Bring It Home (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 3)

I swing my arm away from his. “Don’t grab me like that. I’ve told you that before.”

“You aren’t fucking listening to me.”

“Because I don’t have to!”

I turn on my heel as he groans loudly. “Yeah, it’s great sharing a room with you.”

“Yeah, fantastic. Don’t worry, I’ll get my own fucking room. And do us all a favor… Get your head out of your ass and actually play right.”

“Jesus Christ, we are fine. We got this.”

“You can say that all you want, but it doesn’t change unless we do!” I yell back at him, and he gawks at me.

“Is this like…pregnancy hormones? Is that why you’re fucking crazy?”

Something snaps. I reach for his bag and throw it at him. He catches it with no issue, though his eyes are as wide as saucers. “Get out!”

“What?”

“Get out of my fucking room!”

“Posey!”

“I said get out!”

He mumbles something, and I yell, “Got something to say?”

He reaches for the door as he yells, “Jesus Christ!”

Once the door shuts behind him, I lean into it as a sob shakes my core, leaving my body like an exorcism. He makes me crazy, but I hate that we fought over something so stupid. I push off the door, turning around to grab the handle. I yank it open, and there he is, leaning against the wall in his boxers. He drops his bag and holds his arms open for me as I come to him. I wrap my arms around his torso, crying into his chest. He slides his hands up my back, tangling the fingers of one of his hands in my hair as he kisses the top of my head, holding my neck with his other hand.

“Shh, lovely, it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I am deflecting my shit at you, and it’s wrong of me. I’m just so scared to lose. I don’t want to be a failure, and I know we can do it. I know it.”

He tips my head back by gently pulling my hair so he can look into my eyes. “Nothing—and I mean nothing—can make you a failure. You are the strongest, smartest, most gorgeous woman, and I believe in you. It’s all going to work out.”

My lip wobbles. “I think you’re right about the pregnancy hormones.”

He grins as he runs his fingers along my jaw. “Yeah, you’re a tornado, baby.”

I let out a sob. “I know, and I feel crazy. I just feel like there is a wrecking ball in my head, banging and causing havoc, and I’ve got to figure out a way to beat it. Stop it. I just want to succeed.”

He chuckles as he drops his nose to mine. “We will. You know what?”

“What?”

“I still love you. Completely. And it’s going to work out. Wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because I believe in you, in us, in this team. We have a lot of fight left in us. We’ve got this. You and the coaches will figure out a way to win, and when you do, it’s over for them.” Boon wipes my tears and asks, “Can I come back in and you not kick me out again?”

I nod. “I promise I won’t.”

“And I don’t want to not share a room with you.”

“I don’t either.”

“Kiss me.”

I nod before pressing my lips to his, and as we kiss in the middle of the hotel hallway, him in his boxers and me in a towel, I hope he’s right.

I hope we have the fight to win, because it’s burning deep inside me.

Jakob sits beside me, tapping his pen on the table as we watch our boys on the tablet. My head hurts from the stress, and I’m frustrated beyond belief. Boon is right; I need to relax. There is a couch in the rest area for the guys that I will be napping on. I’m exhausted, and my eyes hurt from staring at this damn screen. I don’t know how the hell this has happened, but it’s almost as if my boys have gone back to the way they were playing before I came. I don’t know how or even why, but we’re taking one hell of an ass-beating and it’s killing me.

I bite my lip as Jakob writes down a few things. The IceCats haven’t scored on us when they go on the power play—our kill team is doing their job—but the problem is we can’t draw a penalty. They know that’s how we can score, and they aren’t letting us have it. Don’t get me wrong—our boys are putting a beating on Merryweather. We had over forty-two shots on goal last game, but we can’t fucking catch a break. I know that’s how the puck plays sometimes, but for the love of Pete, can we get a goal?

Jakob exhales heavily as he points to the left of the cage where Boon is fighting for the puck. “That should have been a high stick.”