“Yes. I imprinted. Like a crocodile.” She shrugged. “And anyway, I wouldn’t want that type of connection again.” She sighed as she rubbed her leg. She hadn’t given me all the details about her injury, but I was in the medical profession. I could tell her leg had been crushed based on her limp, and she wore a brace I could see through her trousers. “All it did was leave me hurt and yearning.”
I groaned, unable to keep the words back this time. “That, sister, I understand.” I glanced down at the food in the unassuming paper bag. “Let’s eat some feelings.”
Chapter 9
Chapter
Lennon
* * *
This late-November matchup was a brutal contest of muscle and grit. I used to get off on games like this because I pitted my skills, strength, and mental prowess against my opponent.
Tonight…not so much.
It started when Ottawa’s defenseman caught me by the throat. The hold was tight, bruising, and I fought both my memories of the men who’d attacked Vivian and me and the Ottawa player.
I wrestled him off and pivoted on my skates, slamming my fist into his face once, twice—I would have hit him a third time but the referee whistled, skating between me and the man I’d dropped to the ice.
Maxim placed his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I gritted out. I wasn’t. We both knew it.
Coach Whittaker did, too, and he called me over to the bench. “Take a breather.”
I sat, stiff and quivering, as my rookie replacement tried and failed to hold his own against Ottawa’s dynamic offense.
Rising, I stomped over to Coach. “Put me back in.”
He glanced at me, then gave me a longer look. He lifted his clipboard to shield his mouth from the cameras and spoke. “You lost your shit out there. I’m assuming because of the attack in September. I can’t have that, Lennon.”
“I’m fine. I was just angry with his high sticking and physical play. I’ve got it under control. Put me back in before we lose.”
To punctuate my comment, Ottawa’s star player slapped a shot straight into the back of the net. Blue lights whirred, and our fans groaned.
Coach cursed. “Don’t make me regret this.” He waved me forward and into the game.
I ground my teeth into my mouthguard and skated hard, giving Stolly and Naese and even Cormac some great shots. Finally, Naese did a nice little flick in from behind the net, and we were back up by one goal.
The game ended at two-one, and I felt grim satisfaction…interspersed with a deep unsettled feeling. That D-man’s hand at my throat had brought up emotions I hadn’t known I was feeling. Emotions I didn’t want to feel.
I threw off my uniform and skates and showered, trying to get out of the arena as fast as possible. But that failed when Stolly gasped and pointed at my arm.
“Dude, what’s that?” Stol asked.
“A scar,” I said.
“You didn’t have that earlier…did you?”
“It’s been there since September.” I resisted the urge to stroke my hand over my beard. I knew those scars were covered. Even so, I hated that they existed and proved how I’d failed Vivian.
“What happened?”
“Nothing worth mentioning,” I said.
I felt his eyes on me, as well as everyone else’s in the locker room. I dressed hurriedly and headed home without a word to anyone. Belladonna met me at the door with a tail wag and a whine. I shut the door and dropped to my butt right there in the entryway, rubbing her ears to calm myself.
She scooted forward until she draped over my lap, her muzzle on her paws and her soulful eyes staring into mine.
