Chapter 30

Luca

I n a little white chapel just off the Vegas strip, I said the words I’d wanted to say my whole life. In truth, I may have yelled at them at the top of my lungs while bouncing like a hyped-up toddler.

“Yes!” A laugh bubbled up from deep in my chest as I slipped the plain gold band—which I was absolutely upgrading as soon as Polly would let me—over Polly’s finger. “Yes, I do. Sorry if that was loud. I’m just really happy.” Horny too, but I left that part out.

The celebrant smiled and turned to face Polly. “And do you, Polly, take Luca to be your husband, and solemnly pledge your loyalty and love, through all the days of your life?”

Like an idiot I shoved my hand into her face, wriggled my ring finger and smiled. Polly laughed, but paused, leaning in and pressing her pretty pink lips to my cheek. For a split second, my mind flashed back to Clara, and the shitty, I’m sorry, she whispered against my cheek before she ran. But with one sultry, breathy, “I absolutely do.” That image was permanently banished to the darkest corner of my mind.

“Fuck, I’m going to make you so happy, Princess—Oh,” I paused and nodded to the priest, reverend, celebrant guy. “Sorry for swearing, your holiness.”

“I’m not a priest and you may kiss your bride … Oh! You already are.” Polly, my wife, was in my arms, her lips were against mine, her ass cheeks squished between my fingers. Every kiss with Polly was better than the last, but this was the best and still it wasn’t enough. I could’ve had this woman ten times a day, twenty on Sundays, and it would never have been enough. Something in the way she sunk her nails into my ass, pulled me closer, licked and bit the shell of my ear told me she felt the same. “Let’s go back to our room. I need to consummate the fuck out of my wife.”

“As much as I want that, there’s something I want more first.”

“It’s yours, Princess,” I huffed, picking her up, tossing her over my shoulder, and spanking her jiggling ass as I lumbered down the aisle. “Flying monkey. Dodo egg. Fresh dinosaur shit. Whatever it is just tell me and it’s yours. Just do it quickly.”

There I was. A six foot four, hulking hockey star desperate to impress the new bride he had perched on his lap, while absolutely shitting myself. “Look. A lot of words were spoken. A lot of promises made.”

“Dinosaurs, Luca. You promised me dinosaur shit.”

“Yes, and I would gladly get to work on Jurassic Park-ing that into reality for you right now, if you don’t make me do this.”

Polly chewed her lips to stifle her laugh. “Is it too feminine for my big strong boy? We can change the design if you like.”

“No, no, no. I love the design, and as you can tell by the pitch of my squeals, I’m not afraid of appearing feminine, It’s just …”

Polly’s glorious ass shifted against my cock, reminding me yet again I was in a tattoo Parlor on Sunset strip and not eight inches deep inside her. “The pain?” She giggled.

“Yes. Yes, it’s the pain. It’s absolutely the pain.”

Giggles turned to glorious guffaws that had me laughing through the fear. “Luca, you get whacked in the face with a hockey stick for fun. How can this be worse?”

“Not quite sure, but it is.”

Dylan, the man waiting to jab me and definitely judging me, cleared his throat. “Guys. I have three people waiting. Are we doing this?” The freshly inked cowboy on the soft flesh of Polly’s wrist was suddenly all I could see. Hockey boys don’t cry … Hockey men do.

“We’re doing it … but I just need to use the bathroom.”

“Again?” echoed around me as I gently lifted Pol from my lap.

“Yep. But the last time I was just stalling. This time I really need it.” I didn’t. But they didn’t need to know that. Although they probably did.

Four more piss weak excuses, and a humiliating round of begging later, the horror of a thousand tiny needles jabbing into my skin at once was about to begin when, “ahem. I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but—”

“But still, there you are doing it.” Polly crossed her arms, glaring at Chris Night, my manager and knight in shining armor, who was standing a few feet away. Like Polly, he wore a deep frown, his arms were crossed over his chest, his foot tapping. I hadn’t seen the guy since I’d left the hospital broken and bruised. You’d have thought he may had at least tried to look happy to see me, but no.

“Chris,” I squealed with pure, faked delight. “Great to see you. How the hell did you know I was here?”

“Technology and a watertight contract.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he gave it an obnoxious wriggle. “The second that plane landed on US soil; we had permission to track you. Now, you have somewhere to be … Oh, by the way, congratulations.”

I jumped to my feet, practically dropping Polly to the floor. “What! Oh no. That is such a shame. Gosh, I am so disappointed, but I guess the tattoo will have to wait. Sorry, team.”

Chris looked at his watch, then Polly, then Dylan, and smirked, “Actually, we have time. Do your thing, tattoo man.”

Being ferried directly to the team’s hotel by my glorified babysitter after sobbing in front of him, an inked-up stranger, and my new bride, was a sharp reminder that I was an idiot, and that holiday time was over.

A flurry of contradictions had me bouncing in my seat. I felt sick in the stomach knowing I’d ignored every attempted contact my teammates had made in my absence, but conversely couldn’t wait to see them. A preemptive ache set in knowing the fitness tests to come would be grueling but longed for the challenge of proving I had done the work required.

“Team training may already be finished for this afternoon, but Coach Brown wants to see how your recovery is going twelve weeks in so will probably have you do some one-on-one drills. We’ll drop Ms. Hart—”

“Mrs. D’Cruz.” I corrected proudly.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Sure, Mrs. D’Cruz, off at the hotel and take you straight to the center for assessment.” He then launched into my calendar, reading aloud my upcoming schedule in a tone dripping with judgment. With each day’s program announced, Polly fidgeted in her seat beside me.

“You okay, Princess?” I asked, squeezing her hand.

“Of course, I just wondered what we should do for dinner when you get back. There are some amazing restaurants here in Vegas. Maybe–.”

“Sorry, Ms. Hart,” interrupted Chris again. “After his meetings and assessment, Luca has an official team dinner. Your celebratory meal will need to wait.” Clicking his tongue, he ran his fancy stylus up and down his iPad screen, “I think we have a free day …next Tuesday.”

“Next Tuesday?” Polly coughed. “Wow. Are you a hockey player or Prince Harry? Is it always like this for you? Your days and weeks mapped out so far in advance? When do you have time for all this sluttery I keep hearing about?”

It felt like an eternity since I’d last ploughed into Polly, so the mere mention of sluttery had my dick springing to life. “It is.” I confirmed, averting my gaze from her soft, tanned thigh that rubbed deliciously against mine, “We do have a pretty strict schedule, but never fear my dear, I will always find time for slut stuff.”

“Thankfully, not as much as many would like.” Chris added, passing Polly a new phone while I flipped him the bird.

“Honestly, Pol. Once the season starts, there will be periods where I’m away for weeks at a time. Then there’s training and media stuff that keeps us busy too. Life can get pretty hectic.”

“Sounds like it.” Visions of her jumping from the moving vehicle and running down the strip had me feeling slightly panicked. Reaching out, I cupped her chin in one hand and swept the stray locks from her furrowed brow with the other.

“It’s a great life, though, and I promise we will see each other. Loads of girlfriends … and wives,” I said with kiss to her nose, “Travel with the team. Not all the time, of course, but enough to be able to make things work if that’s what a couple both wants.”

The same vulnerable eyes that snared me hook line and sinker, shyly assessed me. “And that’s what you want?”

I pulled her onto my lap and kissed her hard and deep, infusing it with as much raw emotion as I could… with my manager staring me down. “More than anything.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the slut the cat dragged in.”

“Look who’s decided to be part of the team.”

“Is that a dingo in your pocket, or are you just happy to see us?”

“You’re just in time for dinner, D’Cruz. Have you got any shrimp we can chuck on the barbie?”

After doubling over in fake laughter, I straightened and flipped the bird to my teammates, the nausea that had curdled my lunch and threatened to spill onto my feet melting away. “They call them prawns in Oz and fuck it. I haven’t missed any of you fuckheads at all.” Twenty sweaty, smelly hockey players piled on top of me. Almost the whole team was there, slapping my back, my ass, and peppering my head with kisses as I tried to protect my freshly tattooed hand from the onslaught, while opening my heart to the acceptance of my brothers. I knew these guys. If the whole bi thing was going to be an issue, this wouldn’t have been happening. They accept me. All of me.

“Oh. Okay, so everyone’s okay with the queer guy who beat the shit out of me? Great. Good to know.” Maybe I spoke to soon. With that one spiteful sentence, Dallas Fucking Brookes sucked all joy from the room. “Hey, I’m a grown man capable of putting the past behind us and moving forward … for the sake of the team. I just hope you don’t start checking us out in the showers.”

In what could have been a scene straight from an old-fashioned westerns, I turned to face the man who had stolen what I had believed was my future, wiping my hand across my bottom lip, a scowl etched into my brow. “Is that right, Brookes? Well, I hope you eat shit and die.” A few awkward guffaws bounced off the cheap metal lockers, but for the most part, the room was eerily quiet. “But like you said, for the sake of the team, I will pretend you don’t exist when I can and display the utmost professionalism when I can’t. Oh, and also, just like education doesn’t stop people like you being ignorant arseholes, me being queer doesn’t mean I would check out any of your flat, spent asses. I have standards.” All of this was said as I again flipped the bird.

“Speak for yourself, D’Cruz.” Jeered Rory, “My hockey butt is popping.” With a slap I felt in my chest, the tension snapped, the guys were laughing, and more than a few checking their butts in the mirror.

“Very mature, numbnuts.” Coach Brown said, inserting himself between me and the still seething Dallas. “What have I said to you about acting like my thirteen-year-old?”

“I thought she was twelve, coach.” I smiled.

“She was. It was her birthday last week, and now she isn’t. I’m officially the parent to a teenage girl, which means my tolerance for you dickhead’s and your bullshit has rapidly declined.” He pointed back and forth between us. “You two will be on your best behavior. If me and my ex-wife can kiss and make up, you two can.”

“Aww, shucks, Coach. You know I’m an equal opportunity lover, but Brookes isn’t my type.” The smattering of laughs became a wave of catcalls and kissy-face noises. Joking about my sexuality around the team, being open and unafraid was great. What felt even better was realizing the desire to rip Dallas’s heart through his mouth and slice it to pieces with my skates was absent. Even as we took our poorly assigned seats beside the other at the team meeting, the inferno my rage had once stoked had cooled to the temperature of a lukewarm, tepid bath. I didn’t care that Clara was at home waiting for him because the one thing I wanted the most in the world was lying in a hotel bed, hopefully naked and hungry for me. To ensure this was the case, the second I got back to the locker room, I snatched my phone from my bag.

Me: Babe, I’ll be home in twenty. When I walk in those doors I want you in bed, on your stomach, naked.