Trouble : Boston Bolts Hockey

Don’t you dare let him see you cry…

All I ever do is sigh.

Just look me in the eye.

“Ugh,” I growl. Cry. Sigh. Eye. That’s the best I can come up with?

“Everything okay?” Declan asks as he waltzes into the kitchen wearing his standard uniform—black work pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt with the department’s name stamped on it. Today’s shirt is navy blue with red writing. Yesterday’s was white.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

No, I’m not memorizing what he wears, my life is just that freaking boring right now. The only thing that changes daily is the color of his shirt.

“I’m fine,” I grumble.

Declan pours himself a cup of coffee and leans back against the counter, watching me. He’s scruffier today. His dark hair is unruly, and even his eyebrows are unkempt. But the beard on this man? God, it looks softer, and I’m annoyed by how much I’d like to touch it.

I could probably write loads of sonnets about the way I want to feel it against my fingers—between my thighs—eh, who am I kidding? I can’t write a single fucking song to save my career.

Seriously.

It’s been a year since I released a new album, and anything I wrote before the Worst Human Alive destroyed my journal and my life is useless now.

He’d say it’s because I need him. That he helped me get to where I am. I’m really hoping that’s not true. We were one of those couples that broke up more than we stayed together. Always my fault, of course. He’d sleep around and gaslight me into believing I was in the wrong and that he only flaunted other women to remind me he was a catch.

The problem was my career was so tied to the man, my family too, that I truly believed I did need him.

God, I hope he was wrong.

As if he’s been summoned, my damn phone dings with another text from him.

Worst Human Alive: You’re seriously dating that loser wannabe hockey player?

I fist my hands and fight the urge to respond. He’s bating me. He wants my attention. He’ll never know he has it.

“You sure you’re fine?” Declan taunts.

Worst Human Alive: I get it. You wanted my attention. You have it now. But you better get tested before we get back together. That guy is a slut.

I hate him. I despise him.

“I’m. Fine,” I say slowly, working to keep my breathing even.

Worst Human Alive: Ya know what? Fuck you. You’re nothing without me. And when that guy is done with you, and he will be, because you’re nothing but a second-rate whore who isn’t even good in bed, don’t come crawling back to me.

Worst Human Alive: By the way, I fucked your assistant and mine. And Lake. She’s always been better than you at everything.

“Ha!” I shout. He’s such a fucking narcissistic asshole. I’m sure he cheated on me plenty. Probably with the assistant I fired after catching her flirting with him one too many times. But Lake hates Jason. With a passion. She wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole.

It shouldn’t make me happy to know that he’s gaslighting me, but it does. It validates every instinct I’ve had when it comes to this man. And as a girl who stopped trusting her own instinct a long time ago, that feels like a fucking win.

And, god, do I need a win.

“Is that your stalker? Is he bothering you? You need to tell me if he’s bothering you.”

It’s in that moment that I realize Declan is much closer than he was before. Standing over me, looking at my phone, reading my messages.

Humiliated, I lash out. “Could you back up and not read my personal messages?”

Declan’s brown eyes swim with concern. “Melina.” The single word is soft but so damn patronizing.

“I’m fine.” I push my chair back and grab my phone. “You aren’t my father. Stop acting like it.”

His nostrils flare in response. Why is it that even when I’m angry and hurt and humiliated, I can’t help but push his buttons? Maybe because it makes me feel alive.

“Though I’d be happy to call you daddy if you’d like,” I tease, my tone harsh rather than playful.

Declan lets out a hurricane-like sigh, the sound all growly and thundering. He stalks to the sink, sets his coffee down, and turns around.

But I don’t want to hear what he’ll say. I need the last word. So I head for the door, but not before meeting his angry eyes with an equally pissed off smile. “And by the way, I am excellent in bed.”

My bratty comment does the trick. Declan is left speechless as I rush out of the house, determined to win this round.