He huffed a laugh. “If I’d known you were such a lightweight, I’d have gone easier.” I snorted. He'd been gentle and we both knew it. His hand tightened, just a fraction. “You want rough, I can do rough. But you needed soft.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I just let myself lean back into him. His body was so solid behind me, legs tangled with mine, chest pressing into my spine with every breath. For a minute, I let myself pretend this was normal. That I could wake up every morning wrapped in him, safe and wanted. But I was betraying him.I hated myself so much in that moment I wanted to die, even though I’d survived my life so far because I wanted to live. Because somewhere in my screwed-up head I was convinced it would get better.
“Stay here,” he murmured, voice gone gentle again. “I’ll get you tea.”
He was up before I could even argue, tugging on a pair of sweats and disappearing down the hall. I lay there and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the panic to set in. It didn’t. Not really. There was just a weird, weightless feeling in my chest, like maybe the world had shifted a few degrees and I hadn’t caught up yet.
He came back with a mug of tea and a protein bar, which he handed over with a look that dared me to complain. I sat up against the pillows, careful of my ribs, and let him fuss over the blankets. He didn’t say anything about the bruises on my neck or the marks on my hips. Didn’t act like he was sorry for any of it. Just watched me eat, eyes dark and steady, like he was memorizing the way I held the mug like it was the only thing anchoring me to the world. He didn’t look away, not even when I burned under the intensity of it. For a second, I thought he might say something, but all he did was reach out and brush his thumb over the inside of my wrist. Warm. Gentle. Just enough to make my skin tingle.
The silence stretched, soft in the fading light, and for once it didn’t feel dangerous. Just…safe. Like maybe nothing bad could get in for the next five minutes.
I finished the protein bar because his eyes told me I wasn’t getting out of it. He watched every bite, and when I was done, he took the wrapper and mug and set them on the nightstand. The urge to apologize was so strong I actually had to grit my teeth so I didn’t do it. I didn’t want to ruin this—the quiet, the comfort, the way he treated me like I wasn’t a fuck-up for once.
He sat on the edge of the bed, legs wide, elbows on knees. The mattress dipped, and I could feel the heat of him even before he leaned in.
“You sure you’re all right?” His voice was low. Careful. Like he was ready for me to bolt, even now.
I nodded, and that was all it took. He reached out, and this time when his hand cupped the back of my head, I let myself lean into it. He pulled me forward, slow and steady, and pressed his lips to my forehead. Just a kiss, nothing more, but it made every muscle in my body go soft.
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he murmured into my hair. “I’m not letting anything touch you here. Not my father, not the press. Not the arseholes who think they can get to me through you.”
The words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I blinked fast, hoping he didn’t notice. But of course he did.
He slid into bed next to me, rolling onto his back but keeping an arm around my shoulders, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I let my head rest against his chest and listened to the steady thump of his heart. Not an ache in my ribs, not the guilt gnawing a hole in my stomach, not even the memory of what I had to do next could ruin the comfort of it.
We lay like that for a long time. Just breathing. Just being. And I didn’t know what to say. I’d kept myself apart, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be near him, even if it meant handing him over to the wolves in the end.
He lay flat on his back, arm heavy over my chest. I could feel the rise and fall of his breath, steady now, untroubled. I didn’t want to ruin it. Not this, not the quiet. Not the feeling of being wanted. But I was going to have to. I was going to have to text that number and start reporting to the man who’d threatened me, threatened Ricky, and who would destroy Cole if he thought it would make him richer, or safer, or more in control.
But that was for later. Not now. Not when Cole was here and real, and I could taste him on my lips and smell him on my skin.
Later?I was fooling myself when I knew the weight of betrayal pressed down on my heart more than the lingering ache in my ribs. I just didn’t know what to do. About anything.
Chapter ten
Momentum Shift - A sudden change in control or energy during the game.
Cole
I could still taste Phoenix on my lips. If I let myself think about that too long, I’d never make it to the damn post-game video review.
Instead, I headed down the corridor. Empty, quiet, except for the low hum of fluorescents and the sound of someone tapping on a tablet in the video room.
Cinder looked up when I stepped inside.
Still as soft-spoken as the first time I’d seen him, but not skittish—not tonight. The new medical assistant stood by the treatment cart, tablet under one arm, a diagnostic penlight in his hand. Calm. Focused. Like the chaos of the loss hadn’t touched him.
“Armstrong,” he said in a low, even voice. “Sit. I’ll run your post-game assessment while Coach gets set up.”
I lifted a brow. “Straight to the point.”
He didn’t blush or stammer. “It’s late. You’re bruised. Efficiency matters.”
I sat. I hadn't even noticed the bruises because they didn't hurt, not that I could tell him that. His hands were cool and steady as he lifted my arm, pressing carefully along the rib line where the hit had landed.
“Hartley got you good,” he murmured, professional and unflustered. “Deep tissue bruise. No crepitus.”
“No what?”
