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Blake didn’t look like he agreed with that assessment. “He fucking hit you,” he muttered. “He put his hands on you. I should’ve hit him harder. Should have hit him again.”
She shook her head, forcing her lips to make what she hoped would pass for a smile. “You hit him plenty hard. I think you broke his nose.”
Blake rubbed his knuckles. They were red from the punch and one had split, a tiny trickle of blood sliding down his middle finger.
“You’re hurt.” Erika grabbed his uninjured hand and tugged him toward the kitchen sink. Reaching for a paper towel, she wet it, gently patting at the small cut.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Blake pulled his hand away from hers, cupping her jaw, turning her face. Her cheek still stung, so she had no doubt it was blood red. “I don’t give a shit about my hand. Erika, that son of a bitch hit you!”
The fact he used her full name told her just how upset he was.
“It was just a little slap.” She might have sold her lie better if her voice hadn’t broken and her eyes clouded with tears.
Blake’s anger faded in an instant, every drop of tension in his body finally melting when he tugged her into his warm, strong embrace. “Erik,” he murmured, rubbing his hands up and down her back.
Last night, she’d fallen apart in front of him. She wasn’t going to do that again, so she dug deep, shoving everything that had happened in the last ten minutes into a hole and covering it over.
Her dad had claimed once that she got her inner strength from his mother, able to tuck her emotions away until she was alone. Erika considered that, recalling the day her grandfather had died unexpectedly of a massive heart attack. Her parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins had been crying as they tried to make sense of the loss. Through it all, Grandma had consoled them, her eyes dry. Erika had been young enough to mistake her grandmother’s response as a lack of caring, until Dad explained his mother would shed her tears later, alone, when they wouldn’t add to the pain everyone else was already feeling. Erika had admired that attribute, and from that day on, she aspired to be like her grandmother.
Somehow, she managed to regain control quickly, pulling away from Blake’s hug, proud her eyes were dry.
He studied her face closely. It was obvious he expected her to be upset. “I hate that he hit you. That I wasn’t here to stop him.”
“It’s not your job to protect me.”
“The fuck it’s not,” Blake countered hotly.
Erika didn’t bother to protest because, while she was on steadier ground, he was still under the influence of a fuck-ton of adrenaline. Blake had gotten one swing in, but she suspected it hadn’t satisfied his instinct to defend. She’d seen him do the same on the ice whenever he felt one of his teammates had been wronged by an opponent. He was no stranger to a guns-blazing approach to perceived slights.
“You came when I needed you.” She hoped it would be enough to soothe that part of him that was no doubt kicking himself for something that wasn’t his fault.
“What the hell happened?”
She’d anticipated the question because she hadn’t told Blake about her wavering feelings toward Doug. As far as he knew, she liked the man and had been working on building a relationship with him.
“Losing Corky wasn’t my only fuck-up last night. Doug’s been hinting at wanting a physical relationship, but I kept putting him off.”
“Why?”
It was a fair question.
“I wasn’t attracted to him…sexually,” she added, though she didn’t need to.
“Then why did you keep going out with him?”
She sighed. “That was the fuck-up part. I kept telling myself I wasn’t giving him a fair shake, that maybe those feelings would grow. Until today—or actually, last night—I thought he was a really nice guy.”
Blake scowled. “What happened last night?”
“We went to dinner and the movies, and then he drove me home. I think he was expecting an invitation to come inside. I…I couldn’t do it. He lost his temper?—”
Blake growled, and she put her hands up quickly.
“Not like today. He asked if we were ever going to fuck. Just like that. Sort of aggressive and rude. I was annoyed by his tone. Told him I wouldn’t be rushed into sex, and he left in a huff.” Erika gestured toward the coffee and uneaten bag of donuts. “He came by this morning to apologize. Unfortunately, I was coming out of your apartment…” She looked down at her clothes—or rather, Blake’s. “He obviously jumped to the conclusion that I’d rejected him, then came upstairs and crawled into bed with you.”
“None of that gave him the right to hit you,” Blake said hotly.
“I agree one-hundred percent. I never would have expected…” She swallowed heavily. “No one’s ever hit me before.”
