This was a cold rage—the creeping numbness of words we’d both regret.
“Nice to know how you really feel,” I said.
And she still fought me. “I have faith in you…but I have none in the Forge. Not after seeing this bullshit they’re putting you through. And sooner or later, you’ll see it too. One day, you’re gonna wake up, and you’ll realize the golden years of your career have passed you by. What happens then? When your body is broken after so many years in the league, and you can’t even bend over to tie your skates? What will you have then, besides crippling arthritis and a dying obsession?”
Leave it to Clover to take the knife and twist, then slice out any remaining hope that let my foolhardy denial blind me to the truth.
“I’ll have a winning team,” I said.
“Not if the Forge refuses your help.”
“I’ll make it work.”
“For Christ’s sake, Adrian!”
Clover never raised her voice—wasn’t appropriate for a flight attendant—but the frustration leaked through in other ways. Her furrowed brow. The curling of her fingers. The sorrowful scowl that slayed my conscience. She approached me, staring up with widened, midnight coffee eyes.
“Forget the team. Don’t you think it’s time to fix yourself first?” she asked.
I frowned. “Fix me? What’s wrong with me?”
“What’s right with you?” Her words stung like a slap to the cheek. “You have nothing in your life except this game. I walk through your house and trip over boxes you haven’t unpacked. I open your fridge, and it’s empty because you eat at the arena. I spend the night naked in your arms, and you sneak out of bed at the crack of dawn to do push-ups in your weight room.”
“So?”
“Are you that terrified that someone might still think you’re injured?” Her gaze saw through me. “Or do you believe that you are?”
“I’m fine.” The words slipped out in a growl. “And unlike you, I can handle my problems without hiding from the truth in a damned nursery.”
“I’m not hiding from my problems—I’m fixing them.”
“You’re not fixing shit. You think if we have a baby, then all our deep dark secrets can stay hidden. No changing a damned thing about our lives. No confrontations. We can just fuck until it finally happens, and we never have to worry about saying anything uncomfortable ever again.”
“Since when is it wrong to want a baby?” Clover asked. “Is it that wrong to want someone to love? To start something new? To find a purpose in this life?”
“What happens if we don’t have a baby?”
She’d exhausted her patience and surrendered to both of our fears. The finality of her shrug slayed me.
As if she’d given up.
As if she’d always known that this was where we’d end.
Miserable. Terrified. Facing an unknown future with only the shreds of our remaining optimism.
“If you’re that afraid that something is wrong with you…” she said. “Then go take the damned fertility test and find out.”
A dark, righteous anger invaded my thoughts. That was good. It sliced through the savage fear icing my gut.
Because no matter how much I denied it, how much I ignored it, how much I defied my own body…
She was right.
Something was wrong with me.
And what the hell was I supposed to do except defy that god-awful truth?
“I don’t need a fucking fertility test.” I wielded the lie like a threat. “And I’ll prove it to you.”
I grabbed the woman, my hand twisting in her hair to keep her still as I claimed a kiss bred of frustration, fear, and searing desire.
“God, yes…” Clover whispered, diving into my kiss with the same frustrated desperation.
She raged in my arms, nails scratching my chest, whimpered apologies murmured between panting breaths.
Maybe I couldn’t be the one to give this woman the only gift she wanted, but I could be the bastard who ruined everything else instead.
I pawed at her curves, groping every inch of her too-soft skin for my own ragged pleasure. She punished me for it, biting my lip as she ground against my body. Her hand lowered, pressing against my pulsing cock trapped in the prison of my nightmarish desire. She gripped me through the denim and squeezed. Took only a minute before she tore at my zipper.
Why were we doing this?
Why did we punish each other?
For fuck’s sake…why didn’t we just confess the truth?
Three little words.
That was it.
Three fucking words that had the potential to hit harder than a defenseman’s retaliation into the boards.
How could declaring my love for Clover be that goddamned frightening?
And why was it so impossible for her to just admit that she wasn’t after the baby as much as she needed a future with me?
Would she still feel the same if she knew I couldn’t give it to her?
I never should’ve fucked Clover. Never should’ve let her get this close. But when had I ever denied my best friend? And once I had a taste…the sex was too good, her body too tight, and the pleasure too forbidden.
It’d destroyed our friendship, and I saw no way forward without heartbreak and chaos.
And so I didn’t say a damned thing. Didn’t reveal any confessions. Didn’t even order her to her knees.
A single word might’ve shattered us from our denial.
It was easier to kiss her.
Faster to rip away her clothing.
Kinder to crash with her to the floor and take what I wanted.
This time I didn’t have to pretend to be tender. No sense playing the part of a gentleman friend indulging an innocent woman with her wildest fantasies. That game was over. That dream lost.
All that mattered now was how quickly I could imbed myself within her tightness and empty my balls into a desperate womb.
At least we’d crash into the truth sooner or later.
I stripped her of everything. Shirt, shorts, dignity. And I felt no shame for my desire. Raw aggression fueled me.
This was how sex was supposed to be—brutal in both honesty and physicality. A man was built to conquer a woman, and his woman surrendered to his strength for the reward of endless pleasure.
For too long I’d hidden my true desires from the one I loved, and that lie of omission would either ruin my future with Clover…
Or destroy it before it began.
So why not enjoy the power in holding her against me? Why not savor her breathless, eager moans as she mewed my name and begged for a fucking only her instincts understood?
I pushed her to her hands and knees and allowed myself to appraise the ravishing beauty that was her perfect curves and soft valleys. Her legs spread for me. Already learning what I liked, how I wanted to take my prize. I dove low, driving my tongue into her secret slit. One lick. Two.
Clover quivered against my threading tongue. She needed nothing else. Never did, but I was too ashamed to realize it. My promises of soft touches, gentle kisses, and slow thrusts had simply satisfied her. But she needed that intensity as badly as me.
She wanted to lose control.
No—she wanted to give that control to me.
And that was the ultimate gift I no longer deserved.
This time, I wouldn’t stop until she collapsed with exhaustion. I’d render her delirious with pleasure. Leave her quaking in feverish heat as I stole from her the very pleasures she wrenched from my worthless body.