Page 128 of That's Too Pucking Bad

“You saved me,” I groan.

“You’re free,” she whispers, as if trying to convince us both.

I pull back slightly, looking at her, my chest tight. “I don’t know if I am. But I’m done with his shit.”

She touches my cheek, her thumb brushing over the bruise. “You don’t deserve any of this, Zane. No one should have to live like that. Not physically. Not emotionally. I’m so sorry.”

Her words cut deep, like a knife in my chest. “Yeah,” I mutter, swallowing hard. “It’s been like this for a while. But I think... I think I’m done. Done with him. Done with hockey.”

Her eyes widen. “What? Done with hockey?”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks. “I’m done. I only did it for him. I know I’m fucking good at it, but it’s not worth it.”

She steps back, her hand on my chest like she’s grounding me. “So, what happens now?”

I think for a moment, then sigh. “Well, my dad paid for my school. That’s covered. And there’s a trust fund from my grandfather. Once I’m done, I’m going to open the garage I’ve always wanted.”

She smiles, soft and real. There’s hope in that smile, and maybe she’ll forgive me now that the cat’s out of the bag.

I pull her into a hug and kiss the top of her head.

When her arms wrap around me, I know I have everything I need to be a better man right here.

Chapter 28

I unlock the door to my mom’s house and hold it open for him, waiting as he drags himself inside. Zane’s been quiet since we left his house, his shoulders hunched, his jaw tight. I’ve never seen him like this, and it makes my heart ache, even though I’m still furious about everything else. He doesn’t say a word as he walks past me into the kitchen.

I open the fridge and grab a couple of sodas, handing one to him. He takes it but doesn’t open it, just stares at the can like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. The silence stretches out, heavy and uncomfortable.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing his arm. “Let’s go to my room.”

He doesn’t argue, just follows me upstairs like he’s on autopilot. I push the door open and he walks in. His gaze landing on my turntable. Without a word, he flips through the stack of vinyl until he finds what he’s looking for— a Taylor Swift album. He pulls it out and sets it on the player, the opening notes of “Lover” filling the room.

“Dance with me,” he says, turning to me with his hand outstretched.

I blink at him. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he repeats, more insistent this time.

I hesitate for a second, then take his hand. He pulls me into his arms, holding me close as we sway to the music. His grip is firm but gentle, his body warm against mine. He steps on my toe and I chuckle.

“You’re terrible at this,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m trying here,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

We keep moving, slow and unhurried, the music wrapping around us like a cocoon. His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me even closer. I glance up at him, and for a moment, the weight in his eyes lifts, replaced by need.

And then he kisses me.

It’s gentle at first, just a soft press of his lips against mine, but it doesn’t stay that way. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss, his mouth hot and insistent. I gasp against him, my hands clutching at his shirt.

He pushes me back toward the bed, his movements careful but deliberate. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I sit, looking up at him as he stands over me. His gaze is dark, hungry.

“I want to fuck you,” he groans, his voice low and rough as his hand slips beneath my shirt, fingers skimming over my skin. “Remy, this has been hell. I need to fucking taste you and feel that tight pussy. Let me...”

I don’t say anything, just nod, pulling him down to me. His mouth finds mine again, hot and demanding, as he eases me back onto the bed. His hand slides lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, and I arch into him, a soft moan escaping my lips. He touches my entrance.

“God, you’re so wet,” he murmurs, his fingers teasing me, circling but never quite giving me what I want. “So fucking perfect.”

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