Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) by Elise Faber (romantic love story reading TXT) 📕

The footsteps slowed.

He wrote faster . . . until heat prickled on his nape. Until he glanced up and saw it was Dani.

No, he’d known it was her.

That sensation on his skin, the rightness in his chest, the heat arrowing straight for his cock. It was the built-in Dani Locator, and right now she had stopped by his seat. Their gazes collided, and he felt the impact of those gorgeous eyes in his heart, as if she had reached a hand between his ribs and squeezed it tight.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Her mouth twitched, as though she’d been going for a smile, but then she seemed to catch herself, nodding and whispering, “Hi.” She hesitated. “I . . . about last night. I didn’t mean—”

“Say no more,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine—”

“Ethan.”

They turned, saw that Bernard had come up. “Need a word.”

“I—”

With one long look at him, Dani moved back up the aisle. He knew she’d be on her laptop, working until the plane landed, making sure that everything was ready for the team when they needed it. The equipment managers, the trainers, the video coaches—including Dani—were some of the hardest working people in the organization. Their jobs usually began before the players and ended long after them.

The equipment team washed and prepped gear and jerseys for travel, made sure extra sticks, laces, tape, and more were available during the game. They were constantly drying gloves, making sure the players’ skates were in good shape, their helmets weren’t worn or damaged. Hockey, as a sport, required a shit ton of equipment, and that meant their job didn’t stop. But the trainers were just as important. Their job being to keep the players healthy, to come up with workouts and rehab and conditioning plans in order to make sure everyone was skating at their best. Diet was one part. Injury treatment another. Building specific types of muscle strength was still one more. And they had to keep track of that for an entire roster. Not easy.

But as hard as they worked, he’d never seen anyone else pull the kinds of hours Dani did.

Part of the reason he loved and respected her was because she never missed a beat, was always impeccably prepared, a consummate professional. Even as shy as she was with most people, she got her shit done, and the team was the better for it.

In a word, she was amazing.

Multi-faceted. Smart. A hidden well of fire and spine. And pain. And fear. And so much fucking courage.

And he’d fucked up.

He’d pushed her beyond that bravery and into fear, and he’d never forgive himself for doing that. But now, he just needed to figure out how to get beyond that, to convince her to move beyond the scared and trust that he wouldn’t hurt her, to believe him when he said he wouldn’t push her again. But for all his wants and needs, how could he possibly expect that faith?

“We need to talk about the game tomorrow. I wanted to . . .”

Bernard kept talking, explaining a shift in the system, how he would be playing a bigger role, at least for the time being. Normally, that would have been the best fucking news ever, but today, he was too busy being miserable.

After a few minutes, Bernard moved up the aisle, sitting in his usual spot.

But Ethan’s eyes didn’t stay on his coach. Instead, they drifted to Dani. Because . . . she was his heart.

“You’re staring.”

He glanced to the left, away from the aisle that Dani had walked up, saw Fanny leaning against the seat opposite him, her generous mouth curved into a smile. Since she didn’t normally fly with them on away games, he asked, “Just couldn’t get enough of us?”

The tall, statuesque brunette glanced behind her, then propped herself on the arm of the empty seat next to him. Well, mostly empty since it currently held a stack of his schoolwork.

“Well, actually,” she said, lips twitching, “now that you bring it up . . .”

He chuckled quietly. “Visiting family?”

A nod. “Well, I had been visiting. We took a road trip of our own, and now I’m with you guys until we fly back to San Francisco. But don’t worry, I’ll be working plenty. I’ve got a whole slew of new skating drills to torture you with.”

He groaned good-naturedly.

Yes, he hated skating drills. Especially after a lifetime of doing them.

But old—bad—habits crept in quickly, and Fanny kept him straight.

“You love them,” she said. Then she leaned in.

Aw, fuck. Here they went.

“Who ya looking at?” she asked casually.

“No one.”

“Hmm.” A beat. “So, why is Dani walking around with pain and indecision in her eyes?”

He didn’t bite.

“Ah, a recalcitrant one.” She tapped her chin. “How many ways to destroy your legs shall I use?”

“I fucked up.”

“Ah,” she said again. “So, I need to destroy you.”

He groaned, rested his head in his hands.

She sighed, scooping up his papers and books then sitting down in the seat next to him.

“You know I had a system for that, right?” he muttered.

“I know you had a mess.” She opened the tray table in front of her, began stacking and organizing the texts in a way that he knew would make sense—just based on her totally organized system of drills both on and off ice, plus keeping track of players’ milestones and goals. Fanny was far better suited for balancing a career and degree than he was. “There, now,” she said, straightening the stack and turning toward him. “All in order. Now tell me, Dani and you, what’s up?”

He made a face. “I told you. I messed up.”

“How?” She pointed at said face. “And how badly?”

“Badly.” Her expression clouded, and deliberately he dropped his eyes back down to his notebook, ignoring the steady brown gaze trying to force the rest out of him. He’d dealt with Fanny enough on the ice to know that she was a fucking force to be reckoned with once she picked at the thread of something. On the