Page 12 of Lace 'em Up

Five

King

Laughter echoes down the hall and I feel some of the tension leave my body.

Sliding from violent, murderous rage down to…

Murderous rage.

Baby steps.

Jean-Michel stills then nods with an approving smile on his face. “That’s my Chrissy.”

I get it.

Jean-Michel’s daughter has the same inner light that Rory has.

It’s like a fucking drug. I want more of it, even though she so rarely deigns to shine it in my direction.

A sigh and slight shake of his head, any softness fading from Jean-Michel’s face. “I’ll take care of the asshole. You and Chrissy deal with the rest of the wedding shit”—a nod to Rome—“You”—to me, eyes sparking with fury—“you make sure she doesn’t so much as move an inch until she’s fully recovered.”

I nod. “That’s exactly my plan.”

“Good,” he mutters and reaches for the doorknob. “I’ll send over someone to watch her during the game tomorrow.”

Right.

Hockey.

My job.

Something that seems very far away at the moment.

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t acknowledge that, just locks eyes with Rome for a second and then is wrenching the knob, pulling it open and disappearing out into the fading sun.

The door slams shut.

“How are you doing?” Rome asks a long moment later.

“After finding a woman we all care about beaten on the side of the road?” I growl, ignoring the way his brows shoot up in surprise. “Not great.”

He studies me closely. “Yeah, I get that.” A beat. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” I mutter.

His big chest inflates on a breath. “Rights,” he says.

Then he nods, turns, and walks back down the hall, retrieving Chrissy to go deal with the remnants of a wedding that ended in disaster.

Leaving me with a woman who I rescued but who can’t stand me.

A woman whose strength I’m in awe of, whose beauty draws me in…

Who I can never have.

I exhale, flick the lock on the front door, then move back toward my bedroom.

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