“What do you care?”
“I care about anyone who’s in the state you’re in.” I study her carefully.
“I don’t need your assistance. Thank you very much.”
“I’m not leaving until you demonstrate you’re not hurt.”
Aria heaves a put-upon sigh and struggles to sit up. I reach out, and she doesn’t refuse this time. She takes my hand. “Help me get up.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“I’m fine. Just a little bruised.”
I rise to my feet as she attempts to stand. Still holding her hand, I support her as she gets up. She’s wobbly and sways slightly. I wrap my arm around her waist to keep her from falling again. Glancing around, I desperately look for a chair or place to sit her down. She’s too unsteady.
Aria’s knees start to buckle. I react quickly and sweep her into my arms. She doesn’t fight me but buries her head in my shoulder. She feels good in my arms, and I’m disturbed by how much I like this. I can’t like it.
I carry her to the empty locker room and deposit her on one of the benches. I offer her a sports drink, which she gratefully takes. She fumbles attempting to open the lid, so I do it for her. I watch as she takes a few gulps and leans back against the wall. I seat myself next to her on the bench, not realizing until I’ve done so that I might’ve made a big mistake. Her closeness does something to me, and I’m not liking my body’s reaction at all. Sometimes it sucks being me with my healthy libido.
Aria shuts her eyes, and I wait and watch. Finally, she swallows, and her eyelids flutter open. Our gazes meet, my heart rate increases, and my cock pays attention, as if I’m attracted to her. The fucking traitors. Aria is the last person I should have any interest in, especially of the sexual nature. She’s always been an independent, strong, pushy woman, but right now she’s vulnerable and scared. A lethal combination for a guy like me who loves to rescue women in distress. I guess I have a white knight complex or some such stupid bullshit.
As soon as I determine she’s okay, I’m outta here. I can’t trust myself around her when she’s so beaten down. I hate myself for feeling sympathy for a person who’s caused nothing but grief in my life. She’s undeserving, yet I can’t stop myself, despite all the shit she stirs up.
I’m out of my element. I can handle a snarky, strong Aria, but not this defenseless, damaged version. I’m a sucker for women with issues, my prime reason for avoiding long-term entanglements.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Aria sniffles and wipes her tears with her sleeve.
“I don’t walk away from wounded animals.” I’m insulting her, but she doesn’t react as I expect.
“You’re not mad at me like the rest of the team is?”
“Oh, I’m mad at you. I’m also sick and tired of the drama you create with my team and among our fans. You lied in that article, and you know you did. Have you no integrity?”
I already know the answer to that question. Instead of getting defensive, Aria buries her head in her hands and begins sobbing.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I want out of this situation in the worst way and curse my inability to dismiss her obvious pain by washing my hands of her and walking away.
“Is the article what you and Gardenia were arguing about?”
“Yes, and…and…she doesn’t want…doesn’t want our boys hanging around each other outside of the rink because of my bad influence.” After a rocky start, she manages to finish her sentence in a rush to get the words out before she starts blubbering again.
This is awkward. I shouldn’t be comforting the enemy. Even Gardenia has dumped her as a friend, yet here I am offering comfort to someone who doesn’t deserve to be consoled considering the mess she creates time and again for the Icehawks.
Gardenia has every right to forbid her children to be around Aria. I feel sorry for Noah, though, as he’s the one really paying the price by losing his friends. My heart hurts for that kid. There’s something about him that sucks me in, and I don’t understand my reaction toward him. My reaction to Aria is clearly sexual, but the kid—why do I care?
Having no answers, I pat Aria’s back until she stops crying, not knowing what else to do. I desperately wish for one of the staff to walk in. I’ll dump her on the next unsuspecting victim and get the hell out of here.
Only I’m not that fortunate. The place is deserted, and no one magically appears to rescue me from this untenable situation.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Where does it hurt?” I distract her with questions to hopefully stanch the tears, which play my heartstrings too damn much. I’m a sucker, and I know it, but I can’t seem to stop caring, even when a person has given me every reason not to care. I’m so fucked up in the head when it comes to this shit. Maybe losing my entire family has something to do with my issues, but I’m not into figuring it out.
“I’m bruised, but it’s mostly my ego.” Her smile is shaky, and I brace myself for more tears, but she holds it together. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Why did you write that article? It’s complete bullshit, and you know it. No one on this team did what you’re claiming, though I assume you’re pointing a finger at me.”
“It’s my job.”
