Page 9

Archer

M icah doesn’t say a word to me when he stomps back into the locker room after Wren, Alice, and Emilia leave to go find their seats. He doesn’t even look in my direction, in fact.

I didn’t catch all of what he and Wren had to say, but I know he fucked up. And judging by the look on his face as he stomps around the locker room, he regrets the hell out of it. But he’ll wait for her to bend first because that’s what the fuck he does. He’s so goddamn stubborn.

His little sister is just like him. They may only be half-siblings, but they’re just fucking alike in that way.

I don’t regret telling him about us. He needed to know. But goddamn. I wish he’d just accept it and move on for her sake. I can deal with him icing me out, but she idolizes him. This is exactly what she didn’t want to happen.

Would it have if I’d kept my mouth shut?

“Fuck,” I mutter, bouncing my head against the wall.

“You good?” Nash asks, dropping onto the bench beside me to adjust his pads.

I cut my eyes in his direction, jerking my chin in a nod.

“Yeah, you’re so full of shit,” he mutters with a chuckle. “You look like you want to hit him.”

“You heard?” He was in the hall with Emilia.

“Not everything, but enough. You want my advice?”

He’s the only motherfucker on the team willing to give it to me, unsolicited or not. Everyone else just pretends like they don’t know that I’m in love with Micah’s sister. Not Nash. I respect the hell out of him for calling it like he sees it.

“Do I have a choice?” I ask anyway.

“Nope.” Nash smirks at me. “You’re all up in our business all the time. I’m enjoying returning the favor.”

“Dick.”

He chuckles before sobering. “Give him a little while to wrap his head around the fact that she doesn’t need him to protect her anymore. That shit isn’t easy, man.” He pauses. “But don’t let him stew over it for too long before you step in and handle it. If you let it ride too long, it’ll only hurt both of them in the end. Trust me.”

“Shit. Your sister married your former teammate.” I’m not sure how I forgot about that. I guess because I’ve been too wrapped up in my own life to worry about ancient history that doesn’t involve me. But if anyone can relate to Micah, I’m guessing it’s him. And if anyone can relate to not wanting to hide…well, that’s him, too. He and Emilia are currently hiding their relationship from Coach, and it’s not because Nash wants to keep it a secret.

“Yep.” He nods his head at Micah. “And I reacted a whole lot like that. It’s hard as hell to admit that the little girl you helped raise no longer needs you, especially when they’ve been through shit that nearly killed them. You never forget that fear.”

“Fuck,” I mumble, my heart clenching. He’s right. Micah isn’t being a stubborn asshole just to be a stubborn asshole. That isn’t his style. He’s worried about his sister the same way he’s always worried about her. In his heart, he knows she’s safe with me. But passing her off to me when she’s always been his to look out for can’t be easy. Especially when he’s already almost lost her once and still lives with that guilt.

Nash knows exactly how that feels. His sister almost died in the accident that killed their parents. Of course he gets it. Neither he nor Micah were at fault for those accidents, but guilt isn’t rational, especially when it comes to family.

“It’s not you that he’s mad at. It’s not her, either. It’s the fact that you two were falling right under his nose and he didn’t see it.” Nash pauses. “It’s letting go, too. She’s his baby sister. You’re his best friend. He probably feels a little like you’re both about to replace him. Give him time to process.”

“Yeah. Thanks, brother.” I meet his gaze, holding out my fist for him to bump. “I mean that.”

“Just remember that grateful feeling when Coach finds out that I’m about to marry his daughter,” he mutters, smirking at me again. “That’s going to be a fun meeting.”

I laugh quietly. “Your stupid ass better tell him before someone else does.”

“I’m working on it.”

“What the fuck are you two whispering about over there?” Jordan asks from across the locker room, the first time he’s spoken all damn afternoon. He’s been in a mood since Sutton Peters showed up, demanding to talk to him.

“How you fit your big ass head in that helmet,” Nash retorts without missing a beat.

“Fuck you both,” Jordan mutters, flipping Nash off even as his lips twitch. “I don’t even want to know what the fuck the two of you have going on.”

“Secrets don’t make friends!” Diego calls.

“I don’t want to know what they’re talking about,” Joaquin mutters. “They’re probably composing love letters or some bullshit.”

Micah whips his head up, looking over at us, and our gazes lock. I open my mouth to say something to him—I’m not even sure what—but he doesn’t give me the chance. He just grunts and glances away.

Fucking hell.

“Yeah, to your mom,” Nash says to Joaquin, a taunting smile on his face. “When’s she coming to the next game so I can deliver it?”

“Man, fuck you.” Joaquin laughs despite himself, throwing a towel at Nash, who snags it out of midair and launches it back across the room. “She’s never coming back here again now that your big ass is on this team.”

“Yo. I’ve been telling you that I’ve got dibs on your mom, Joaquin,” Diego says. “You can’t just hide her away now.”

“Diego, shut the fuck up. You aren’t getting near my mama.” Joaquin turns to glare at Nash. “You either, you fucker.”

Nash just laughs, hauling himself up from the bench.

When I glance back over at Micah, he’s got his head down, ignoring everyone. Fuck. How long do I need to give him to work through this shit before I step in? Because I’m already over it.

“Jesus Christ,” I growl halfway through the third period, gritting my teeth as River is slammed into the boards hard enough to snap his stick. The puck sails away from him before being scooped up by Oliveira, the Dutchmen’s right winger.

“Graves, you’re up!” Coach shouts, his gaze not even deviating from River as Jordan skates past him, checking on him. River mutters something to him and then snags his broken stick, skating back toward the bench. He looks spent.

“You good?” I ask.

“Yeah. That fucking prick, Oliveria, is out for blood tonight,” he says, hopping over the boards. “Be careful.”

I jerk my chin in a nod, hauling ass out of the box. The Dutchmen have been all over us all night. We’re running on fumes, and we’ve still got three minutes left. But if we can net another goal, they won’t be able to catch up.

I charge across the ice, determined to keep them from tying up the game. Oliveira takes a wild shot, but it bounces off the post, sailing right toward me.

I pull up short, and line up a shot, sending it careening back down the ice.

“Archer!” Jordan shouts from behind me, letting me know I’m about to take a hit.

His call comes a second too late.

Oliveira plows into me, shoving me hard enough to send me sprawling across the ice. My knee twists, sending a sharp pain down my leg. My helmet gets knocked loose, bouncing across the ice.

“Fuck!” I growl as Oliveira lands on top of me in a heap.

“My bad, Graves.” I can tell by his tone that the prick doesn’t mean it.

“Get the fuck off m–”

“You dirty son of a bitch.” Jordan hauls Oliveira off, shoving him hard.

He lands on his ass, laughing.

“I’m getting real sick of that motherfucker tonight,” Jordan mutters, hauling me back to my feet with a thunderous scowl on his face.

I grit my teeth, hissing out a breath.

“You’re hurt.” Jordan’s eyes narrow in assessment. “How bad is it?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fucking liar. How bad is it?”

“Not bad enough to get me off this ice,” I murmur, voice pitched low as the ref skates up.

Jordan jerks his chin in a nod, keeping his mouth shut when the ref asks if I’m good. My knee isn’t blown, so it’ll be fine long enough for us to win this fucking game.

“You need to get him under control,” Jordan snaps at the ref. “That hit was dirty, and you know it.”

“It was an accident,” Oliveira lies. “I tripped.”

“I already warned you once, Oliveira,” the ref says before assessing a penalty for checking from behind against him, effectively knocking him out for the rest of the game.

Their coach is pissed, glaring at Oliveira like he wants to hit him.

“Should have been game misconduct,” Jordan mutters, handing my helmet to me.

I grunt, securing my helmet before we line up again. My gaze drifts toward the row behind our bench, where Wren is sitting with Elodie, Emilia, Alice, and Logan’s girl, Peyton. Her eyes are locked on me, her lips pulled down into a frown. She’s worried about me. But fuck. Just seeing her out there, wearing my jersey is like a shot of adrenaline.

Play resumes with the Dutchmen down a skater and fire in my veins. My knee throbs like a motherfucker as I line up a shot, preparing to send the puck hurtling toward the goal.

I see their center racing toward me at the last second and change the angle of the shot, sending the puck careening across the ice toward Micah.

Their goalie doesn’t even have time to adjust before Micah sends it whizzing toward him. The puck goes right past him into the net, and the sirens go off.

Micah glances at me and then away.

I grit my teeth and skate toward the bench. There’s no goddamn way the Dutchmen are going to catch up now. We have a minute and half left on the clock.

“Told you that he was out for blood,” River mutters as I limp into the box, and he races out for an unplanned shift change.

Coach takes one look at me and scowls before hurrying over with one of the trainers right behind him. “What’d you injure?”

“My knee,” I mutter, dropping onto the bench between Joaquin and Trenton. “Twisted it when I went down.”

“Son of a bitch. Get to the back and let the doc check it out, Graves.” Coach holds up a hand. “Don’t argue. We need you ready to go when we face the Bucks next game.”

Fuck. The Bucks are Jordan’s old team. He got booted from the team for kicking Jamison Peters’ ass in the middle of a game. The prick deserved it. Hell, he deserves jail for the shit he did. But that didn’t happen. Things are always tense when we go up against them. I’m guessing it’ll be even more so since Jamison’s little sister showed up here to talk to Jordan.

“I’m going,” I mutter to Coach, hauling myself back to my feet.

I shoot a look at Wren who is on her feet, looking at me.

“You okay?” she mouths.

“I’m good.” I wink before limping from our box to go have my knee looked at.

“You should really ice that again, Archer,” Wren says two hours later, eyeing me from across the bedroom. “It’s still swollen.”

“It’s fine, little bird. The swelling is minimal.” As expected, the knee is just twisted. It’ll be fine with a little ice and rest. Neither of which is on my mind with my wife standing in front of me wearing nothing but my jersey and that look on her face.

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to show you just how fine I am.”

“We are not having sex when you’re injured, Archer!” she huffs…but she strolls toward me anyway.

I snag her around the waist, hauling her onto my lap.

“Your knee!” she cries.

“You aren’t on my knee, baby. You’re on my lap.” I smirk up at her. “And if I’m a very good husband in the next five minutes, you’ll be on my cock.”

She smiles despite herself, looping her arms over my shoulders. “I don’t think you know the definition of very good.”

“Wanna bet?” I slide my hand up the back of her thigh, palming her ass through her panties. “It means spoiling you with orgasms until that little furrow between your brows vanishes.”

“There is no furrow. You’re seeing things.”

“You still worried about Micah?”

“No. I’m worried about you.” Her eyes are bottomless. I swear to God they are. “That hit was nasty.”

“It happens, baby.” I nip her bottom lip, slipping my hand into the back of her panties. “Want to make me feel better?”

“We aren’t having sex,” she says again, but I hear the little hitch in her breath. She wants it just as much as I do. She’s greedy for it, just like I am.

“You sure about that, Wren?” I yank her down against my cock, squeezing her ass cheeks. “Because that wet pussy says something different.”

“You shouldn’t listen to my vagina, Archer,” she moans, writhing even as she tries to deny that she wants it. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Seems like a smart pussy to me, baby. She’s wet and ready for me.” I slip one hand between her legs from behind, playing with her. She gasps, arching above me before rocking against my hand. “Look how greedy she is.”

“Archer,” she whimpers. “We aren’t having sex.”

“I can work with that.” I inch down the bed before lying flat. “You can sit on my face while you choke on my cock.”

“I c-can’t do that,” she stutters. But she helps me shift her around until she’s straddling my face, her legs on either side of my head.

“Take my cock out, Wren.”

She hesitates until I swat her on the ass.

“Take my cock out, baby.”

She reaches for my boxers, tugging them down. My cock springs free, already straining toward her. Already fucking desperate.

“Now, wrap your pretty lips around me and torture me while I eat,” I growl, flicking her panties to the side.

“I’ll smother you!” she cries.

“Good. Then I’ll have a short trip to heaven.” I yank her down on my face, burying my tongue between her legs.

She shouts my name, rigid on top of me before she relaxes, unable to help herself. She likes my mouth too damn much. I flick my tongue against her clit, suck one lip and then the other in my mouth to savor her juices.

“Suck my cock, wife,” I growl.

Christ Almighty. That mouth is perfection as she wraps her lips around me, sucking me deep. Hot, wet perfection. I groan against her pussy, not entirely sure I’ll be able to get her there before she gets me there. She’s slurping and bobbing, using her hand to stroke what she can’t fit in her mouth.

I yank her down harder on my mouth, snarling as I thrust my tongue into her tight fuckhole. She moans around me, sending vibrations all the way through me.

Goddamn, that feels good.

I redouble my efforts, sucking and nibbling, fucking her with my tongue in a race to get her off. She rocks against me, not worried about smothering me now.

I’m already on the edge when she comes apart, soaking my face. I flip her onto her stomach beside me, crawling over her.

“Archer!” Her head flies back when I slam myself inside, bottoming out in one hard thrust.

“We’re not having sex,” I grunt against her ear. “I’m just putting my cum where it belongs.”

She whimpers, going limp beneath me. I fuck her hard, pounding into her again and again. My knee twinges, but it doesn’t fucking matter. This matters. She matters.

“Archer!” she sobs, falling apart all over my cock.

I grunt, sliding my hand down the crevice of her ass. My thumb brushes her back entrance, and her pussy clamps around me again. She’s so fucking horny for it. God, I can’t get enough.

“You like being stuffed full, wife?” I rasp, slowly pushing my thumb into her tight little asshole. “You like having your husband everywhere?”

“Yes,” she moans, pushing back against me.

The base of my spine tingles, my balls drawing up.

“As soon as I get you pregnant, I’m claiming this little hole, too.”

She clamps around me again, shouting my name as she shatters for me again. I grit my teeth, fucking into her like a madman. She feels so fucking good. Christ, so good.

I lean forward, biting down on her shoulder as I come hard, spilling into her in pulses that leave me gasping for breath, unable to think or move. She’s with me right there in the vortex, shattering around me one more time with my name on her lips.

“See?” I whisper against her ear when I can talk again. “We didn’t have sex. I just put my cum where it belongs.”

Her body shakes with laughter beneath mine before she jerks beneath me. “Get off of me, you big idiot.”

I roll to the side, grinning. Before I can get my hands on her, she jumps up, darting out my reach. I narrow my eyes, scowling at her.

“Nu-uh. I’m not getting back in that bed until you ice your knee again, Archer,” she says, her face still flushed. She’s so damn beautiful. And so damn mine.

“Fine. I’ll ice it before I put my cum where it belongs again.”

Her eyes go glossy before she gives her head a sharp shake. She tries to glower at me but fails miserably. All she manages to do is huff and then smile.

“You’re a wild man, Archer Graves.”

“Yeah, wild for you.”

The way she blushes in response has me groaning. “You better grab the ice, little bird. Otherwise, I’m not staying in this bed while you’re looking that fucking sweet.”

“Don’t you dare get up!” she squeaks and practically races out of the room.

I chuckle, flopping back with my arm over my face. Fuck. I’m so in love with her. Every minute I spend with her just makes me that much more certain that we’re meant to be. Vegas was meant to be.

I just really fucking hope she still feels the same way when I tell her the truth about the things I’ve done. Because if she leaves me now?

Christ, I can’t even think about it.