17. TATE #2
My throat caught as another realization hit—this had the potential to wedge me and Luke apart.
Something Uncle Jasper wanted more than anything.
Luke was his golden boy; he hated how much Luke loved the little monster in his home.
It would be worth teaching me, and worth however long he had to wait to see me become something worse than I already was. Something Luke would stop loving.
But Luke.
Beaten. Broken. Not even allowing himself to sob. Luke’s disappointment couldn’t matter. Nor could his betrayal. He had to be free no matter the cost.
I put the bottle to my lips.
“Tate,” a voice whispers.
“Mhm?” My chin tilts up, bringing Ryan into my eyeline. He’s changed, wearing a white, short-sleeved button-up and black dress pants. His hair’s wet, slicked back, all but a few pieces that have escaped to fall over his left eye.
“Please let me help you?” It’s both a statement and a question.
He doesn’t wait for my answer, sitting on the desk, inching toward the center as I roll away enough to let him position himself in front of me.
He spreads his legs, and I roll between them.
Ryan picks up the tweezers, gripping me by the wrist, cradling my hand in his lap.
The slanted edge of the tweezers finds a glass shard. There’s a needle-point scrape, I wince, the glass pops out, and my muscles relax. He continues to work. It becomes a pattern. My heart catches when I sense the tweezers gripping glass, pain, relax. Grip, pain, relax. Grip, pain relax …
“You’re good at that,” I murmur.
“North Point. On-field medical training.”
There’s still so much I don’t know about him. Things I would have liked to get to know about him. But tonight was a good reminder. I can’t do that shit.
He holds my hand up to the light, hitting every angle. “Think this one’s good. Let’s see the other one.” He reaches.
I flinch from his hand, muscles twitching.
Pull it the fuck together, VanCourt. With great effort, I force the shaky limb into his, closing my eyes.
It’s not like this is the first time I’ve had to let someone tend wounds when making skin contact is the last thing I want.
It’s Ryan. After the initial shock, Ryan’s touches don’t have the same effect as others, and if not for the pain, I’d melt into them.
But the sharp pain is a blessing—there’s no mistaking it for little claws.
Keeping my gaze locked on him, I study every bruise, letting the fury replace fear. That’s how I get a grip. Anger is the only thing holding me together.
“What are you mad about now?” he says as he works. Blood soaks his pristine white shirt, a good metaphor for the way I want to seep into the cracks of him.
“Your face. When I find out who did this, I’ll take a skate to their face. Guess which side I’ll beat them with?”
He huffs a laugh, concentration locked in. “It’s not much worse than a regular game.”
“There are more rules in a regular game and some semblance of humanity.” Betrayal rears its ugly head again as I’m reminded of how he played against my very clear orders.
Ryan brings my bloody—but now glass-free—knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this would affect you this much.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” I snap. I don’t think I’ve ever snapped at him. Not in anger. I don’t like it, but cold fury is the only thing stopping me from imprisoning my husband-to-be in my underground lair.
“I don’t know. Heard a rumor your brother spanks McKinnon, or something like that. Thought it would be in that arena. Maybe some cute banter?”
Me standing forces his gaze upward. I cinch my throbbing hand into his wet hair. “A spanking for disobedience is too fucking cutesy for me, dollface. I'm the lock-you-in-my-dungeon-where-I-can-make-sure-you-stay-safe kind of guy.”
He licks his lips, swallowing. “Mm-hmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My pretty doll, shelved away, ready for use?”
Ryan nods beyond the pain. “Yes.”
I want to kiss him. Want to bite down on that sultry bottom lip of his, but I can’t let myself do that. I can’t let him continue to break the confines of the carefully constructed control I’ve maintained all these years.
That’s how…
Well, that’s how offices get massacred.
I get to kiss him when we say I do and that will have to suffice.
“Up,” I say, but guide him by the roots of his hair. I release him once he’s standing. He’s got my blood in his hair now. By the end of this, he’ll be covered in me.
Good.
Because you’d better fucking believe I’ll be marking him with my cum tonight, too. I’m just getting started with all the marks I’ll leave on him to show everyone he’s mine.
“Third period’s just ended. I told Ethan to send my friends up—if that’s okay? Thought they could be our witnesses.”
“Jane and Tyler will be our witnesses,” I snap. “Two people I pay to keep my secrets.”
His face falls. He bites his lip. The nod is so small, I almost miss it. Fuck me.
“Our wedding can’t get back to the commissioner, dollface. If he finds out I’ve married a student, he won’t give his recommendation.”
“I’m an adult.”
“Yes, but the man’s a purist.”
“I get it,” he says. “It’s fine.”
But he’s shaking. Just a mild tremor, but enough to say he needs more comfort than I know how to give, and maybe something for low blood sugar.
I can’t be the one to comfort him right now.
I also can’t not be the one to comfort him.
But what the fuck am I supposed to do? This has gotten dangerous in a whole new way.
I’m going to regret this.
“If they tell a soul, I will personally cut out each of their tongues.”
“You can cut out Torin’s tongue even if he doesn’t tell. He talks too much.”
“So, you don’t have to race off tonight?” I say, idly toying with his shirt collar as if it’s no big deal. But it is. It’s closeness. His shaking stops.
“Nope. Thanksgiving weekend. My father gave his permission for Griff and me to spend it in Boston with my sister. Father refuses to spend it anywhere but the family home, and she told him she’s got a school thing, but actually she wants to stay with her fucking boyfriend.
He’s glad we’re going to keep her company.
She’s about the only person who can successfully cover for us.
Griff really went. I’m signed out of North Point all weekend. ”
If I have my way, he’ll be signed out forever. “Then tonight you’re all mine.”
Idon’t like the big one, the goaltender.
Or the crazy one. Or … okay, I don’t like any of them.
But Ryan needed them, so I let them stay.
Currently, they’re huddled around him, standing on the concrete brewery floor.
Ethan’s made it clear he doesn’t have all night.
He’s on his second pint. He might be wasted by the time we get this figured out.
Does our marriage still count if our officiant is drunk?
Ryan’s friends are protective.
“Are you sure you wanna do this, Rye?” the big one says.
“Yes.”
“He growled at me,” the crazy one says.
I did not growl at him. Why growl when I could go straight to maiming?
“He, uh, yeah, he does that.”
Do I growl? Okay, now I’m questioning it.
“Bro, you’re both covered in blood,” one of the other ones says. I think his name’s Torin, the one who talks too much.
“D’aww. Look at him smiling. Has anyone ever actually seen Savage smile?” the other-other one says. Okay, maybe I could get to like him. Which one does the stalking? We have common interests.
Ryan punches him in the arm. “Knock it the fuck off, Gid.”
“What about Griffon?” Scary Goaltender says.
“This is how I save Griffon.”
“You sure about that? Because I’m still not seeing how this benefits Griff.”
“Maybe you need to mind your own fucking business—”
“Alright, alright, dickheads,” the crazy one says, standing between them. “Rye-Rye’s a big boy. He can make his own stupid-ass decisions.”
“Fuck all of you,” Ryan says.
Wait. I don’t like how he sounds. He’s really fucking upset, all his muscles tightening. He doesn’t want them to know he’s upset. Always the perfect golden boy, but I bet he doesn’t feel so perfect these days. They’re not helping. I know what to do about them.
A hand slaps against my bicep. He’s careful not to touch the skin. “Don’t,” Ethan says.
“Then get it moving,” I growl. Okay, maybe I do growl.
“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Ethan mutters, knocking back the rest of his beer, slamming the glass on the counter. “Okay, children. Everyone’s old enough to be held accountable for whatever idiotic decisions they make tonight. Let’s do this. Ryan, ass over here, now.”
Ryan glares in Ethan’s direction, but then takes a last look at his friends, and with the mood I’m in, he’s lucky I haven’t pulled him over here by his leash—which some might call his face. Potato, potahto. I don’t love the turmoil dancing across his blue irises. I suck in calming breaths.
Five, four, three, two …
“I’m ready,” he says, stepping toward me.
The big one scowls, still leaning against the wall.
The other three take a seat on the steps that lead to my office.
The crazy one in leather leans back on his elbows.
The one who seems to be the only one on board settles between the one in leather’s legs.
And Gideon pulls his hood over his head, eyes drooping.
Now that I’ve got Ryan, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and reel him to my body, molding him to me.
“Do you have rings?” Ethan barks, his tired tone belaying what little patience he has left. I’ll be forced to give him a raise after this.
I pull them from my pocket. I had them custom-made after that whole thing with Patrick asking about them. We’re not going to be able to wear these in public just yet, but we can wear them tonight.