His eyes are curious and worried. He knows me well, and it’s another testament to how close we’ve gotten.

I look him dead in the eyes and curve my lips up in a smile, so I can lie right to his face. “Nothing’s wrong. You just scrambled my brains a bit with that last orgasm.”

Garrett stares at me…weighing the truth of my words. I’m not sure he’s buying it, and that’s not surprising. I was never a good liar. Before he can push me further, I roll over on top of him, spreading my legs to straddle his lower stomach.

Placing my hands on his chest, I whisper, “I’m going to miss you too. So much.”

That’s the absolute and painful truth.

“I love you, Olivia,” he says simply, yet his words have a weight attached to them. They press down on me in an almost suffocating fashion.

Yet even with the knowledge that I could hurt him even further with this admission, I lean down and kiss him. When I pull away, I tell him another truth. “I love you too.”

Oh, what a mistake. I know this the minute Garrett’s face transforms, showing me the most naked and transparent look of devotion and love I have ever seen form on another human. He smiles at me…big and dazzling, full of happiness and relief.

His hand comes up behind my head and he pulls me down. Just before our lips touch he says, “Fuck, Olivia…I can’t even tell you how good those words sound. Sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

His mouth touches mine…softly at first, then passion ignites once more between us. His teeth scrape against my lips, which he in turn licks at gently to ease the sting. His arms band around me tightly for an instant while our lips slide and our tongues mate.

Then he’s flipping me, kissing his way down my body…licking at my breasts, teasing my nipples. Worshipping me. Showing me all the ways in which he loves me through touch and taste.

Garrett spreads my legs and dips his mouth down to my core. Molten heat sizzles through me, love and devotion sweep me away. Releasing those words to him have been liberation, but they also imprison my heart in pain.

Pain over what is to come and how hard it’s going to be on both of us when I let him go.

Chapter 27

Garrett

The ref blows the whistle—a long, sharp blast that immediately stops play. Doesn’t stop Lucas Brinson from coming after me, though. He charges me with his stick chest high, parallel to the ice. It connects solidly with my own chest and he rams me backward into the board, and my helmet cracks loudly against it.

I leer at him, even as he pushes his stick up higher to just under my chin and leans all his weight into it. “Is that the best you’ve got, you pussy?” I scream at him, spittle flying out of my mouth.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer or retaliate further, because we’re swarmed by members of both of our teams, pulling us apart. Another ref jumps in and pushes Brinson off me.

“You’re dead, motherfucker,” he yells at me.

I struggle to get free of the numerous hands holding on to me. “Bring it, asshole.”

The ref blows the whistle again and Alex manages to grab me by the back of my jersey and start hauling me toward the bench. “Calm down, Garrett,” he growls at me.

I shrug free of his grasp and skate a lazy loop while glaring at Brinson. The ref glides over to the glass where the ice officials sit, holding one arm out straight, and makes a chopping motion over it with his opposite hand. No surprise he’s charging me with a penalty. I slashed that fucker good across his right arm, and it felt amazing to release my anger and frustration on him.

Skating back over to me, the ref points toward the gate that leads back to the locker rooms. “Game misconduct, Samuelson. You’re out.” The announcer is right on his heels as I hear, “Slashing penalty to number seventy-two, Garrett Samuelson of the Cold Fury…game misconduct. Five minutes for fighting to number eighty-one, Lucas Brinson of the Washington Breakers.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, Thompson,” I yell toward the ref. I skate toward him to give him another piece of my mind, but Alex is pulling at me again.

“Ease the fuck up,” Alex snarls at me. “What the hell is your problem? Are you trying to lose this game for us?”

“Fuck off, asshole,” I snarl back at him and pull loose. I skate toward the gate and exit the ice, stomping my way back toward the locker room, to the sound of both cheers and boos from the crowd.

My anger doesn’t diminish the farther I walk away from the game. If anything, it increases, because I’m quite sure when I pull my phone out of my locker, there won’t be a text or voice mail from Olivia. I haven’t heard from her in three days…not since she left to go visit her mom in Portland.

At first, I went out of my mind with worry, but Stevie told me that she texted him that she had arrived and was just chilling with her mom. I called…left voice mail after voice mail, and she didn’t respond. I texted, quite desperately, begging her to talk to me.

Fucking nothing.

She went off the grid and is completely ignoring me, and every minute that has passed since then causes unbridled fury to rage through me.

I’ve taken it out on my teammates and on the game…prime example just now, letting my rage get the better of me and taking a stupid game-misconduct penalty. But fuck it. It’s too difficult to have passion for a game when my heart has had the shit beat out of it.

I should have sensed something was wrong when Olivia left. She had been somewhat withdrawn and evasive since her visit with Dr. Yoffman, particularly refusing to commit to a time frame as to when she might return. I thought it was great she was taking some time off to go visit her mom, but my own selfish desire to have her back close to me kept me hounding her for some type of game plan on her travel. She tried to come across as a free spirit, insisting she just wanted to play things by ear, wanted to take time with her mom, but deep down I sensed there was something else behind her evasiveness.