Page 159 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

Carter holds up a white paper bag and cup of coffee. Penn holds the other two.

“Breakfast,” Carter says. “Have you eaten?”

I lick my lips. “I, um, just woke up.” I inch toward the bathroom. “Give me a second.”

I brush my teeth and hair in record time. Check the bandages. I bled through the bandage and into my sock on the plane yesterday, but I don’t think anyone noticed. No one said anything. But now I double-check everything is hidden before I step back out.

They gave me a room with two beds. Penn sits on the made-up one, his shoes off and feet up. Carter stands in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he says. “Penn?”

“Yeah?”

Carter doesn’t take his eyes off me, but his words are for Penn. “Get the fuck out for a minute.”

I smile.

Penn grumbles and grabs my keycard. “Just in case you get carried away. And only because you smiled, princess.” He kisses my cheek on the way past.

The door closes with a soft snick behind him, and Carter strolls toward me. Lazily, almost, but his gaze gets hotter by the second.

“You shut me out,” he says.

“I shut everyone out.”

“That’s over.”

“Maybe,” I allow. I mean, I don’t really know if it is or not. Is that up to me? Do I get to just decide to be in a funk or out of one?

Is this a funk? Or is it depression?

Or… something worse?

Shit. What if it’s something worse?

What’s worse than depression?

“Hey.”

I blink up at him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he informs me.

I nod. He cups my jaw and leans down, slowly touching his lips to mine.

When he pulls away, I try to follow.

“More?”

“Please.”

He tilts his head. “Did you kiss Penn? Last night?”

“No,” I breathe.

I reach for him, suddenly anxious. If I stop being valuable—if I don’t want to do the dark stuff he likes, for example—will he still want me? Or what if I can’t leave my apartment for months? Or what if he goes somewhere and I become emotionally reliant on him and have a panic attack the second he’s out of sight?

“Sydney.”