Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Knox

I named the fucking dog.

And worse, I named her Winter.

God, I’m an idiot and not even a creative one.

I visited the vet against my better judgement and?—

I’m an idiot and a sucker.

She’s still weak and healing from her surgery, being pumped full of round the clock antibiotics, but…

She wagged her tail today.

When I walked into the back room of the vet’s office this morning to sit next to her kennel, give her scratches, and keep her company—after staying far too late last night doing the same—her fluffy little tail had wagged.

At the sight of me .

And so, even though I’d intended to tell Dr. Karlson that I’d pay the expenses, but they needed to find a home for Winter…

The words hadn’t come last night.

Or this morning.

Or through my text messages.

Winter saw me, and wagged her tail.

I’m so totally fucked.

And exhausted.

And I can’t fucking sleep—I’m either worried about a fucking fluffball or I’m dreaming about a gorgeous redhead who can’t fucking stand the sight of me.

Or my voice.

Or my jokes.

Or, well, anything about me, really.

So, it’s fear that I’m going to lose a dog I shouldn’t be thinking about keeping—and yeah, yeah, I know it’s far more than thinking at this point, as I’ve already ordered bowls and food, beds and toys and have an appointment to meet with a dog sitter for the team’s away games. The ordering I did when I woke up in the middle of the night, dreaming about being inside Ivy’s tight little cunt and knowing that it’s never going to happen. The scheduling was after my morning visit with Winter.

Fucking losing it.

Sleep is?—

Problematic to say the least, and I know I have to find a way to fix it.

I can’t go on like this.

Can’t keep wanting Ivy.

Can’t keep Winter?—

“Fuck,” I grit, knowing that for all the can’ts, Winter has become something that’s nonnegotiable.

She’s mine.

I’m keeping her.

No use pretending otherwise at this point.

She’s a fighter, and I’m not going to take a chance that someone may not look after her as well as they should.

“Jesus, Adler,” I grunt, shoving the thoughts out of my brain and continuing through my workout. It’s a tough one—Ivy’s plan to fine tune every inch of my body playing nicely with my own preferred methods of working out. Well, it’s less nice and more brutal, but the rest of my workouts this week will be focused on recovery, so getting my ass kicked is what I need today.

Especially, if it’ll help me finally be exhausted enough to sleep.

I power through the set, adding a few pounds here and there, an extra set in an exercise, another movement when the inspiration strikes.

I need to keep moving. Need to tire my body so my mind follows.

Need to?—

“You never learn, do you?”

I still at the sound of Ivy’s voice then straighten with a grunt, my legs on fire?—

Hell, at this point, my entire body is on fire.

But I don’t stop moving.

I can’t stop.

If I stop, the voices get too loud and?—

The dumbbells are ripped out of my hands, and I whip around to face her, growling, “What the fuck?”

Ivy drops them onto the rack and whirls around to face me. “The workout ended two hours ago.”

God, she’s beautiful.

Even when she glowers at me.

Even when there are shadows in her eyes that call to my soul to don some fucking armor and mount a white steed and ride to the rescue.

Not that she’ll ever let that happen.

Not that I will.

Work hard. Cling to exhaustion. Sleep. Finally sleep.

I move to the squat rack, but she steps in front of me, blocking my path.

I shrug in silent answer then move to the bike. If she won’t let me do weights then I’ll just do more cardio until I hit the point of no return and make my way home.

I sit down, start to clip in, and?—

She yanks the plug out of the wall. “That’s enough ,” she grits out.

Fucking women.

Fucking woman.

I stand up, avoiding the weights, the bike, and the resistance bands—because she’ll probably just take those away too, or try to, anyway—and make my way to the pull-up bar, jumping with a grunt (and significant burning in my quads).

Ignoring the pain, I start driving.

One. Two. Three?—

A hand on my leg, yanking down, nearly succeeding in dislodging me.

“Get a fucking clue, lioness,” I snap, shaking her off and continuing. “I’m not stopping.”

“Ugh!” She tosses up her hands, shakes her head. “Fine. You want to fuck up your body by pushing it too hard? Whatever. But just remember that your team needs you for the playoffs, so if you injure yourself like an idiot because you don’t know when to quit, that’s on you.”

Rant complete, she marches away, giving me a glimpse of those seriously toned legs, that lush ass.

Fucking sexy as shit.

There’s a reason she’s in my dreams every fucking night.

Ignoring the bolt of lust as I always do—or as I’ve done since she made it very clear she wasn’t interested, I keep going.

Four. Five. Six?—

She’s reached the door now, but…pauses.

Seven. Eight. Nine?—

No, not pauses . She’s jiggling the handle and…

Ten.

I jump down, swipe my arm over my forehead and move over to her. “What’s the matter?”

She jerks away from me when I get close then scowls up at me. “The door’s locked.”

“It’s never locked.”

“You think I don’t know how to turn a handle, along with knowing nothing about how to do my job?” she grinds out.

I wince. “I didn’t say that.”

“Maybe not in so many words,” she mutters.

And…that’s hurt in her eyes.

Fuck.

“Ivy.”

She steps back, mask firmly in place. “Never mind.” She nods at the knob. “Weren’t you about to mansplain how to open a door for me?”

“Lioness—”

She waves a hand at the door. “Nope. Let’s see it, hotshot. Turn that handle because, clearly, this little lady”—now she waves that hand at herself—“can’t figure out something oh, so complicated .”

Sighing, but knowing I won’t get any further, certainly not now that I’ve pissed her off, I bite back my response and reach for the handle.

It turns beneath my fingers, and I look over to see the fury on her face when she realizes that she really was struggling to open a door?—

But that’s quickly replaced with dismay.

Because…

The knob comes off in my hand.

Gaping, I stare at the door, at the empty spot where the handle had once been. Then look back at her.

“What the fuck?” she breathes, beautiful brown eyes wide.

“I—”

She pushes by me to shove at the door.

It doesn’t budge.

Then she scrabbles at the metal pieces of the lock, trying to get them to engage?—

But they don’t move either.

Slowly, she turns to face me, horror on her face.

Because…

We’re trapped.