Chapter 13
“Mrs. Descoteaux, here are your seats.”
I never agreed to be Mrs. Descoteaux!
Gabriel had just hung up our marriage license on the wall one day and said we were going on a honeymoon after the season was over.
The massive rock bit into my palms as I sat down right against the glass in time for Gabriel to enter the rink in a shower of powdery ice.
The crowd took a collective intake of breath.
Everyone had been anticipating him, everyone had been waiting to see how he played.
The massive, hulking 22-year-old phenom. Rumors swirled around him. That he was the talent of a generation. That he was insane. That he came from a manor. That he was from a family of fallen French aristocrats. . .
But how would he play in the HNL?
Gabriel didn’t disappoint them.
Electric, powerful, he immediately drew all eyes toward him.
Of course, he’d have nothing like nerves, no fear at all.
He wouldn’t have any normal emotions like that.
But I had to stop thinking I could analyze him. All my theories about psychopaths had been wrong, so what was the correct theory?
Fuck if I knew.
The game was a blur of masked, colliding bodies, but then I heard the crowd explode beside me.
“GOAL!”
It was impossible not to feel chills at the way the entire stadium rose to their feet all at once, and I looked at the replay screen, recognizing an unwilling familiarity with the way he moved, the overpowering power.
I felt his movements all done my spine, pooling between my legs in my cunt.
My eyes were still locked on the screen, hating and fearing the connection I had to his body, when I was startled with a massive crash in front of me, and I looked down to see Gabriel slam his stick against the glass again.
He pointed with two massive gloved hands to his face.
“Eyes on me.”
“I saw,” I said through a strangled feeling in my throat.
“I saw you.”
He nodded and only then would he skate away.
For the rest of the game, I kept my eyes on him, and the Steelblades won 2-1. I could only hope the Uber driver had lost his bet, though.
“The two of you don’t have to babysit me,” I said irritably to Lucian and Hemsworth after the game was over and I headed out with the rest of the crowd to the bathroom.
“Gabriel said to,” Lucian objected.
“Imagine what he’d do if you weren’t at the car exactly when he wanted you to be?” Hemsworth said with a rueful, twisted grin.
“At least you don’t have to come in and watch me piss,” I snapped. “That’s my husband’s job.”
I walked the last few yards alone to the women’s bathroom, wrinkling my nose up as I did.
Maybe it was because I was pregnant, but my sense of smell had been so sharp lately.
I smelled rot all the time, just below the surface, running like a thread through the manor.
I must be going insane. And if I was it was definitely Gabriel’s fault.
There was a big trash can outside the bathroom, and I was pissed and irritated.
Married, pregnant, controlled and overpowered by my massive husband at every turn.
I kicked the trash can out of my way, and something fell out from behind it, collapsing across my path.
A flash of blonde hair, a red polka-dotted dress.
I started to scream, and I didn’t stop until I blacked out.