Page 16 of The Pucking Grump

Because Blake is right. My insistence on forcing myself into a make-believe perfect love had made me stick with my dad long enough for this situation to unravel. No doubt he is going from station to station contorting lies as a way to punish me for not obeying him for the first time in my life.

No more, I decide now, blinking back tears. I’m taking full control of my life. I’m not going to let anyone boss me around or make me feel like shit for not obeying them.

Starting now.

“Believing that there’s love out there isn’t the reason why I let my dad manage my career.” I might have no idea how to stop my father, but I do know how to make this asshole stop making me feel stupid for believing in romance.

His brows knot. “I’m sure they’re connected, somehow. Maybe you stuck around him for the same reason you stuck around your loser fiancé. Believing that they’ll finally see your worth if you could just hold on long enough.”

“So, tell me, Blake, who hurt you?”

His gaze darkens. “Excuse me?”

“You didn’t even know me, and you worked yourself into believing that you hated me. But you don’t hate me, not really. You hate love and everything about it. My failed wedding probably makes you think you’re right. But you’re not.”

“Oh yeah?” He crosses his arms across his broad chest. “Have you got any personal experience in the romance field that would prove me wrong? Some ex who died before you got to the altar, maybe?”

Touché.

I press my palm against my forehead as a needling pain runs through my skull. Only twelve hours ago, my life was perfect. I was hours from walking down the aisle to a man I thought was the one. I was already working on a wedding album. The whole country loved me.

Now I’m stashed away from the whole world, at the mercy of an angry, detached hockey player who despises me. A hockey player whose gaze burns me to my very soul. Who, if he touched me right now, could cause me to cave and give everything away.

This isn’t my worst nightmare. It’s something even more wicked.

“Right,” Blake says, when he realizes I have no reply to this question. “Now that we’ve settled that, we’ve got to discuss ground rules.”

I bite my lip to stop myself from antagonizing him again. Even if he’s about the most annoying man on the planet, he’s risking his reputation to house me. I have to listen to him.

“First, we have no idea how long you’re actually going to stay here.” His tone makes it clear that he doesn’t see himself accommodating me for longer than a couple of days. “Seeing as you’ve got a dad that’s probably going to turn the whole world upside down to find you.”

“I’m going to fire him as my manager.” I hate myself the moment I say those words, even though it’s the truth. But it sounds too much like I’m trying to curry favor from Blake.

Judging by the expression of disbelief on Blake’s face, he thinks the same. A ball of humiliation swells in my throat as I wait for his next words.

“So, while you’re here, you shouldn’t watch TV. At all.”

I raise my brows. “That’s not going to be easy.” Seeing negative press about me won’t make it any easier to determine what my next move is going to be. But being stuck in this cabin with only Blake to speak to is like a death sentence on its own. Luckily, he has a shelf of books lining the living room wall.

“And because this cabin means a whole freaking lot to me and I’d hate it if the press started showing up, you can’t go to town all willy-nilly. Someone might recognize you. So I’ll be the one getting supplies and all that.”

This is getting worse and worse.

“You’re not suggesting I spend all my time in this cabin by myself?”

His blue eyes grow dark with warning. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. You claimed you needed to get away. I’m offering you the best option you can hope to get. Until you get sick of it and leave, which will inevitably be soon.”

My fingers fold into fists. There’s no mistaking his scorn or the fact that he most likely thinks the reason I’m going to leave is because I’m too shallow to be deprived of entertainment for a long time.

I’m suddenly filled with a burning desire to prove him wrong. Even if it means hiding here for the rest of the summer.

He’s silent, probably waiting for me to disagree with him. When I say nothing, he heaves a deep breath and his lips part.

“Finally, you’ve got to know something.”

There’s a trace of an emotion close to uncertainty in his tone. And that bothers me far more than his superior manner.

“What?”

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