He puts his phone down and touches his fingertip to my chin. “I want that. I want to be that for you. I want to be whatever you want.”
“You are. You always will be.”
CHAPTER 55
LOGAN
We win against Minnesota. My parents wear custom jerseys, half Buffalo, half Minnesota, to remain neutral. Frankie wears my Buffalo jersey with pride, and since she’s sitting with my parents, we know there’s a chance she ends up on the Jumbotron.
But that night, as she sprays antiseptic on a few cuts and scrapes I got on my face from a brawl I had with one of my brother’s teammates, she tells me she doesn’t think she was on camera even once.
“I was painfully aware of it the whole time, but your mom kept reassuring me that it’ll be fine.” She replaces one of my steri-strips, then kisses my cheek. “All better.”
“I like playing doctor with you.” I roll onto my back and catch her hand, bringing it to my cock.
“Injured players don’t get me hot and bothered,” she says, which is a lie. Her breath catches in that way that says she’s already pulsing between her sturdy little legs.
“Climb on top, Doc. Tell me how you don’t like it while I make you come with my mouth.”
“You cannot be serious. You’re all banged up.”
But I’m peeling off her leggings, because yes, I am serious, and time is ticking.
Our next game is in Winnipeg, and like in Minneapolis, I get into a fight. It’s not my usual thing, but people are pissing me off left and right, and I’m pretty good at winning a brawl.
I do take a penalty, though, and we get scored on, so that fucking sucks.
We still win. The two goals I get make up for it—in the eyes of everyone but my coach.
“That was bullshit, Granger. Fucking. Bullshit. I thought you’d given up the distraction, but I see I was wrong. If you cost this team the playoffs, you’ll never hear the end of it.”
If he wants to try to spin the narrative that I mightcost this team the playoffs, then I’ll have my choice of teams to take my terrible set of skills to next year. “What a joke.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
“I didn’t fucking think so.” A smug, self-satisfied expression settles on his face, like he’s won a tug of war.
“We did win, though.” I stand up, suddenly tired of his bullshit. We’re seven games away from the end of the regular season. With the last two wins, we’ve added four more points, and climbed ahead of the teams barking behind us for the wild card spots. “Can we just celebrate the victory?”
He glares at me. Opens his mouth to start to say something, then stops.
Around me, my teammates are chucking gear into bags and pretending I’m not picking a fight with a coach who I don’t think anyone is super fond of, but nobody has quite the same beef I do.
And hockey players are conditioned to not rock the boat. We put up with a lot of bullshit all in the name of civility. I’mdone with that shit. That toxic culture hurt Frankie at the most vulnerable point in her life.
Someone walks in, says something about the coach busses being ready whenever we are, and leaves again.
Wilson and I are still just staring at each other. If he says another fucking word?—
But he just turns and stalks out.
I strip down and head to the shower. Stevo and Jonas are both in there already.
As I reach for the soap, Stevo glances at my hand. “You’re wearing the ring again.”
“I got married,” I snap. “It’s none of your fucking business.”
