The Hockey Captain That Hates Me novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Plate

Prescott never said a word about us on the ice.

He walked the man in the charcoal suit out through the upper concourse, and they were gone before I had my skate guards on.

Henrik watched them go with a muscle ticking in his cheek.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I'm going to find out."

That night, at eleven thirty, my phone lit up on the nightstand.

HENRIK: Can't sleep. Leg.

HENRIK: Don't come. I'm fine.

I was in the car in four minutes.

The house was dark, and the stairs creaked under me.

When I pushed his door open, he was sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but black shorts.

The boot was unstrapped and open.

His leg rested on a pile of pillows, the skin above the boot swollen and shiny.

A bottle of pills stood open on the desk.

"I said don't come."

"You said you were fine."

"I am."

"You're sweating."

He was.

It ran down his chest in a slow line, and his hands were clenched on his knees.

The lamp threw gold over the long muscles of his arms.

"It's the plate," he said through his teeth. "It aches when the weather turns. Nothing else helps."

"The pills?"

"I don't want them. I want to be awake for you."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I crossed the room and knelt in front of him.

I put my hands around his calf above the wrap and pressed my thumbs into the muscle.

He hissed.

"You're tight as a knot."

"Keep going." He closed his eyes. "Don't stop."

I worked up from the ankle to the knee.

His skin was hot and the muscle was tight as rope, and I felt it let go under my hands a little at a time.

His breathing slowed.

When I looked up, his eyes were open and fixed on me, black in the lamplight.

"Hanna."

"I know."

"You said it was a mistake."

"I lied," I said.

He went still.

"Say it again."

"I lied. It wasn't a mistake."

I rose up on my knees between his legs and put my hands on his thighs.

"I've thought about it for four days. I thought about it in class. I thought about it when you were in the shower."

"God."

"I'm tired of owing you. I want to want you."

He took my face in both hands.

"Then say it plain," Henrik said, low. "Tell me what you want."

I swallowed.

"I want you to fuck me."

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