Page 160 of Pucking Them
I haven’t earned mine yet.
I bite my cheeks hard not to let the word spill out.
When D’Angelo pushes me off his lap, I let out a shocked gasp as my back hits the booth.
D’Angelo cages me, and I stare at him in shock. “What are you thinking about so hard?”
Damn doms’ ability to read minds.
“I was thinking…” I desperately search around for an answer that won’t wreck everything between us.
A collar is more serious than marriage.
I can’t say it.
Suddenly, D’Angelo raises his hand to his head, wincing.
Alarmed, I sit up straighter. I raise my fingers to his temples, gently massaging.
D’Angelo moans. “That feels good.”
I massage him for another couple of minutes, before pushing him back.
I sit next to him. “Another headache?”
He nods.
“Here.” I pass D’Angelo his drink.
He sips with a grimace. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no need to apologize. But you should take it easy.” I stroke his bicep. Worry coils through me. “Mike said that it could be down to exhaustion. Your nausea, nightmares, and dizziness. You’ve barely stopped for months. But he wants you to have tests done at the hospital.”
“Once the season is over.”
“You sound like Dee.”
“I’m aware. I just didn’t want to worry anyone until after these games?—”
“Idiot.” My voice catches. I struggle to control my anger, clenching my hands on my knee into fists. I know that it’s actually fear making me see red. I’ve been working on that with my therapist. “Your health is more important than any stupid trophy.”
“Your career.” D’Angelo shoves away his drink, and it slops down the side like a furious sea. “Robyn’s peace of mind. Your brother’s revenge that didn’t need to end in ashes. The entire team’s — the town’s — future. I never thought that I would have a chance of coming close to winning the Stanley Cup. You look at me like I am some kind of god, but cucciolo, no one else has for years. I was washed up. A misfit, loser,laughingstock. Untilyoujoined this team and gave me a final shot at being remembered as someone who mattered.”
My throat is thick with tears. “Don’t say these things about yourself. They’re not true.”
D’Angelo’s expression is tight. “They are. Coach said them to me enough. I’d given up. The fight had long been beaten out of me. Because of you, however, I had hope again. You brought my passion for the game back. And now, we can become legends together. Well, I’m fighting now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, whether it’s the pressure or a delayed reaction to the trauma that I’ve been going through. But I’m not lying down. I’m not giving up.We’re winning against Wilder.”
I’m breathing fast, staring at him with wide eyes.
Why can’t he see himself like I see him?
He is already my legend —god.
D’Angelo inspired me throughout college. He mentored me to become the player that I am now.
I don’t care whether we win or lose the Stanley Cup.
He’ll always be my bloody hero.
