Page 120 of Traded

Fuck.Fuck.Her trembling is getting worse, and I settle my hands on her shoulders. “Hey. It’s okay, Ro. What is it?”

Rosie shrinks back, away from me. “Boone won the auction, Carter. Because you weren’there.”

Her breath hitches as she looks between me and Liam, and I feel like the shittiest alpha in the world at the look on her face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t do anything—I was on the stage and I couldn’t see—”

Fuckingasshole. But she’s almost in tears. I cup her face in mine, trying to keep a distance. “Hey, now. Baby, don’t panic. That’s on him. Mercer won’t hold you to it.”

Because I’m going to make damn sure he doesn’t.

“Yeah,” Liam says finally. He reaches for her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “This one’s not on you, Ro. No apology needed.”

She stares up at him for a long moment. And then she nods, some of the color returning to her face. “I think I’m ready to go home now. Can we?”

“I’ll sort the others.” Liam vanishes as I reach down to cradle her knees with my hands.

Her breathing is still unsteady. “Seriously, Ro, don’t worry about this. I’ll go talk to him right now.”

“No.” She grabs for my hand. “I want to leave.”

“Whatever you want.” But she’s still looking at me. Her eyes take in the damp edges of my shirt and my rumpled hair, crinkling with the question on her lips. “I’m okay. Had a bad reaction to those damn beets.”

Some of the worry clears. “Ugh. I get that.”

We share a look of complete agreement. There’s history there. A long, complicated history involving an angry foster parent, a table, and a plate of roughly chopped beets and nothing else for dinner.

I kiss her hand and use my other to push the oxy deeper into my pocket. “Let’s get you home.”

Chapter thirty-five

Teddy Bear Tossers

Games Played: 68/82

Blackwater Titans

46–16–6

1st Atlantic Division

Callum Morris, NPHL Network Analyst:

“Well, whatever was slowing Carter Reynolds down, Jeff, it appears to be firmly in the rear-view mirror. The Titans captain has been absolutely flying over recent weeks, driving the net with a fearlessness thatalmost borders on reckless at times. It's producing top-notch hockey that we’re all enjoying—and wins—but you have to wonder how sustainable that aggressive style is going to be heading into a long playoff run.”

“Anything I can do for tonight?”

Liam sits on the edge of his bed and yanks his practice jersey over his head.

“Score, ideally.” I stay where I am, my face lifted to the ceiling as my body buckles beneath the familiar endless chain of commands. My hands are shaking when I lift them, and I let them flop back down to the bed. “All we need is a home goal. How long are we going to keep doing this?”

He twists to look at me. “As long as it takes. You know that.”

“Regular season’s nearly done.” I keep staring at a small patch that the decorator missed. “There has to be a last time at some point. I think it’ll be fine. I don’t need a bark anymore, Liam. I want to stop.”

Everything is under control.

Iam under control.

But I’m so, so tired of being under his thumb. Liam looms over me, his hand pushing some hair away from my face. “When the season’s done. I promised, didn’t I? We’ll talk about it then, Ro. Things are good.”