Page 111 of Dirty Pucking Player

His eyes widen, and then he gives me an awkward half-smile and shakes his head. Slowly, his thumb begins to brush rhythmically over my hand. “I’ve had days to think about this. Countless hours to consider the words I would use to try to express everything I’m feeling and explain everything that’s happened, but none of it ever seems sufficient. It all just sounds like bullshit.”

What is he talking about?

Acid churns in my stomach and threatens to make its way up my throat. He’s starting to freak me the fuck out here.

Did that hit he took in the final game do more serious damage than we thought?

“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Bash. But you’re scaring me.”

He drops my hand and scrubs his palm over his stubble-covered jaw. “Christ, I’m fucking this up.” He stands, then sits on the edge of my bed and pulls my hands into his lap. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt…physically.” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the slow motion. “I talked to my dad before he died, and he said something that stuck with me. He said not to let hockey be my life and ignore what’s truly important. That and something Caleb said about not having the chance to say how I really feel kind of resonated with me.” A heavy sigh slips from his lips, and he leans forward and rests his forehead against mine. “I don’t need the fucking money. I have plenty of that. Enough to last me ten lifetimes already. And I don’t need the fame.”

I grin and chuckle at the audacity of that statement.

Bash Fury feeds off the roar of the crowd and the adoration of his fans. He loves the violence and the speed of the game. Bash Fury is hockey.

“I know you think my fragile ego can’t live without it, Coach, but I can. And I thought about it. I truly thought about what playing means to me, but in the end, my career doesn’t mean as much as you do, and your career is important to a lot more people than just you. You shouldn’t have to give it up.”

My breath catches in my chest, and I struggle to process his words. He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying.

“Wha…what?” I drag my head back to look into his eyes. “Are you saying you retired for me?”

* * *

BASH

Her words are said with such disbelief that a pang of guilt hits me and twists the knife in my heart a few more times.

Am I really so selfish that it’s that hard to believe I would be willing to do this for her?

Is it so hard to see how I really feel?

Apparently, because Greer stares back at me, looking more shocked than she did the first time I skated onto her ice late for practice and full of arrogance.

“Wow.” I run a hand through my hair. “I really did a number on you, didn’t I? I’m a much bigger asshole than I ever thought I was.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and she shakes her head. “No. Well…”—the corner of her mouth tilts up into a little half-smile—“sometimes. But that’s all just what makes you…you. You’re Bash Fury, the bad boy of hockey.”

“I was.”

“Don’t give it up, Bash.” She sucks in a shaky breath, and tears wet her eyes, the absolute last thing I want to see right now after what she’s been through. “You’re too good. You’re at the height of your career. It’s not worth it.”

“No.” I reach out with my free hand and force her chin up until she looks me in the eye. “Don’t say it’s not worth it. That you’re not worth it. My dad lived his entire life married to my mother but with the game as his mistress. I’m not going to do that. And I’m not going to wait until I’m retired at forty to find somebody to spend my life with. Because I’d be settling.”

I capture her cheek in my palm and brush away a stray tear. This damn frustrating woman is going to be the death of me.

I’m sitting here try to pour my heart out to her, and it’s going completely over her head.

She just doesn’t get it.

“It would be settling, Greer, because I would be comparing every woman I was with for the rest of my life to you. And none could possibly measure up.”

Her bottom lip quivers, and she shakes her head. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes.” I get in her face and press a kiss to her lips, a little harder and harsher than I probably should, considering where she is and what just happened to her, but I need her to understand. I need her to shut the fuck up long enough for me to finish. “I do mean it. You challenge me, Greer—on the ice, in the bedroom, in life. You don’t make anything easy, and I fucking love that about you.”

I’m acutely aware of the fact that I just said a very important four-letter word. But it isn’t enough. Not nearly enough after everything.

“I just fucking love you, Greer. Even when you’re fuming mad at me. Even when we’re fighting for dominance and throwing each other to the damn wolves, I love you. And I love hockey, too, just not enough to give you up for it. So, I quit. I’ll find something else to occupy my time, as long as I get to spend it with you.”

---