Page 32 of Let Me Love You
The stranger lowers his camera and tilts his head. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Ash!” Colt yells. He hops out of his truck and rounds the front of it, taking in the shit show I’m currently enveloped in. With his gaze glued to the reporter or photographer or whatever he is, Colt steps in front of me, shielding me with his tall, muscular frame.
“Get away from her,” he growls.
“I only wanted to ask you guys some questions. You’ve been dodging my calls.”
“‘Cause I’m not interested in talking,” Colt spits.
“Yeah, well, figured your girlfriend might be. Does she know you were deemed the sexiest hockey player for this upcoming season?”
Like velcro, my fingers find the back of Colt’s shirt, and I cling to it, fisting the soft material in my hands.
“Does she know about her death threats?” the reporter continues. “How many girls would kill to take her place?”
“Get in the truck, Ash,” Colt grits out.
My grip tightens on his shirt before I let it go and take a step toward his vehicle.
“Does she know about the paternity action filed against you?” the reporter adds.
I stop short, confusion leaving me lifeless. I turn back to Colt. “Paternity action?”
“Just get in.”
“She doesn’t know?” The reporter snaps another picture, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “What do you have to say, Miss Ashlyn? Any comments? Questions? We’d love to hear—”
A loud crunch echoes throughout the street as Colt shakes out his clenched fist while standing over the reporter. The camera is lying on its side, and the screen is cracked from hitting the pavement.
Colt hit him.
Shit.
He hit him.
That’s…assault, isn’t it? Or maybe not, since the reporter was harassing us, but shit.
“Stay away from her,” Colt grinds out. Then he closes the short distance to his still-running truck, opens the passenger door, and helps me inside.
Silence fills the cab as Colt pulls away from the curb a minute later. But I’m too numb to notice. Too busy analyzing the reporter’s comments. Resting my head against the passenger window, I let the steady whir of the tires calm me as Colt drives us home. He parks in his spot and turns off the engine. The veins pop along the backs of his hands. The dashboard highlights his bruised knuckles.
As I take in the red, angry color, my thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind. Carefully, I reach for his hand, dragging my thumb along the damage, looking up at him.
He turns away and murmurs, “It’s only a rumor.”
“Death threats?” I whisper.
“Some celebrity made a bullshit comment about how she’d kill to be my girlfriend. The paparazzi twisted her words. It wasn’t a real threat.”
I nod. “And you being voted sexiest new player?”
“I dunno. I don’t pay attention to shit like that.”
He’s right. He doesn’t.
I lick my lips. “And the…court thing? Paternity…something?”
“Only a rumor,” he repeats. But his eyes don’t meet mine.