11. Chapter 9

I step out of the pharmacy, the small paper bag containing the extra-strength Motrin clutched tightly in my hand. Each movement sends a fresh wave of agony radiating through my chest, and I grit my teeth against the pain, my breath coming in shallow, careful inhales.

The late March air is crisp and biting, and I shiver as I make my way across the parking lot, my steps slow and measured.

But I can"t let anyone else know I"m hurt this bad. Alexei will keep his mouth shut and he'll control Feisty Mouse.

I wouldn't be the first person to play with broken bones. Guys in the NHL do it all the time. One had a broken wrist throughout the Stanley Cup playoffs. And that body part is needed to score. My ribs, not so much.

Leaning against the side of a building, I struggle to get the childproof cap off. My fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated, and it takes me three tries to get the damn thing open. I shake out four pills, a prescription strength dose, and swallow them dry.

I should probably see a doctor, but I can"t risk being benched. This has been my best season yet and I want to finish out strong. Prove to Winnipeg that I'm worth a contract.

Prove it to myself too because Killian's taunts about being a late pick bother me more than I let on.

I just hope the Motrin keeps the agony at bay enough to get through the next few games. Once I'm back in Rosewood Bay my father can have our family doctor prescribe something stronger.

But my hands are tied right now.

Pushing off the concrete wall, I head down the block toward the pizza place. One thing I learned from my mom is not to take ibuprofen on an empty stomach as it causes ulcers.

"Hey."

I grimace at the sound of Killian's voice. Why the fuck is he here and how did he find me?

Closing my eyes and forcing in a deep breath, hoping to hide my pain, I school my features and turn around. "What do you want?"

But taking in the sight of him, I clench my jaw so tight I think my teeth are about to crumble.

He looks like hell, his eyes red-rimmed and his golden blonde hair standing up in wild tufts like he"s been running his hands through it. His skin is pale, almost ashen, and there"s a haunted look in his gaze that makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with my injuries.

"I just wanted to talk, to see what I did wrong?"

Oh, fuck him right now.

"Why are you acting like a dependent fuck? We had sex. We were done. I have shit to do."

Killian flinches like I"ve slapped him, his eyes widening and glistening. "It was my first time. With a guy. And you . . . I saw your lip tremble, shithead. I hurt you."

Holy Mary, mother of fucks, this man.

"Think you must've come too hard and you're seeing things. I mean, you lost your damn mind with all that ‘baby' talk." I shoot him a snarky smile, only it"s for show because as much as I hate to admit it, I loved every time the word came out of his mouth.

Killian"s face hardens, his eyes flashing with anger and something that looks a lot like disappointment. "For someone who claims it was his first time too, you sure seem to be brushing this off like I'm just another one of your hookups."

"Aren't you though?"

Oh, shit.

Killian glares at me through those thick lashes of his, then grabs my sweatshirt, fisting it and jerking my body forward.

The sudden movement sends a bolt of white-hot agony lancing through my side, and I can"t bite back the yelp of pain that tears from my throat. I stumble, my knees buckling, and I grab onto Killian"s arms to keep from falling.

He tries to wrap an arm around me, to steady me, but I shove him away, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "Don"t . . . touch . . ."

"How bad is it?" His voice is dangerously low, and the way he's staring at me, I almost feel like he's going to snap my neck and throw my body in a dumpster. "Jackson, how bad was that hit really?"

My skin tingles, stomach fluttering. For some reason I want to run away. But not because I'm scared of him. It's the fierce protectiveness in his eyes that scares the hell out of me. Because it makes me feel . . . weak.

I take a step back, my shoulders squared and my chin lifted. "What, you planning on using it against me? Think you"ve got an advantage when we play each other? That is, if you fuckers even make it to the next round."

Killian"s face contorts as his hands ball into fists at his sides. "Why do you have to be such a goddamn asshole? I care about you, more than you deserve right this second!"

Something in me snaps, a dam bursting under the weight of too much pressure. I lash out, my fist connecting with Killian"s cheek in a clumsy, half-hearted punch.

It"s not hard, not really. But it"s enough to make my point, to remind him of who we are and what we do.

We fight. It's what feels normal and, right now, I just want to feel normal.

"Hit me." I even stick my chin out. "Come on, Blackwell. You know you want to."

But he doesn"t take the bait. Instead, the motherfucker grips my chin so tight I think he might break it.

"Stop calling me Blackwell when we"re not on the ice." He growls, his face inches from mine. "And why the fuck did you just punch me?"

"What were you expecting, a kiss hello?"

Something flashes in his eyes, too quick to decipher. "Actually . . ."

And then he"s kissing me, his lips soft and warm and insistent against mine. I make a startled sound in the back of my throat, my eyes fluttering closed as his tongue strokes over mine in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.

It"s different from our other kisses, less a battle for dominance and more of a give and take, a sort of push and pull that leaves me breathless and aching, my hands fisting in the front of his shirt to drag him closer.

Killian slides his hand around to cup the back of my neck as he angles his head to deepen it. I let out a moan, embarrassingly needy, and I can feel him smile against my mouth, can feel the way his body relaxes into mine.

He pulls away, leaning his forehead against mine as his thumb strokes over my cheekbone. "So, I did hurt you?"

"Kinda."

"You know, asshole, I was scared I damaged you . . . back there . . . because I honestly had no idea what I was doing. I even searched the internet to see if I was supposed to fuck you differently."

A startled laugh bursts out of me, which I regret immediately as pain lances through my chest. I punch Killian in the arm, scowling at him through watering eyes.

"What was that for?"

"Motherfucker, it hurts to breathe. What do you think it feels like when your dumbass makes me laugh?"

His expression softens, his eyes filled with a tenderness that makes my heart clench. "Can"t win with you, can I? So, where are you heading?"

"To get some food. Took some Motrin so I need to get something in my stomach."

He nods, then jerks his head toward the pizzeria, a small smile playing across his full lips. "Let's go. I'm buying."

I raise an eyebrow, a teasing lilt to my voice. "You taking me on a date or some shit?"

Killian smiles wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners, color finally coming back to his cheeks. "What if I am?"

We fall into step beside each other, Killian shooting me concerned glances every few seconds. It should annoy me, should make me feel weak and pathetic.

But it doesn"t. Instead, it makes something warm and sweet unfurl in my chest.

"Meant to ask," I say, breaking the comfortable silence, "The first time we fucked around, when I held you down, why'd you freak out?"

"Who said I freaked out?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

I roll my eyes. "You went so still it's like someone gave you a paralytic agent."

Killian is quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he"s chewing on his words. "You had your knee on my back. I didn't want you breaking me that way. It wouldn't just take away my career, but also my ability to help my family." He takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the ground. "My mom . . . she has muscular dystrophy. And my younger sisters, they"re planning on going to college. I feel like it falls on me to take care of them."

While I know I'm an asshole, now I actually feel like one. What's worse is all the regret washing over me for every time I nearly maimed him, even if he's done it to me as well. "Not sure what to say."

He stops walking, turning to face me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. "Just don't ever use it against me. Call me what you want, demolish my face, but leave my mom out of it."

"You have my word." And I mean it with every fiber of my being. No way will I stand for someone else running their mouth either. Guess this is what he felt like when he saw me get hit—that deep down need to obliterate anyone who might hurt the person I care about. "And . . . the only way I want to destroy that face of yours is with my dick."

Killian barks out a laugh, the tension draining from his shoulders. "All right, shithead. How many slices of pizza can you finish in one sitting?"

I grin, my competitive streak flaring to life. "More than you, fuckface."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Always."

We"re laughing as we step into the pizzeria, a permanent shift occurring in our relationship.

Whatever that may be.