Page 370 of Power Play

27

Ryan

I woke with my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth and somebody trying to drive a nail through the back of my skull. For several seconds, I didn’t move. Light pushed around the edges of the curtains, far too bright for the amount of tequila still poisoning my blood. My ribs ached, my left knee was stiff, and the bruise beneath my eye throbbed in time with my heartbeat.

Then I remembered Charm kissing me back, and my stomach turned.

Closing my eyes only made the memory clearer. Her hand caught in my shirt. Her body moved into mine. The broken sound she made when my tongue touched hers told me how quickly she’d believed I was giving back everything I’d ripped away.

I refused to remember her taste.

Last night had been alcohol, anger, and every vicious thought I’d carried out of her parents’ house. I wanted to blame the tequila for more of it, but tequila didn’t put my hand around the back of her neck. It didn’t choose the exact touch she loved or make me kiss her long enough to believe I’d changed my mind. Alcohol lowered the walls. The cruelty waiting behind them belonged entirely to me.

I wanted Charm to hurt. For a few seconds, I wanted her to feel what it was like to have the one thing she wanted placed inside her hands before somebody ripped it away.

I succeeded, and the satisfaction lasted less time than the kiss.

“Pinche cabrón,” I muttered at the ceiling as I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.

I hated what I’d done, and I hated that some part of me still believed she’d earned it. Both truths lived inside the same body, tearing at each other without canceling anything out.

One day, I might be able to apologize without turning the apology into another opening between us. That day was too far away to picture. Anything I said to Charm now would come from a place still bleeding badly enough to make me want her covered in it too. Staying away was the kindest thing I had left to give her.

I forced myself out of bed and walked stiffly toward the bathroom. The shower ran nearly cold by the time I stepped beneath it. Water struck my bruises while I braced both hands against the tile and waited for the nausea to pass, but Charm’s mouth kept returning.

I shoved the memory away and thought about Minnesota.

Their right defenseman drifted too high when the puck cycled behind the net. Their goalie dropped early on shots from the left circle. Their second line became impatient when forced outside and started taking stupid penalties before the end of the first.

Milwaukee, Pittsburgh, and Washington would be in the stands. Nothing reached the ice unless I let it, and everything that did could be turned into fuel.

By the time I shut off the water, I’d forced Charm beneath game film, line changes, and every reason I couldn’t afford to let last night follow me into the arena. I dressed in black Frost sweats and a team shirt, then slid my sunglasses over my eyes before leaving the bedroom. They hid the black eye, the hangover, and whatever else my face might reveal before coffee made me human.

Voices carried from the kitchen.

Bliss sat sideways on Cade’s lap at the table, kissing him like the argument that nearly split the lodge the night before had ended with a treaty requiring excessive mouth contact. Cade’s hand rested beneath the hem of her sweatshirt against her lower back, and her fingers moved lazily through his hair.

Easton occupied the chair across from them, looking even worse than I felt. Rider stood near the stove attempting to make eggs while Briggs watched with the suspicion of a man observing a dangerous experiment.

I stopped inside the doorway. The sight of Cade and Bliss hurt in a petty, exhausted place I refused to examine, so I pushed the sunglasses higher and leaned one shoulder against the frame.

“Good to see you two made up.”

Bliss kissed Cade again before looking at me. “We did last night.”

I turned toward Cade. “When?”

“After you passed out.” His hand moved slowly along Bliss’s back. “I walked over to the second cabin, took her out of bed, and carried her to mine.”

“What room?”

“The master upstairs.”

“The closet,” Briggs and I shouted together.

Cade rolled his eyes. “We saw the books.”

My stomach tightened so quickly that the hangover nausea returned. I looked directly at Bliss. “Don’t you dare fucking tell her.”