Page 162 of Gloves Off

“Hello,” I say, cool and disinterested, turning back to my work.

Coward,my brain whispers.

“Good morning, Hellfire.” He sits beside me, his big frame taking up a ridiculous amount of space. His knee bumps mine.

I focus on my work. He’s not looking at me, but I can feel his attention.

“You want to make out?” he asks, and against my will, I laugh.

“I’m working, you animal.”

He’s not supposed to be funny. He’s not supposed to be a good cook and buy me pretty things and sayI like youoryou’re cute.

“I think the term you used wasbeast.”

Telling Darcy he was a beast in bed at the team dinner feels like years ago. I press my lips together, trying not to smile at the irony of being right.

His knee bumps mine again. “Did you get the flowers?”

“Yes.”Yellow tulips—sunshine in your smile.“Thank you.”

I have that entire book memorized, I’ve flipped through it so many times.

My heart does that annoying pitter-patter thing. He likes me. There’s no excuse anymore, no logical way I can tell myself he’sjust trying to make things look real. He’s nothing like Liam, either. At the awards dinner, he talked me and my accomplishments up. He worries about my safety.

When I see him get hurt, I feel sick, and when I sleepwalk, it’s to his bed. Forget about hiding from my feelings; they stare me down, challenging me.

I like him, too. I don’t want this to end. My chest aches, vulnerable and exposed. I think it might be different this time, but that scares me even more.

I can’t lose myself again. I can’t be left humiliated and empty when it’s over.

Just like at dinner with our friends, he takes my hand, pulling it into his lap, toying with my plain wedding ring, clinking his against mine, making me smile, turning down the volume on my worries.

Maybe I just shut up. Maybe I ignore the worries. Maybe I take a risk.

Maybe I just enjoy being married to Alexei.

CHAPTER 75

ALEXEI

Blood pumpsin my ears that evening as Walker and I hit the ice for another shift.

Within seconds, Walker steals the puck, moving it to the other end of the ice, passing to the forwards. He’s fast like lightning, sharp like a knife. My blood hums and I hold my breath. Here we go. Here wefuckinggo.

The puck comes to Walker. He skates back, giving himself space. A player barrels forward but in a split second, Walker goes right, and the player falls face-first onto the ice, sliding. The rookie’s so agile, he makes everyone else look like elephants.

Walker snaps the puck at the lower corner of the net—it goes in. It’s an away game so there’s no roar from the crowd, but the few Vancouver fans cheer as we celebrate the goal.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I say to Walker.

“Like flying.” He grins before skating off to bump gloves with the players on the bench.

The next time we’re on the ice, though, the rookie’s about to intercept a play when the other team’s defenseman cross-checks him.

Protective fury ignites in my chest as the ref blows the whistle. It’s a two-minute penalty.

Moments later, it happens again. The rookie gets slammed intothe boards. He bounces like a rag doll, and a wave of nausea hits me. Even the other team’s fans behind the glass wince.

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