Page 95 of Scoring Grey

“But you’re on the pill.”

I shake my head no. “I didn’t refill my prescription last week.”

His lips crash to mine as his hips thrust into me hard as he dives deepandwe both groan, lost in the ecstasy of how we feel together and our shared dreams of stepping into our future and building our lives together. His knees spreadwider, and he drives harder, reaching new depths with every stroke. My walls start to contract, and his mouth falls away as his breaths come in shorter. He’s on the edge, just like me.

“That’s it, baby, fucking take it.”

My nails dig into his back as I come hard, and he follows a split second behind, grunting his release as he shoots ropes of cum deep inside of me, coating my walls before lying on top of me, completely spent. I lazily run my hands through his hair as I feel his heartbeat against mine and try hard to fight the sleep that’s tugging at my mind because, for once, my reality is finally better than my dreams.

“Eloise, can you hear me?”My father waves his hands in front of my face as we sit in the front row for the third game of the Stanley Cup.

I smile and give him a thumbs-up. “Yes, I can hear you.”The headphones aren’t entirely noise canceling; they mostly bring down the sound a few considerable decibels. If people didn’t know who I was before, they do now. Our accident has been all over the news, and if constant coverage wasn’t a big enough target, I’m confident my headphones and my scraped-up face are. It doesn’t help I have Iverson with me. The two of us together at any event never goes unnoticed. I can already see tomorrow’s headline:

The Beck Heir & Heiress Spotted at the Kings Game.

Does the future of High Tower have two successors

at the helm?

I try to block it out. I’m not here to play into media hearsay. I’m here to support my man. My brother originally had box seats for the series, but when I told him I wanted to be in the front row, he pulled some strings and made it happen. The box would have been better for my ears, but I want Cal to see me and his son sitting in the front row for the biggest game of his life. Adler pulls on my hand and points as we watch the team skate around the ice as they enter. Cal has been a different man out there in the last few games. The past two nights I watched him on TV, I could tell he was taking the hate in his heart for his dad and leaving it on the ice. I knowhewants retribution, but I’m trying to get him to remember that the best vengeance isn’t served but lived. Every day, he continues to ignore his father and leave him the past in pursuit of living his best life, he’sdelivering the ultimate blow.He is his mother’s hope, and despite all of his father’s dark, Cal is light.

Cal breaks his pre-game trance and mine and skates up to the glass where Adler smiles from ear to ear as his dad approaches the glass and puts his hand up to give him a high five before meeting my gaze and mouthing, I love you.

Two periods later, both teams are playing their hearts out, as would be expected in the Stanley Cup. We’ve been tied two and two for what feels like a small eternity, and the guys are playing dirty tonight. Everyone is pumped. Theyall want to win. This is game three. The Kings have narrowly won the first two games by one point, and the Diamonds are looking to end their streak tonight. My emotions have been all over the place the entire game. Cal hasn’t taken any hard hits, andno signals have been flashed, but I’m on edge. There are only five minutes left in the game, and I’ve felt like I’m seconds away from vomiting for the past twenty. The angst I’m feeling tonight is next level, and Cal isn’t even on the ice right now. He was sent to the penalty box for hooking, which was a bullshit call. His stick was a little high, and the other guy ran into it right before they collided. Either way, his short break in play did nothing to settle the swirling in my stomach.

“He’scoming back, and you know he’s going to come out guns blazing after that crap call,”I faintly hear Iverson telling my dad as Adler stays glued to the glass where he’s been the entire game.

Just like we all knew he would, Cal returns quickly, anxious to even the score and help lead his team to victory. The Diamonds’ power play ends, and Cal quickly gets back into the mix, gaining possession of the puck and making plays. In the two minutes he sat out, the Diamonds had two shots on goal, and it’s clear they’re out for blood. I’ve seen more collisions and hits tonight thanI’ve seenall season. So when Cal gets a breakaway, I’m out of my seat.He’sflying down the ice at well over ten miles per hour with the puck on his stick, ready to add another highlight reel goal to his collection when suddenly, number fifteen catches him with his head down and delivers a bone-crushing body check right before two other players slam into him, unable to stop.

Roe goes after number fifteen for throwing the body check, but my eyes are on Cal as the other two guys get upandhe doesn’t move. Why isn’t he moving? My heart beats out of sync, its rhythm echoing loudly in my headphones when the white ice beneath him turns red.

“Dad,” Adler screams, and Iverson swoops him into his arms.

“Hey, it’s okay, bud. Your dad is going to be fine.”

The referee stops the play, and two medical team members rush to the ice.Give me a signal, Callum. Give me a signal.My eyes stay laser-focused on his unmoving hands.This isn’t fucking happening. I didn’t survive a near-death car accident to watch you die on the ice in front of our son. Give me a damn signal.I get dizzy when two more medical staff come onto the ice with a backboard. “No,” I speak the words out loud, manifesting them into reality. “You’re going to be okay, Callum Balfour. You’re coming home with me and your son. You’re not leaving on a damn stretcher.” I pull my noise-canceling headphones off and turn around. Distraught, I rub Adler’s back as Iverson keeps a hand over his head to keep him from turning back to the ice. “Daddy’s going to be okay, buddy.” I force a strength I’m struggling to hold onto into my voice for my son. “Follow me,” I say as I cut a line for my family and me straight to the bench where I know they’ll exit through the emergency tunnel.

“Ma’am,I can’t let you through,”one of the security guards says when I try to slide past one of the metal barriers.

“You’ll let her through, or I’ll have you fired,”Iverson says at my back. “This is Eloise Grey, and Callum Balfour is her husband.”

I resist the urge to correct him, knowing the words aren’t true even if I want them to be. The guard hesitates for a split second before letting us by just as the stretcher comes down the tunnel. We all flatten against the wall as we watch the medical staff wheel him by before following hot on their heels.

“What hospital are you taking him to?” my father asks.

“Is he going to be okay?”Adler cries. “I want to go with Dad.”

Iverson turns Adler’s view away from the stretcher, and I take his face in my hands. “Look at me, buddy. I know it’s scary, but all those people around Daddy are there to help him.” I wipe the tears that have made their way onto his cheeks. “Daddy has a bad owie.” I push my hair back so he can see the scrapes on my face. “Just like the one I had. Sometimes we need doctors to help make it better… okay?”

He squeezes his blue eyes closed and nods.

“I love you, buddy. Everything is going to be okay.”

As I follow behind my brother carrying Adler, I catch a glimpse of Cal’s limp hand on the stretcher as everyone rushes after the only man I’ve ever loved, and I fall behind as everything starts to blur. I can’t hold it down any longer. I run to the trash can and lose it. As I heave my guts up into the trash can, I slowly start to get a grip. The endorphins from my body’s stress reaction give me a renewed sense of vigor. I wipe my mouth and look up in time to find Iverson running back down the tunnel.

“What happened?” Iverson asks.

“I got sick. I’m fine.”

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