The Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (little red riding hood read aloud .TXT) ๐
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- Author: Gina Azzi
Read book online ยซThe Faker: A Marriage of Convenience Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey) by Gina Azzi (little red riding hood read aloud .TXT) ๐ยป. Author - Gina Azzi
A flash of color. A cool breeze. A loud yell.
Then, darkness.
15
Rielle
โDonโt move it. Here, I got you,โ I chatter on and on, gently guiding Torsten as we maneuver into the penthouse.
My heart is still galloping and I canโt stop the adrenaline that pumps in my temples. Seeing him go down tonight was the most horrible thing Iโve ever witnessed. Helplessness gripped me as I leapt to my feet, my heart in my throat, my knees weak, my legs shaking. A buzzing sound rung in my ears and if it wasnโt for Claire and Indy pulling me out of the box, I may have passed out right there.
Fortunately, the fall looked a lot worse than it was. Torsten came to only seconds after blacking out. He had a dislocated shoulder, which the doctor was able to pop back in, a beat-up knee which is causing him some pain, and a mild concussion. But the doctor cleared him to come home, so here we are. Me, propping Torsten up and chatting a million miles a minute to eat up the silence that has ensued since the moment I walked into the trainerโs room and saw Torsten laid out on the table.
His eyes are stormy, his mouth twisted in pain and anger, his mind somewhere else entirely. For the first time since weโve entered into our arrangement, I canโt get a word out of him. Heโs looking through me instead of at me. Of course, the logical part of my brain recognizes that heโs in physical pain. Not to mention, the emotional distress of knowing that tonight was most likely his last game as an NHL player. But the emotional side of me canโt help but worry that something just fundamentally shifted.
โHere we are.โ I ease him down onto the couch. Bending to pick up his leg so I can prop it on the coffee table, he swats at me.
โLeave it. Iโm not an invalid.โ
โI know that. Iโm just trying to help you,โ I say in the most even voice I can manage. Images of him going down replay in my mind and with every blink, I recall more details. The unnatural twist of his body, the shocked faces of the crowd, the deafening silence of thousands of people holding their breaths in unison. The arena felt suffocating and I couldnโt wait to come home with Torsten but now that weโre here, my nerves are scattered.
I watch him struggle to lift his leg on his own and back away slowly to gather ice packs from the kitchen. When I return, Torsten gives me a smirk and glances at his leg, which is neatly stacked on the coffee table.
โHereโs some ice.โ
โThanks,โ he mutters, taking the wrapped packs and bag from me and placing them where he needs to.
โDo you want to talk about it?โ
He lifts an eyebrow at me, his expression carefully neutral. But his eyes swirl and churn, angry and hurting and glinting with something Iโve never seen before. โWhat do you think?โ
I bite my lip and shake my head.
Torsten mutters out a string of colorful language and opens his hand for mine. When I place my hand in his, he tugs until Iโm seated next to him on the couch.
โIโm sorry, Ri. Look, Iโm fucking pissed right now. It has nothing to do with you. Iโm justโfuck!โ He picks up the remote control and slings it across the room. It bounces twice on the floor before skittering to a stop near the step up to the kitchen. โI canโt believe thatโs how my fucking career ends. That pathetic, garbage play. Dropping like that and blacking out like a fucking pussy. Iโm angry. And IโmโฆIโm heartbroken.โ
โIโm sorry, Torst.โ I squeeze his hand to let him know Iโm here, that Iโm listening.
He heaves out a sigh. โI just want to sit here and watch shitty TV.โ
โAre you hungry?โ
He shakes his head.
โDo you want some company?โ I ask pathetically, desperate for him to say yes. Even though he might want some time on his own, the thought of leaving him alone to hurt by himself aches.
He shifts his weight so he can wrap his arm around my shoulders.
I immediately curl into his side, my palm on his chest, my head on his good shoulder. I lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. โIโm just going to get the remote control. Donโt move.โ
He groans and tosses his head back but a smirk glances off his mouth.
โToo soon?โ I guess, hopping from the couch to grab the remote.
โGet your ass back here, Ri.โ He takes the remote from my hand as I settle back beside him. He turns on the TV. โSchittโs Creek?โ
โDuh.โ Itโs pretty much become our nightly staple. After sex, I mean.
He snorts and pulls me closer. I go willingly, breathing in the scent of him, sweat and man and a hint of body wash. His fingers rake through my hair, grazing lazily against my back. I sink deeper into his side, my eyes glued to the television.
Each of his inhales draws me closer and I sit perfectly still, aware of every shift he makes. The air around us intensifies, layers of unspoken words, desperate thoughts, and needy desires, building like the pressure in a volcano. Torstenโs fingers stroke lower, his hand wrapping around the side of my body, splaying wide along my rib cage.
I suck my stomach in, feeling the boldness in his touch. Am I what he needs right now? Does he crave a distraction? A release?
Is it because of the devasting blows he took tonight? Both physically and mentally? Or is it more than that? Is it because even though we never intended to, weโre becoming a โwe,โ and right now, I can soothe some of his hurt?
I turn more into him, my breasts skimming against his chest. He inhales sharply and turns his face to mine, his eyes darker than
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