm had apparently driven four hours on a Wednesday night because she finally decided silence was worse than whatever happened when she reached me.

That made me want to kiss her senseless.

It also made me want to shake her.

I opened the hotel room and stepped aside.

Charm walked in slowly, taking in the open suitcase on the bed and the Frost gear scattered across the chair. She looked nervous again now that we were alone, which might have been funny if I hadn’t spent three days missing the exact version of her standing in front of me.

She turned. “I’m sorry.”

I closed the door. “I know.”

“No, I really am.”

“I heard you downstairs.”

She rubbed her palms against her jeans, then caught herself and folded her hands together. “I was horrible.”

“You were scared.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

I leaned against the door and watched her.

Her apology carried no polished performance and no carefully selected words designed to give me the response she thought I wanted. Charm looked miserable because she finally understood what she had done.