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“She’s injured and you sent her home instead of to the clinic? What the fuck, Paul?” And yeah, my voice is louder than is probably respectful for one colleague to another.
“Settle down, man. Athletes get strains. They ice them. She’s not injured, she’s worn out, so Michaels sent her home to rest up and ice. Windy will be fine. You, however, are gonna have an aneurism sweating the small stuff like this.”
I force my fists to unclench. It’s not like I was seriously considering punching my friend and coworker. Much.
“When you see her, tell her to report to the clinic before classes tomorrow. I’ll let you sort her out tonight, that’s fine. But I’m done quietly letting Franklin pull his bullshit. I’m testing all my players whether they ask me to, or not.”
“Got it. Will do. On it.” I toss the assurance over my shoulder, already striding to my truck. The dorm where Windy lives, for now, is only a quick walk away, but since I plan to pack her into my truck and bring her home with me one way or another, it makes sense to grab it now.
I’ve been willing to tolerate her avoidance game for the past few days because I wanted to give her the chance to make the right decision. Now, finding out she’s not just looking worn out, but is actually battling injury? Yeah, she’s done running. Now it’s Daddy’s turn to catch her.
CHAPTER 22
Windy
Ice baths are only meantto last for a few minutes. Twenty at the most. I should have gotten out of the water ages ago, but my body won’t cooperate. Or maybe it’s just my sad overdramatic heart that won’t. Either way, I know at least a half hour has passed because the alarm set on my cell phone has given up its beeping alerts.
“Little girl, why is this damn door unlocked?” The aggressive banging of the door from my room to the hallway into the wall rouses me. As much as anything can when I’m nearly hypothermic. Enough that the panic of having someone burst into my room bleeds away immediately at the recognition of Deke’s angry voice. Not so much that I fully appreciated the dark edge of anger in his voice.
“Do you realize any asshole could just walk right in here and—” His tirade tapers off and I pry my eyelids open to see he’s crossed the room and is at the doorway to my tiny bathroom.
“Fuck! Baby, fuck. Let’s get you out of there.” His fury fades as concern takes over, the angry coach voice he came in my dorm using buried under the worried Daddy one.
I don’t answer. My teeth aren’t even chattering anymore, I’m too numb. My face wasn’t even in the water, but my lips and tongue are too frozen for words. I just watch silently as he grabs up every towel on the shelf and hanging from the rack. Before I realize his intent, Deke scoops me from my huddled ball in the glacier tub.
“You are in so much trouble, Windy Howell. So, so much trouble.” Angry as he is, his warm voice still slides over me like hot fudge over a scoop of frozen yogurt.
“S-s-s-sor-r-r-ry,” I chatter. The cold registers more now that I’m out of the water, regardless of the warm air in the room.
Deke wraps me in a towel, the effect sloppy because I’m still in his arms and he’s doing everything one-handed. Heedless of my wet skin making a mess of the bed, he carries me to it and dumps me in the middle. Every blanket and sheet on it, including the fitted sheet stretched over the mattress, gets pulled around me like a messy cocoon.
“You’re gonna be. I’m gonna spank your little backside ‘til it’s hot enough to be a furnace for your whole body. What were you thinking?” he nearly shouts.
And I know it’s concern. Worry. But his mad voice is the lemon juice in the papercut of my defenses. Tears, so hot they scald slender rivers of fire down my cheeks, leak out. Weirdly, my stomach flutters and excitement pokes through the despair that’s been choking me for days.
“I’m s-s-sposed t-t-to.” Now that my body’s starting to warm, the words barely make it through all the shivering. Deke’s big hands work briskly to chafe the towel over as much of my body as he can.
“That’s a lie. You know Coach Vanderman would bust your ass if he knew you were sitting in an ice bath for long enough to damage yourself.”
“C-couldn’t g-g-get out. Too c-cold.” I hate the censure in his tone.
“You put yourself at risk, little lush. What if I hadn’t come looking for you? You realize you could have drowned or died of hypothermia. I could have lost you.” Those rubbing hands stall and clench around my shoulders possessively.
I don’t point out that he can’t lose what he doesn’t have. Reminding him that I’ve been avoiding him and running away every time he tries to talk to me for days seems like a bad idea. Besides, I’m obviously not solving this problem on my own. The couple of days I took to figure out how to placate Director Franklin have given me no ideas.
Instead of a perfect plan to protect Deke’s reputation and job as well as avoid taking the drugs Franklin’s pushing on me hasn’t magically appeared. Instead, all I’ve done is break my own heart, draw the wrong kind of attention to myself from my coaches, and now infuriate the one man my soul wants to please.
The bottle of Met-88 is still in the top drawer of my desk, as full as the day Director Franklin pressed it into my palm and told me to do as I was told or else. Part of me wants to pull the drawer open, show Deke the bottle and let him handle it. All of it.
Isn’t that the point of having a Daddy? Giving over my problems and the things that feel too big and heavy? Let my Daddy fix the problems and keep the bad guys from winning?
Maybe if we’d had more time. I’d barely learned what having a Daddy was, learned that there even really is such a thing as being a Little, when everything got ruined. Sobs tear through me. Partly from the stabby needles of sensation returning to my numb skin, but mostly from the pain of losing my chance to bea Little. Deke’s Little. More than anything, I want my Daddy. I want Deke to fix this. All of this.
“Oh, babygirl, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. Whatever has been going on, I’ll handle it. Daddy’s here, Windy. Daddy’s here and I’m not leaving you to deal with Franklin alone.” His arms wrap around me and he lays himself over me on my narrow twin bed.
Warmth from his body and his words sinks into me, melting the iceberg around my heart. Hope pushes through the ugly fear and grief.
Daddy’s here.He didn’t let me push him away or give up on me. I don’t have to do this alone, and he will help me. I just have to be brave and tell him everything. Wrapped up in the towels and blankets burrito like I am, I can’t pull him closer to me. Still, I crane my neck as much as I can to lift my face to his.
