Power Play

Britt

Hold your horses, Slammers fans! My cozy corners are tinged with tension tonight. As Britt faces an unexpected visit, the air thickens with revelations and old grievances seeking closure. Will this unexpected tête-à-tête bridge the gaps of a strained relationship, or just confirm the distances that have long been growing? With lingering questions about loyalty and intentions, it promises to tug at those heartstrings, leaving you wondering whether the ties that bind are made of love or obligation. So, grab your favorite comfort blanket, and let's delve into a family reunion that's anything but ordinary.

Playlist: "Shower Me With Your Love" by Surface

Dad does not belong in Sorrowville. Seeing him here is extra fucking weird. Rationally, I know that Sorrowville is just a place like any other, but in some ways, it feels like another world. Watching Dad walk around the living room in his stocking feet, wearing brand-name designer clothes with a Rolex glimmering on his wrist, is surreal.

"Nice place," he says, and it doesn't even sound like sarcasm. "I can see that you've had a hand in this. You always did have an eye for color."

The sudden burst of kindness from a man who rarely has any is starting to freak me out. I press my back against the arm of the couch and wrap my blanket tighter around myself. I don't care if I look like a little kid right now. More time with family is the last thing I need.

"What are you doing here?" I demand. "Your errand boy didn't get the job done? Can't say as I'm surprised."

Dad stops poking around. He walks over to the La-Z-Boy and settles in. "Your brother called me from the road. I assume he's home by now, but I didn't want to wait. He told me what he said to… Holden. Bragged about it, actually." He drags one hand across his face. He looks older than I remember. "I wanted to make it clear that I didn't send Montgomery. And I sure as hell didn't encourage him to wreck the wedding."

"Oh. Thanks?" I'm not sure there's a correct response to a statement like that.

"Did he wreck the wedding?" Dad asks.

"Well." I look around. "Holden left. But I can't imagine he'd have gone far, so the outcome is still TBD."

"I see." Dad wriggles in the chair. I don't know if he's physically uncomfortable, or if this conversation is as awkward for him as it is for me. "You look…"

"Pregnant?" I suggest.

Dad nods once. "Did Montgomery know?"

"Fuck if I know. I didn't tell him, and he didn't ask." I can't resist a dig at my crap brother. "Gosh, it's almost like my health and well-being wasn't a priority for him. Imagine that."

His shoulders droop. "I'm so sorry, Britt. When I realized what your brother did… now that I'm seeing who he is…"

This is officially the weirdest day of my life. Not only has it been unbelievably long and hard, but now I'm experiencing a minor miracle. Dad just apologized.

He never apologizes. Did I accidentally stumble into Narnia? What's happening?

I'm not going to let him off the hook, though. "Dad, he's always been a lazy asshole. How is this the first time you've noticed?"

"I thought it was sibling rivalry. I thought if he had his trust fund, he'd rise to the occasion. I didn't think he'd rub it in your face and try to wreck your life." Dad smacks one fist against his palm. I recognize the tic in his cheek, the pinch of his mouth, all the little markers of restrained frustration. They're the same things I do when I'm at my limit.

"He wouldn't have been able to do that if you had made us equal," I remind him.

Dad laughs. "Britt, that's impossible. You two were never equal, never the same. You were wildly ambitious. I never had to light a fire under you. Mostly, I had to struggle to keep up. You were… are… a firecracker. I don't expect that to change. No matter where you fall in love or who you're married to."

I hug a throw pillow to my chest. "I wanted you to be proud of me."

"I was. I am. I'm sorry. I guess I just don't know how to show it in the way that you want to receive it. I'm a work in progress. But please know that I just want you to be happy."

Two apologies in one day. I truly can't believe it. "I am happy," I tell him. "Here, with Holden, this is home. I like it here. I want to stay. Can you accept that? Do you want to be part of this? Do you and Mom want to be part of your grandchild's life?"

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I can. I do. I love you, Britt."

My poor, tired eyes well up all over again. "I love you, too, Dad."

"I want you to know, I submitted the paperwork for you to receive your trust now, whether or not you get married. You were right to call me out on that, and I'm sorry I dug in my heels. I can be stubborn, I know. But I hope in my old age I've become better at seeing and understanding when I'm wrong. No matter how long it takes me to get to that conclusion."

"Gosh, really?" I giggle, despite everything. "Not me. I'm the most easygoing person I know."

He laughs, too. "Runs in the family, I guess. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course, I can forgive you." Months of anger, years of resentment, can't be solved by a single apology, but when Dad gets up and comes over to the couch, I immediately turn around to snuggle against him. We're not a hugging family. Physical affection isn't how we roll. I haven't sat beside my dad and let him hold me close since I was a little kid, and even then, it was a rare thing. The occasional bedtime story was the closest I got.

"If Holden still wants to marry me, wanna give me away?" I ask.

Dad kisses the top of my head. "I'd be honored. And if Holden still wants to marry you, will you let me pay for the wedding? It's tradition."

I consider the question for a long moment. Tradition was what got us into this mess, after all. "Do you want to?" I ask. "Or do you just feel like you should?"

"I want to," he says, without missing a beat. "You're my only daughter. Of course, I want to give you the world if only you'll let me."

"Then, yes."

It's getting late, and all this emotional stuff is catching up with me. I'm hungry and exhausted.

"Do you want to stay for dinner? It's a long drive back. You could sleep here if you wanted."

"Would that be okay?"

I could get used to this thing where we actually communicate. "I'd feel better if I didn't have to worry about you making the drive in the dark. There are no streetlights on the roads, and you don't know the area. We have a spare bed in my office."

Dad agrees, and we get him set up for the evening while our meals heat up in the Tovala. He didn't stop to pack before he left home, so I end up loaning him some of Holden's clothes. Seeing my father in Holden's Express jersey is both hilarious and unsettling.

We spend the rest of the evening catching each other up on the things we've missed. Now that our relationship has changed, it's clear that neither of us really knows how to talk to the other.

At least I had something to feed him. What if I'd had to take him out to Power Play for dinner?

Beth would have eaten him alive.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" Dad asks over breakfast.

"I'm sure." I cradle my mug, with only a small splash of coffee inside, and sniff it for comfort. Dad actually gets to drink his. Unfair.

"I could stay… meet Holden, maybe…"

I hold up a hand. "I need to talk to him first."

"And if he doesn't come back?"

"He will. This is his house, Dad. He's probably at a friend's place for the evening to cool off and think things over. Or his dad's… they're close, and I wouldn't be surprised if he needed some advice." I don't feel as confident as I sound. Regardless, my dad's presence will not make this situation better.

He leaves before nine, eager to get on the road and get back to his life. On the porch, we subject each other to an awkward hug.

"Drive safe," I tell him.

"Take care of yourself, Britt." Dad waves. This tepid exchange is still one of our more affectionate interactions, which throws the difference between Holden's relationships and mine into stark relief all over again.

Once I'm alone, I make myself some herbal tea—nowhere near as good as coffee, but at least it's warm—and sit down on the couch with my legal pad. If Holden isn't back by tonight, I'll track him down, but I need to do some thinking first. The legal pad I scribbled on during my phone call with Tierney is ready and waiting for me, its blank lines an opportunity.

I lose track of time while I write out my thoughts. Tierney told me to be honest, and as anybody who knows me will tell you, I don't do things by halves.

* * *

Shortly after three o'clock, somebody knocks at the door. "Express delivery," Holden calls.

I start at the sound of his voice, but I refuse to go charging out to greet him. Instead, I call, "Come in."

"Um, if you could get the door…"

I rise to my feet and pad over to greet him. The door's not locked, but okay, I guess he's respecting my autonomy.

As soon as I peek outside, I realize I'm wrong. He's carrying an enormous box that makes it hard to maneuver on the small porch.

"Need a hand?" I ask.

"No, no, I've got it." Holden keeps his head down as he wrestles the box through the open door. I'd forgotten that this was supposed to arrive today. It's the crib… which is a painful irony, given that I'm not sure if he wants me to stay. But I guess even if he wants to end it, he'll still need a crib at his place. Holden would never abandon his child, that I know for sure.

I stand back and let him do his thing until the box is safely inside. He leans it against the wall and turns to me, but he still keeps his face slightly averted from mine. "This is my last delivery of the day. If you want, I could stay and help you put it together."

I let out a small breath. "I'd like that."

"It would give us a chance to talk," he adds.

"Sure. Although I guess it depends what you want to talk about."

He rests one hand on top of the box. "Britt… when I left yesterday… I needed a cooling down period. I stuck myself in the penalty box. And I was hoping my penalty was up. I could go back on the ice. Play?" His hopeful smile gives me butterflies, just like it always has.

"I'm no good on the ice," I tell him. "And this isn't a game. We're not a game."

"I know." He rubs his palm over the box and stares sidelong at the twice-life-size photo of a smiling baby lying in the crib. "That's not what I meant."

I get what he's trying to say. Hockey is important to him, and it's his best outlet for his emotions. I'm not surprised that he's using it as an analogy for trying to fix his mistakes. In the spirit of reconciliation, I let him off the hook.

"I'm trying to understand what happened. I've been working on it since yesterday."

"So… like, you had therapy?"

I shake my head. "I was preparing my opening statement." Speaking of using work skills as an analogy for real-world conflict…

Holden meets my eyes for the first time since he came inside. His wry smile widens. "Very smart. What did you come up with?"

I walk over to the couch, sit down, and pat the cushions beside me. I wait until he sits down to pull out the legal pad, flip back to the first page of my statement, and clear my throat.

Holden chuckles. "Oh, you wrote it down. Of course."

"It's always good to have a plan." I square my shoulders and start reading. "So, I think we need a plan. A word. You know because the real problem, as I see it, is that you need me to be softer. And I'd like to be soft, but I'm too used to needing to be hard, too used to having to hide my underbelly. Then you come along and you're so easy to be with, I forget you need things, too."

Holden reaches for my hand. "I can see that."

I interlace our fingers and wave the pad in his direction with my other hand. "I'm not done."

"Of course not." Holden settles in. With every passing second, his defensive posture is relaxing, and that's when I know we're going to be okay. We can fix this.

Because we both want to fix it.

"Somehow it never occurred to me you'd be upset about the money. By the time we agreed to marry, the money was only a bonus in my mind. What I really wanted when I came to Sorrowville was to be rid of Fitz and stick it to my father. Now, instead of running away, I'm running toward something. I want to be with you, to raise a child with you. I didn't think of it as a lie, because I honestly didn't realize I hadn't told you. And anyway, who would be upset about getting a bunch of money?"

"Someone who's never had much of it," Holden murmurs.

I lower my notepad and break from my script. "Yeah, I'm starting to understand that. After I talked to Tierney yesterday, it clicked that we see money pretty differently. I barged into your house and started changing things. I should have asked. I should have been more respectful of you and your space."

Holden exhales through his nose. "Britt, I tried to tell you that."

"I thought that was about me leaving, though. Like, you didn't want me to change things up and then abandon you."

"That was a big part of it." Holden rubs his face with his free hand, but he doesn't let go. "But there's a power dynamic in play whenever money is involved. I didn't realize how much it was weighing on me until Montgomery brought it up. You just use your phone and order whatever you want whenever you want. I can't do that."

I open my mouth to tell him that it's stupid to place so much focus on money. Thankfully, my brain kicks in before my voice does. For one thing, telling Holden that his worries are stupid probably won't help my case. For another… wasn't my whole fight with my dad predicated on my anger at him holding money over my head? Do what I want, or you can't have what you want doesn't make for a great foundation to a relationship. I don't think I've ever done that, but I can see why it would bother Holden.

"Does it upset you," I ask, "that I come from a family with more money than yours?"

"No," Holden blurts.

"Are you sure?"

"It's not—" He exhales again and shifts a few times. Clearly, this turn in the conversation is making him uncomfortable. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"If our roles were reversed…" I begin.

"This isn't about you being a competent, supersmart lawyer," he says. "That's one hundred percent hot, although it does sometimes make me wonder what you see in me. But I'd like it if we talked things through more. Before you do stuff like remodel the house, I mean. It feels like you're trying to fix me because I'm not good enough."

"You really feel that way?" I ask. "You never said so."

"I tried to. You can be kind of hard to talk to. I mean, you know what you like, which is great. And shiplap aside, I'll probably agree with you on most things. It's not about the house. It's about our partnership. I have to feel like I bring something to the table. Like you being with me somehow makes your life better."

Well, fuck me. It never even occurred to me that he'd feel that way. It seemed like he didn't care one way or the other about the house's appearance, and maybe he still doesn't. What he said about feeling like he needs to be fixed, though? That makes a hell of a lot of sense.

Holden nudges my knee with his. "Did you have anything else written down?"

"Oh, yeah." I turn back to my notepad. "Just one thing. I want to marry you because I love you, you idiot."

Holden cranes his neck. "Did you really write ‘idiot' in there?"

"In my defense, I was still working on this draft when you showed up."

He glances down at his hands. "Did you really write that you love me?"

I hold up my notes for inspection. "Yes. Because it's true."

He shakes his head at me. "I'm glad to hear it. But did you have to say it so aggressively?"

"I was still working through some stuff, okay! How else was I supposed to say it?"

"Observe." Holden leans toward me and takes the notepad from my hands. When he has my full attention, he takes my face in his hands and leans forward. "I love you, Britt," he whispers.

His kiss is soft and sweet, and the intensity of his affection makes my toes curl. When he tries to pull away, I grab the front of his shirt and drag him back. Even then, he holds tight to me, pressing his hand to my back rather than trying to get under my shirt.

Which is, frankly, disappointing.

"Okay," I pant, when we finally break apart, "I can see your way has its merits. If we really love each other, we need to try to make sure that these… misunderstandings don't happen often."

Holden leans back against the arm of the couch. "What do you suggest?"

"I think we need a word. A word we can use…"

"Like a safe word?" Holden asks.

"Those are for the bedroom. This would be for everywhere else. It would be a way to request a cooldown period without shutting the other person down."

Holden laughs. "Only we would need a safe word for life."

"According to the internet, you'd be wrong. As for the word, what about bench? It's something we have in common. For me, it's the place where the judge sits. For you, it's the place where the players sit."

"So instead of tabling a discussion…" Holden begins.

"We bench it."

"I like that." He gets up from the couch. "So. Shall we put this crib together?"

"It can wait. You're off the clock, right? Because we have a rain check to cash in on." I nibble my thumbnail and look up at Holden from under my eyelashes. "Also, you look really fucking hot in that uniform."

"Oh, yeah?" He strikes a series of poses that mostly involve wiggling his ass in my face. "You like that, baby?"

"I do." I'm sure hormones are in play here, but also, he's a damn fine man. "Although I wouldn't mind if you took it off."

Holden gasps. "I knew it! You only like me for my package!"

"Is that what Montgomery said?" I swear, I'm going to murder him. And they will never, ever find the body.

Holden's laughter dies away. He reaches out both arms in my direction, and I scramble up off the couch and into his embrace. "It doesn't matter what he said. I shouldn't have listened to anything he had to say. He's bitter and seems to be floundering in life. I'm so sorry I left… it won't happen again."

"I'm sure we'll fight again," I tell him. "And if you need to step out to clear your head, I get it. But I need to know that you're coming back."

"Always." Holden lowers his lips to my neck, and I shiver at the contact. He didn't shave this morning, and his stubble is rough against my cheek. "We'll learn to compromise."

"Mhmm." I lean against him. Now there's a baby in between us, which makes it a little hard to rub up on him. We're going to have to figure out a new angle to make this work.

Holden tries to pick me up, and almost immediately lowers me to the floor again. "Sorry," he says. "Let me try again."

"Let's just walk to the bedroom," I suggest. "It's the thought that counts… until you drop my pregnant ass in the hallway."

We fumble our way to the bedroom, and Holden helps me into the bed where I slept alone last night. When I'm perched on the edge of the mattress, he kneels down in front of me and helps me get undressed. His touch is gentle, and while I've been craving something rough and needy, it feels good to be cared for. To be caressed and adored.

"I'm not sexy anymore," I complain.

"Like hell you're not." Holden massages my aching breasts. "That's the patriarchy talking. Your tits are magnificent."

I laugh as I brace myself on my elbows. He kisses his way down my neck and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth. I let out a much louder cry than usual.

Holden freezes. "Everything okay?"

"Sensitive," I pant.

A wicked grin spreads across his face, and he resumes his attentions, licking and sucking until my knees tremble. Good thing I'm lying down.

"Are you one of those guys that thinks pregnant women are specifically attractive?" I ask.

"I think you're specifically attractive." Holden lowers himself between my thighs and peppers kisses along my bare skin. "And the fact that you're pregnant with our kid? Yeah, I'm into that. My fertile seed hit paydirt on the first try through two layers of birth control. I am, in fact, the man."

I whimper when he licks my clit, and he pauses again.

"Sensitive?" he asks.

"You have no idea. Blood. Three pounds."

"Perfect." He sucks my clit between his lips until I squirm and cry out. "Let's see what all that blood can do."

I don't understand what's happening to me. It's like my whole body is on fire with need, every inch of flesh begging to be touched and kissed. It's even more intense than the time we hooked up in the locker room—and Holden isn't even talking. I like when he talks to me, when he urges me on, when he says dirty shit that makes my face burn. But this is better. He's slow and patient, using his tongue and fingers in tandem to tease my clit. I shiver when he slips a finger inside of me and moan when he adds a second. Before long my thighs clench against the sides of his face.

Holden lifts his head, looking pleased with himself as his fingers continue to thrust into me. "Did you come already?"

"Keep doing that." I throw my arm across my face so that I won't have to meet his eyes. "Please. I'm going to… I need…" Goddamn, words are hard.

In less than a minute, I moan my second release, and I can already feel the tension building before the aftershocks fade. I tug Holden's hair. "I want you," I beg.

"Yeah?" Holden wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. "You're ready?"

I just nod. My brain is officially offline, and I'm dimly aware of what a gift it is, to be able to disconnect for a while. To know that even with my guard down, I'm safe with this man.

Holden removes the rest of his USPS uniform and strokes himself a few times. I have a vivid mental image of him coming all over my stomach, rutting between my swollen breasts, fucking my mouth. I want to surrender to him.

I want to be manhandled and used and dicked down until I can't even remember my own name.

New kink unlocked, I guess.

I don't get a chance to ask for any of it before Holden leans over me, still standing on the floor, pinning my wrists with his hands. He glides his cock against my entrance a few times, taking great care not to put any excess pressure on me. He's so kind. He's so careful. I love him so much. How could he ever doubt that?

It takes him a few tries to enter me hands-free, but when he does, I immediately arch my back in pleasure and wrap my legs around his waist.

"Patience," Holden tells me. He kisses my cheek, and I smell my arousal on his skin.

"No." I press my heels into his back.

"What happened to compromise?" he teases.

I glare up at him. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want me to come on your dick."

He nips at my throat and thrusts deeper, harder, giving me exactly what I need. "You make a good point, Miss Jensen."

I lift my hips to greet him. "Not for long."

"Hm?"

"I won't be Miss Jensen for long. A few more weeks, and I'll be Mrs. Travers."

Holden's hips stutter-stop. "You're taking my name?"

"I am. I've given it a lot of thought. And I'm all in. Besides, everyone in our little family should have the same last name, don't you think?"

He releases one of my wrists and brushes my hair out of my sweating face. "Are you sure?"

"When have I ever not been sure of anything?" I lift my chin.

Holden's stunned silence hangs between us like a palpable thing, weighty and warm. I didn't make this decision lightly. It feels like staking a claim, not just on him, but on a future teeming with possibilities and new beginnings. Becoming Mrs. Travers reflects more than just a new name—it's a promise, a statement that I'm ready to intertwine my life with his, irreversibly. As I gaze into his eyes, thick with emotion, I see not just the man I love, but the family we'll become. This is about belonging, about forging our own unit where every victory and setback is shared, where our child will grow up wrapped in the security of a shared identity.

"Britt." Holden leans back, still seated inside me, and trails his fingertips over my overstimulated skin. "I'm honored." His fingertips skim down my belly until they reach my clit. He holds perfectly still, gazing down at me as he caresses me. I squirm and whine, but it's exactly what I need. Between the stretch of his cock and his circling fingers, I don't last long.

"That's right," he murmurs. "Give me a hat trick, Mrs. Travers."

And I do.