Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
He looked down at my hand and stilled. He took a deep breath. I left my hand on his leg, not wanting to break contact in case this helped with whatever he was going through. He closed his eyes and tried to smile again, his lips twitching. “Iron collars and I have a fucked-up past. It’s been seven months now, but, well, long story short… I was kidnapped by a rival pack because a rogue hunter wanted to bring us all out into the open so he could kill us.”
He said it all in one single breath. My jaw dropped and my head fell forward. “Excuse me, what? You’re going to need to give me the longer version of that.”
And so he did. Dylan started at the end—just like he had taught me—and walked me through everything that had happened. I was shocked. Emmy had told me about something going down but he didn’t go into full details, and certainly didn’t tell me about what happened to Dylan. As he spoke, his voice became choked up by the painful memories, and a protective flare flashed inside me. I wanted to find this hunter and tear him apart limb from limb for causing this, then I wanted to throw an iron collar on the alpha of the rival pack so that he could get a taste of his own bitter medicine.
Fighting and confrontations weren’t my thing, but listening to Dylan’s trembling voice made me want to burn the world down for him.
I’d sit with these feelings later and try to figure out where they were coming from. For now, I wanted to make Dyl feel better. I rubbed his leg. His muscular thigh twitched under my hand. I ignored the heat that flooded up from his skin through mine. “Fuck, man, I’m so sorry you went through that.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.”
“It’s clearly not.”
“It is, though. I guess I haven’t talked much about it, and thought it was dealt with, but guess not. This helped.” He offered me a genuine smile, showing me a set of perfectly aligned pearly white teeth. Rare for hockey players, but not for shifters. “Are you sure you’re just a trainer and not a secret therapist on the side?”
I chuckled at that. My hand was still on his leg. I didn’t want to move it, but the longer it remained on him, the more I wanted to inch it upward. I removed my hand and placed it on my lap.
“I’m just an anxious person,” Dyl continued. He started to bounce his leg again. “I’ve gotten better at handling it. I don’t spiral nearly as much as I used to. I can sort of confront the bad thoughts and rework them, but sometimes shit creeps up on me.”
“I get that. Anxiety is a beast, it grabs you by the—” Shit, that was a bad metaphor.
He looked at me from the side of his eye. “Throat?”
“Um, no, I was going to say, um…”
“The dick?”
“Yes. Yes, exactly.”
Dylan started to crack up, which in turn made me laugh. “If that were the case then I’d be anxious twenty-four seven.” He looked at me and gave me a wink. “Who doesn’t like being grabbed by the dick?”
My thoughts immediately swirled downward, toward a territory I needed to stay far, far away from.
Control yourself.
“Anyways,” Dylan said. “Sorry I sidetracked you. Back to your situation.”
A bright red cardinal flew in front of us, landing on a thick branch before being spooked away by a squirrel. I shook my head. “Let’s talk about something else. No need to make this such a dark and dreary day.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
With Dylan? I was finding I wanted to talk to him about anything and everything. “Are you ready for the season to start?” I asked.
“Oh, hell yeah. I’ve been itching to get back on the ice and play. I’m determined to get the Calder Cup this year, and I think we can do it. Actually fuck that, I know we can do it. And now that we’ve got a great trainer to keep us fit and functioning, I’m even more confident about it. The humans on the team definitely need you.”
“Only the humans?” I teased.
“Maybe a couple of the shifters, too. Soren’s always shit at stretching. You can help him with that. Keep his mobility up.”
“Soren’s the goalie, right?”
“He is.”
“And what about the left winger?” I asked, knowing damn well that was the position Dylan played.
“I guess I could use a couple good stretches and massages, too.”
“You know I’m not a glorified massage therapist, right?”
His cheeks turned pink at that. “Oh, I know, I’m just joking.”
“But I am also really fucking good at massages.”
“You are?” Dylan arched a suggestive eyebrow, the white streak drawing my attention.
Why the hell did I want to kiss it? How fucking weird would that be?