Page 177 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

I pee and brush my teeth before returning to my cell to send Darcy a message apologizing for missing our session and letting him know I’ll be there as fast as I can.

There’s every chance that he’ll be busy with others—I’m not the only player who’s out of action and needing extra work with the trainers right now. I have no doubt that I’m probably the only one selfish enough to waste Darcy’s precious time, though.

I’m still feeling sick when I step into the shower. I stand under the powerful jets of water with one hand resting on the tiles for support.

I don’t know what time I passed out last night, but it wasn’t early enough. If Darcy isn’t free for our session, it’s going to fucking kill me.

When I get out and check my cell, I hate myself even more.

Darcy: I’ll be here when you’re ready. Whatever you need.

“Fuck,” I bellow, instantly regretting it when it makes my head pound harder.

I need him to be an asshole to me. It’s what I deserve.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and in the elevator.

Sienna’s floor taunts me, but she won’t be there. I have no doubt that she managed to get up on time to get to work this morning.

Pain slices through my chest, and I pull up our chat again. I’m not sure what I’m expecting—to find her typing, maybe? But nothing has changed. Instead, I scroll up a little and read through our most recent conversation.

As I hit the ground floor, I’ve loaded up my food delivery service, and I’m ordering her favorite coffee and sending it to the salon.

It won’t go anywhere close to making up for what I’ve done, but at least she’ll have to think about me when it arrives, even if all she does is hate me a little bit more.

I grab my own coffee and breakfast on the way to the arena, but the caffeine does very little to fix me, and when I walk into the trainers’ room ten minutes later, the state of me is confirmed when Darcy looks up and mutters, “Oh, fuck. Did it really go that badly?”

49

SIENNA

Everything hurt when I woke this morning, but my eyes and my throat took the brunt of it. I don’t know what time I eventually fell asleep last night, but it was late, and my pillow was soaked with tears.

I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to be angry. I was angry. But I also couldn’t stop the tears.

I trusted him. I trusted him more than anyone.

I told him things that I’ve kept to myself for years.

And I stupidly allowed myself to think that he could be the one. I could see a future together—the kind of future I didn’t think I was going to get.

But as angry and hurt as I am by him, I’m also ashamed and embarrassed at myself.

How didn’t I know?

Why didn’t I see it?

I feel so stupid.

All I could think about last night was the little signs. The clues I can only assume he was throwing in the hope that I might realize. His tattoo…

Fuck. His tattoo.

Red-hot tears burn the backs of my eyes as I stare at the far wall of our small staff room, waiting for the kettle to boil for my client’s fruit tea.

Do not cry.

Not here.