Page 424 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"What do you think I’m doing here?" He comes to a stop in front of me. Tiny ambles forward and plants himself on his haunches between us. I reach forward and rub his big head, and he looks at me with adoring eyes. My heart melts a little.

“Look at me, Goldie,” Rick orders.

I shake my head and continue to pet Tiny.

“Goldie. Look. At. Me.” Rick lowers his voice to a hush and goosebumps flutter over my skin. Before I can stop myself, I lower my hand and tilt my head back, and further back, to see his face.

In the lengthening shadows, he seems bigger, taller, broader—and not only because he still has shoulder pads on under the jersey.

I refuse to meet his gaze, instead focusing on the cords of his neck that stand out in relief, the width of his chest which seems to have expanded until it’s twice the size it was, down to where his thigh muscles are so tense, they strain the hockey pants he’s wearing.

His legs are braced apart, and I’m aware the bulge in between his thighs is caused by his jockstrap—yet, I can vouch that when he’s aroused, it looks bigger.

"Remembering how my cock feels inside of you?" he growls.

I blush to the roots of my hair and jerk my chin up. His cerulean blues bore into me, and I take a step back. He moves toward me, and I throw up my hands. "Stop, please."

He does. But every inch of his body is wound up like he's spring-loaded. Waves of tension vibrate off of him.

"Where are you going?" His voice is hushed, but the tone feels like a whiplash across my skin that's sensitized to his every mood.

"You know where." I look away, unable to see the truth in his eyes. That he knows exactly why I’m standing here.

The breeze blows a strand of hair in my face, and I tuck it behind my ear.

Tiny looks between us, his body on alert. He, too, senses the tension in the air.

For a few seconds, we stand there, not talking.

The sounds of the crowd cheering reach us.

Footsteps approach, then stop. I don’t dare look past him.

I’m sure we’re making a spectacle of ourselves, sure there are paps around who’re going to photograph us together, and yet…

I can’t bring myself to turn my back on him.

This might be the last time I see his beautiful face, take in the solidity of his presence, and sense that shiver of security that sinks into my bones whenever I'm in his presence. I'll never again feel my heart expand with those sensations that crowd my chest only when I see him. I’ll never feel this way with anyone else. Never, has my breath stuck in my throat or my stomach fluttered at the thought of anyone. I'll never need to squeeze my thighs together at the thought of someone else. Only him. I’ll never fall in love again. The only man who’ll make me feel like this is him.

And he betrayed me. He doesn’t care for me. He can’t, not after what he did to me.

"I need to leave," I choke out.

"No," he growls.

"You don’t have a say in what I do. You lost that privilege when you made me fall in love with you under false pretenses. When you knew you were setting me up, just so you could break my heart."

"I’m sorry, Goldie. I know, however much I apologize, it won’t be enough to right what I’ve done, but you can’t leave me.

You can’t." His voice cracks and the anguish I hear…

The expression in his eyes is so intense that it hits me square in the chest. My heart stutters, I feel something inside of me begin to give in, inch by inch, and—

I shake my head. I can’t do this. I can’t forgive him. Not after how he hurt me. How can I trust him again, knowing he’d purposely set out to destroy me?

"Do you know why I left the NHL?"

I shake my head.

"It was in the finals of the Cup that I found out that Diana had committed suicide. She was nineteen, only a year younger to me, but I’d been her protector.

Her big brother. I should have been in L.A.

with her, looking out for her, but I was too busy building my career. I got the news during half-time."

"Oh, my god, Rick." I cover my mouth with my palms.

He hasn’t told this to anyone. It’s not in his PR file, not in any news story.

He’s choosing to share it with me because he wants to show me he trusts me.

And I want to take that step toward him, I want to meet him halfway, want to close the distance to him and throw myself in his arms and comfort him, but something inside me doesn’t let me.

So, I stand there and watch the man I love hunch his shoulders.

He closes his eyes and swallows, and when he opens his eyelids, a tear rolls down his cheek.

Tiny whines.

“She was so young, and she’d already written a film script?” I wrap my arms about my waist. “She must have been very talented.”

He nods. “She was also bipolar. A diagnosis she insisted Grams keep from me so it wouldn’t interfere with my NHL career. One I only found out when it was too late. If I’d known, I’d have prioritized her before my NHL games. She knew it and insisted Grams not bother me with it.”

Emotions flash across his features. It’s a shock to see how much grief and anger there is in him.

But it’s also a welcome surprise to see he’s hurting.

That he’s as human as me. I don’t want to see him in pain, but it’s also confirmation he’s not as much in control as he’d like the world to believe.

“It explained her mood-swings, and also, her genius when it came to making up stories,” he says with a far-away look in his eyes.

“Even as a little girl, she loved to weave scenarios, first in her head, then on paper. Grams bought her a video camera, then a high-end smartphone, and she was always making short movies and editing them. She was gifted. I always thought she’d win the Academy Award before she was thirty. ”

He swallows and glances away.

"So, when coach told me she was gone, I couldn’t believe it.

He later told me, he’d debated with himself before telling me, but he said he knew it wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t let me know.

He said he wouldn’t blame me if I left right then to fly to her.

In fact, he recommended I should. But you know what I did?

I went on playing. I wanted to complete the game.

I’d played so hard to get that far, to find a place for my team and for myself in the finals.

I wasn’t going to leave without seeing it through.

I couldn’t tear myself away from the game, even when I found out my sister was dead.

" He chokes on the last word before he continues.

"I went back on the ice… Only, I wasn’t fully there.

I lost my focus, kept making errors, got so angry with myself that I hit the referee. "

"The charges against you were dropped," I murmur.

Tiny whines again. This time, Rick pats him, his action absentminded.

"But the damage was done. I knew I was in the wrong.

For everything. I knew it was my fault she was dead.

And I remained selfish to the end. It was because I thought the game was so important that my attention was divided.

I put my career before her, and I decided I didn't deserve to play again. "

“Then you joined the Royal Marines?”

“I did. It was Grams who suggested it. She saw how badly I’d taken Diana’s death.

I returned to London, ended up getting drunk and into bar fights.

I was unable to get a hold of myself. She realized I needed a purpose and suggested the military.

I barely remember signing up for it. The next thing I knew, I was in training and being pushed around by the Commandant in charge. ”

“That’s how you found an outlet to your anger?”

He laughs, the sound uneven. “And how. I got into fights and was disciplined, which made me madder and pick up even more brawls, until the Commandant sat me down and told me I was better off channeling my emotions into the training. After that, I pit myself against the challenges of the training course. I found myself acing the Commando training, then the King’s Squad.

As part of the Special Forces, I fought on the front. And that was my wake-up call.”

“Wake up call?” I tilt my head, absorbing what he’s telling me. For so long, I’ve wanted to find out everything about this man, and now that he’s sharing his past with me, I want to make sure I don’t miss anything. “It must have been difficult being on the front line.”

“Not at first. I didn’t give a shit about my life. It’s when I saw the men in my team get wounded and die that I woke up. I realized Diana was gone, but I was still here. And she'd be pissed if I joined her up there that quickly.”

“So what did you do?”

“What could I do? I focused on making sure I got the enemy before they did me or any of my brothers-in-arms. I found I was good at it too. Ended up serving the military for five years before I retired and moved to private security.”

“And throughout that time, you continued to play hockey?”

“Spending all that time in the desert, which is where I was always shipped out, made me appreciate how much I loved being on ice. Whenever I was home, I made sure I played.”

“And being assigned to Declan Beauchamp’s security, How did that come about?”

“Initially, I blamed him for Diana’s death. Which is why, when the position of his bodyguard came up, I took it. Soon, I found out he wasn't in the country when it happened, that it was you who called the cops. But before I could plan on how to make you pay, you’d left the country.”

I swallow. I know he holds me responsible for what happened to Diana, but every time he says it aloud, it makes me want to scream. Can’t he see how unreasonable he’s being?

I draw in a breath, get my emotions under control. "And you followed me?’

“I did.” He sets his jaw. “I didn’t have anything lined up. Knight had offered me the job as Captain for the team. I told him no, several times. Then I found out you were taking on the role of the PR manager.”

“And you realized the best way to get close to me was if you accepted the role of the captain?" I swallow.

"Yes and no. I still didn't know how I'd get my revenge, but when I was with you, I felt an indescribable pull to get closer.

And the mere thought of anyone else working with you"— his nostrils flare—"no way was I going to tolerate that.

So, when I agreed to the role, it was spontaneous.

Once I'd committed, the plan fell into place. " He raises a shoulder.

It feels like a wall has collapsed on my chest. I can’t breathe. I knew he’d strategized and set things up to lead me into a position where I'd find myself falling for him. And yet, hearing the details of how he did it only makes things worse.

I rub the back of my hand across my mouth. "And now, you’re confessing so you can get it off your chest? In the hope that I’ll forgive you and be with you again?"

"I’m telling you everything because the only way for us to move on is if I come clean on everything."

"There is no us." Even as I say the words, it feels like I’m being cleaved in half. The pain in my chest intensifies. Every inch of my body hurts. My phone buzzes in my handbag; I ignore it.

"There can never not be an us," he says in a low voice. "You’re my wife, Goldie."

Tiny huffs. I reach for him at the same time as Rick.

Our fingers brush, and a shiver runs up my spine, adding support to his words.

I shake my head, trying to negate the truth, but there's a part of me, deep inside, that acknowledges he's right. I’ll always be his wife. I’ll always be…

his. I lower my hand to my side. Rick pats Tiny, then turns to me.

"When I was playing in the finals today, I realized I couldn’t let my team down.

I couldn’t let you down. You’re the PR manager for this team.

A win for us would boost your career. This time, I wasn’t playing only for myself.

I was playing for you and for my teammates.

And now we’ve won the League, but it means nothing if I don’t have you at my side.

Everything loses importance, unless I can call you mine. "

My phone stops, then starts buzzing again, but I shove aside the intrusion. "Don’t, Rick. Don’t do this." I swallow around the ball of emotion in my throat.

"I have to. I can’t let you go, Goldie. You’re mine.

Mine to hold. Mine to own. Mine to love.

To cherish and protect with my life. To spend the rest of my life striving to make up for what an asshole I was.

To spend every day proving to you how sorry I am.

For better or for worse, Goldie, you are mine. Only mine. And I'm yours. Only yours."

My phone stops, then starts again. This time, I pull it out to decline the call when I notice the caller ID. "It’s Grams."

"Grams?" He frowns. "I tried calling her before the game, but she didn’t pick up the phone."

I raise the phone to my ear. "Hello, Grams?" I listen, then feel the blood drain from my face. I sway. The next moment he’s there.

He grips my arm. "What’s wrong?"