Page 77 of Don't Let Me Go (Don't Let Me 2)

Russ curses under his breath and turns to me. “Take care of this the best you can. I’ll be back in a minute.” He races out of the room, leaving me alone with the still very pissed-off Theo.

Great.

My hands tremble as I take Russ’s place in front of Theo, the air practically crackling with unsaid words and weighted tension. Nibbling on my lower lip, I touch his wound with the edge of the white washcloth. I know it will be stained red by the time I’m finished cleaning him up.

Theo winces but doesn’t pull away, his gaze glued to my face. Curious. Frustrated. Anxious.

“Sorry,” I mutter, trying to be more gentle as I go in a second time. “That was bad.”

He sighs but doesn’t say a word, his muscles softening slightly as the last of his adrenaline seeps out of him.

“Why was he so pissed at you? I mean, I know it’s kind of a dumb question since you’d just scored and all, but…” My voice trails off. “That was over the top even by hockey standards. Didn’t help how you shoved him when he was all riled up, though.”

“So, it’s my fault?” he counters.

“Down boy. I’m just saying––”

“When he saw me wink at you, he called you a puck bunny and said something about you sucking his dick, Blake.”

With a frown, I fold the washcloth again and press a fresh corner to his nose. “And you didn’t like his bullshit comment?”

“Of course, I didn’t like it,” he growls. “The disrespectful motherfu––”

“Language,” I tease, cleaning him up a bit more.

It shouldn’t make me happy he’s hurting, or that he stepped in when he most definitely didn’t have to. But it does. It’s the sweetest, most neanderthal response Theo’s ever had. And even though I’ll most definitely be keeping the onslaught of butterflies to myself, the least Theo deserves is my gratitude.

“Well…thank you,” I murmur. “For defending my honor. Even if it was one hundred percent unnecessary. I most definitely have thicker skin than that, but I still appreciate it. I think,” I add with a smirk.

He chuckles but winces as the split on his lip opens slightly from his smile. It disappears almost instantly.

“Ouch.” I tilt my head and examine the rest of his face, taking in the bruising beneath his right eye along with the red mark on his forehead leading to the bridge of his nose and the top of his upper lip.

Brushing my gloved hand against his forehead, I hold his hair back and take a closer look.

Yikes.

“That bad?” Theo jokes when he catches me staring. But there’s amusement in his gaze instead of the angry, sailor-swearing left wing who came off the ice, and I’m grateful for it.

Pissed-off Theo is not for the faint of heart.

I definitely prefer my Teddy Bear.

I let out a breath of laughter, gently following the purple bruise across his nose and forehead with my forefinger. “It looks like he got you right here with his stick.”

Again, he winces and leans into my palm. The wrinkles along his forehead soften as if my touch eases a bit of the pain, so I don’t move away from him. I simply cradle his face. And it feels good to touch him. To hide it under the guise of work when I’ve been dying to be close to him since…forever. But especially since the sexcapade incident. I don’t even know why I’ve been pushing him away anymore.

Actually, it’s a lie.

I know exactly why I’ve been pushing him away. Because all I really want to do is pull him closer even when I know it’s a mistake. So the easier option? Is to keep the distance between us. To tell myself it’s necessary because I don’t want to lose this internship, which I don’t. But losing Theo after I’ve had a taste? The second option isn’t exactly a walk in the park, either. The last two weeks have been brutal.

But this? Touching his face? Having him look at me like this? Like I’m more than a puck bunny. More than Colt’s little sister. It’s dangerous. For my heart. My hope. My future.

I bite my lip but don’t pull away as I whisper, “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” He leans into my touch a bit more and closes his eyes for a moment. Then, he opens them, pinning me with those dark, hypnotic orbs as if he can only show so much vulnerability before crumbling from it. “So much for my helmet, though. At least I was wearing my mouth guard. Pretty sure I would’ve lost a tooth otherwise.”

“Yeah, I’d say so,” I reply with a laugh, studying the damage to his lip a little more closely. It looks tender and sore. But it doesn’t look like he needs stitches.

---