Page 71 of Ruthless Game

Really, it was because I’d missed Emma to the point that living felt pointless. And I had hated her for that.

Still, I aimed a shot back at him. “Maybe I hurt her, but you let me. Instead of being a fucking man and taking accountability for your own actions, you let her sacrifice herself for your comfort. Sounds pretty goddamn selfish to me.”

At my insinuation that he wasn’t a real man, Jeffrey tensed. But toward the end of my speech, he’d relaxed, his eyes gleaming behind his cage.

“Then I guess we have that in common. Guess we’re more alike than you’d ever want to admit, huh, David? Here’s the difference though—you’ve only got her through blackmail. I’ve got her forever.”

The only fucking thing keeping me from throwing my gloves and punching him in the goddamn throat was the knowledge that it would upset Emma, and I’d upset Emma enough. For now.

I’d beat his ass at hockey instead.

For the rest of the game, I played like a man on fire. I played like there was a gun to Emma’s head, and if a single puck made it past me and into the net, she’d die. It didn’t matter who on Tabb’s team brought the puck to the net, or how good of a shot they took, I was a wall. By the end of the game, I was a sweaty, disgusting mess, my heart was pounding in my chest, and we’d won, 3–0. As we went down the line and shook hands, Jeffrey glared at me, and his grip was tight. His eyes promised retribution, and if I’d cared about anything beyond getting to Emma, I might have been concerned.

But what could that fucker do to us?

Coach tried to get me to stay for press interviews and to talk to the scout, and my team wanted to celebrate our victory together, but I was in the locker room, taking the fastest shower of my life, and then out the door.

Emma needed me. Hockey could wait.

Forever, if it had to.

25

Emma

“Emma, baby, I’m coming.” Through the cramping agony, I heard Lawson calling my name.

“Up here,” I cried—literally. I was in agony, tears running down my cheeks and over my lips and chin. I was curled up into the tightest ball possible on Lawson’s bed, rocking back and forth because sometimes external pressure helped to alleviate the pain. Maya, Tovah, and Aviva had done what they could, but they were no replacement for him. Just knowing he was close was a comfort I desperately needed.

I couldn’t say why I let them take me here instead of going back to my parents’ house. Maybe it was because I’d never wanted to be a burden to my family, so I’d suffered in silence until Lawson came along. Maybe it was because I could remember, viscerally, what it was like for Lawson to feed me and care for me, bring me my favorite things and cuddle me tight through the pain. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because over the past few days, I’d started to see the Lawson I’d once known. Even if he had the edge of a man, he still seemed to care for me like he had as a boy. His stubborn insistence on ditching the end of the game and potentially sacrificing his hockey career for me—and then listening to what I actually needed—solidified that.

And now he was bursting into the room, looking terrified but determined.

“Ah, baby, it’s real bad, isn’t it?” he murmured, lowering his voice because he knew loud noises made everything hurt worse.

I whimpered in response.

“Your friends are downstairs,” he said, his voice still quiet, soothing. I hadn’t even noticed they’d left Lawson’s bedroom, too wrapped up in pain. “I’m glad they were here to help, but I’ve got you now.”

I lifted my head. He was holding a plastic pharmacy bag in one hand, a hot water bottle in the other. We used to try heating pads in the past, but for whatever reason, the hot water bottle was more soothing. Where he’d procured one so fast, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to worry about it.

“Motrin and Midol,” he said. “We’ll do one or the other, every two hours. And I’m steeping that period tea downstairs you like. It should be ready soon.”

Coming around to the side of the bed, he helped me sit up against the pillows, holding a glass of water up to my lips. I drank greedily; I’d felt so sick I’d vomited up everything earlier, and my throat was sandpaper dry.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Lawson said, but he left the glass at my lips. I spilled a little water on my chest in my haste. He handed me two pills, and I swallowed them down. Setting the water glass aside, he ripped his sweatshirt off his body and used it to dab up the water, drying me off.

“I was so thirsty,” I explained.

He chuckled, but it sounded strained. “I figured.”

“Puked earlier.”

Concern made his blue eyes go a dark navy. “Have the periods gotten worse? Have you seen a doctor about it? Could this be endo, Emma?”

I would’ve shrugged if I had the energy. “Dunno. Haven’t seen anyone.”

He shook his head as he stripped off his pants. “No more suffering in silence, baby. I’ve got you from now on. We’ll see a doctor next week. I refuse to let you continue like this.”