Page 60 of Stand Your Ground
“We travel home from the Winnipeg game that morning, but I should be free that night. Why?”
“Because I think it’s time for your next lesson. And you better catch a nap on that plane ride home...” I tilted my martini to my lips with a wicked grin. “We’re turning up the heat.”
Mistress Livia
Carter
Friday came faster than I imagined, my week jam packed with travel and games. We were still locked into the playoff race, fighting for our spot and for our lives, and every second counted. We took a loss at home against Columbus but managed to secure a win in Winnipeg. Back and forth, we teetered on the edge of clenching or having our season end before we were ready.
I had to be locked in, and I was.
I was quicker in the face-off circle, reading plays faster, keeping my head on a swivel. My minutes were up, my line was clicking, and I was finally playing like I belonged — not just as a role filler, but as a fucking problem for the other team. My teammates were trusting me more. Coach, too. Vince even tossed me a chirp after one game about how I’d been “possessed” on the forecheck. I took it as the highest form of praise.
But off the ice, I was still working through what I’d told Livia on our practice date.
Bringing up all the history with Coach Leduc had nearly made me throw up. It was like dragging a corpse out of a locked trunk in the back of my mind, one I’d shoved in there years ago and told myself I was fine leaving buried. Except the fucker still smelled and there was no ignoring him, no matter how I tried.
Doctor Arman was right. I shouldn’t have assumed I’d know what Livia’s reaction would be, which wasn’t much at all. She’djust… listened. She’d heard me out and she hadn’t tried to comfort me or tell me I had to let it all go.
“You’re not broken, Carter. You’re just untrained.”
Those words had hit me harder than I braced for.
Because for once, I felt like someone understood.
And something about that — about being seen, being heard — quieted the noise. Coach Leduc’s voice, usually so loud in my mind, barking critiques and shaking his head with that look that made me feel like I’d never be enough… it faded. It wasn’t gone completely, but it was like someone had turned down the dial.
I had no idea how long that would last.
But it felt like the first breath after being underwater for years.
And now, with that breath still fresh in my lungs, I was pulling up to a mansion on Bayshore Boulevard — my pulse thudding and Livia smirking beside me — about to step into a place that made me feel as inexperienced and incompetent as ever.
“Don’t look so scared,” Livia purred from the passenger seat of my Range Rover. I had to admit, I loved seeing her there. I loved how her legs were crossed, how the coat she wore exposed the top of her knee and begged me to slide my hand over her smooth skin. I thought about it more than once on our drive over, but held back, remembering how she’d reacted when I’d kissed her without asking.
This was her game, her show, her rules. My job was to behave myself — even when it felt impossible to do.
“Can you blame me?” I asked, pausing at the large iron gate. “I had to sign an NDA and get a full background check for you to bring me here, and I have no idea what waits for me inside.”
“Fun,” she said easily. “That’s what waits for you.”
“I think we’ve established that our definitions of things like that differ a bit.”
Livia smirked as the gate slid open with a slow, mechanical hum, revealing a driveway that looked like it had been ripped from the pages ofArchitectural Digest— all clean lines and softly glowing lanterns nestled among perfectly manicured hedges. The mansion at the end of it was massive but not gaudy. It sprawled out confidently along the bay, all sleek stone and glass, its silhouette lit with the soft, golden warmth of well-placed lighting.
I whistled low under my breath. “Damn.”
The valet opened Livia’s door the second we stopped at the front portico. She stepped out in tall, chocolate brown stilettos with red bottoms, that long brown coat cinched at her waist and hiding whatever wicked thing she was wearing underneath. I followed, adjusting the jacket of my own dark, low-profile suit — she’d told me to wear black and nothing else. I hadn’t dared argue.
The front doors were wide open, spilling warm light and low music out into the night. A man stood just inside, tall and built like he doubled as a bouncer on the side. His black suit was crisp, his expression unreadable. Though we could hear the party inside, we couldn’t see it. A tall black curtain hung from the ceiling all the way to the floor, puddling on the marble behind where the bouncer stood.
He held out a velvet-lined box without a word.
Livia unfastened just enough of her coat to reach her phone, revealing a sliver of sheer, dark brown fabric beneath before she slipped her phone into the box. I followed her lead, depositing my own phone, smart watch, and keys. The man gave a small nod, then gestured to a second, shorter man behind him with latex gloves and a scanning wand.
“Really?” I asked under my breath as the wand passed over my chest and down the inside of my thigh. “We getting frisked?”
“I told you,” Livia said, amusement curling in her voice. “No cameras. No surprises. Everyone here knows the rules.”
