Crashed by Elise Faber

Chapter Twelve

Brandon

“I don’t thinkshe wants to talk to you,” Kay said, closing the folder the moment Fanny was out of sight and fixing Brandon with an intense stare.

He turned to follow her.

Kaydon grabbed his arm, stalling him. “What are you doing, man?”

“Mind your own business.” Brandon tried to shrug off his hand.

The fucker just held on. Damn hockey players and their giant hands. “Dude,” Kay snapped, shaking him slightly. “What are you doing?”

“She’s mine,” Brandon hissed, finally managing to break Kaydon’s grip. He started walking after her.

“Doesn’t seem like she wants to be.”

That had him stopping and turning around. “She’s just scared because—”

Fuck. It was too complicated a conversation to have in this moment, especially when Kay didn’t know any of their history.

“Scared why?” Kaydon’s voice was deadly, his expression doubly so, and Brandon had the notion that he was seeing what the other man’s face might look like just before he mowed down an opponent on the ice. “What did you do?” His words grew even icier. “Did you hurt her?”

Brandon bit back a curse.

“Not like you’re thinking,” he said, and when Kaydon grabbed his shoulder, fingers digging in fiercely, Brandon knew that even though Kay was new to the Gold, Fanny had already earned his respect. Just as he knew Kaydon would throw down to protect her—and not just because she was a member of the Gold, but because Kay had seen the woman Fanny was, seen how much love and care she deserved.

Which was why he took thirty seconds to lay it out for him.

Kaydon already knew about the cancer. When Kay’s mom had been diagnosed a couple of years ago, they’d talked it out, and Brandon had shared his own experience, but Kay didn’t know about Fanny and everything that had gone down.

So, Brandon told him in those thirty seconds, understanding full well that the tale might end up on the Gold’s gossip train, that the team might intervene, and the intervention might not be in his favor.

He wasn’t a safe choice.

But given a chance, he would love Fanny with every fiber of his being. He would love her until he was in the ground, or until that love was forcibly taken away from him. Brandon couldn’t make guarantees. Fuck knew, he’d lived enough life to understand that, but he also knew that he wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

To do that, Kaydon needed to understand.

And maybe the rest of the team needed to understand that as well.

“Fuck,” Kay breathed when Brandon finished his short, sharp explanation. “That’s a fucking mess, man. You still love her?”

“I do,” Brandon said, starting to move past Kaydon. He was probably already too late. Fan had probably already drifted off. “And she still feels something for me. So, I’m not letting her go. I’m going to fight for her and—”

“And if she doesn’t want that?”

Brandon stopped.

“Will you let her go?”

Brandon dropped his head, staring at his feet, knowing the answer and knowing it probably wasn’t the one Kaydon wanted to hear. If Fanny wanted him to move on, to let go, he honestly wasn’t sure he could respect that wish. He thought that he might fight for her until he didn’t have breath in his lungs.

“Make damned sure that you understand what’s in your heart before you make your way back into hers.”

Brandon sighed. “Not going to warn me off?”

Kaydon’s mouth turned up. “I think you already understand how well-liked Fanny is with the guys. You’ll have enough people to warn you off when they realize who you’re after.” He clapped Brandon on the shoulder and pointed back toward the rink. “You might have a chance to catch her if you go out that way. She usually parks out front.”

With a nod of thanks, Brandon left Kaydon in the hall, holding the contract he’d printed out and hand-delivered for no reason other than Kay had mentioned his session with Fanny at dinner last night.

Then he exited the rink, knowing that a battle was forthcoming.

And looking forward to every damned minute of it.

She was just gettinginto her car.

He sped up, saw the redhead who’d been talking to her slant a curious gaze in his direction, and then a smug smile, but he didn’t stop to analyze either.

Instead, he snagged the car door before Fanny could close it.

“Hey,” he said, casually, standing in the open frame.

Her hand was still on the door, her arm outstretched, her fingers wrapped around the smooth metal handle. His greeting had her sighing and then glancing up at him, her brow lifted. “Really?”

“Hi, baby,” he murmured, crouching down and running his fingers lightly up her arm. “Is that better?”

She shivered, snatched her arm back. “No.”

Amusement coiled through him, but he was starting to understand that her snapping at him was a good thing. It meant that she felt something, and even if that something at the moment was being annoyed with him, then he’d take it. Annoyance was better than distance. And it sure as shit was better than not feeling anything for him.

“You here to talk to me about your masturbation habits again?” she gritted out.

Shock had him freezing.

But then the moment of surprise rapidly transformed into pleasure. He grinned slowly. “You want me to tell you about them?” he murmured, leaning close, not missing how she inhaled sharply, how her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles standing out sharply against her skin. “I don’t mind.”

She exhaled, slow and steady, but her seemingly calm breathing was belied by the fact that her cheeks had gone rosy, her irises dilated. “Well, I do,” she muttered.

“No”—a tug of her ponytail—“you don’t.” He smothered a grin. “Want me to tell you how I was so turned on that it barely took me three strokes to come?” he said, loving that her cheeks flushed further. “Or that it didn’t even take the edge off, not when I could still taste you on my tongue, could imagine what your slick heat would feel like around me. So”—he leaned closer, not bothering to hide his smile when she shivered—“as soon as I came, I had to jerk off again.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Her voice was so breathless that he knew she thought that was anything but disgusting.

“Liar,” he murmured, so close now that his lips brushed her earlobe, that he couldn’t resist nipping the delicate dangling bit of flesh.

She moaned.

“Did you make yourself come?”

“Wh-what?”

“After what I did to you in the restaurant, did you go home and make yourself come?”

“I—” She shook her head. He hadn’t moved back, so her hair caught the stubble on his jaw, her scent filled his nose. “No, of course not.”

“Liar,” he murmured again and had the pleasure of seeing her cheeks go fire engine red.

“Brandon,” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes sparked as her hand found his chest, shoved him back so he landed on the warm pavement.

“You’re an asshole.”

She slammed the door, nearly clocking him in the head. The click of the lock engaging had him jumping to his feet.

“You can run,” he said, knowing it probably wasn’t loud enough for her to hear.

But she could read his lips, apparently.

Just like he could read hers.

Because he watched her mouth move, watched it form the words, “I’m not running.”

So, for a third time, he said, “Liar.”

Then she revved her engine and took off.

For some reason, he was grinning when she nearly mowed him over.

Maybe he loved to live dangerously.

Maybe he just loved her.