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THIRTY - MOVE IT
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2026-08-03 19:02:20
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PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE THIRTY-TWO - THE TERMINAL
At the terminal he pulls the suitcase from the back seat and sets it on the curb, then he stands in front of me with his hands in his jacket pockets and his breath making small clouds in the air.I look at his concerned face, and I want to tell him everything. Caleb at the door. The money. The condition. The hospital in Seoul. The treatment. The kiss from two years ago that I’ve been carrying in my pocket like a stone that gets heavier with every month I don’t put it down.I want to tell him so bad that my mouth opens, the first syllable of Caleb’s name forming against my teeth, but then I remember that the telling would require explaining why Caleb knows about the cancer before Rhys does, and explaining that would require admitting that I sat on the kitchen floor for five hours processing alone instead of calling my husband, and admitting that would mean looking at the pattern and seeing it clearly for the first time.“Call me when you land,” he says.“I will.”“Call me when you see
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE THIRTY-ONE - WET SURFACES
I open my eyes. Grey irises. The scar. His face is three inches from mine, moving, his hips setting a rhythm that’s fast enough to keep my brain offline but controlled enough that I can feel him paying attention – reading my body the way he reads the ice, adjusting angle when my breath catches, slowing when the pleasure tips toward too much.My hands find his back and my nails dig in because the digging is communication – harder, more, don’t stop, keep me here in this bed in this body in this apartment where the worst thing that can happen is an orgasm instead of a diagnosis – and he responds by pinning my wrists above my head with one hand and driving deeper with the other braced against the mattress.The pinning is the thing that finally cracks it open, because the restraint tells my body that someone else is in control and the control means I can stop holding the walls up for thirty seconds and let someone else bear the weight.I cum with a sound that breaks in the middle – startin
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE THIRTY - MOVE IT
His bag hits the floor with a heavy, equipment-filled thud.He’s across the apartment in four strides and his arms are around me before I can finish the sentence, pulling me against his chest with the grip that means the doors are open and the man at the controls heard the word sick and the word mother and his body responded before his brain could construct a plan.I press my face into the space between his neck and shoulder – the space that smells like cedar and the rink and the body wash from the blue bottle, the smell that is the opposite of hospitals and waiting rooms and the antiseptic corridors where parents go to become diagnoses. My hands grip the back of his practice jersey the way I used to grip the back of his jersey in college when the world was too much and his body was the only architecture that felt solid enough to stand inside.“Okay.” His voice against the top of my head. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”“You have morning skate.”“I’ll drive you to the airport Naomi.”
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE TWENTY-NINE - SURVIVE
I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the wood and my hands shaking in my lap.The shaking is the body’s version of the sentence I can’t say out loud, which is that Caleb Park just told me my mother is dying and offered to save her, and the price is performing a fake relationship with the man who nearly destroyed me while hiding it from the man who rebuilt me, and every piece of the equation is designed to make saying no feel like murder.I sit on the floor for twenty minutes. The apartment quiet around me. The spreadsheet still glowing red on Rhys’s laptop. The manuscript still dead on mine. The fan’s card still face-down on the counter. The production company’s offer still on my desk.I pick up my phone. Scroll to Mom. Press call.It rings four times. She picks up on the fifth, and I know before she speaks because the fifth ring is the tell – Lorraine Ellis answers on the second ring when she’s fine, on the third when she’s busy, on the fourth whe
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE TWENTY-EIGHT - SICK
My body goes still before my brain processes the sentence.“What did you say?”“She was diagnosed four days ago. Acute myeloid leukaemia.” He says the words carefully. “I ran into her at the medical centre while I was in her town covering a story for the sports desk. She was in the waiting room, and she saw me before I could dip.” His voice drops. “She hasn’t told you yet because she’s still processing. I came here because the treatment window is narrow and you need to know.”The words acute myeloid leukaemia are sitting in my chest cavity doing something that has no name. It doesn’t feel like pain or panic, but it’s something underneath both of those, something that lives in the place where my father’s death is stored like a recording I can’t delete. And the recording is already playing. Tuesday dinner plans. Thursday diagnosis. A countdown shorter than anyone expected because the body had already decided before the doctors were consulted.“You’re lying.” My voice sounds like it’s co
PUCKED BY MY STEPBROTHER: A FORBIDDEN HOCKEY ROMANCE TWENTY-SEVEN - OLD WOUNDS
The doorbell rings on a Thursday morning while Rhys is at practice.I’m at the kitchen table with my laptop open to the book two manuscript that hasn’t moved in six days, the cursor blinking at the end of a sentence I wrote last week and haven’t been able to follow because the sentence is honest and the honesty muscle has atrophied so severely that following it would require a version of me I’m not sure still has access to the controls. The coffee beside me is cold. The spreadsheet is still glowing red on Rhys’s laptop across the table, the twelve-thousand-dollar deficit pulsing like a wound that won’t close.The doorbell is wrong. Deliveries don’t ring – they knock twice and leave the package against the door. Rhys has a key. Cole texts before he comes over because Cole was raised by a woman who believed unannounced visitors were a sign of societal collapse.I check the peephole.The face on the other side stops my hand on the deadbolt before my brain can process what my eyes are rep
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