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Which had led to other things.
Lotsof other things that had been…
Incredible.
WithBillie Rose.
With the fuckingharpy.
Fuck.
Billie Rose, with wrinkled clothes and soot and tired eyes, finished that silent conversation with Bailey, strode purposefully to her niece’s bedside, then lifted her brows and turned her gaze to Axel’s.
“So, are you taking her? Or am I?”
Rage on Axel’s face.
A muscle twitching in his cheek.
But it was Billie Rose speaking, and she had a fucking magical ability to get what she wanted—even if what she wanted was for big, stubborn hockey players to give in about something as important as their woman’s safety.
Because after a long, angry silence, Axel snapped out, “I’mfucking taking her.”
And it was after that acquiescence that I looked at Billie Rose.
Reallylooked at her.
For the first time ever.
Four
Billie Rose
Itook a small sip of my beer, resisted the urge to gag, and kept my focus on the game playing in the background, projected on the white wall by a borrowed laptop.
I was back in the gymnasium, though this time I’d driven instead of walked.
Luckily, no one had questioned my need for a ride early that morning. Mostly because I’d faked it until I made it, not giving excuses or explaining myself. Just securing that ride. And seriously, feigning confidence was a useful skill to have in my repertoire—something I’d learned more than once over the years.
Being the youngest mayor in River’s Bend’s history had once been a terrifying prospect, but I’d learned I could handle it…mostly by pretending I knew what I was doing.
So, fucking a man who’d blown my mind and then walking out of his apartment while my proverbial internal wounds left a heavy blood trail behind me? No problem.
I was good at pretending I was fine.
At pretending like those hurts—big or small, deep or superficial—were no big deal. I’d learned that eventually my heart and mind would get on board with the program.
That was something I employed that evening—watching a game that had fear coiling through my insides (because the last time I’d been watching a hockey game, had watched theGoldplay, a fire had roared in and destroyed my town). No worriesthatevening, though. All was good. I’d sit with my beer, cheer at all the right moments, smile and laugh and bury that fear.
My people needed it.
Everyone around me hissed out a breath as one of our guys—that being a player from the San Francisco Gold—was crushed against the boards.
I couldn’t see his number, but I thought his name was Coop. I watched as he bounced off the glass and collapsed to the ice, hard enough that I found myself hissing too.
Not that it seemed to slow him down.
A second later, he was back on his skates, gloved hand adjusting his helmet, and then was off, hauling ass back into his end of the ice.
