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I've always been curvy. Thanks to all the medication, my metabolism sucks. We're an odd pairing—the gorgeous NHL captain and the curvy publicist—but he's never looked at me as if I'm anything less than perfect.
"Talk to me,elskan mín. Why are you leaving?" He pauses, the air between us charged. "Is it because of me?"
"What? No, of course not." It kills me that he thinks it is.
"Then why?"
"Maybe it's just time for me to move on," I lie.
"Bullshit. You love it here. This is your home. This is your family."
"And they aren't your family?" I ask, arching a brow. "You're retiring, Kris. Why do you care if I stay when you won't be here for the new season, either?"
"That's different."
"No, it isn't."
"I'm retiring. I'm not running," he growls.
"I'm not either. I'm just…" I pause, searching for an explanation he'll accept. "I just…I…"
"You're running."
"I'm not running!" I cry, throwing my hands up. A wave of dizziness hits, forestalling any attempt at convincing him quitting my job is what I want. I drop my arms, reaching blindly for the filing cabinet as the room falls out of focus. My knees grow weak.
"Please, not now," I whimper, fighting to stay upright. It's a useless battle. I stumble into the filing cabinet, already sinking toward the floor.
"Elskan mín!" Kris lunges forward to grab me.
I land in his arms, staring up at heaven through bleary eyes.
God, why is he so beautiful?
"Don't you dare pass out on me," he whispers, brushing his lips across my forehead. "Stay with me."
I want to stay with him. More than anything.
"I'm f-f-fine." My voice trembles almost as much as my body. "I just need my m-medicine."
"What medicine? Where is it?"
"Drawer."
He glances from me to the desk, doing a quick assessment, and then hauls me up against his chest. Somehow, he manages to carry me the few feet across my littered office in his skates before sinking into the chair with me in his arms.
I press my face to his shoulder, breathing him in. Trying not to cry or throw up on him. At this point, either is a possibility. I forced myself to eat breakfast this morning—bad idea. My stomach has been churning ever since.
"Jesus Christ, Kelsey," Kris rasps a moment later.
His horrified tone breaks through the fog in my mind.No. Oh no.I roll my head to the side, peeling my eyes open. The top drawer of my desk is open, and he's staring at the bottles of medication tossed inside.
Most of them are for minor things, but the sheer number of them screamsickloud and clear.
My heart clenches in a vise, guilt, and shame crashing through me in tandem.
"Which one do you need?" he asks after a moment, his tone completely level.
"Blue lid," I whisper.
