23. RYAN
RYAN
Istare at the text. They’re not one-sided anymore. Every morning, I wake up to a simple good morning text, and when I say good morning back, he sends the heart-eyes emoji. So weird, but I love it. Tate’s like a wild cat learning how to human. But I wouldn’t change how much of a wildcat he is.
Tate
I meet with the commissioner today. Once I have his recommendation, it’s smooth sailing. I’ll be at North Point this week. “Safety Audits.”
Safety Audits in quotes says a lot. My lips twist with the hint of a laugh on them.
Me
Is that my new nickname?
I’m supposed to be on my way to class, but I’m so fucking consumed.
He’d transformed the bedroom into a garden of black roses. And there were presents. “Ethan’s idea,” he said. “Jane’s suggestion was to make you a steak.”
“Can you cook?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm. Luke made me learn.”
It was a delicious birthday steak, and then he bent me over and fucked me, for the third time, until I was catatonic.
“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before,” he purred into my ear. “I didn’t think I could care for someone. I’m still not sure I can, dollface.”
I hated hearing the fragile uncertainty in a man like Tate, who’s certain about everything.
My mind went down all sorts of philosophical hallways.
I don’t know much about brain science, and frankly, I don’t think even the experts can possibly know everything.
There aren’t boxes, there are spectrums. I don’t know if being on some kind of psychopath spectrum applies to Tate, but he should operate under that notion rather than put himself in a box he doesn’t want to be in.
“How about no more fucking ignoring me, and I’ll agree to count obsession as a love language,” I said.
“I wasn’t ignoring you.” I glared, raising a judgy brow. “I wasn’t. I was having controlled doses of you—it made sense in my head. Didn’t work, for what that’s worth.”
He kissed my forehead.
Yeah. My forehead.
“I’m not going to play murder hockey, or endanger myself, and you’re going to fight the fear and have uncontrolled avalanches of me rather than small doses. Be fucking buried in me.”
He nodded into my hair. “Bury me, dollface.”
Kane slams into me, almost knocking my phone out of my hand.
“Watch it, asshole.”
“You’re gonna be late.”
Fuck. If Kane’s the one making sure I’m getting to class on time, I’ve lost the plot. I shove my phone into my bag.
By Wednesday, I’m more exhausted than usual. Coach has been grinding us with the conference finals approaching. I’m fighting my eyelids, and I almost don’t see him, but as soon as I do, that spike of adrenaline hits my veins. What’s he doing here this time of day? Doesn’t he have a team to coach?
Tate, a werewolf in a suit, leans against the boards on his forearms. I try not to stare, but it’s hard.
My dick is conditioned to rise for him by this point, and even if it wasn’t, the predatory way his gaze travels over me would do the trick.
He’s the most beautiful man on earth, and he’s all mine.
Coach Bruce skates over to chat with Tate, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. Torin glides over. “Should we be worried?”
I shake my head. “The opposite. We should be in for an easier practice.” Not easy. Easier. Coach goes overboard and should be written up by someone. Or fired. It’s a miracle our injury roster is as low as it is.
He blows his whistle, and we all take a knee so he can tell us that Coach VanCourt will be observing our practice. It’s clear he’s pissed about it. If only he knew Tate would be spending more time looking at my ass than anything to do with the hockey team, maybe he’d relax.
Ugh. But with Tate in that suit, I’m having extreme difficulties staying focused. The puck sails by me, an easy pass from Becks. Beckett is our goaltender in case anyone forgot, which means his passes are hard to miss.
“What the fuck was that, Savage?” Coach says. “Drop and gimme fifty.”
Push-ups always suck, especially when you attend a military school and do them constantly. Push-ups on the ice? They extra suck. I catch a glimpse of Tate still on the bench. Yep, he’s planning Coach’s murder.
“Sir, yes, sir,” I call before I drop to the ice, but I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
So, Coach didn’t go easy on us. Guess that was his major fuck you to Tate for being there.
I’m pulled out of class by Officer Carter, but he stops in the hallway en route.
“He wants to talk to you again.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Carter rakes his gaze over me as if I might be wearing the reason on my body. “We’re going to debrief afterward,” he warns me, his boots clicking down the polished marble hallway again. We end up in an empty classroom.
Tate’s there, leaning against the professor’s desk. To everyone else, his demeanor will come off as casual, but I’m not everyone else. I catch the tightness around his eyes and the tension coiling his muscles. Is he about to abduct me? He’s seriously giving those vibes.
I stand at attention since I’m still in the presence of an officer. Carter looks between us, still looking for something he doesn’t find. “I’ll speak with you later, cadet.”
Once he’s gone, I relax, but Tate hasn’t. “Everything okay?”
He curls his finger, and I look around, but go to him anyway. Tate’s big palm lands on my chest. He closes his eyes, breathing for a minute. “I hate this place for you. Give me one good reason you shouldn’t leave here with me now?”
“Griff.”
His eyes open, the steel-gray irises giving off a metallic pearlescence.
And danger.
Right, he doesn’t care about Griff like I do. I’m his priority—his only priority.
“How did it go with the commissioner?” I ask.
Yes, I’m changing the subject, but I don’t miss the way his hand tightens around my wrist. I’m the object of Tate’s obsession, his husband, the man he cares about, but none of that’s going to keep the predator at bay if he thinks I’m in danger.
If I remind him of the plan—his own plan—maybe he’ll calm down.
I’m not against going with him, but only if Griff comes, too.
Taking him out of this building with everyone already on guard isn’t likely.
“He’s going to put my name forth at the next meeting, right before the conference final.”
Giving a glance at the door, I let myself get closer, resting my lips against his jaw. “Good. That’s good, baby.”
“Isn’t ‘baby’ a forbidden term?” he murmurs while the fingers of his free hand find their way to my leather cuff. One hand over my heart and one over the cuff, Tate’s Ryan security blanket.
“It was when I thought I was just a sex toy.”
“You’ll always be my sex toy,” he growls. “And don’t think you’re getting my mind off what happened at the rink today.”
“Tate, we’re so fucking close. I’ll be fine for a few more weeks. What about Luke? He can’t know about your other life. Pulling me out of here’s going to open a can of worms.”
He huffs, nodding. “I know. You’re right. Just a couple more weeks and then you’re coming home with me.”
We haven’t figured out the “me playing hockey” thing yet but now doesn’t seem like the time to bring it up. Hockey might be one of those things I have to give up. If it gets me away from my father and Griff the future he deserves, it’s worth that, too.
“And then I come home,” I agree.
His face finally loses all the tension it held. “Mm-hmm. I’d better go.”
“Me too. Officer Carter wants to speak with me. FYI, I’ll be implying that you grilled me with vigorous questions about our training protocols.”
The tension might be gone, but the hesitation is there. “I’ll text you when I’m back at Shadowridge.”
All afternoon, I had the feeling Tate was going to drug me and slip me out of the college. I’d wake up in the back of his sexy Lamborghini, tied up. Fuck that would have been hot. But it would have caused other issues, so it’s for the best he didn’t.
I got my ass reamed out by Officer Carter, even though I didn’t do anything other than go where I was directed, and I’ve spent the past two days in detention.
At least Kane was there, but he was all fucking cagey and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong with him.
He was quiet, stabbing his shovel into the earth, tossing the dirt with enough violence to catch the supervising officer’s attention, almost earning another day of detention.
Although by this point, is Kane ever really out of detention?
He makes it his mission to piss one or more officers off daily.
But it was none of my business, so I left him alone.
When we were released, he threw his shovel down and stormed off, caked in mud and sweat.
I grabbed his shovel before Officer Carter added another day to his sentence.
He’s in the same mood as we skate onto the ice. It’s Friday, and we’re playing Pacific Air Force Academy. It’s not just Kane. Rhys, Torin, and Gideon are in pissy moods, too. Have I missed something? Or are the five of us so emotionally immature that we’ve been handling our shit alone all season?
It’s probably the latter.
Whatever. That’s why hockey is perfect for us. We can work out our problems on the ice. Their captain does the equivalent of sauntering on skates to the center line, stick resting against his thighs.
Magnus is a big blond dude. I don’t think he knows how to smile. If he does, I’ve never seen it. But he probably has a lot on his shoulders. His family owns banks. You don’t get out of a legacy like that.
“Hey, Savage. Ready for this beatdown?”
They’re good, but they’re not winning this game. At least five of us are out for blood. We play our best when we’re like that.
We’re ready for some much-deserved victory beers after the game.
It’s nice to be out of hockey gear and in civilian clothes, a luxury I haven’t experienced in almost a month.
These hockey outings are one of the few times we’re allowed to leave out of uniform.
When I’m finally out of North Point, it’s sweatpants for life for me.
The five of us and a few of the other guys from the team approach the Charge of Quarters desk.