During my brief time in the military, I learned the importance of working with a team and trusting we had each other’s backs. That required transparency and authenticity. I imagine hockey is similar, and Payton’s secret must be weighing heavily on him, which makes me totally regret kissing him.
I was playing my part, and perhaps I fell prey to Payton’s competitive streak. How could I not counter his sexy wink? And how was I to know the surprise celebration was also about honoring him with the title of alternate captain?
A perfect storm of bad timing.
We arrive at his apartment before Luke since he stayed behind to help clean-up. I guess one of the perks of being a guest of honor is no KP duty. Always nice to have some bonuses on the job.
After we walk inside, I drop the car keys into the bowl sitting on the table by the door and send Del a text to confirm we’re secure. As I follow Payton into his bedroom, he tosses hisnew jersey on the bed and drops onto the end with a bounce, holding his head in his hands.
In case Luke walks in, I close the door. “Want to talk about it?”
He sits up and shoots a steely glance at me. “Is playing therapist part of your job, too?”
His attempt at humor falls flat, sounding more like sarcasm. But I’m not offended. I understand where he’s coming from. Well, kind of. These guys are his friends. Some closer than others. They care about Payton, and he obviously cares about them. They’re much closer knit than I expected.
Relationships have always felt messy to me. Not sure why, other than I learned quickly not to get too attached at an early age. Thus, I keep most people I meet at arm’s length. Del’s probably the first person I’ve let in to some degree, but that took several years of her basically wearing me down with her constant presence and ridiculous jokes.
“No, but I’m happy to listen. You’d be amazed how often a principal spills their guts to their bodyguard.” I take a spot on the opposite end of the bed.
He shifts to face me. “Is that what I am? A principal?”
I shrug. “Or client, if you prefer.”
Nodding, he returns to his previous position. “I’d prefer not to be in this situation at all.”
“You could still tell them the truth before this goes any further. They seem like a supportive bunch. I’m sure they’d understand.”
He drops his hands, letting them hang between his knees, and sighs. “It’s not just this fake marriage thing. I’ve never told them anything about the title my family holds because I consider it inconsequential to who I am here. And that was the point. But now, it seems…”
“Deceptive?”
Payton groans. “Yes, I suppose. For lack of a better word.”
“Would youprefer dishonest?”
He glares at me. “I think you’re better at being a fake wife than a therapist.”
I try to stifle a giggle and fail. “Just trying to help. No judgment here. That’s definitelynotpart of my job.”
As I rise with the intention of getting ready for bed, he catches my wrist. The feel of his calloused fingers on my skin is rough yet stimulating in an unexpected way. The memory of kissing his cheek flashes front and center in my mind and sticks there. The rough stubble of his five o’clock shadow, his spicy clean scent, the warmth of his skin against mine…
“What would you do?” His eyes plead with me for a genuine answer.
I drag my focus from the sparks running up my arm to his question. “I can’t answer that, Payton. This is your life, and you know it better than anyone.”
That’s the one area I think I can relate to most about him. Clearly, he wants to live his life on his own terms. After growing up in multiple foster and group homes, being told what, how, and when to do anything and everything, I jumped into the military because it made sense. And felt familiar. While enlisted, I learned a skill set and gained independence, but ultimately, I realized I wanted to live life on my own terms.
He lets go of me. “You’re right. I need to figure this out on my own.”
Still feeling his touch, I brush my wrist with my other hand. “Sleep will help. Let your unconscious mind chew on it overnight. Things always look clearer in the light of day.”
He nods, yet says nothing.
In the week since we arrived in Sarabella, Payton and I have established a nightly routine, taking turns in the bathroom and getting settled for the night. Again, I take my place on the left side of the bed while Payton sleeps on a pallet on the floor on the opposite side. I can’t imagine he’s sleeping very well, and though I’m sure his tossing and turning is dueto what happened earlier, I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt.
I keep my voice to a whisper in case he’s fallen asleep. “Payton, are you still awake?”
“Yes, why?” He sounds husky but not sleepy.
