Logan (Carolina Reapers 4)

“Right.” Speechless. I was fucking speechless.

“So if I put a book basket together, would you guys take it to them?” she asked, her gaze darting between Cannon and me.

“Sure.” I nodded.

“I’d have to say that I’m probably the best read Reaper, though Vestergaard has a pretty impressive library in two different languages.” Cannon tucked his book under his bicep and crossed his arms over his chest.

Delaney’s forehead puckered. “Oh. Of course. I know you guys are basically honorary members of the team.”

“No. I’m actually on the team,” Cannon said softly. “I’m in the NHL.”

My conscience told me to chime in that I was, too, but a darker, stronger pull told me to keep my mouth shut and watch this play out.

“You’re...in the NHL? You’re a professional hockey player?” Delaney asked, her voice dropping.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yep. I make more than nine million a year for being fast on skates. I almost lost a mill last year when I punched out that ref, though. It was a close call. Remember that?” he asked me.

The blood drained from her face. “You punched a ref?” She took a step back.

“I did. We had personal history if that makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t,” she whispered, retreating another step.

My jaw dropped. “Really bad personal history,” I interjected.

“And yeah, I like women. It’s easier for me to rid the tension with convenient one-night-stands than risk letting a woman too close. Not that I have anything against women. The ones who are interested in me just tend to bite off more than they can chew, and I’ve never found one I’d like to take to bed more than once.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I snapped in a whisper.

“It’s not like I said I was fucking them,” he countered at me. “We’re in the library. I used my nice words.”

Delaney stared at Cannon like he was a stranger. “You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

Her lips parted and closed like she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure what. “But...but you’re not like them.”

“Actually, I’m exactly like them. I fit in on that team better than I did in my own family. Hell, I’d say that team is my first real family, with the exception of Lillian. And in all honesty, I’m probably the worst of them if you believe everything the media says about me.”

“What does the media say about you?” Her voice broke.

“I’m pretty much Satan, but that’s okay because I’m really damn fast, and like you said, they tend to forgive a lot when you’re the one putting fans in the seats.” He glanced my way. “But make no mistake, I am the stereotype, Delaney.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I was trying to prove a point,” he said quietly.

“And have you finished proving it?” Her gaze hardened.

He sighed and shook his head, making the tattoos up his neck move. “Unfortunately, I think you just blew it out of the water for me. Ward, I’ll wait for you in the car.” He walked past us without another word, heading for the back.

“Delaney,” I whispered, tucking her under my chin as I wrapped my arms around her. She felt fragile, not because she was weak, but because I had the potential to destroy her.

“He’s really a Reaper?” she asked into my chest.

“Yeah. He’s the fastest in the NHL, though he’d never come out and tell you that. He’s a really good guy, baby. You know that.” A really good guy who’d just thrown himself under the bus as a test case.

“He punched a ref.”

“He had his reasons.” That was the least of Cannon’s PR problems, but I kept that shit to myself.

“I have to go back to work,” she muttered, pulling away. It felt more than physical.

“Delaney,” I stopped her with gentle pressure, taking her face in my hands. She looked up at me with confusion, but love—it was there. “I know this isn’t the time, and the circumstances are wrong, but I have to say something before it eats me alive.”

“Okay? Oh God, are you in the NFL or something?” she teased with a weak smile.

My heart fucking shattered.

“I don’t play football, remember?” My thumb grazed her lower lip.

“Thank God for that.” Her smile turned real.

I had to say it, even if it was only this once. Even if she got online after we left and learned the truth in its totality, I could have this moment. She could have this truth to weigh against all of my omissions.

“I love you,” I told her. “I love your strength and your resiliency. I love your mind and your optimism, and the way you go off on random tangents when we talk. I love your smile and your eyes, especially when you use them both on me. You make me weak in the knees every time I see you, and yet I feel the strongest I’ve ever been when you’re in my arms. I love you, Delaney.”