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A noise of frustration comes from across the table before Roy pulls out his phone and starts typing furiously at the screen. I don’t know whether we’re being dismissed or if he just has something he thinks is more important than this to deal with right now.
Either way, it’s rude. My grandpa would have this asshole’s phone out of his hand and in the middle of traffic if he were here. My mom’s father is a total hard-ass, but in the most ooey-gooey-centre kind of way.
Braxton snorts. “Well, don’t let us disturb your business. We’re leaving.”
“Not yet. Look at this first,” Roy orders. I wait, expecting him to hand the phone to Braxton, but he holds it in front of my face instead. “Go ahead. I want you both to see what you’ve done by carrying out this whole act. Read those comments and tell me if you still think you’re doing the right thing.”
I rip the phone from his grip and bring it close, taking in what’s happening on the screen.
It’s a few pictures of me and Braxton from last night on one of the bigger sports pages with the caption“Maddox Hutton off the market? Swipe to meet his new girlfriend—Braxton Heights, the daughter of Hutton’s former hockey agent, Roy Heights. Is this a shot at daddy or is Roy out to lunch?”
The caption doesn’t bother me. We expected this reaction when the news broke. But shit. I can’t look away from the photos themselves.
Braxton on my back, my hands tight on her thighs, her purse strung over my shoulder, and wide, blissful grins lighting our faces. I want the pictures for myself, preferably so I can blow them up and hang them on my living room walls.
“Is this supposed to piss me off?” I ask.
“Scroll down.”
I do, and my stomach folds further into itself with each comment I read. There are over two thousand comments on this post, and while the majority are just curious hockey fans, some of them make me want to puke. I swallow the boulder in my throat and tilt the phone out of Braxton’s view when she tries to lean over my body to see what they say.
“They’re fantastic photos. If you know who the photographer is, please let me know so I can get a copy of the originals,” I say, hoping nobody can hear the struggle behind the words.
Roy’s anger is so evident I feel it across the table. “You’re going to let my daughter be called those horrific names and not do anything? This is precisely why I don’t believe this relationship is real.”
“Dad, I really don’t care about what people on the internet say about me. I already knew this would happen.” Braxton sighs.
“Braxton doesn’t need me to protect her by monitoring everything she sees, but Iwillstill protect her. Don’t take my lack of visible reaction as calmness. The last thing I ever want is for her to face any sort of negativity in her life.”
Braxton has always been strong enough to look out for herself, but while I meant what I said about not monitoring what she sees, I still lock the phone and toss it onto the table in front of Roy without letting her see the comments. If she finds herself looking later on, that’s her business, and I’ll be there if she wants me. But her first encounter with internet trolls is not going to be in a crowded restaurant in front of her father.
“Sounds like a copout to me,” Roy mutters under his breath.
I shrug. “It would. You have no idea what it means to truly protect someone. You don’t know how to give someone the kind of protection they both needandwant because you don’t bother learning that much about them. You’re really going to preach to me about protection when not even ten minutes ago, you were throwing your eldest daughter under the bus to cover your ass? Right.”
“Dox, I really just want to leave,” Braxton murmurs.
I smile softly. “Sounds good to me. But we’re not leaving here without your crepes.”
Appreciation shines in her eyes as she nods. “Go. I’ll be fine. There are some things I want to say before we go.”
“Be right back,” I whisper before lifting her chin with my pointer finger and kissing her, not giving a single fuck that her dad is glaring daggers at us.
I kiss her softly, slowly, taking my time, and once I’ve sated my need enough to leave her alone with her parents, I bump her nose with mine and pull away.
I don’t like leaving her here alone with them, but if it’s what she wants, then that’s that.
After stealing another quick kiss, I slip out of the booth and place an order at the counter for crepes, pancakes, and every sort of meat they have at this place, all while sneaking glances at the table.
My chest puffs out as I watch Braxton lay into her parents, her little sister joining in every few seconds. The more I watch, the more curious I become about the relationship the two sisters have. They used to be close, and I’m glad to see that still seems to be the case.
There are so many questions I want to ask Braxton. So many conversations I want to have about every little thing she’s done these last eight years and what she wants for the rest of her life. We’ve barely been back in each other’s lives for three weeks, but I feel like I should know more.
Maybe that’s my worry talking. Worry that she’ll disappear on me again before I get the chance to find an answer to all my questions. I don’t want to rush, but the idea of taking things slow with her doesn’t seem to be an option anymore.
We tried that once, and I ended up losing her. Maybe not for that exact reason, but I can’t help but wonder if I hadn’t waited and I had just kissed her and told her I loved her when we were younger if that would have kept her from leaving.
It’s all what-ifs. I have to remind myself of that. We can’t go back. There’s only now and what we do next.
