Page 107 of Defensive Desire

I'm just finishing up when I hear voices from the other side of the wall in the bathroom. They're not familiar voices though, probably some leftover guests from the tour earlier.

"—shame if they trade Kane," one voice says. "Guy's the backbone of that defense."

I shake my head. Seems like I can't fucking escape the chatter anywhere.

"Heard it's pretty much a done deal," the second voice responds. "Management wants to get younger, capitalize on the Stanley Cup victory and make room for that rookie they signed from college."

"Fucking stupid if you ask me. Kane's got at least three good years left. And the team chemistry... without him, the whole dynamic's screwed."

"Tell me about it. My kid had his picture taken with Kane today. Kid's been talking nonstop about playing defense for the Icehawks when he grows up. Dreams crushed, man."

They laugh, but it's bitter.

"Well, shit happens. Business is business, right?"

Their voices fade as they leave, but their words echo in my head like a death sentence.

Pretty much a done deal.

I lean against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge until my knuckles go white. Everything I suspected, everything I've been trying not to think about, laid out by two random fans who probably know more about my future than I do.

The door opens and Connor walks in. He takes one look at my face, and whistles low.

"Shit man. You look like crap."

"Thanks," I grunt.

He shrugs, moving to the sink beside me. "Rumors, man. Always fucking rumors."

I open my mouth to say something, but… nothing comes out.

"Until it's official, it's just noise." Connor slaps me on the back and meets my eyes in the mirror. "For what it's worth, we're all pulling for you to stay."

I want to believe him. I want to believe that talent and loyalty and being the heart of the team's defense means something.

But I've been in this league long enough to know that none of that matters when management makes up their mind.

I stare at my reflection, looking for answers I don't have. Connor's silent beside me, clearly struggling for the right words too. He just claps me on the shoulder again and heads for the door.

He pauses just as he steps out. "For the record, Kane? If they do trade you, they're fucking idiots. This team needs you. She needs you."

He leaves me alone with my thoughts and the sound of running water.

In the mirror, I look like a man who's already lost everything that matters.

And tomorrow morning, I might find out if that's true.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Emma

Ishould be used to this by now, waking up beside my very own Hockey God, tangled in sheets that smell like both of us.

His arm is heavy around my waist, his breathing still deep and even. In the soft glow of dawn, he looks younger, the hard lines of his face softened by sleep, his dark hair a mess against my white pillow.

But my heart still skips when his fingers twitch against my skin, unconsciously pulling me closer.

I trace the line of his jaw with my fingertip, memorizing the rough stubble, the curve of his mouth, the tiny scar near his temple from some long-ago hockey fight.

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