32. The Lucky One

Rhys

If she's offering, I'm answering.

Samantha wasn't like this. She talked at me instead of with me. I take the opportunity Briar's giving, setting a hand on the small of her back as we head to the bench.

But a small part of me hates to be a downer after our fantastic night in bed. We didn't stop at her orgasm, though I'd have been content to. She insisted on returning the favor, and really, who was I to refuse? Then I learned she's a world-class cuddler, snuggling up with me while her dog curled under Hollis's neck.

There's something about actually sleeping with someone—slumbering—that brings you closer. She kissed my tattoo again before she fell asleep too. Maybe that's why I'm willing to sit on the bench with her and share.

"I don't usually share the worst thing that's ever happened to me on a third date," I say, trying to make light of…everything.

She gives me a curious look then asks, "The cat rescue was the first date? Dinner last night the second? And this is the third?"

"Sure," I say with a forced smile.

She sets a hand on my arm, takes a moment. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Be charming all the time," she says, seeing through me.

Fucking hell.

I should have known she'd be able to. Her radar's maddeningly good. "My older brother, Daniel, had cystic fibrosis," I say, and even though it's been a decade, even though I've been to grief counseling, I still miss him. "He died when he was twenty. He was sick a lot. We never expected him to even get that much time. But still, we wanted it. I wanted it all."

"Of course you did." She pauses but doesn't look away or try to hide from whatever grief might be on my face. "What was Daniel like?"

Hearing her say his name does something funny to my chest. "He was funny and delightfully mean. But in a hilarious way. He loved to make me laugh with his nicknames for doctors. Doctor Prick. Doctor Knob," I say, furrowing my brow. "I guess he mostly named doctors after penises. There was one named Doctor Ball Sack though." Briar snort-laughs and I point at her. "You're a snort-laugher?"

She swats my arm. "It was funny. That's your fault."

"Well, imagine if you had to see Doctor Ball Sack."

"I'll try not to imagine that," she says.

I let out a relieved breath then go on, a touch more serious now. "He was in and out of hospitals when we were growing up. Some months, some years were better than others. Some were hard. For him," I add quickly.

"Sure, for him. But for everyone," she says, kindly.

I close my eyes as a kernel of guilt swirls in me. I open them and with a wince, I admit, "It's selfish, though, to think that it was hard for me. What was hard, really? Being able to run? To play sports? To do anything I wanted?"

She squeezes my arm, her eyes brimming with sympathy. "I have to imagine it was hard to be able to do that when he couldn't? To be able to do anything, physically, you wanted?"

Yes. Fucking yes. She gets it without me having to overexplain it. But still, she deserves an answer. I wasn't the only one who put the pressure on me. My mum and dad did. They never let me forget that I was the lucky one. "My parents always reminded me that it was a gift to be able to walk. To run. To skate. I never want to squander it. I don't ever want to lose it," I say with an intensity, but a fear I've never been able to shake either underlining my words. Especially with that ankle sprain last season. That only intensified my…tension.

"That drives you on. That's why hockey is precious to you?"

"Every day. Every practice. Every game," I say, and her reaction is an absolute relief. When I told Samantha about my brother, her response was, "Good thing it wasn't you." I was a daft idiot to stay with her. The biggest fucking knob.

"I get it," Briar says, pulling me from my thoughts. "Your health feels like the gift your brother never had. You don't want to squander the things that matter most."

"Yes. Exactly," I say, and maybe Gavin was right in his assessment yesterday morning. I needed a distraction but not simply to get laid. I needed to be able to unburden myself.

Briar opened up easily last night about her mother. She's not someone I need to be afraid of sharing with so I don't stop. "And now my agent is talking to the Foxes about my contract, and it's winding me up. It's just a lot to think about."

"That is a lot," Briar says. "Let me know if I can help. We're friends, right?"

It's an offering. A promise that what we agreed to last night—to stay friends on the other side—was real. Something we can stick to.

"We are," I say.

"Good. And friends don't let friends worry alone."

I laugh. I'm not even sure why, but I do. Maybe because no one has ever said that to me before. Maybe because I only really let Amira and the guys know about my worries. Or maybe because she made it so damn easy to share.

I set a palm on her thigh, give it a squeeze. "Let's get you to your tent. This is your chance too, right? You're here to show people how brilliant Briar Delaney's brand of flowing and flexing is."

"So damn brilliant," she reiterates, then I walk her the rest of the way.

We reach her tent on the festival grounds. "Thanks for walking me," she says as she turns to face me. "I get it now. Why this is something a good boyfriend would do."

"So's this," I say, then I brush the faintest kiss to her cheek. It's chaste enough. A safe kiss.

But what's happening inside my body and heart doesn't feel safe.

I spend the next several hours at the obstacle course, demonstrating the rope climb, the tire run, and the water balloon dodge as I emcee the event with my closest mates.

When we have a break in the afternoon, the three of us grab our waters from a nearby table. After Hollis takes a drink, he sets down his bottle, then tips his chin toward the other end of the grounds where Briar's tent is. "I think I'll go tell Briar about what I found under the bed this morning that we can do tonight."

I flash back on the idea we devised, hoping she'll like it. "You do that, mate."

Hollis heads off to see the woman I'm already feeling way more than friendly for.