Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

13. Callie

13

CALLIE

The first thing I noticed about Spencer Santos was his eyes. The way they were a sunburst shade of green. Almost like a firework. They seemed to dance in any lighting. They never looked the same twice.

Spencer Santos shifted in the same way. From sweet to mean, kind to controlling, charming to dangerous.

And the eyes I thought I might come to love were black as night as he backed me into that closet.

When he curled his hand around my throat, holding me where I stood and forcing his tongue into my mouth so I couldn’t scream, I realized Spencer Santos was not who I thought.

He took what he wanted, leaving nothing behind.

He was cruel.

And he was a monster.

“Callie?” Lance’s voice jerks me back into the present.

Breathe. You have to breathe. He can’t hurt you with other people here.

But my instincts don’t listen to reason. They listen to experience.

Even as I look at my friends—at Lance and Dax standing only a few feet away—I can’t believe I’m safe.

I’ll never be safe when Spencer is nearby.

I swallow down the bile crawling up my throat. “Sorry,” I choke out. “I was just thinking that you all are pretty beat up from practice today.”

“It was a tough run,” Lance admits.

“Your boyfriend was skull dragging us most of the time,” Dax complains.

“Boyfriend?” Spencer raises an eyebrow, and I realize then that everything is going to be a game.

There is no way he doesn’t know Owen and I are together. It’s all over the news. Not to mention, he’s literally been stalking me. But this is the dance he likes, and for now, I’ll play along. If it means making it out of this room, I’ll dance.

“Owen Sharpe. We’re together.” I turn to check Dax out even though there’s nothing wrong with Dax. He’s here because he’s an overexcited puppy who likes to follow the other bigger dogs around. But it gives me something to do.

“Did we or did we not talk about it in the locker room this morning?” Dax asks. He raps his knuckles against Spencer’s head. “Keep up, rookie.”

“I guess I was distracted.” Spencer leans forward in a stretch, his eyes locked on mine. He winces with the movement, and I’m not stupid. I know where this is going.

“You think you could help me out with this ache, Cal Gal? I’ve heard you have magic hands.”

The suggestive words make my stomach turn.

I want to say no. I want to run away and never come back.

“Cal Gal?” Dax explodes. “If you want to keep your dick, don’t let Owen hear you call her that.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. It’s an apt move for several reasons. “Just normal hands here.”

“She’s lying; they’re magic.” Dax groans as I roll his shoulder. “Painful, maybe, but the best.”

After a few more rotations of his shoulder, he stands up, letting Spencer take his place.

It’s a silent stand-off.

He sits perfectly still on the table in front of me, and I stand perfectly still next to him.

I don’t want to touch him, and he knows.

Being in a room with him is more than enough to trigger an avalanche of memories I’d rather black out.

If I touch him…

I could refuse. I could tell Owen who Spencer is. I could go to Uncle Randy and tell him the truth. I could take my story to the media and tell everyone that I’m the woman he assaulted back in college. All the rumors are true. Spencer Santos is a monster.

I could put an end to all of it now.

But… I can’t.

Not now.

People are on my side when it comes to Miles. But get one hockey player fired, shame on them. Get two hockey players fired?

The shame is going to be firmly on me.

Everything Owen and I are working to repair, from our careers to our reputations to our relationship, would be destroyed, and I can’t let that happen.

Not to mention, the Scythes desperately need a winger.

So, with a steadying breath, I put my hands on Spencer’s shoulders.

He moans at the contact.

It’s a sound I’ve heard before. A sound that came out of him while I was crying, begging.

The wave of nausea that hits me is enough that I think my knees may buckle.

“As great as that feels, Callie,” he breathes, “that’s not where I need you.”

I glance over at Lance and Dax. They’re too busy talking about some college hockey game to even notice us.

“What do you need?” My words are quiet.

His voice is even lower. “I think you know.”

My heart picks up to a frantic sprint. “No, Spencer, I don’t.”

“Lower.”

I can’t believe this is happening. It doesn’t feel real. He’s using what probably appears to be a normal PT session to torture me. If I make a big deal about it, I’ll look crazy. He’s always been great at making me feel crazy.

Slowly, and as clinically as I can, I move my hands farther down his back.

“Lower,” he says again. “Where it’s tight.”

I swallow hard, keeping a stranglehold on my composure. “Can you show me where the problem is?”

“Come on Callie, you used to be so good at this. But since you asked, it’s my quads.”

Of course it is.

“Lay down,” I grit out.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He lays back on the table, looking up at me as I do my damnedest to look unaffected. To look like every breath he takes in my presence isn’t suffocating me.

Once he is laying down, I massage his legs. “They don’t feel very tight to me.”

“Well, now that you’re touching me, I think you’re too low.” A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth, and I fight the urge to punch him in the dick.

At least if I got fired for crossing a line with a player again, it would be worth it.

“We’re gonna head out,” Lance says. “And Santos, don’t waste Callie’s time. She’s the best PT around, and we want to keep her.”

“Don’t worry, guys. I don’t want to lose her, either.”

A moment later, they disappear, taking all my sense of security with them. As soon as the door closes behind them, I yank my hands off of him and stumble back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand.

“Trying to work out this stiffness in my bottom half, but you’re not finding where I need you most.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

Spencer sits up, stretching his arms over his head like he’s trying to remind me that he’s twice as big as I am. “No need to get worked up, Cal.”

“Don’t call me that.” I take another step back, but I’m not backing down. “What are you doing here?”

“My number was finally pulled,” he grins. “I was drafted last year, but spent the last six months in ‘further development’ because guys like Miles Solomon and your boyfriend just don’t know when to hang up their skates and call it a career. But I guess that’s where you came in.” He tosses me a wink. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

If he winks at me again, I’m going to barf on his shoes.

“So you followed the gossip.”

“From what I can see, it’s not gossip. It’s a dumpster fire, and—” He lunges towards me, pinching a strand of my hair between his fingers. “—lookie at who is holding the matches.”

I jerk away from him so hard my shoulder brushes the concrete wall. “You could have picked any team in the league and they would have signed you.”

“Well, that’s sweet of you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I grit out. “I just don't buy it for a second that this is your dream team.”

He takes a step closer.

Alarms are sounding in my head. I want to run, but he’s between me and the door. I’ll never make it.

“What is it you’re saying?” he asks.

I stand straight. I make eye contact. On the inside, I am shaking uncontrollably, but I’ll be damned if he’s going to see me crumble.

“You’re following me.”

With that, Spencer snorts out a laugh. “And why would I do that? You know I can have any girl on the goddamn planet. Why would I follow some mouthy, shit in bed, sloppy-seconds bitch?”

He’s losing control. He’s tipping into something volatile, and I should close my mouth and let him tire himself out. But I can’t stop the words from slipping out.

“Because you couldn’t have me.”

He narrows his eyes. “I already had you. Or have you forgotten?”

Goosebumps race down my arms. My knees are weak, but I meet his eyes. “You say it was just a stupid bet, but you wanted me. And in the end, you couldn’t have me. You know I wouldn’t give you the time of day if you were the last man in the world, and now, you’re fixated on me.”

I expect his jaw to tense. I expect him to come after me. But after a long moment where I don’t take a single breath, Spencer blinks. And then he smiles .

“I’ll tell you what—” He turns away, walking a few feet in the opposite direction, finally giving me room to breathe. “I’m going to let that slide because I think we should be friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.”

“No?” He looks back over his shoulder.

“No.”

Spencer whips around and closes the space between us, backing me into the wall.

My heart lurches into my throat, and all the walls I built up to hide from him come falling down. I’m shaking as he leans in closer.

“I don’t care what you want,” he growls. “Because you’re not calling the shots. We’re going to get along. You’re going to be my friend. Who knows? Maybe we can explore a few benefits. I liked the benefits we had last time.” His hand strokes over my shoulder, and I want to shred my skin off to get away from him. “Your coach loves me. The team will learn to love me. And you and your boy toy will learn your place, too. Do you understand?”

He stares at me, waiting for an answer.

There’s only one that will make this end.

There’s only one answer that lets me leave this room in one piece.

So, I nod.

With that, he backs away and walks out.

But I stay plastered to the wall long after he’s gone.

When I do finally move, it’s to slide, shaking, to the floor.