Page 39 of Daring the Defender

That uncertainty made me want to control everything. Having a job and my own spending money in high school. Earning a scholarship for hockey. Even after moving in, and being adopted by the Wilders, I didn’t want my life to be left up to someone else.

I think it’s why I make a good D-man. Every inch of the ice is my domain. No one is getting past me. I try to stay two steps ahead, protecting what’s mine: The puck, my teammates, the goal.

Even though it’s hard to admit it, that urge for control is what made me get in so deep with Darla; planning engagements,designing rings, setting up a future. That urge was exactly what tore us apart. I wanted too much, too fast, and too soon.

So yeah, I hate losing control, which is exactly why Shelby Rakestraw is a problem.

Every time I think about or see her, it’s like the ground has fallen out from under my feet and I’m doing my best not to stumble. I can’t stop thinking about how she looked that night, body warm and pliant in my arms. I knew she was turned on with those breathy little moans and hard nipples. I knew her tits would feel good in my hands and I was ready to draw it out–to show her how good I could make it for her. But then it all happened so fast, the way she grabbed my hand, shoving it between her legs. She came so fucking quick, falling apart in shuddering bliss. I’ve never been so hard, so fucking horny, as I was watching every inch of her body turning red.

It took every ounce of control not to take it further. So I did what I do best. Draw up the shields. Act like a dick.Take control.Scaring her off was the only thing I could do to get out of that room without bigger regrets.

More proof that I have absolutely no control when it comes to Shelby? She’s not the only one on a hair trigger. I’ve just about rubbed myself raw three times a day since.

“Wilder!” My eyes snap up and I see Jefferson waving to me from behind the net. I’m on the bench just outside the rink, fixing a broken lace. “You finished?”

“Yep.” I tie it off and glide onto the ice toward the other defenders already in place for the series of 2 v 2 drills we’re about to start. Reese, Emerson, and the other offensive players face us from the opposite end.

Coach blows his whistle and slides the puck down the center line as the first two match-ups take off in a burst of speed to see who gets there fastest. Jefferson places his hands on the top ofhis stick and leans against it. “By the way,” he says, “that Mara chick has been asking about you.”

“Mara?” I think back through the girls I’ve hooked up with lately and finally land on the one I didn’t. “Oh, from the party.”

“She said you were about to hook up and you bailed.”

“Next!” Coach Bryant calls.

The puck slings into the empty middle of the rink and I sprint toward it. Reese gets there first, and Jefferson and I fall back into defensive zones. Reese slaps the puck through the gap where Emerson is waiting. Unfortunately for them both, I’m there first and Jefferson’s got Reese fully defended. I clear it out of the box and down to the other end.

“Nice effort.” I grin at Reese, who swears under his breath. Cap is a competitor all the time, so even losing during practice pisses him off.

“So why’d you do it?” Jefferson asks as we get out of the way of the next challenge. “Bail on a hot chick who’s into you?”

“I had a headache.”

I hear a snort and glance over at the goal where Axel is seemingly both watching the play down the iceandeavesdropping.

“What’s that about?” I ask.

“Aren’t headaches a chick excuse?”

“I just wasn’t into it,” I say, while keeping it to myself that the instant she sat in my lap, all I could think about was being in the same position with his sister. “Why do either of you care anyway?”

“Are sure you’re not sulking about the break up with Darla?” Jefferson asks.

Ah, there it is.

“I’m not sulking. I just wasn’t into it,” I say, not adding that the only girl I can’t stop thinking about is Shelby. I may not bemaking the best decisions right now, but I’m not stupid enough to tell Axel that.

Neither of them look like they believe a word I’m saying, because even if they don’t know the truth, it’s still bullshit and we all know it.

My reprieve comes unexpectedly from down the ice when Coach Bryant’s angry voice carries down the ice, “Hey! Knuckleheads! Stop distracting my goalie!”

No matter how old,how accomplished, or how well you’re doing, getting called into the Coach’s office is always unnerving. I get flashbacks to all those days of sitting in my social worker’s office, meeting the administrators at new schools, being told that things were changing again.

“You wanted to see me?” I ask, standing in Coach Bryant’s office doorway. I’d just been coming off the ice when one of his assistants told me to head to his office after I showered.

“Take a seat,” he says, not looking up from the papers on the desk.

I wrack my brain trying to figure out where I’d fucked up. I hadn’t missed any practices, my grades are solid, I’m carrying my weight during the games… I mean, at least I think I am. Running my hands down my thighs, I shift in my seat.

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