Page 36 of Knot Your Pucking Secret

I swallow hard against the knot tightening in my throat, unable to stop the small, disbelieving smile that threatens to pull at my lips. It isn’t born from victory. I haven’t won a damn thing. If anything, I’ve only just been handed the privilege of stepping onto the starting line.

And this time, I refuse to fail her.

Chapter Fourteen

Lennon

Holden wasn’t kidding when he said that he planned on groveling.

Every morning for the past few weeks, a steaming hot latte and a breakfast burrito have been waiting for me on my desk when I arrive at the arena. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee greets me before I even step fully into my office, the steam curling lazily from beneath the lid while the warmth still radiates through the cardboard cup. Somehow, he always manages to get there before I do.

Not only that, but he ensures that lunch is brought to my office every day after I retreat there during the midday interlude. I don’t even bother asking how he knows exactly when I’ve skipped another meal in favor of burying myself beneath mountains of paperwork. He just…knows.

I wish I could say that was all, but it wasn’t.

Thirty minutes after my day ended, the night after he left my apartment, the doorbell rang and bag after bag of groceries had been delivered, along with a giant bouquet of purple and blue hyacinths. Their sweet floral scent filled my apartment before Ihad even unpacked the groceries, somehow making the empty space feel just a little less lonely.

Each day I have arrived to work, a new bouquet has been sitting on my desk with a note and an attached poem, one that stitched something back together inside of me I hadn’t wanted it to. A girl could get used to this.

The day after we won our first game of the season—my first game back as head coach—I found Holden and asked him about it. Telling him that he needed to calm the hell down, but he just shrugged me off before giving me a long kiss on my cheek. With little more than a sweet look from him, he turned and walked away. I won’t deny that I found my resolve dwindling, which I’m sure is exactly what he’s planned. Having him open up to me the other night, I realized something. He and I aren’t that much different than each other. Yes, he’s still a giant asshole, but we have sort of an understanding now.

While Holden has been almost everywhere I have turned, Dominic has completely eluded me. Something that has to end today, unfortunately.

I need his designs for the mental health round coming up in the next few weeks. They should have already been approved by the board but apparently it wasn’t only the team that had been lacking. The amount of paperwork and approvals that are well past their due date that I have had to sift through has been exhausting and has taken up far too much of my time.

What I wouldn’t do to have Veronica back here, helping me sort through the mess that had been left in my wake. Even though she handled all things public relations, she still had a vested knowledge in other areas of the team. It’s an expertise that I could really use, especially now. When she found out about me being back here, she lost her ever-loving mind. Bronte, on the other hand, told me she had always known that I’d do this.That it was in my blood and once that happens, there’s no real going back. She might have been right.

So much has happened, a lot that requires my attention, but I’m slowly getting through it. I was only gone for five or so months, but with the state of everything, you’d think that’d been years. I need to focus on one thing at a time, and right now, that’s the brooding equipment manager, who I’ve been dreading since I got here.

I knock on his door before entering. His back is turned to me as he focuses on unwrapping tape from today’s hockey sticks, the tear of adhesive filling the quiet equipment room.

“Fuck off, Holden,” he grumbles, not bothering to turn around.

“Not Holden,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. Dominic’s entire body stiffens. The stick he had been working on is quickly forgotten as he turns. His eyes go wide, his mouth falling open slightly as he stares at me. In a move so unlike anything I have ever seen from him before, he scrambles to his feet, running a hand through his rumpled locks, as though that will somehow straighten him out. It doesn’t. It’s useless. I can see straight through the clean-cut facade he is doing everything to hold so desperately onto. It is nothing more than a pathetic ruse designed to convince both of us that he is okay. He isn’t, but it serves him right, I guess.

The last time I stood in this room with him, he carved his name into my upper thigh. He branded me like cattle. Like I was disposable. I suppose to him, I was.

It’s time for a little payback I think. I’m not the only one that should wear the scars. After everything, that’s one thing that can never change. His mark will always be there. Tormenting me. Torturing me. A reminder of the time I was once weak.

“Lennon, how can—what—I—”

He stutters over his words before cursing. He shakes his head at himself, like that will somehow help his cause. For once, the Alpha who always seemed to have a calm answer for everything can’t even string together a coherent sentence. His breathing turns uneven, his warm forest scent spikes, thickening with nerves as his eyes search my face. Anger. Forgiveness. Mercy?

He’s not going to find any of those things.

Not until I even the score.

I want to laugh. To belittle him. If only to drive the point home just that little bit more.

But I don’t. He has already dug his own grave. Time for him to lie in it.

I let the silence stretch between us, watching it settle over his shoulders like another weight to carry. His eyes refuse to leave mine, every muscle in his body wound so tightly that I half expect him to snap. I want him to wonder why I’m here. I want to see him sweat. To torture himself with every possible scenario before I finally put him out of his misery.

“I am here for the mental health round jersey design. They were to be submitted three weeks ago.”

His eyes widen before he curses, turning on his heel and dashing over to his desk, where a messy display of paperwork threatens to topple onto the floor. His hands fumble through the piles, sending loose pages sliding across the desktop as he searches with a frantic urgency I’ve never seen from him.

“Fuck, Lennon. I’m so sorry. I thought I handed them over, but I must have missed them.”