31. I did something
31
I did something
Electra
“Okay, sooo I did something.” I round the corner with an excited skip to my step, sheepishly clapping my hands behind my back while wearing a beaming smile that drops as soon as I spot my glaring Exton the kitchen. Before I even ask, I know the answer, yet I still do. “What’s wrong?” I walk up to him right away, my hands reaching to gently pry his scowling face away from his phone. The severe glare he was sending it way was about to blow it up on the spot.
Exton’s eyes find mine and the tension leaves his body right away. I know it was his dad’s lawyer calling again. Damn it, I told him, I’d deal with it, couldn’t he just wait? I’m about to say something when he beats me to it.
“What did you do?” he switches the subject too fast and my brain takes a moment to catch up.
“What did I…oh, yeah, I did something.” I remember why I skipped in here in the first place. For a moment, I’m tempted to go back, to pry further, to dig deeper into his history with his father and why he needs to meet his lawyer but then my eyes snatch to the patched-up hole in the wall, and I decide to drop it for now.
Yeah, let’s wait until there’s nothing to punch. Or at least not in this house. Besides, I’m already about to push him regarding something else.
What a dangerous game I play. Who am I?
A woman in love. That’s who.
Yep, that sounds about right.
“But you must say yes before I tell you what it is.” I give him my best puppy eyes to his unamused one arched eyebrow.
“I already don’t like it.” Exton crosses his arms across his chest, and I stifle a whimper at the sight. God, he’s so beautiful with his broad shoulders, defined chest, those tattoos peeking through the short sleeve T-shirt he has on and his messy, still damp curls falling over his forehead.
We so don’t have the time for that right now, Electra .
Fixing my train of thoughts, I say, “But you’ll say yes, right? Because you love me.”
“That’s called manipulation, you know that, little star?” His mouth tips into a half-smile as he winds his arms around me and sits me on the counter behind us, caging me with his arms and legs.
So much for fixing those thoughts…
“Mm-hmm.” I nod without an ounce of shame because it will take a damn miracle to get him to do this. “You still have to say yes, though.”
Exton gives me a long look before pushing out an exaggerated exhale and relents. “Fine, yes. Now, tell me before I take a bite out of this sweet ass.” He leans in, nipping at my lip with his teeth and taking a pinch out of my ass as I yelp and slap his chest playfully.
“Promises, promises,” I taunt him, and he narrows his eyes at my mischievous ones. Because the man has yet to deliver.
Granted, Stella has been working us to the bone at the rink these past few weeks and the only thing we are capable of when we get home in the evening is fall asleep in the bed instead of the hallway floor.
It’s nothing short of amazing but I’m almost back to my full one hundred percent. My feet took to ice like I never left and with Exton there helping, supporting and pushing me every day, I can skate like I’ve done before.
Although, I don’t want to go to what I had before. I don’t want to be in the same cage I was. I don’t want to be Elle.
But the ideas I have are almost too scary to admit to my own self, never mind someone else.
“Lucky for you, I will deliver today.” The look in Exton’s eyes gives me no doubt about it and my breath hitches when he advances, clearly ready to start right about now and God, do I want him to.
I feel my chest heave, feel those breaths pick up as a small whimper leaves my mouth before I stop him with my hand.
“You can’t. You have other plans for today.”
“Electra,” he growls. “What other plans?”
Here goes nothing…
“You are taking me to Boston.”
“Boston?” Exton reels back, frowning. “Why would we go to Boston?”
“To watch the Outlaws play, of course,” I say cheerily, but he’s already stepping away from me, shaking his head violently.
“Nope. Absolutely-fucking-not. One day, Electra. The terminator gave us one day off and I’m not wasting it.”
“That’s hardly wasting it,” I protest. I was ready for this reaction even though I still don’t know why he completely shut himself off from hockey. I catch him glancing at the ice longingly when he thinks no one’s watching. I can feel his excitement any time he’s coaching Emett. Whenever the sports channel is on, his ears perk up at the mention of a game but he’s yet to watch one.
It’s been a month since I got up but Exton hadn’t called his coach yet to get back out there and it worries me. No, it downright scares me, because he’s shutting down a vital part of him. From everything I’ve seen, hockey is as important to him as figure skating is to me.
It’s a part of him and I’m afraid that he’s using me to replace that missing piece.
But I don’t want to be just his replacement. I don’t want him to be with me to fill in the void. But even worse, what will happen to him when I go back to professional skating? When I’m no longer lazing around the house with him? Goofing around on the ice?
What then?
Will his anger consume him once again?
Will I lose him?
He told me once they don’t need him. But that’s not what I got from looking up the Outlaws stats the other day. The team is suffering, badly. Their defense is weaker than ever, not that I know what it means but that’s what Severin said in his interview three days ago. He even mentioned that he can’t wait to have Exton back. And he meant it. I could see it in his eyes, he meant it.
We’ve seen Sava a few times since he came by the day he brought that gift for me, but just like back then Exton would shut down any mention of hockey or the Outlaws.
Just like he’s gearing up to do with me now.
“Anything that doesn’t end up with my cock in all three of your holes today is a waste.” Case in point. Sucks I don’t wear kitty gloves with this guy. I’m ready to tear him to shreds if that’s what it takes to get to the bottom of this.
“Exton, it’s your own team.”
“Nope.”
I jump off the counter and stalk toward him. I know it the second he realizes my intention, sees the way my eyes glow, my tongue traces over my lip and the extra sway to my hips.
While the look he gives me is one of “Fuck, I know I’ll end up doing whatever she wants.”
“Baby,” I coo, using his favorite pet name as I come right up to him, my finger drawing lines over his chest as I sink my teeth into my lip. “I promise to make good use of the drive there and back.”
He groans, squeezing his eyes so hard I’m sure he sees black while mentally chanting something to himself. The finger on his chest trails down, brushing over his very unsubtle erection and that one little graze has him pushing his hips into my hand, seeking more.
My boy is hungry and when I cup his dick through his sweatpants, giving it a good rub and a silent promise of another on-the-road blow job, his resolve completely shutters.
“Evil. You are an evil angry elf!”
“But I’m an evil angry elf that loves to suck your cock.”
He curses under his breath before grumbling, “What time is the game?”
“Twelve,” I quickly answer, hoping today he didn’t check the time himself because he’s not as sly as he thinks he is. Like I mentioned earlier, I notice things.
He looks at the time now and groans. “That means we have to leave like now.”
“Mm-hmm.” I jump up, kiss his cheek and grab the omelet he made me, stuffing it down as fast as I can.
“Fucking unbelievable,” Exton muses to himself but grabs his food and eats it just as fast. “So much for Saturday sex.”
Three hours, two blow jobs, and three orgasms—by my own hand as he demanded—later, we are driving into Boston with me behind the wheel.
So, I might’ve used his sated state to be the one driving right now, claiming I wanted to experience that again since I had yet to drive after the incident. Which is partially true.
I haven’t driven yet. But I don’t particularly care about it. In all honesty, I despise driving and would die a happy woman if I didn’t have to spend even one minute behind the wheel but if I’d tell Exton where I needed us to go before the game, he’s never do it.
So, yay, driving…
At the next light, turn right , the GPS says, and I roll my lips, looking totally unfazed as I keep driving and hope Exton is still too blissed out to realize it is taking us in a completely different direction.
No such luck.
“Electra, what address did you put in there? It’s telling you to go the wrong way.” He frowns, his hand reaching for my phone, and I take a deep breath, knowing he’s about to lose his shit.
I slap his extended hand before it touches my phone. “It’s going the right way.”
“No, it is not. The TD Garden Arena is on the opposite side of town. Wait a minute.” He sits up in the passenger seat, looking around the streets. “This isn’t even the right exit,” he so-not-helpfully points out, but I don’t answer.
In fact, I’m not even moving, looking straight ahead with two hands on the wheel.
“Electra,” he growls, and I make a small acknowledging noise. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere.”
“No shit,” he says, heavy on that sarcasm. “I thought the game started at twelve, we’ll be late if you don’t make a U-turn.”
“Oh, did I say twelve? I actually meant two.” And I hope that’s enough time for us to make it to both places.
Exton is silent for a solid minute after which he lets out a painful sigh. “Please tell me whatever you have planned is at least fun and we didn’t waste two perfect hours where my cock could be buried in your sweet pussy.”
“Um, that depends on your definition of fun,” I quip, fully aware that where we are going is not going to be it.
He looks like he wants to say something very unpleasant to me right now. Or strangle me but thankfully we are already pulling up to our first destination.
“Okay, we are here,” I say with faux cheer as I mentally count until he blows up.
One, two, three, four…
“Electra fucking Monroe! What have you done?” Damn, he didn’t even last to five.
“Let’s go, Exton.” I ignore his tantrum, the pursed lips and hard-set eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he grits out, and I sigh.
“Yes. You are. And if I have to drag you into that office on my barely healed back, I’ll do it. I’ll probably break it again in the process, but so-help-me-God, I’ll do it, Exton Quinn.” Maybe it’s my stern voice, maybe the very real threat in it but he relaxes a touch.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why? That lawyer has been blowing up your phone every week—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Exton interrupts me but when I frown, not understanding what else he could possibly mean, he adds, “Why do you care?”
My whole posture sags with shock at his question and then it strings back up again with outrage. “ Why do I care? ” I bulge my eyes at him. “Why. Do. I. Care, Exton?” He just blinks in response, still clueless.
Unbelievable. I shake my head. “Why did you care about me walking? Why did you care about me getting back on that ice? Why, Exton?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Because I love you.” Saying it as if it’s the most explanatory answer.
I stare back at him, my look translating that he’s an idiot and when he still doesn’t get it, I say, “Gosh, you are real thick today, you know that?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Because I love you. That’s why I care. I love you. I love you. I love you and I can’t see you slowly dying. I can’t see you in pain every time that phone rings. I still don’t know what exactly happened and if you are not ready to tell me yet, that’s fine. But I think you need to go in there.” I point to the door for Finnigan Family Law. “You need to close this chapter because it’s one that’s been driving your anger. I see it. I feel it…deep in my soul. I feel it, and I don’t want you to hurt.”
I don’t know if he’s breathing because he’s so still while my breaths are labored from the speech I just gave but he’s just sitting there, blinking at me until he’s not.
Until his body is shaking, his throat working hard as he tries to swallow the tears pooling around his eyes.
“Baby,” I whisper, my posture deflating as I try to reach for him, but he snatches my hand pressing my palm to his lips, talking into it.
“Will you go there with me? I promise, I’ll tell you everything…just not now.”
“Okay,” I say softly, nodding my head and we step out the car.
Exton grabs my hand right away as he takes a deep breath and walks through the front door. The receptionist at the front desk asks what we are here for and when Exton gives her his name she calls her boss right away.
Mr. Finnegan, a lean guy in his early sixties, steps out almost immediately to greet us and walks us into his office.
“Mr. Quinn, Miss Monroe, I assume?” I nod in answer, and he continues giving me a small nod of thanks for bringing Exton in. “This won’t take long but I have to do this in person.” He reaches into his desk pulling out a simple letter, a small key, and some paperwork.
He passes the letter and the key to Exton who takes it with trembling hands and then signs the document stating he received it.
“That would be all,” Mr. Finnegan says, clapping his hands together. “Unless you have any questions for me. The letter should explain everything. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told by your father.”
“No questions,” Exton’s answer is short and he’s pulling me up and toward the exit right away.
I wish I could say I finally understand what’s going on, but I’m leaving with more questions than I came in with.
Exton takes the wheel as he drives us toward the TD Garden in silence. His right hand still keeping mine in a firm hold as if he will fall apart if he lets go.
Twenty minutes later, we are driving into the parking lot, and I cover the hitch in my own breath with a cough.
It’s just an arena. It’s just ice. It already happened and I can’t take it back. I need to move on. I repeat in my head, watching the looming building as Exton drives around, parking in what I assume is the players’ area.
Today is not about me.
I’ve been here many times over the years but never for a hockey game, and to be honest I never paid attention to anything around me. My mind was on the ice, all the decisions that had to be made were in our agent’s hands and such trivial things as where we parked didn’t even cross my mind.
I should be looking up to this building with gratefulness. I should be thanking the universe for that day, because in so many ways it was the first day of the life I was meant to live, not the show I put on.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch Exton’s hand turn white on the steering wheel, his face emotionless as he stares at the letter and then to the building in front of us. What is he thinking about? Why is it so hard for him to be here?
Gently, I place my left hand on his face and Exton twitches at the sensation, too lost in his own head to notice me moving before. “Look at me, baby,” I tell him, and my heart cracks when he does so with war in his eyes.
Or rather, the devastating effects after it. The look I’d imagine the soldiers wear when they see the casualties, scope out the damage and figure out how to survive another day.
“My father passed away.” I freeze, not expecting him to share about that part so soon. A part of me considered it, but hearing it confirmed is different.
“When?” I don’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not sure I am. From what little I know about Exton’s relationship with his father is that he was abusive, and I could never get behind that, but I also don’t know the whole story to be too quick to judge.
“He passed away at the start of this season.” I stay silent, waiting for him to continue. “It fucked me up, Electra.”
Exton once again quiets down, seemingly mulling over something in his head and I let him. I just sit there, tugging on that thread between us, telling him to lean into it, to trust me the way I trust him. To let go. To let me carry his burdens with him as he does mine. To open even the darkest parts of his soul to mine and to love them just the same as I do the rest of him.
And he does.
“Remember I told you I had a difficult relationship with my team…” he trails off. “I’m an angry person, Electra. That anger eats me alive, and it got especially vile and ugly this year. After I learned that he died.” He swallows roughly, casting his eyes to his lap.
“I’ve never had a real family, you know. My mom died giving birth to me and the only father I knew was the one who beat me day after day. Punishing me for taking her away from him. If he wasn’t beating me, he was drinking himself until he no longer remembered his own name. I was just eight when I got put into the foster system, bouncing from one house to the next because I was constantly causing issues. I was angry with my dad, angry that I didn’t have the family everyone else did. Angry that other kids at school were so perfect and I was so messed up and I took it out on others. The only constant I had through all those years was hockey. Coach Hill was there from the start. He’s the one that got me away from my dad and made sure no matter where I ended up, I was always playing.
“He’s the one who helped me work though some of my issues. At least enough for me to play the game I loved and kept working me until I got me a first round draft pick onto the Vegas Blast and then the Outlaws when the time came. He gave me a family and I’ve messed it up.”
I sit unmoving, taking in every word he says and feel it in my every bone. Feeling the pain and hurt he’s lived with his whole life.
“About two years ago, when I finally had a semblance of control over my life or at least the pretend version of it, I got a call from my father. I didn’t have his number so I picked up and dropped it before he could say more than one word. I never picked up the phone after that, letting his calls go to voicemail.”
I don’t miss the fact that he never blocked his dad’s number.
“I kept living my best life, or what I thought was my best life then. I was keeping that vile darkness that was eating me alive anytime I saw happiness elsewhere and unleashing it where I could. Usually, it was in a form of women, expensive toys, and shit-ton of attention. All of which I hated, fucking despised because they didn't fix shit no matter how much I pretended they did. No matter how much I was covering up the missing pieces in my chest that were never filled and this year it exploded.” He lets out a shaky breath as I suck in a sharp breath, suddenly so many things fall into place.
“When it was a new number calling. Mr. Finnegan, who informed me that my father passed away and left me something. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t give a damn fuck about whether he lived or died but I did, and it ate me alive. Suddenly, I was exploding with anger, grief, and guilt for never picking up. I didn’t even know what that man wanted to say but I felt like the lowest of lows for not hearing it. I felt like I was him. The man I despised. Angry and vile and treating those around me as he treated me and that made me even sicker.
“A never-ending fucking loop,” he finishes with a humorless laugh, sending a shiver over me.
If I didn’t already know how remarkable Exton was, this would prove it to me. He cares. He cares after all he lived through. He’s killing himself over not talking to the man who abused him because he still cares.
The little boy in him. The one who never got his share of love, he still cares and it messes with his head.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he does.
Trapped. That’s how he felt. Trapped in his own head and when a predator gets trapped, he lashes out.
“One wrong look and my beast was out for blood, ruining my love for the game and turning it into another outlet I hated,” Exton confirms my unspoken thoughts, but another one strikes me right away.
“You’re not angry around me. Or at least not anymore.”
“That’s because it’s you. You have that effect on me.”
“Am I an outlet?” I ask, my tone hushed, my eyes searching his for the real answer.
“No, Electra, no.” He lets out a heavy, pained sigh, his hands reaching for my face and pulling it to his. Kissing me with gentleness I didn’t know he possessed. “You are my salvation. The light at the end of my dark tunnel. The calm in my storm. You are home, Electra. You are more than a person I love. You are someone who sees me, sees my darkness even though I never told you about it and you don’t run away from it. No, you take a whip and slash it in half.” He huffs out a tired laugh. “I need that. Need you.”
“You got me. I’ll be your calm,” I whisper, kissing him back with matching softness. “But I think you’ve got hockey too—” Before I can finish my sentence, he’s already shaking his head.
“No, I can’t. I’ll just keep ruining everything. They are doing great without me. They don’t need me and my issues.”
“Well, aren’t you the nice one. So, I get to deal with your issues but them you’ll spare.” I send him a faux glare, inserting a bit of lightness into the heavy conversation.
Exton chuckles, rubbing his nose against mine. “See, this is why you are the only one who can. You make everything feel lighter. Let’s go. We’ll be late to the game.” He gives me one last kiss, clearly done with this conversation.
With one last look at the letter, Exton moves, getting out of the vehicle and opening mine, leading me into the arena in silence.
For someone who had no problem fighting for me to overcome my acceptance of the cards I was dealt, he refuses to do the same.
I guess it’s our thing. Fighting for the other when they are down, and I have no problem doing that. I have no problem shooting pucks into him to wake him up. I have no problems driving him around the ice, making him feel. I have no problems beating at his door until he cracks, until he runs the way I did. I have no problem bringing that unopened letter to him every morning until he deals with his grief.
“What are you doing?” Exton shoots up from his seat, completely lost to the game before us.
He was in the middle of explaining the rules to me because the only thing I know about hockey is that the men playing it are hot. That’s it. To which he gave me a long look that said “You are so going to pay for that” and I might’ve had to hide my excited smile from him.
We are just five minutes into the first period and even to my uneducated eyes it’s obvious that the game is heated. Which is only confirmed by Exton’s curses and stiff posture as he can’t stay seated and keeps jumping up every three seconds and shouting from all the fans around us.
When we got to our seats, Exton grumbled about how close to the teams they were but as soon as the lights dimmed and the anthem played, his every thought, every cell in his body tuned into the game. It was trained on the rink. As if a part of him was out there with them. As if his feet were kicking against the ice. It was mesmerizing to watch.
He might say he’s done. He may believe that, but his heart is out there, just like mine was. Exton gave answers to my questions on autopilot in between the shouts much like the one he just threw out.
“ MOVEEEE !” he shouts again, his face growing red as he points to the guy standing in front of Sava who is moving from side to side around his net, watching that small puck like a hawk. I’m assuming the guy he’s shouting at is the defenseman and clearly Exton is not happy with him.
But no one can hear him. Not when they slash through the ice at speeds I’ve yet to see.
It’s incredible! How they could possibly be so fast, so agile on that ice with all the gear, chasing such a small thing is beyond me. I might’ve made fun of Exton and his posture, but the truth is hockey is just as difficult and way more dangerous than figure skating.
Every time someone is slammed against the boards, I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth in fear.
Maybe I should rethink my whole idea of having Exton back out there. He’s so much safer with me. Yep, I can keep training him and he can skate with me.
I’m about to grab his hand and run out of here when he jumps once again, screaming bloody murder, his fingers pulling on his hair. “I’m going to rip those legs off your damn body, Fooley! Move them! Protect Sava, you bloody idiot!”
Okay, maybe they are not all friends here…but he’s not the only one yelling and just ten seconds after that a loud buzz sounds through the arena, the screen above exploding with fireworks, the word “GOAL” on it followed by the name Thunders and a very clear 0-1 on the score board.
Well, I don’t have to ask what that means when Exton nearly jumps out of his skin screaming, “Fuck!”
He plops back into the plastic seat that crunches under his heavy weight, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “What the fuck is going on? This is not the team I left. This is a disaster!” I don’t get a chance to say anything before he points the screen of his phone at my face. “Did you see this? What the fuck is this?”
“Um, what am I looking at, baby?” The pet name soothes his anger just a touch and his shoulders relax slightly as he explains that the Outlaws are losing their spot in playoffs and even though I don’t know what that means, it’s clear it is something important because I haven’t seen Exton this distressed since he ran into my bathroom in panic.
He takes the phone away and starts looking though everything he missed out on while shutting himself off from hockey. Based on his expression, the bouncing knee and how hard he’s chewing out his lip what he sees is not what he expected.
Five more minutes into the game and Chicago Thunders have what he calls a power play. Exton explains—after screaming at someone named Goram—that now the Thunders have the upper hand playing with all five players while the Outlaws are down to four because Goram tripped someone and got sent to the box.
Exton is no longer sitting; he’s walking the small area next to our seats and I’m pretty sure he can’t do that, but it is also obvious that people noticed who exactly he is and no one dares to say a word to him.
In fact, everyone around us is watching Exton more than they are the game. Their eyes full of awe, their mouths propped open at the sight, and I’m hit with how famous my boyfriend really is. I mean, I knew his name, heard it around Boston but hearing about it and seeing it first-hand are two vastly different things.
Suddenly, the whole arena is holding their breath as a player from the Thunders flies toward Sava’s net. From the corner of my eye, I see Exton biting his fist, vibrating with nerves and I’m not much better because I find myself getting worried, watching the action unfold and nearly sag with relief when Severin blocks the shot, then blocks it again from another player and captures it with his glove, stopping the assault on his net.
“That’s my boy! That’s my fucking boy, Sava!” Exton shouts, fist pumping the air with joy. “Fooley, he can’t do all the damn work for you! You gotta move, mate! Block! No, no to the other side! Jesus what are you doing?” He throws his hands out, groaning, and I giggle which gets Exton’s attention and he looks down at me, frowning.
“What’s so funny, little star?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head with a smile. “I’ve just never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“So alive,” I tell him, and his breath hitches, his eyes casting a longing look at the ice before he shuts it down and gets back to screaming out commands from a place where no one can hear him. A place he has no business being at because it’s as clear as day that Exton Quinn was born to play the game. Born to be on that ice. He belongs there. “You miss it. The game.” It’s not a question, I can feel his blood humming at the sound of ice slashing underneath their blades, at the piercing sound of that flying puck, but he answers me anyway.
“I do.” The pain and the truth ringing loud in that simple sentence.
We’ve moved on to acceptance…
All too soon he’s shouting profanities again because there is another buzz. Another goal. And once again, not in favor of Outlaws.
“ C OACH! Are you fucking blind? Where the hell are you looking! Take the fucker out! He’s sinking the defense!” he screams at the Plexiglass, which is completely useless because there’s no way anyone can hear him in the chaos that surrounds us but to my—and clearly Exton’s—surprise, Coach Hill Turns around, looking straight at us with huge wide eyes.
It takes a second for him to get over the shock of seeing us before his expression twists and he screams so hard, his whole face turns beet red, but we only hear a muffled, “What the FUCK are you doing over there when you’re supposed to be out here?” He throws his arms around wildly and very, very expressively, motioning between Exton and the game behind him.
My eyes are wide, my lips rolled to hide the stupid smile on my face at Exton’s slack jaw and “what the fuck is going on” kind of look. My ferocious, tough, angry man is at a loss for words.
But Coach Hill is being pulled back in the game and before turning away he motions to his watch, to the scoreboard with the time on it and mouths “my office.”
Exton slumps back into the seat, his eyes wide as he murmurs, “Did he just…”
“Tell you they need you?” I finish for him. “Yes, baby, he did,” I add with a proud, beaming smile.
He doesn’t get a chance to respond because suddenly there was no more mistaking this hulk for anyone else, and his seat gets flooded with fans holding a pen and something of theirs to sign.