Chapter 8

"You could have stayed at my place, you know," Chrissy murmurs from next to me on the guest bed.

The only argument I've won with King to date.

That I'm staying in the guest room.

And he's sleeping in his own bed.

Because…

Waking next to him this morning had been?—

Right in all the wrong ways.

"I know," I say, "and I might take you up on that. But, King's right. Phillip's been to your place, knows that Rome lives next door." I sigh and my ribs protest a little. "I know your dad has his security working on tracking him down"—doubly so after last night—"so I also know it won't be long, but…"

"You'll just stay put here until that's done," Chrissy says. She lightly bumps her leg against mine. "That makes sense."

I bump her back, just as carefully, pleased when my ribs barely complain.

My throat, on the other hand. I still sound like a vampy old Hollywood actress.

I run my fingers through Zeus's soft fur, the pup having been glued to my side since King carried me back into the house. And, not that I would admit it to anyone, but he was my favorite corgi of the litter that we rescued from a hoarder house not long ago. Adorable, sweet, and lazy for the breed, more cuddler than herder, but with a high ball drive.

Perfect for a busy man with a demanding career. No endless hikes or stimulation needed, just some basic daily exercise and spending the rest of the day following King around.

Plus, he and his sis, Athena, get plenty of playdates together because Rome was also suckered into buying a house in Corgi Town (a.k.a. adopting one of the mischievous pups).

Who could resist their tiny legs and floofy bodies?

A sociopath, that's who.

My mouth kicks up, wounds inside me settling the slightest bit.

Because animals don't judge you or break your heart.

Because…I'll get through this.

Because…I've gotten through worse.

"All of which means that now we get to veg and eat this delicious cake"—she holds up the groom's cake that we're making a serious dent in—"and watch the Eagles take on the Grizzlies." Chrissy picks up the remote and starts clicking through the guide of the streaming service.

It's almost game time, I realize, as she selects the channel and brings up the feed.

"I can't believe you've turned into a hockey fan," I grumble.

Her mouth kicks up. "Just because you can't stand sports in general but hockey in particular…" She slants a gaze my way. "Why is that, anyway?"

Because a certain sexy King-like player is on the team.

And because I was in a relationship and couldn't think about any man the way my mind wants to when it comes to King.

Dangerous. Tempting. With the potential to wound deeply and permanently, and?—

Plus, his reputation precedes him.

A playboy through and through.

Only…

He's not like that.

I haven't known him long, but I've seen enough to know that—volunteering to help with Chrissy's rescue, devoted to Zeus, working hard with the team, having my back.

Not a drama or controversy or…

Woman in sight.

And he saved me from the side of the road and protected me from Phillip.

And offered up his place for me to stay as long as I want.

So, really I know he's not a bad guy—even if it would be more convenient if he was.

I sigh and lean my head onto her shoulder. "I didn't thank you for helping me with dealing with all the vendors and guests and stuff."

"You did." She rests the side of her head against mine for a second, and I know she's smiling. "And nice try with the change in subject." She lifts up, kisses my cheek. "But I'll let it slide considering the last twenty-four hours you've had."

Relief slides through me and I relax back against the pillows, watching as a couple of men in suits hold microphones up to their faces and blather on about lineups and injuries, all while the players skate around behind them in a mess of organized chaos of sticks and shots and pucks and stretching.

I watch for King on the screen, feeling that familiar blip in my chest when the camera cuts to him talking to Rome, both of them appearing supremely serious.

Chrissy sighs.

"What?"

She turns to me only when the camera cuts back to the announcers, lips turning up at the edges. "My man is hot."

Amusement in my belly. "Have I told you how much I love you?"

Gentle in her pretty blue eyes. "Well, the good news is that it's as much as I love you."

I snort, but I settle. "Look at us being all sappy."

"I know," she teases. "Who even are we?"

I laugh.

But I'm thankful when the puck drops and Chrissy's focus becomes more about the game.

Because I love my friend, I'm thankful for King's kindness and Jean-Michel and Rome's concern, but…I'm worried about what's going to happen next.

Big feelings.

So many feelings.

And amongst those, I'm not heartbroken.

Which makes me wonder…

If I'm not sad about my relationship ending, if perhaps I'm feeling relieved that I don't actually have to go through with it, that maybe for the first time in a long time, I can take a full breath because Phillip isn't going to be my husband…

If I'm not any of those things…

Then who the fuck am I?

"I'm perfectly capable of working at a desk," I say the next day, after having wrestled my way into work clothes and slapped on enough concealer and foundation to cover the bruises on my face and throat.

Terrible, having to swap sweats for this shit.

But a necessary evil.

My heels, though?

I'm not sure I can muster the strength to actually shove my feet into them.

Yes, my feet feel a lot better.

Just—I study my pumps—not in these shoes.

But I've spent almost two full days in bed and King just got the call that Jean-Michel's security team located Phillip.

At our house.

Sitting in front of the fucking TV like nothing has changed.

Like he hadn't done what he had and?—

Well, I need to work.

I need to get away from my thoughts.

And…

Away from a certain stubborn hockey player who's leaning against the open door of his guest bedroom.

"I know you're perfectly capable," he says. "The question is why you feel like you need to."

Because I need to get out of this house?

And away from my thoughts?

And far, far away from this man?

"You have the time off," he continues. "Why don't you take it?"

Because if I have to sit alone with my thoughts, with this man any longer I'll go insane?

Maybe because of that?

None of which I say aloud. Instead, I just glare at him. "I can't help with my fosters right now"—can't walk dogs or heft bags of kibble or clean out hoarder houses, so the least I can do is my work for Jean-Michel, especially since he was instrumental in apprehending my abusive ex and all—"so I might as well make myself useful." I lift a brow. "Is that okay with you, your highness?"

"Back to Prickle Princess I see," he mutters.

I glare.

Then move toward the door.

He steps in front of me.

"What?" I snap.

"Just work here," he says. "I have a desk, a quiet space. You can do what you need to do without getting interrupted."

"I don't mind interruptions," I tell him, shifting to the side to move by him.

He doesn't retreat, doesn't give me an inch, and I feel my lungs tighten as our bodies brush.

Feel that flicker deep inside that always comes when we touch.

It doesn't seem to affect him, expression recalcitrant when he says, "How about you can stay safe in the house while you do what you need to do?"

"I am safe," I remind him. "Considering you're the one who told me that Phillip's been arrested."

He scowls.

And…I've had enough.

I shove by him, start moving down the hall, my shoes in hand.

I'll put them on for the walk to my desk and nothing more.

There. Good plan.

"Fine," he snaps, following me. "How about the fact that if you do go in, you'll get me in trouble with Jean-Michel?"