23. Dante

23

Dante

I barge into the physical therapy room high on adrenaline and pain after almost losing a game that shouldn't have even been close.

"I need something stronger," I say to Dr. Atkinson.

Her brows wrinkle over her eyes. She takes my forearm in her hand and starts manipulating my arm, checking my range of motion. I glance over my shoulder and catch Ellis watching us through the window that leads to the gym. Giving him a smile and a quick wave, I reach for the blinds and pull them shut.

I wince as Dr. Atkinson tries to take my arm over my head and frowns. "I don't know if you should play on it anymore."

Shit. I know she's a good doctor and I should be listening to her, but I can't let my team down. "Not an option. I'm playing."

She rubs along my scapula, massaging into the tight muscles around my shoulder. "I won't pull you—I could—but I won't. Not yet. I know how important the Olympics are, but I need you to know this isn't smart. You could do permanent damage."

"I'll be fine. I just need something for the pain."

"I already—"

"Something stronger," I grit out.

In the wake of the alpha aggression rolling of me, she drops her head, and I let out a long frustrated sigh. I don't mean to snap at her. That's not me. I can be rough on my teammates, assertive, demanding, but I'm not usually temperamental or mean.

But pain turns people into monsters.

"I can give you—"

"Do it."

"—cortisone injections, but we'll have to submit a Therapeutic Use Exemption."

Fuck! If we submit a TUE, my teammates will know. If Ellis or Harrison find out, they'll pull out of the game. Neither of them will want to risk further injury. Even if it means we all have to forfeit. I won't do that to my team.

Grinding my teeth, I carefully roll my shoulder. "I'll be fine."

After what feels like a hellish eternity of physical therapy, Dr. Atkinson lets me go, reminding me to ice it right away. As if I could forget. The pain is nearly constant lately. I've managed to make it through games, but each game it gets worse. It's getting harder and harder to mute the bond and keep Ellis from feeling my tumultuous emotions. But I have to keep it up a little longer.

To distract myself, I work on another poem while walking back to our rooms alone. I told Ellis to go on ahead without me while I met with the doc. I don't write poetry often, but sometimes the mood strikes, and I just feel inspired. All my current sexual and physical frustration is apparently coming out as inspiration because I haven't written poems like this since the last Olympics, when I was separated from Ellis and missed him like he was a drug and I was an addict.

Hmm… I like that. I am an addict, addicted to your taste… No, I used taste in the last poem I left Meggie. Addicted to your… cunt? Too harsh. Pussy? Too soft. I am an addict, addicted to your lips… your breasts… your skin… I am an addict addicted to the soft glide of your skin against mine. I like that.

Choosing not to take the stairs so I don't jostle my shoulder more than necessary, I wait for the elevator. Maybe there's some kind of elevator metaphor I could use.

The doors open and my jaw drops at what I'm seeing. The guy who searched our room yesterday is in the elevator, holding his dog's leash in one hand while his other hand is squeezing the ass of a woman he's kissing the living daylights out of.

No. It can't be.

The dog barks, pulling towards the open door, and they break apart and turn. It is! The DEA officer, or whatever he is, just had his tongue down Emily's throat and his hand on her ass.

She gasps when she sees me and jumps away from whatever-his-name-is. He steps calmly out of the elevator after her.

"Don't tell Ellis," Em blurts out. "Please, Dante."

The other alpha studies me, but says nothing. He's got the look of a man long accustomed to getting his way and unphased by drama. Dark, salt and pepper hair, unreadable expression, a nose that looks like it's probably been broken a time or two and a jaw defined by clenching. An alpha who plays his cards close to his chest.

"I don't keep things from my bonded. You know that, Em." I step into the threshold of the elevator. "I hope you know what you're doing."

I give her a look that will hopefully remind her this is the guy who could arrest her best friend and send her to jail. How does she know he's not just using her because he's suspicious about us?

I narrow my eyes at the slightly shorter alpha. He meets my gaze head on, and wraps an arm around Emily's shoulder, like he's not afraid to make his intentions clear. Got to respect him for that.

"Please, D," Em says again.

I sigh, the ache in my shoulder coming back in full force. "Is this something more than an Olympic fling?"

"No," Emily says at the same time as the man gives a firm, "Yes."

Interesting. "I won't say anything." I step back and let the elevator door start to close. "Yet."

If Em's gonna take a risk like this, my pack needs to know, but I'll let her be the one to tell them.