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Even in my state of delirium, I heard him speak the words I didn’t know I’d needed.

“You’re mine, Ariella, and I’m never letting you go now,” Dalton groaned, spilling inside of me before collapsing on top, careful not to crush me. There were a few beats where neither of us spoke. Our heavy breathing was the only sound, but then he popped up on his elbow, eyes brimming with something I couldn’t place. It warmed my heart.

It was as if everything was right where it belonged, where I was supposed to be.

He trailed his fingertip down the side of my face before pulling me in for a kiss, his dick still firmly inside me, our limbs entwined.

Dalton had seeped into my skin, gotten into my head.

Into my heart.

We lay there tangled up in one another after another round in the shower.

“When did you even take your boots off?” I asked, thinking back to how tonight had all gone down. I could say I’d never expected this, but that’d be a lie. The even larger lie would be if I said I hadn’t hoped for it.

“Fuck, I don’t even know how I got out of those so fast. Practically jumped out of them.”

He looked over at me, wide smile painted on his face. “I’ll keep the hat on next time and you can ride me.”

“Shouldn’t I wear the hat then? Wear the hat, ride the cowboy and all that shit,” I responded, waving a hand in the air, laughing at the way his smile morphed into a scowl.

“Where’d you hear that rule from?”

I gnawed on my lip to keep my laughter in check, turning on my side so I could fully face him. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing?”

“Yeah, baby, it is,” he said, sealing our lips together and making me melt into him. God, we were insatiable, because I’d have sworn this make out session would lead to his tongue being buried between my thighs for the third time in a handful of hours, but a shrill ring cut through the haze.

“I swear if that’s your cousin.” He flipped over, fumbling with the light. “Shit. It’s my dad.”

That short sentence had my heartbeat kicking up. I almost told him not to answer, but didn’t get the words out fast enough.

“Hey, Dad.” Dalton’s tone was tight, devoid of any of his usual charm. The volume wasn’t loud enough for me to hear the other half of the conversation, but I didn’t like how he tensed. “What changes are you talking about?” His mouth shut, jaw ticking as he listened to whatever bullshit he was receiving. I threaded my fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze as a show of support, hating how dejected he looked. “Well, do I get a say in who you’re looking at trading? Yeah, I know I’m not an owner, but I am the captain and your son.”

Dalton practically spat the last word and it dripped with a condescending tone. Whatever his father’s response was, it only caused his frown to deepen, his fingers tightening around mine to the point of discomfort, but I didn’t dare pull away.

“Okay. Yeah, that’s all I’ve got to say. I’m not sure what more you want when you call me in the middle of the night and tell me you’re shaking up the team, but then refuse to tell me anything more. I don’t know what the point of this call was if you didn’t want my opinion.” He paused, jaw clenching. “Our season opener is this week, at least wait ’til after you watch a game to make decisions.” With that, he hung up, eyes finally finding mine. Anger swirled in their green depths. “He’s making trades and we haven’t even started. He hasn’t even seen a fucking game.”

The moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains offered enough illumination for me to make out the sharp angles of Dalton’s jaw, which was still tightly clenched.

“We’ll figure it out, right? I mean, he’s probably going to ask Monroe for his opinion before he makes any decision. And I’m sure he’s going to want your opinion—this is your team as much as it is his.”

Dalton looked like he was grasping for hope, but I didn’t actually know that his dad would ask me, or even Monroe. Vincent was a narcissist who loved calling the shots—being in control. This was another power move. But I didn’t want to voice those worries aloud.

The interaction with Vincent in the hall was on the tip of my tongue, but I was still wrestling with whether or not to tell Dalton about it.

Something cold settled in my gut, an unease I couldn’t quite place.

I heard him move against the sheet, but couldn’t make out what he was doing until his little finger gripped mine like a lifeline.

“Promise not tell?” he whispered, the pain in his voice tearing at my heart.

“Pinky.”

Dalton let out a deep sigh. “He never wanted to be in my life. My dad knocked up my mom when he was on an away game. She was a bartender at a spot the team partied at. Didn’t ask for all the details because thinking about my mom having sex grosses me out.” He let out a chuckle, but it was still sad. “Mom said it was a one-time deal. Cell phones weren’t a thing back then, and he didn’t bother giving her a number, but after she found out she was pregnant, she went full Nancy Drew. That’s how she figured out he’d failed to mention he was married—didn’t tell her he was a hockey player either.”

I gasped at the confession. “What happened?”

“Nothing. He told my mom not to contact him again, that she was lying about being pregnant with his kid or that she’d tampered with the condom, and said if she went to the press he’d bury her.”