Page 174 of Desperate Pucker
“Oh my god…” Dakota murmurs.
Bella frowns. “What the hell?”
Abby shakes her head. “That can’t be true.”
That sick feeling burrows deeper. Because it actually might be.
My throat feels tight. I look at the girls, who are all staring at me with worry in their eyes.
“I can’t believe this,” I say. I hand Maya her phone back.
“Wait, you don’t think your dad would say that, do you?” Abby asks.
“Honestly? I don’t know. You guys know what a strained relationship I have with him.”
They all nod.
I think about all the hurtful things my dad has done. The way he abandoned my mom when she was pregnant with me. The way he refused to be in the hospital room when I was born. The way he was hardly there for me growing up. The way he’d always let his older kids dismiss me while he stood by, doing nothing.
I wish I could say he’d never, ever do something this mean and hurtful. But I can’t. Because the truth is that he’s done plenty of mean and hurtful things my entire life.
“Do you think Ryker heard about this?” Dakota asks Maya.
“I don’t know. I hope not,” Maya says.
I shoot up from my seat. Even if he hasn’t yet heard what Bobby said about him, he will. That podcast clip is all over the internet. I’d bet anything that it’ll be trending on social media soon.
He’s going to be devastated.
Urgency rockets through my body, through every muscle and limb. I need to be there for him. I need to tell him it’s all bullshit—that no one who matters would ever believe this crap about him.
That sick feeling fades, replaced with that protectiveness from earlier. And something else. Something that unfurls in my chest, right around my heart. Something that feels deeper and more overwhelming than anything I’ve ever felt before.
Love.
I love Ryker. I’ve spent enough time denying it, telling myself it’s too soon. But I can’t deny it anymore. I can’t deny my own heart.
I love Ryker so much, and I’m not going to let anyone insult him like that.
I shoot up from my seat and take off.
Chapter 60
Ryker
“Ryker, how does it feel to lose the first game of the Stanley Cup finals? The first game back after your injury?”
I glower at the reporter who’s sticking his phone in my face.
“How do you think it feels?” I bite.
I cross my arms over my chest, annoyed and pissed off.
Post-game press is being held in the locker room tonight, which I’m not happy about. I wanted some time to decompress after our loss to New York before I had to go face the a bunch of reporters. But our press details aren’t up to me, so I have to just deal with it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Coach Porter frowning at me. He’s probably not pleased at the way I answered that question.
I need to be less of an asshole right now. I need to show him that I’m not going to let my emotions get the best of me, that I can focus and keep my cool when it counts so he won’t regret letting me play.
