Page 137 of Off-Ice Misconduct
My nose wrinkles. “Let’s see if they pull their weight first.” I’ll never forgive them for what they did to my princess, but if they get him what he needs, I won’t eventually exact revenge.
“Oh boy.” He rolls his eyes. “So, when’s the big day, huh? You think Coach will let me be a ring bear or something?” He snickers.
“It’s ring bearer, McKinnon, and you’re a bit old for that. You don’t know much about weddings, do you?”
“Nope. Never been interested. Um, well, until…” He trails off, eyes barely able to meet mine.
I fix that, adjusting his gaze via one strong knuckle under his jaw. “Until?”
“Until you, Daddy. I’d marry you, just putting that out there. But I’mnotasking.”
I lean in and kiss his lips as I file that information away. Usually, I’d validate him in some way, but for that? I don’t want him to see it coming. I want him to turn around someday, and see me on one knee, briefly, before I lock that ring on his finger forever.
“Tate and Ryan’s ‘wedding’ will be sometime when you play North Point, and it’s going to be a private wedding.”
“Yeah, but they need witnesses, don’t they?”
“We’ll see, princess.” The timer on my phone runs out. First round of icing done. Snatching the ice pack away, I toss it, letting out a growl. “Fuck everyone right now, baby. You’re mine.”
I pounce—carefully, so as not to hit his large bruises—and tackle him to the bed, stealing him off to oblivion.
I hear his phone before he does. The only light in the room comes from his phone screen.
Dad.
My gut curls tight. I don’t know Ace’s dad, but I doubt he calls him at this time of the night. I do know they haven’t been talking as much since he found out about his dad’s new fiancé.
“McKinnon,” I whisper.
He sleepily rubs his eyes, answering his phone groggily. “’Lo?”
I watch him listen on tenterhooks. He says nothing, just stares.
Suddenly, he bolts up and I reach for the light on the bedside table, bringing the room to life.
“He what?” he rasps. “What the fuck? Where?” More silence. His breathing accelerates. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll fucking be there.”
He hangs up, looking off to the corner of the room. Then, without warning, he hurls his phone. It slams into the wall and leaves a dent.
“Fuck.”
“Ace?”
He opens his mouth and tries to speak, but nothing comes out.
I sit up, every muscle on alert. The part of me that solves problems screams—grab him, shake the words out, make him tell you what’s wrong so you can fix it—but I stay stone still. I force myself to wait like a good Wolf Daddy.
Breathing slowly.
Ready to be a rock for him.
Finally, he cracks, nearly choking on the words.
“That was … that was East. Dad’s been in a car accident.” He swallows, hands shaking. “Bad. So bad. They don’t know if he’s gonna make it.”
32
THIRD WEEKEND IN JANUARY
