The Pucking Wrong Man: A Hockey Romance (The Pucking Wrong Series Book 4)

“Ana, can I talk to you for a minute?” Dallon’s voice floated through the room from the doorway, and I glanced up from my stretch, a thread of unease twisting its way inside of me.

What would Dallon want from me right now? I’d seen him flirting with Alena this morning as I’d walked in. I was hoping that was a sign he’d forgotten about me.

I walked across the room, aware of everyone’s eyes.

“Hey,” I murmured as I stepped into the hallway. “Is everything alright?”

He grinned, and the boyish prettiness of his face did nothing for me. He might as well have been a flickering candle next to a wildfire compared to Camden’s rugged beauty.

Dallon glanced down at my leotard. “That new?” he asked, and I flushed, for no other reason than I was wearing one of the new ones that Camden had bought me…and any time I thought about Camden I blushed.

“Yeah,” I said. “One of the outfits that came with the Knights sponsorship.”

He frowned, wrinkling his forehead. “What?”

“Nothing,” I quickly said, feeling like an idiot that I’d fallen for such a line in the first place.

Dallon would know about it if it was actually a thing.

I was starting to suspect that Camden had made the whole thing up.

Something to think about later…

I rubbed a sweaty palm down my tights, fidgeting as I waited for Dallon to deliver his news.

“We’re doing a showcase next month, and Madame Leclerc has chosen you to perform the Giselle pas de deux.”

My eyes widened. I’d dreamed about performing Giselle—or even a part of Giselle—since I’d started dancing. It was considered to be one of the most romantic dances in ballet. Act II’s pas de deux was ethereal, supernatural…perfect.

My heart felt like it might beat out of my chest.

“Who am I dancing with?” I asked eagerly, going through the male leads in the junior ensemble.

There were a few standouts like Paul and Dameon that would be really good…

“You’ll be dancing with me.”

I blinked. “Sorry, what?”

He grinned cockily, knowing the importance of his revelation. He was a principal dancer, the male lead of the whole Company. I was still in the junior company—thanks to my injury that had set me back several years.

“You’re going to have to repeat that, because I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming,” I told him, trying to keep the squeal out of my voice. I should be playing it cool, but this was it. This was the opportunity I’d been dreaming of, obsessing over—that I’d almost given up on.

My leg chose that moment to twinge in pain, trying to remind me of my limits.

I ignored it.

“We won’t go out there unless it’s perfect,” he told me, amusement in his gaze at my enthusiasm.

“It will be,” I responded fiercely, already going through the steps in my head.

“We’ll start after lunch. Until the showcase, we’ll be practicing every afternoon session.”

I nodded. It would be intense. Giselle would be my most difficult role thus far. If the Company was performing the whole thing, there was no way I would have gotten the role. It was always awarded to ballerinas at the height of their careers. Not only did Giselle need to be able to act, but there was a controlled technique required that was difficult for any dancer.

I could do this.

“See you after lunch in Studio B,” he commented, his gaze flickering behind me as students were leaving another class.

“Yeah, see you,” I said awkwardly, playing it as cool as I could until he’d turned the corner.

I covered my mouth, and I screamed, shaking a fist in the air because all the excitement had to get out sometime. Pure joy leaked out of my every pore.

I would do this. I would be the best Giselle that ballet had ever seen. It would change everything. I just knew it.

It hit me then.

I could tell Camden about this. I hadn’t had anyone to tell anything…really ever.

Darting into the locker room, I pulled out the phone he was letting me borrow and shot off a text.

Me: You’re never going to believe what just happened.

His response was instant, like he’d been waiting for me to text him.

Camden: Tell me.

I could imagine him saying it in that bossy way of his and I grinned.

Me: I was chosen to perform the Act II pas de deux in Giselle for the Company’s upcoming showcase. I’ll be dancing with the Company’s principal male dancer!

Camden: I’m in awe of you, baby girl.

Sinking to the bench, my insides melted, my eyes growing suspiciously wet. I’d felt those words…everywhere.

Me: Thank you.

Camden: We’ll celebrate on our date tonight.

My smile grew at that reminder. Camden had somehow convinced me to take a week off from Charlie’s—to rest, he’d argued. But he’d also argued that dates were restful and planned one for every night this week that he didn’t have a game.

Me: Can’t wait.

I carefully put the phone back in the locker, and made sure it was locked up tight. I’d never had something so nice before. I was afraid to even touch it.

The Carvers had given me an old flip phone in high school—only because my caseworker had required it. But I’d left it behind when I left.

I wasn’t thinking about them today, though. Today was a day for celebrating.

It was amazing how a few hours could change everything. Rehearsal was going…terrible.

To start with, Dallon had been late. I’d gotten there fifteen minutes early, stretching and bouncing with nervous energy.

And then I waited. And waited some more.

He’d finally rolled in thirty minutes after we were supposed to start, unhurried and making no apologies.

I’d put on a happy face, not daring to show him any of my annoyance.

But it had just gotten worse after that.

“Are you even trying?” Dallon snapped as I fumbled a lift. His tone was sharp, slicing through my concentration. “You’re supposed to be light, not dead weight.”

I bit my lip and nodded, forcing myself to stay calm. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, not pointing out that it had been his wrong form that had messed me up to begin with.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as we moved into the next sequence, where he had to lift me into an arabesque. I focused on my form, pointing my toes and elongating my limbs, but his grip was rough, and I nearly lost my balance.

“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath. “Do you even know how to hold yourself?”

His words stung, but I kept silent, knowing that arguing would only make things worse. We continued, and every step seemed to bring another round of criticism. My pirouette wasn’t sharp enough, my extensions weren’t high enough, my landings weren’t soft enough.

“God, you’re hopeless,” he said during a brief break as we both gulped some water, sweat streaking down our faces. “I really thought you were better than this.”

I clenched my fists, fighting back tears. “I will get better,” I told him.

“‘Better’ isn’t good enough, Ana,” he shot back.

We went back to the dance, the music filling the studio. I tried to block out his voice, to focus on the rhythm and the movement. The grande jeté felt clumsy under his scrutinizing gaze, and the supported promenade seemed endless as he kept correcting me with a sneer.

“Arch your back. You’re a ghost, not a fucking hippo,” he growled, his grip tightening painfully on my waist during a lift.

I forced myself to hold my position, even as his words cut deeper than the physical strain on my leg that was pulsing with pain. He’d stepped on my foot at one point, and my leg hadn’t recovered from the rough twist.

We finished the run-through, and I was left feeling battered, both physically and emotionally.

Dallon turned off the music, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face before he put a hand on his hip and turned toward me. “Listen,” he said. “I’m doing this as a favor. I know you’ve been trying to get my attention, and you got it.”

I blinked, trying to think of a time that I’d tried to get his attention.

I couldn’t think of even one.

I felt gutted. Here I had been, thinking that I’d earned this…and he was just trying to get into my pants.

Dallon’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, sliding his hand to my waist…and then around to my ass, squeezing one of my cheeks tightly as he tried to pull me against him.

I immediately pulled away, and I watched as his face grew ugly, a sneer replacing the charming smile he’d had just seconds before.

He chased my retreating footsteps, and I shivered as my back hit a mirrored wall. “Remember, Ana, you wanted this. You owe me. Don’t waste my time.” His hand slid along my cheek, his gaze dripping down my form lecherously, leaving me feeling dirty and used.

I was so caught off guard, I was speechless.

A thumb slid along my lip before he pulled away, clapping me on the shoulder once like none of that had happened and we were just “bros,” and then he sauntered out of the room.

You owe me.

You owe me.

You owe me.

Those words were my kryptonite, chipping away at the fragile armor I wore, and ruining every good feeling in my body. A tear slid down my cheek, and I angrily wiped it away, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.

I couldn’t believe this.

I walked out of the practice room as if I were in a daze, my footsteps slow and heavy as I went back to the locker room to grab my bag. Glancing at my phone, I scoffed. We’d practiced for an hour out of the three hours we were supposed to have worked.

I didn’t want to slip into my usual class. The showcase list had been posted on the bulletin, and everyone had been talking about my role since it went up.

I didn’t want them to know that I was already a failure on day one.

I’d just leave, walk around for a little before I texted Camden. Maybe I’d even walk all the way to his place. That would at least give me time to clear my head, to come up with a gameplan before our date.

You owe me…Dallon’s words beat into my skull Iike a sledgehammer.

When would those words come out of Camden’s mouth? Today? Tomorrow? Next week?

I had a feeling it would hurt a million times worse coming from him.

Stepping out of the building, I blinked at the sun. I wasn’t used to it being so bright when I left the dance studio.

I started walking down the sidewalk in the direction of Camden’s building…when Michael stepped out of the shadows.

“Ana…” he called in a lilting, mocking voice.

“Michael,” I whispered, taking a step back, my gaze darting around for anyone I could latch onto to get away.

But this time of day, it was almost as empty as when I got out at night on the days I stayed to clean the dance rooms. A shiver snarled its way down my spine. How long did he spend out here waiting for me? How did he always have the perfect timing to get me alone?

“I heard that you got kicked out of the shelter.” He smiled, like that was funny to him, and another thread of fear crept through me.

Had he been the one to somehow organize those drugs being found under my cot? What was he planning?

“I came to fulfill my brotherly duty and offer you a place to stay.” The words coming out of his mouth were all the right ones, but the way he said them…it made me feel dirty all over again, broken…terrified.

“I found a place,” I told him slowly, wishing this conversation never had to happen. I didn’t want to talk to him about Camden. Camden felt like a shiny, good, perfect little gift in my fucked up life. I didn’t want my psychotic foster brother to have anything to do with it.

“Oh, that NHL hockey player, right?” he asked casually.

My blood froze. I blinked slowly at him, trying to control my breathing as his smile widened.

“How did you know that?” I whispered, unable to keep the tremble out of my voice despite my best efforts.

His pale blue eyes glinted, his malicious intent peeking through as he stared at me.

“Now that you’re shacking up with a rich guy, you’ve suddenly become a whole lot more useful, little bunny.”

I stiffened, a wave of dread settling on my shoulders.

“You probably should get going. People are going to come out any minute now,” I warned.

Michael’s smirk widened, as if he knew that wasn’t true. Knowing him, he probably did.

He made a big show of pulling something up on his phone, slowly turning it around for dramatic effect.

I flinched when I saw the picture on the screen. It was from senior year, one of the photo shoots he’d forced me to do for him. I was sitting on a chair, completely naked, my legs spread so he could take a closeup of…

Hot shame licked at my insides. He’d shoved a knife against my nipple and threatened to cut it off if I didn’t cooperate.

I hadn’t had a choice…but the reminder of those photos still made me want to die.

The most recent pictures had been taken six months ago at a “family dinner” he’d forced me to attend.

I’d done everything I could to stay away from him since I’d left the Carvers, but my everything had never been enough.

“What do you want?” I whispered in a resigned voice.

“Monthly payments,” he said with a grin. “I want monthly payments to make sure that these pictures never end up in the news. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing for your little NHL boyfriend to know that his girlfriend is a whore?”

“I’m not a whore,” I said sharply, taking a step back at the flash of anger in his eyes at my disrespectful tone.

Michael smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his dress shirt. “If you don’t want him and everyone else to think that…you’d better get me that money. Five thousand dollars a month should do it. It’s really not that much at all.”

He smiled, laughing to himself, because he knew that much money might as well have been a million dollars to me.

I gasped. “I—I don’t have that money. I have no way to get that for you.”

Michael grinned. “Figure it out, Ana, because I can picture it now…your sweet pussy all over the internet.” He cocked his head, like a lightbulb was going off in his brain. “Or you can just come with me right now. We could take new pictures…or do something else—something even more fun.” He licked his lips suggestively.

I glanced frantically back at the studio doors, wishing there was at least someone to hear me scream if he tried to grab me. That’s where this was headed eventually—I was sure of it.

He’d gotten off my screams throughout my teenage years…I’m sure he’d missed it.

The bastard probably couldn’t even get his dick up without them anymore.

I couldn’t help but think of that one time…

“Little bunny, little bunny, let me come in,” he called through the door. His parents were gone for the weekend, and I’d barricaded myself in my bedroom, the door locked and a chair pulled in front.

Even though I knew it was all useless.

I didn’t answer him, I just kept my finger on my phone. I would do it this time. I’d call 9-1-1 if he came in here. I wasn’t going to let him hurt me again.

“The wolf huffed, and he puffed and he…”

I waited for the final words, bone-deep shivers wracking my body as tears slid down my face.

Someone, please help me.

The seconds turned into minutes…and the minutes went on.

Until it was hours.

Where was he? Why had he stopped? Had he gotten a phone call? Was that all he was going to do to me today?

Please, God, let that be all.

I crept to the door after two hours. He had to be gone right? I could grab something from the kitchen, enough to feed me for the rest of the day—I’d used the bathroom—and then I’d come back.

As quietly as possible, I undid the lock and slowly turned the doorknob. This was it. I’d open this door and be back in five minutes.

Or two.

Opening the door a crack, I peeked out into the hallway, listening for any sound.

It was silent.

Okay, he’d definitely left.

I slipped through the crack, stepping into the hallway.

“Hello, little bunny.”

Michael touched my shoulder, bringing me back from our horror-filled past to the present—the same terror threaded through my veins. “So what’s it going to be, Ana?” he was asking.

“Leave me alone,” I told him harshly. Backing away, I held up my phone threateningly. “If you don’t get away from me, I’ll call the police.”

“That’s a fancy phone, Ana,” he sneered. “Guess you haven’t changed, still using any man you can. An NHL star isn’t an upgrade for you, though. He’ll drop you the second he realizes that you’re trash. I’m the only one willing to accept where you came from.”

“I’m calling,” I said loudly, my fingers fumbling on the still unfamiliar screen as I tried to find the phone pad.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m leaving. No need for theatrics, little bunny. I’ll expect your first payment next month.” Michael gave me a little salute as he turned and started down the sidewalk away from me.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he promised.

I had no doubt he was telling the truth.

I watched him go, wondering how I existed in a world where I couldn’t get away from him. He’d followed me into the city, sure that I would crack and beg him for help after a few nights at the shelter.

He’d been furious when I hadn’t. I guess the fact that someone would rather be homeless than with you was quite a hit to the ego. I’d been scared of him when I’d first moved in with the Carvers, terrified actually, with how he’d acted before, and his words at the hospital when I’d woken up.

But he’d been on his best behavior those first couple of months. Michael had lulled me into a false sense of security that maybe he wasn’t that bad.

And then he’d struck, showing me exactly who he was when I’d woken up bleeding because he’d decided that cutting me while I was sleeping was fun.

I knew he was serious about the money. But even if I worked around the clock, I wasn’t going to be able to get that much in time.

I could just picture Camden’s disgust when he saw those pictures. His embarrassment when everyone he knew and didn’t know saw my naked body. In those poses.

He wouldn’t understand how I’d allowed Michael to take them. He’d hate me. He’d never want to see me again.

I couldn’t take that.

Leaning over, I threw up on the sidewalk, the vomit splattering all over the concrete. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t.

I needed to get to work.

Abruptly changing directions, I headed toward the bus stop I usually took to get to Charlie’s. Why had I thought it was a good idea to take off this week? Even before what had just happened, I should have been saving money, collecting as much as I could so I could leave and not be a burden to Camden anymore. Now, it was even more of a necessity.

My phone buzzed, but I ignored it for a second until I decided it was probably the polite thing to answer Camden’s text. I should let him know I couldn’t make it tonight and that he didn’t need to pick me up.

Me: Have to go into work. I’m sorry.

Wiping away more of the tears that had leaked out of my eyes, I pushed aside all the good things that had happened to me this past week.

They weren’t for me.

This was my reality.

I couldn’t forget that again.