Chapter eighteen #2
His free hand moved to grip the back of my neck, holding me in place as he worked us both with steady, deliberate strokes.
The angle was perfect, the friction was perfect, and the way he was watching me—cataloging every reaction, every gasp, every time I bit my lip to keep from making embarrassing sounds—was going to be my undoing.
“Don’t hold back,” he said, his voice rough. “I want to hear you.”
That permission was all it took. I came with a broken moan of his name, my whole body tensing as pleasure crashed through me. I felt him follow moments later, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he groaned against my skin.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, his hand still wrapped around us. Eventually he pressed a kiss to my temple and reached for the tissues, cleaning us both up with a gentleness that made my chest tight.
“We’re going to have to disinfect this counter,” I said, and felt him laugh against my shoulder.
“Worth it. I don’t want you to shower. I want to know you have me on your skin until we get home and I can do it all over again.”
Fuck.
He helped me down from the island, and I leaned into him for a moment, letting myself enjoy the solid warmth of him.
This was real. This was happening. And despite all the complications—the secrets he was keeping, the professional boundaries we were crossing, the danger he kept warning me about—I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
We got dressed in comfortable silence—me in the clothes I’d thrown in my bag last night, him in jeans and a Dragons polo that made him look more like the coach I knew and less like the man who’d just had me on his kitchen counter. And I couldn’t decide how it made me feel.
“Ready?” he asked, grabbing his keys.
I nodded, following him to the garage. The drive back to the arena felt different in daylight—I could actually see the landscape now, the way his house was positioned to have privacy from neighbors, the isolation of the location.
It made sense for someone keeping secrets.
Made sense for someone who’d lost his wife because people wanted to control him.
I still didn’t understand what kind of danger a hockey coach could possibly face, but I’d meant it when I said I would wait.
Practice was light and all Theron—Coach, I reminded myself—concentrated on making sure I was quick to avoid trouble as he knew I would be a target tomorrow.
We were one game away from advancing to the second round, and everyone could feel the pressure.
If we lost, it would go to game seven, but at least because of a combination of traveling and arena scheduling, we got a four-day break.
As soon as I headed back to my locker for a shower, I saw I’d gotten a text.
From Odin. And my stomach dropped. In the bubble of last night, I’d avoided thinking of him. But he was Nicky’s boss.
Odin: I owe you a sincere apology for last night. I had too much to drink and behaved inappropriately. It won’t ever happen again. I hope we can still be friends.
I stared at the message, something in my chest loosening. Maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe it had just been the wine and the moment, and he genuinely felt bad about crossing a line.
I typed back: Apology accepted. Let’s just forget it happened.
His response came immediately: Thank you for understanding. Good luck with the next game. I heaved a sigh of relief and decided right then I was changing apartments. I mean, I hoped I was going to be spending most of my time in Theron’s, but we still had to talk.
He still had to explain.
I was toweling off when my phone rang. Unknown number, but with a Denver area code.
“Hello?”
“Dante Russo?” A woman’s voice, professional and crisp. “This is Jennifer Martinez from Allied Sports Management. I’m your new agent.”
“Oh, right.” We’d never actually met in person—everything had been done over email and phone calls, as my old agent had just about washed his hands of me when I’d been benched for all those weeks. “What can I do for you?”
“I have some exciting news. One of your sponsors wants to gift you a vehicle as part of your endorsement package. There’s a car waiting outside the arena for you right now.”
My heart jumped. “Are you serious?”
“Completely. The delivery driver is waiting to walk you through all the features. It’s quite a vehicle—they spared no expense.”
“I— Wow. Thank you. This is incredible.”
“You’ve earned it, Dante. Your performance has been outstanding, especially that game-winner last night. We’ll talk more about the official announcement next week, but for now, go enjoy your new ride.”
I hung up, grinning like an idiot. A car. An actual car, not a rideshare. My own car.
I finished getting dressed quickly and headed for the exit. Kincaid was in his office. I could see him through the window, deep in conversation with the GM. I thought about texting him but decided against it. This would only take a few minutes, and then I could show him before we went back home.
The thought made me smile. Home. Like I belonged there. Like this morning had been real and not some incredible dream I’d conjured up out of desperation and want.
I pushed through the arena doors into the parking lot, scanning for the delivery driver. The late-afternoon sun was bright, making me squint as I looked around.
“Russo?” A man in a polo shirt with a logo I didn’t recognize waved from beside a massive black Chevy truck. “Over here.”
My breath caught. The truck was beautiful—brand-new, gleaming in the sunlight, with chrome accents and wheels that probably cost more than my monthly rent used to. I jogged over, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“This is mine?”
“All yours.” The driver smiled, professional and friendly. “Beautiful machine, isn’t it? Why don’t you hop in the driver’s seat, and I’ll walk you through all the features? There’s a lot of tech in this thing.”
I climbed into the cab, my hands immediately going to the steering wheel. The interior smelled like new leather and possibility. The dashboard was all touchscreens and buttons I didn’t recognize yet.
“Okay, so first thing,” the driver said, leaning in through the open door. “You’re going to want to pair your phone with the—”
Something sharp pricked my neck.
I jerked away, my hand going to the spot, but my fingers felt clumsy and wrong. The driver’s face swam in my vision, his professional smile replaced by something cold and calculating.
“What—” My tongue was thick in my mouth. The word came out slurred.
“Sorry about this,” he said, but he didn’t sound sorry at all.
I tried to move, tried to get out of the truck, but my limbs weren’t responding properly. The world tilted sideways. Strong hands caught me before I could fall, and I realized there was someone else—a second man I hadn’t noticed, bigger than the first, wearing gloves.
“Got him,” the second man said.
No. No no no. I tried to fight, tried to remember the self-defense moves my brothers had taught me, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. Everything was going fuzzy around the edges, darkness creeping in from all sides.
Theron. I needed Theron. Needed to tell him—
But I couldn’t form the words. Couldn’t do anything except feel myself being moved, positioned, my consciousness slipping away like water through my fingers.
The last thing I heard before the darkness took me completely was the truck door closing and an engine starting.
Then nothing.