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I snorted at that since they clearly didn't know his temper and ability to say stupid shit.
If only he would let me share more of his personal story. He'd worked with these charities due to his and his mom's experience growing up. Sure, he didn't love how his mom went back to her abuser, and he didn't want to give it any credence. Instead, he wanted to help women and focus on hockey.
I didn't even hear him come down the stairs. Instead, he kissed my cheek from behind and asked, "What's with that frown?"
"Just reading the comments on your Instagram after the last photos went out this morning." I sighed and pushed the phone away, then I turned so I could see the man that was finally mine.
He chuckled, "I thought you said never ever read the comments."
I nodded.
That's what I told him. It seldom did any good. "Someone has to read them. Normally, I can anticipate most of what people will say, and I manage it appropriately."
He lifted me off the island stool and held me up to eye level. His brow was furrowed. "What aren't you saying? What do you want to do that you think I'll fight back on?"
Damn it.
I hated how he seemingly saw through me so easily.
Then he upped the ante by kissing my clavicle, distracting me. I loved the feeling of his lips on the sensitive skin with that prickle from his wannabe beard.
I stayed silent, and he kept kissing me. He husked out, "Tell me."
I giggled since he was too much. Then again, he'd always been a little bit extra. It was what had drawn me in. He was hard to ignore.
"Honestly. There's a huge part of me that wants to reveal that you always helped the women's shelters, and you understand that world so much better than they think. It's not an apology tour, so you don't get canceled, even though it feels like it. But you still got yourself into trouble despite you knowing better most of the time, and I know if it's worth the effort of educating people."
He tilted his head and pulled me even closer to his torso, where I could feel his heat emanating off of him.
"People are going to think what they want, and quite frankly, I don't fucking care what those people think." His tone then softened. "We aren't sharing my back story. Not ever. However, if you want to advertise my past giving, that's okay."
I nodded.
Chapter 19
Spencer
Icouldn't help but look in the direction of the box seats filled with the families from the shelter and Natalie. Each month, Nat would help me coordinate getting one of the shelters to a game, but this felt extra special. The Legacy was going to promote the fact that I paid for the box and worked with the shelter on a regular basis. I really hoped that the shelter would get tons of donations.
But I also loved knowing that Natalie was here. She never really came to games since she claimed she needed time to work on her main gig and needed time away from her hockey boys.
I wished that she would wear my jersey, but she refused. Something about not wanting to offend her brother and bring bad luck to the team. But we didn't need luck with a game like tonight's.
It was one of those fun games where you could get really chippy and run guys over without having to worry about being penalized every damn minute.
I was a pest, and I loved being that guy for the team.
As the final minutes of the period ticked down, the determination and the speed in the Stampede decreased. The glory of a hard-hitting game. The guys didn't like it and never would.
When Scuba landed a solid check onto the Stampede's leading d-man, trapping him in the corner, it was time for Carter and me to take off.
I rushed the net the moment that Carter crossed the line with the puck. It was one of those plays that seemed like I was going to screen the goalie. But I wasn't there to make it difficult for the goalie to see; no, this was a set play. I slammed my stick down on the ice with it perfectly angled to throw the puck into the goalie's five-hole. Carts threw the puck to me, and I jammed it toward the net, but it unfortunately reflected off the goalie's pad since he moved slightly. But the puck was free, so I just whacked at the vulcanized rubber until it crossed the goal.
I might have done an extra smack or two to the goalie's legs, but I wasn't going to stop until the play was stopped. It was hard to say since that horn didn't sound right away.
So, of course, DeLoo, the Stampede's defensive man and one of their fighters, came up to me. I stood my ground and stared him straight in the face. I refused to blink, and I could see he didn't really want to fight. I smirked since I knew that I had him.
But before we could get into anything more than a staring match, the refs tried to separate us. "Come on. We got a game to play."
