Page 371 of Faking the Goal

"You are the most infuriating man I have ever—"

"You can be pissed at me." I tighten my arms around her and press a kiss against her temple. "Just be pissed while I hold you."

All the fight seems to drain out of her at once. She buries her face in the crook of my neck, one hand curling gently around the back of it. Her fingers are cool against my skin, tracing the short hairs there.

I feel her take a long, shaky breath against my skin. Then another. She presses closer, breathing me in like she needs the smell and warmth of me to convince herself that I'm really here, really alive.

"I told you not to come tonight," she whispers after a while. "We agreed. You were supposed to be in Boston with the team, where I knew you were safe."

I stroke her back, feeling the ridges of her spine through her shirt.

Her fingers tighten against my neck. "Do you have any idea how scared I was when I saw you there?"

Guilt pricks at me.

"I know, baby."

"You promised."

"I know."

She burrows even deeper against me, and I close my eyes as I hold her.

The truth is, I never had any intention of getting on that fucking plane.

I told her I would because she was already terrified enough about tonight, and the last thing she needed was another argument with me. But Boston might as well have been on another planet. There was no way I could stand in the crease and stop pucks while Charlie was sitting across a dinner table from the woman I love.

I would've been fucking useless.

Every shot coming toward me would've disappeared behind the same thoughts playing over and over in my head.

Is she okay?

Has he touched her?

Can Matthews get to her fast enough if something goes wrong?

There could've been fifty officers surrounding that apartment and I still wouldn't have been able to convince myself she was safe while I was hundreds of miles away. If I'd gone to Boston, I probably would've been the reason we lost the semifinal because my mind wouldn't have been anywhere near the ice.

So instead, I stayed in the utility room next to Taylor's unit with Matthews and part of his team, watching the feeds and listening to every fucking word.

And I nearly ruined the whole operation.

The second Charlie reached across that table and put his hand on her, every instinct in me screamed to go downstairs. When he finally dropped the Conrad bullshit and called her Little Kitten, I was already halfway to the door before Matthews stopped me and reminded me that they needed Charlie talking. They needed his confession on record.

Then Charlie pinned her against the wall.

I don't even know how I stayed there as long as I did.

Matthews had to tell me more than once that going down there too early could put Taylor in even more danger, and those were probably the only words capable of keeping my feet planted.

Until I couldn't anymore.

"I couldn't stay away," I finally tell her, pressing my lips against her hair. "I love you too fucking much to sit somewhere else while you faced him. I know you had Matthews. I know you had an entire team watching you. But I needed to be close enough to get to you if something went wrong."

She pulls back just enough to glare at me again, although there isn't nearly as much heat behind it now.

"And something did go wrong. You got shot."