Page 106 of Pucking Forbidden

Hadley looks right through me. She sees the walls going up. Sees the way I’m retreating into the safety of my own isolation. She doesn't yell, and she doesn't argue. She just looks at me with heartbreaking tenderness.

She leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against my cheek.

“I’m here,” she whispers against my ear, her arms wrapping around my shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere, Julian.”

I close my eyes and pull her tight against my chest, burying my face in her hair. She holds me tight, and even as her breathing evens out and I know she’s fallen asleep, she doesn’t let go.

I don't deserve her. She is too good for me. Eventually, everyone always leaves. Everyone always chooses something else…life, other teammates, loved ones, better options…over me. I’m just the guy people use until they find something better.

Swallowing, I reach for my phone and open the email from The Ironclads trying to confirm a meeting for tomorrow. The very same email I have been ignoring for weeks. I send a quick reply that I’ll be there, then toss my phone back to the nightstand.

Maybe it's better this way, I think bitterly, even as I hold her tight. Maybe it’s better if I leave first, because she’s going to realize what a broken, hollow mess I am, and she’ll leave me soon anyway.

People always do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: CHOICES

JULIAN

The alarm on my phone doesn't even get the chance to vibrate. My eyes snap open at exactly four fifty-nine, my internal clock turning over before the silence of the room can be broken.

The pale, gray light of dawn bleeds through the curtains of the guest bedroom, casting soft shadows across the small mattress. Hadley is curled on her side, half on top of me in the small bed, and buried in the thick down comforter. One of her small hands is tucked under her cheek, her brown hair splayed across the pillow. She breathes in a slow, even rhythm, looking so delicate, it makes my chest ache.

Carefully, shifting my weight an inch at a time so the old springs don’t groan, I slip out from beneath the blankets. The chill of the room hits my bare chest, but I ignore it, moving with the silent, practiced precision of a man who spent his childhood learning how to navigate a house without making a single floorboard creak.

I reach for my jeans and a heavy charcoal hoodie from my duffel bag, pulling them on in the shadows. I grab a stray piece of scrap paper from the nightstand and a pen from my pocket, scrawling a quick, uneven note:

Running a few errands before breakfast. Be back soon. Don't let Mrs. Clay burn the coffee.

I set it on her side of the table, lingering for one more second just to watch the slow rise and fall of her shoulders. She is absolutely stunning. Her dark hair is a messy halo against the pillow, and her face is soft with sleep. I can’t deny it anymore. I am completely, utterly gone for this girl. She has bypassed every single one of my defenses without even trying, and the thought of leaving her feels like ripping away a piece of my own ribs. Still, I force myself to turn my back on her and slip out the door.

My boots are in my hands as I descend the narrow stairs. My watch reads six-fifteen. The meeting with Coach Williams is at eight at a private diner downtown, but I need to get out of the house now. I need the cold air to clear the suffocating fog in my brain.

I reach the bottom of the stairs, sliding my feet into my boots and reaching for the brass handle of the front door.

“You always were a terrible liar, Julian.”

The raspy voice cuts through the quiet house. I freeze, my hand hovering an inch over the deadbolt. I let out a slow breath through my nose and turn around. Damn it. I was hoping she’d sleep in since it was a holiday.

Mrs. Clay is sitting in the worn armchair in the corner of the living room, a thick knit shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She doesn't have a light on, but her sharp, intelligent eyes are locked dead onto me in the gloom. She has a mug of tea resting in her lap, the steam rising in lazy curls.

“Grams,” I rumble, dropping my hands into my hoodie pocket. “It’s 5:15 in the morning. You should be asleep. Yesterday was a long day. There’s no reason for you to be up like normal.”

“What about you?” she fires back as she sets her mug down on the side table. I wince at her sharp tone, feeling a little as if she slapped me. She stands up, her joints popping slightly in the quiet room, and gestures toward the kitchen. “Slinking around before sunrise. Come with me.”

I hesitate, my chest tightening. I look at the front door, then back at her tiny, fragile frame. Damn it, I don't want to have this conversation, but I have never disobeyed this woman in my life. Sighing in defeat, I follow her into the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath my feet.

“Sit down,” she orders. When I shoot a glance toward the clock on the stove, she speaks more firmly. “I said sit.”

I obey, dropping into a chair beside the kitchen table.

She doesn't turn on the overhead light, just the small amber bulb above the stove. She turns around, crossing her thin arms over her chest. When she looks down at me, it makes me feel like the scrawny, terrified thirteen-year-old who used to hide in her pantry.

“I saw everything yesterday, Julian,” she starts, her voice dropping into a softer register. “The way you walked around her. The way you looked at her when she wasn’t watching you. You’re completely transparent.”

I stiffen, my jaw locking. “She’s a friend, Grams. She’s going through a rough time with her family, and I’m just…'”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” she interrupts, pointing a stern, wrinkled finger at my chest. “You are in love with that girl. It’s written all over your face. It’s in the way you breathe when she’s in the room. I may be old, and I’ve been a widow a long time, but don’t play me for a fool. You go to this meeting today, you risk everything you have - with Hadley and with your team.”