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CHAPTER 42 - HALF THE STORY
Tanggal publikasi:
2026-03-10 05:13:26
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PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE CHAPTER 125 - COLLATERAL DAMAGE
My phone rang during a sentence I wasn’t reading.Mom.The name on the screen making my stomach tighten before I answered – every call from my mother lately had been either silence or sadness, the careful neutrality of a woman who’d stopped asking questions because the answers were all too heavy. I almost let it go. Almost pressed decline and texted call you later and turned back to the paragraph of Victorian criticism I’d been staring at for twenty minutes without absorbing a word.I picked up.Her voice was wrong.“Miles is gone. He’s not answering his phone. He’s not at the rink, he’s not at home, he’s GONE, Naomi.”My body went cold. The temperature dropping through my hands, my face, the backs of my knees, the way it always did when the world shifted under me without warning. Miles. My brother. Thirteen years old. The one person in my life I hadn’t broken yet.“How long?”“I don’t know. He went to the rink after school to pick up gear. That was four hours ago. Four HOURS, Naomi.
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE CHAPTER 124 - NOT JUST PHOTOS
I woke up wearing his hoodie.Not deliberately – I’d pulled it on at 2 AM, half-asleep, reaching for it the way your hand reaches for a glass of water in the dark. Muscle memory. The fabric sliding over my head and for three seconds I was in his apartment with his arm heavy across my waist and his breathing slow against my neck and the world was the size of a bed and nothing outside it existed.Then I woke up fully. The smell hit me – coffee, his deodorant, something underneath both of those that was just him, that I’d never asked the name of because I liked not knowing, liked that it existed without a label. And the absence hit harder. The sleeve where his hand used to find mine. The hood that still held the shape of the last time he’d pulled it up over my hair. The fabric growing fainter every night because my own skin’s chemistry was slowly replacing his.I was erasing him by keeping him.I cried. The kind I thought I was done with – ugly, silent, face pressed into the sleeve, my b
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE CHAPTER 123 - FIVE SECONDS
The cold hit me like a wall when we stepped outside.I swayed. The sidewalk tilting under my feet – not dramatically, just enough to remind me that three whiskeys on an empty stomach was a decision made by a woman who’d stopped making good ones. Caleb’s hand on my elbow. Steadying. Functional. The automatic gesture of someone walking a drunk person out of a bar, and I didn’t pull away because pulling away from a steadying hand when your legs aren’t working is performative, not principled.“Let me call you a car,” he said.“I’m fine.”I wasn’t fine. I was leaning against the brick wall outside the bar because the wall was solid and my legs had decided they were done being reliable for the evening. The brick was cold through my jacket. The air smelled like rain and garbage and the particular staleness of a street that existed between closing time and dawn. Caleb was standing in front of me. Close. Not crowding – present. His voice still doing the thing from inside. Soft. Low. The regist
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE CHAPTER 122 - NO AGENDA
NAOMI’S POVThe bar wasn’t the one where I met Rhys.I chose it specifically because it wasn’t. Different side of town. Darker. The kind of place with sticky floors and a bartender who didn’t make eye contact and a jukebox that played songs from a decade nobody in the room was nostalgic for. No warm lighting. No charged strangers at the end of the counter. No possibility of a man with bruised knuckles sliding a drink toward me and changing my entire life.I wanted a bar where nothing could happen.I sat at the counter and ordered whiskey because whiskey was what my father drank and I was too tired to make an original choice. The first one burned. The second one didn’t. The third one tasted like nothing at all and I stared at the wood grain and tried to remember the last time I’d felt like a person instead of a crime scene that people kept walking through with opinions about the evidence.It was a Wednesday. I’d gone to two classes. Sat in the back of both. Taken no notes. The words on
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE CHAPTER 121 - INNOCENT
RHYS’ POVHer laptop wasn’t on the counter.That was the thing I couldn’t stop noticing. Not the silence. Not the dark. The counter. The specific square of granite where she’d set it every time she came over – lid open, charger trailing to the outlet behind the microwave, the cursor blinking on whatever she was writing while I cooked and she pretended to help and we both knew the food was an excuse to exist in the same room.The counter was empty. Had been for weeks. I stopped turning on the kitchen light because the kitchen light meant seeing the counter and the counter meant seeing the absence and the absence was louder than anything she’d ever left behind.3 AM. My apartment. The kind of dark that happens when you stop opening blinds because daylight requires performing and I didn’t have the energy to perform. The chipped blue mug – the one she said had character, the one she wrapped both hands around like it was keeping her alive – was in the cabinet. Face down. So I wouldn’t see
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE CHAPTER 12O - EXHAUSTION
The ceiling had nothing left to teach me.I’d been staring at it since midnight as I listened to Sienna’s breathing from the other bed.My phone was face down on the nightstand because face up meant checking. Checking meant either the silence of his name not appearing or the cruelty of Maeve’s latest post, and I couldn’t survive either at 2 AM with my defences running on empty.My body was exhausted. My brain wouldn’t stop.His hands on my waist in the kitchen. The sound he made against my neck in the shower – that low, involuntary sound that came from somewhere deeper than performance. The motorcycle lookout. Stars. Cold air. His jacket around my shoulders, too big, smelling like leather and him. The way he said my name like he was tasting something for the first time and didn’t want to swallow.The memories arrived intrusively and I was furious.Not at him. At my body. At the biological machinery that didn’t care about betrayal or timestamps or the word detour still lodged between m
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