Page 23 of The Puck Stops Here

‘I’m sayingyou didn’t give them a choice; the bad energy coming off you is hard to ignore.’

‘You ignored it.’

Larsson cracked a grin, a move as rare as his laugh and flashing the gap in his top front teeth courtesy of a biscuit to the face last season. ‘Because I can crush you like a fly.’

‘Alright, Big Man.’

Blake shook his head with his own low rumble-cum-laugh and fisted his towel. Scrubbed the sweat from his face. Poor bastards. He hadn’t meant to mess with the room. His only thought had been: bar bad, gym good. That throwing alcohol on what was already a combustible mix could backfire spectacularly. Life lesson #1 handed down by dear old Dad.

So, he’d done an about-turn in the parking lot, hoping exercise would put out the fire.

But it was still there, the heat in his veins, the pulsating panic… the realisation that he had no choice but to do what they asked. To delve into his past, the one thing he’d spent a lifetime running from. Ashbury Falls. His father. His fists.

Now they wanted him to face it all. Not just face it but talk about it. Put the truth into the hands of the public who’d been more than happy to share the gossip that had spewed out of Ashbury Falls with his success. His and his brother’s.

And it was one thing for it to come from everyone else, another for it to come from them. Unfiltered. Honest. ‘Fuck.’

‘I didn’t say it was a bad thing.’ Larsson’s blue eyes danced in the overhead lights, his neck tattoo straining as he hoisted the barbell onto his shoulders. ‘Suits me fine. The quiet. The space. Less rookies and their silly talk. But if you want to talk, get whatever it is off your chest, I will listen.’

Blake blinked. Had the Big Man just offered to lend him an ear? ‘What is it with everyone wanting to listen to my problems today?’

‘Someone once said to me, the more you talk about it now, the less you’ll have to apologise for later.’

Blake gave another rumble. ‘I can’t believe you just said that to me.’

‘I think it makes sense, no?’

The words chased around Blake’s head: talk, be honest, let it out…

He ran a finger through the collar of his compression tee, struggling to breathe as the memories tumbled free, one after the other, his past fighting through the wall he’d erected long ago. He didn’t want to revisit those days because, sheer misery.

‘I think’ – he got to his feet, tearing the tee over his head and cherishing the chill of the aircon against his sweat-drenched skin – ‘you talk too much.’

Words he never thought he’d hear himself say about EdvinfuckingLarsson.

‘And you talk too little, Pretty Boy.’

Blake shook his head and crossed the room. ‘Bite me, Big Man.’

He exited the gym on Larsson’s chortle, straight into something soft and warm and yelping like a pup.

‘Blake!’

He frowned down at the woman rebounding off his chest. ‘Astrid, what are you…?’

Her eyes collided with his, two slashes of pink riding high in her cheeks. ‘You’re sweaty!’

Laughter fizzed its way through the fire in his veins. ‘I am.’

Her honeyed eyes flitted down. ‘Andnaked.’

If her voice reached any higher the dogs would come running…

‘Not quite, sweetheart, but that can be arranged.’

She swallowed, the tiniest squeak just audible over the heavy metal bassline pounding through the gym wall.

‘You’re funny.’

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