Page 58 of Off-Ice Misconduct (Daddies of the League #8)

Luke

I don’t watch Ace’s games from the bench, but from the stands instead—which is only marginally better. No one’s questioned my presence. I’m Coach’s brother. They assume we’re close. I guess we are in a lot of ways, but in other ways, I feel like I don’t know him at all.

Something … happened to Tate along the way. Our upbringing affected him. I did everything I could to prevent it, shielding him from the darker things I had to do. But the darkness bled into him anyway. I saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice.

Down below—way down—Ace skates like a warhorse charging into battle—elegant, brutal, unstoppable. The puck moves like it’s dancing with him, and that goalie doesn’t stand a chance.

The crowd roars when the puck sinks sweetly into the corner, sliding under the crossbar with as much confidence as the man who put it there.

His arms go up as his teammates crash into him with the same force as they would an opponent.

Do they have to celebrate every goal by smashing into him like that?

Yeah, yeah, hockey.

Whatever.

Tonight, I have a distraction. Tate. I drum my fingers on my thigh. Fingers that have finally begun to heal from pounding the shit out of them less and wearing the gloves more.

“I need your help again, Luke,” Tate said. “I fucking hate that I do.”

“Does this have something to do with Ryan?” I asked. It was something in his expression. He gets a look in his eye when he talks about the guy. Don’t think he knows.

“ Yes. He’s the one. I want to marry him.” His jaw was clenched so hard, I waited for his teeth to break. His body language didn’t match the utter resignation in his voice. A war was raging inside him—I’d bet money—and he wanted, with all his being, to retreat, but he was forcing himself to fight.

“You seem thrilled.”

“I’m not, but it doesn’t matter. Married is married, right? That’s the requirement. Unless there’s anything else you want to share with me?”

Did he know? He doesn’t have to stay married. It sounded like he knew something. But whether he did wasn’t an issue for me anymore. I finally let it out.

“It was just a stupid test, Tate. I’m sorry. Yeah, let’s arrange the marriage—that is, if you still want the fortune—and then you can divorce him after an appropriate amount of time.”

It would have been better if he’d yelled at me, but there was nothing except for bone-chilling silence. We swam in that silence for an eternity before he spoke, a hand clawing the desk like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

I’d never seen him like that.

“I’m not like you, Luke,” he said quietly. “I try to be, I want to be, but I’m not good like you are.”

He thought I was good, and he wasn’t? I shook my head. “What do you mean? You’re so much better than?—”

“I don’t love Ryan,” he said, eyes flat. “I need to own him. I know you’re not supposed to own people, Luke, and I don’t give a fuck.”

That’s not true. He tried not to love Ryan. If I could rip him open, I’d see the battle scars from the fight he had with himself over it.

“I have to have him,” he rasped.

What he was saying isn’t that much different than how I feel about McKinnon, except I know I love him.

So, is it true that he doesn’t love Ryan? Or is he in denial?

Or even worse—is it something darker?

I wasn’t sure yet. But his desires were connected to something deep and dangerous.

“Where does Ryan stand in all this? I’m not doing anything unless I’m sure he’s consenting, and I hope you wouldn’t either.”

“I’m not that kind of monster, Luke. But clearly, you think I am,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s agreed.”

“Why?”

“He wants out from under his father’s thumb, but he needs money and hockey connections. I have the connections; I just need the money.”

“So, you’re using each other. Great.”

“We both get something we want, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I guess.” Nothing’s right with it either.

“I could never have what I want—what I need—any other way, Luke. I know you want me to fall in love, especially now that you’re fucking heart eyes for McKinnon. But I’m different than you are.”

From everything he told me, we’re more the same than I ever hoped we’d be.

I sit forward to get a better look at the ice, but Ace isn’t out there. He’s behind the bench, dumping water into his mouth and then into the mouth of his friend before he squirts him in the face. It turns into a behind-the-bench water war that Tate has to end by confiscating the bottle.

My lips crack a half smile. Whatever happened in the past few days has eased the tension that was weighing him down. Tate sends Ace out, and as soon as he steps onto the ice, he owns it, born to make it bend to his will. The puck obeys him. His teammates orbit him. The crowd worships him.

He’s not soft or fragile. He chose me not in spite of the way I dominate him, but because of it. I don’t need to rein myself in for Ace; he wants the full force of me. He loves it. My strictness doesn’t cage him in; it lifts him up.

Some of us are just built differently.

I don’t know what Tate’s doing with Ryan, but I’ve got a feeling it’s not just about hockey. Whatever it is, he’s keeping it close.

I turn back to the ice just as Ace scores again. Fuck, he’s wild, brilliant, relentless.

Let Tate keep his secrets, for now. I’ve got everything I want, standing right in front of me.

“What do you fucking mean Coach is marrying Ryan Savage?” Ace whisper yells.

“Language McKinnon.” I tug off his shirt. I’ve finally got him all to myself in my hotel room. In hindsight, having two of his friends in on our secret has made it easier for us to sneak around.

Once I have him naked, I check him over for cuts and bruises. There’s always something, but the severity changes. Tonight, it’s a purple bruise over his right shoulder and one up his left calf.

“Sit.” I point to the bed and rub arnica into his bruises while we catch up. I tell him about Tate, and he tells me about the frat-boy content machine. “You joined forces with who? They shot you in the face.”

“Look, I didn’t have many options available, and we were running out of time. Plus, I actually believe this could work.”

“You really think it’ll work?” Now that I’ve got the arnica melted into his skin, I make him hold an ice pack over the swelling on his shoulder.

“I do. And this is really unsexy, just sayin’. Can we fuck now, Daddy?”

I check my phone. “Five more minutes of icing.”

There’s none of the expected complaining about that. I think he’s getting used to me and my overbearing ways. He might even love them.

“Oh, by the way, can you let Tate know I gave Beta Sigma a box seat for life? Figure it’s best if you break that news to him.”

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’m not asking.”

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.”