“Shut the fuck up.” He storms right past without a glance.
I follow, easily catching up. Up close, his mouth looks worse—swollen, already turning purple. My molars grind, fingers clenching and unclenching.
He whirls on me. “Stop staring. Stop fucking staring!”
I look away, but not before he swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, trying to wipe away the blood. He’s never done that after fighting on the ice.
Last season, after a brawl, he and Jackson were all bloody smiles. The way their teeth were stained, it looked as if they’d brushed them with the stuff.
But now it’s like he’s trying to hide what happened.
So, I give him space by stepping a foot away and remaining silent. Sometimes that's all you can do. Just be there without making it worse.
“Connor.”
We both stop and turn as Veronica approaches, heels clicking sharply on the asphalt.
Connor shoves his hands into his pockets and shoots her a smile that’s all teeth and no joy. “Come to congratulate me?”
“You’re such a fucking asshole.” Her upper lip twitches, nose scrunching. “Next time you want to burn the world down, remember you're not the only one who gets caught in the fire.”
“Then maybe you should stop standing so close to me. Unless you like smelling like smoke.”
Her hand flies out, connecting with Connor's cheek.
“Enough.” I step between them, shielding Connor. I've watched him get hit twice today, and I'm done. “You made your point.”
Veronica's eyes snap to me. “Oh, so the puppet speaks?”
“I'm not anyone's puppet.”
“Right. You just come out of nowhere and married one of the wealthiest people in the state?” She lets out a harsh laugh. “How dumb do you think people are?”
Connor growls, eyes narrowing as he steps around me. “Maybe my father was onto something when he suggested I marry Ben.”
Her face goes white, then flushes red with fury.
“Ben isn't for sale.” She steps closer to Connor. “Not to you. Not to anyone. Go near him, and you'll wish you'd stayed out of our family's business entirely.” Her gaze flicks to me. “That goes for you, too.” She spins on her heels and walks away.
When I face Connor, he’s staring off into the distance. “Are you—”
“Get in the car.” He walks to the driver's side.
I climb into the passenger seat without another word. Connor gets in, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.
“You fuck this up or give them any ammunition to use against us, and I will end you,” he says without looking at me.
I should be scared. But after today, he just sounds desperate. So, I don't cower. Instead, I shift, facing him directly. “How about just asking for help?”
“Stop talking.”
“You need me.” I keep my voice calm, holding his gaze. “Isn’t that the whole reason you drugged me and blackmailed me into marrying you?”
His nostrils flare, his breathing harsh.
I quirk a brow.
We’re in this situation because he needed help. But would I have married him if he’d actually asked? Would anyone have stepped up?
