“That I had been brave enough to fight for you. Brave enough to not be stupid.”
Shit.
I forget to breathe. My skates catch on each other, and suddenly—I’m falling.
Fast.
The ground slams into me, my body colliding with the track hard enough to send shockwaves through my bones. Pain explodes across my knees and hip. A startled gasp leaves my lips.
And then, I’m not on the ground anymore.
Before I can protest—before I can even blink—I’m in Hunter’s arms, carried across the rink like some cliché damsel in distress. My mouth opens, ready to snap something cutting, but the words stick in my throat when his grip tightens around me.
Heat slams into my face, humiliation sparring with the kind of awareness I don’t want to admit to. My pulse is wild, my body way too tuned in to his.
Great. Exactly what I needed. To be mortifiedandturned on at the same damn time.
Kill me. Just fucking kill me.
I don’t dare look at my team. I already know the looks I’m getting. Knox smirking. Daisy waggling her eyebrows. Cheese biting her lip to keep from laughing.
I groan, pressing my forehead against his chest.
“This is embarrassing,” I mutter.
His grip tightens slightly, his voice a low rumble. “You fell.”
“Yeah, no shit. Falling is a part of derby.”
“You could be hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re getting checked.”
I lift my head, glaring at him. “Put. Me. Down.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he carries me straight to the bench, lowering me onto the seat with careful, steady hands. I barely catch my breath before he’s crouched in front of me, checking for injuries.
Landon’s voice drifts from across the rink, but I don’t dare look.
Not when Hunter’s hands are on me.
Not when my body is too fucking aware of him, of all of them, of this entire situation.
I’m so. Completely. Fucked.
CHAPTER 28
Willow
A soft purrrumbles from Hunter as he kneels in front of me, carefully unstrapping my knee pads. The sound hums through my body, settling deep in my bones, sending a slow, lazy warmth curling low in my stomach. It’s soothing. Comforting. Possessive.
He shifts my yoga shorts higher, fingers grazing the tender skin just above my knee where a bruise is already blooming. His touch is gentle—too gentle for someone who looks built to break bones without trying.
“You’re hurt, princess,” he murmurs.
