31
Beau
I’d stormed into the dressing room like a naughty two year old who’d been put in time out.
I wasn’t even allowed to watch the rest of the game.
My jersey was covered in blood.
The only good part was that not one fucking drop of it was mine. All my game shit was piled up in the middle of the floor and that was where it would stay.
I stood under the water for a long time, thinking about Trey waking up soon. Then I thought about how pissed Geneviève was going to be at me now.
Not only had I fought Rozovsky —I’d done the impossible and made him even uglier than he already was.
Then I thought about how much of that dirty bastard’s blood I’d spilled all over the white ice, and if it was worth it to risk my relationship and my career.
I decided not to think about any of that. Instead, I washed my hair again, hoping this time I’d get all the blood out.
I wasn’t completelysure if she’d come back to meet me.
Afterall, I’d done exactly what she’d asked me not to do.
I beat up the asshole who’d put Trey in the hospital—and on life support. She couldn’t be mad at me for getting revenge, could she?
A million different excuses ran through my mind. I needed to explain this to Geneviève. Make her understand why I’d had no choice in the matter.
Oh, God, if she left me again—I don’t know what I’d do.
I bit the side of my cheek, hoping she’d show up. Praying she wasn’t so disgusted with my actions that she’d already left and chucked my belongings onto the courtyard.
Again.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whispered to myself while my eyes looked around wildly. There was no one back here. I’d texted Geneviève and told her where I was.
But she hadn’t responded.
I paced around and took so many deep breaths at one point I was certain I’d pass out.
Until finally, I heard it.
The familiar clicking of high heels on the tile floors.
She was wearing heels tonight.
The same heels she wore this afternoon when she’d left for her meeting.
When the clicking sound stopped, I turned my head and saw her. I let out a long breath. “Geneviève.”
Her head tipped down for a moment before she began to walk in my direction. My eyes searched her face for any clues I could find for how she was feeling. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t tell.
She halted a yard away or so, her eyes trailing over my face and down my body. “Are you okay?” Her voice was clear and—cold.
My heart sunk, but I answered her right away, “Arm’s a little sore. Nothing bad, though.”
She nodded, then spun toward the hall we’d have to walk down. The elevators at the end would take us to the main level.
I walked beside her, not certain what she’d do if I reached for her hand. I needed to touch her.