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

The next week passed in perfect bliss. Not even practices with Dallon could get to me…until they did.

I hit the ground hard, a sharp pain shooting through my leg. Dallon’s face was pale as he hovered over me. “Fuck. I’m sorry. You leapt too soon. It messed up the timing!”

I hadn’t leapt too soon. He’d just fucked up. I couldn’t call him out on that right now, though, because all I could focus on was the throbbing ache. My leg felt like it was on fire.

“It’s not broken. It’s not broken,” I kept chanting in my head, like positive reinforcement would somehow change whatever Dallon had just done to me.

Panic was clawing at my insides, but I forced myself to stand, biting back the tears. I couldn’t afford to break down now.

“Let’s get you to Dr. Jenkins,” Dallon said, the nicest he’d spoken to me since we’d started practicing. And he wasn’t trying to feel me up—apparently, even he had a line he wouldn’t cross.

The Company’s doctor’s office was located onsite. It had the same sterile smell and the cold, impersonal lights though that every other doctor’s office I’d been to had. “Let’s get you up here,” Dr. Jenkins said. “You can leave, Dallon,” he added dismissively. “Thank you for helping Ms. Lennox get to my office.”

Dallon scowled, obviously wanting to stay. “Bye, Ana,” he finally muttered as he trudged out of the office. My leg hurt so badly that I was able to ignore his continued, annoying use of my nickname.

Dr. Jenkins had excellent bedside manner. It also helped that he looked like Santa Claus with his white hair, rosy cheeks, button nose…and a belly that he attributed to his unfortunate love of Twinkies.

The doctor started his exam, poking and prodding at it for a few minutes before he had me go into another room with his assistant to take an x-ray.

The entire time my heart was pounding in my chest.

“It’s not rebroken,” he finally announced, looking up from the x-rays. “But you’re not going to be able to walk on it one day if you keep up this pace.” Dr. Jenkins frowned, studying the x-ray again. “Surely someone has told you this, Anastasia. After that injury, your leg just can’t handle this kind of strain.”

Another doctor had told me that…just a few months ago. I’d ignored that doctor too.

I kept my voice steady, trying to keep the fact that I was lying from leaking through. “Doctors in the past have said as long as I could handle the pain, I could dance like normal.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure that’s what they said?” he finally asked gently.

My lip quivered, and I felt the tears threatening to spill over. “Please, don’t say anything to anyone,” I begged, my voice cracking. “I’ll be fine. I will be more careful. I can’t live without dance.”

He frowned, clearly conflicted. “Anastasia, you need to start coming in for regular checkups. This isn’t something to take lightly.”

I nodded eagerly, desperate for him to drop it. “I will, I promise.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, but if I see any signs that you’re not following through, I’ll have to report it. Understood?”

“Understood,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

Leaving the office, a crushing sense of defeat settled over me.

I managed to convince him to keep quiet for now, but how long would that last?

As I limped back to the studio, the pain in my leg was nothing compared to the dread gnawing at my insides.

I hadn’t been exaggerating back there. If I couldn’t dance…I didn’t think I could live.

Every part of every day, I had been working on my dream.

What would happen if the only dream I’d ever had in life was dead?

Camden’s face filled my head. How he’d looked when he said “I love you,” and “forever.”

He’d already admitted several times that part of what had drawn him to me was my talent. If that went away…I would really be a nobody.

And how long would his promise of “forever” last after that?

I had no other talents. I didn’t have an education.

I was literally nothing without this place.

What was I going to do?

It was the stupidest thing imaginable, but my sore leg took me into an empty practice room.

I stared at myself in the mirror, taking in the haunted look in my eyes, but also taking in the fact that I had color in my cheeks now.

Camden had given me that.

No, I wasn’t going to let my leg ruin everything. I wasn’t going to give in. I could still dance. Everything would be fine. I couldn’t lose dancing and I couldn’t lose Camden.

So I wouldn’t. It had to be as simple as that.

I limped over, turning on the music before I returned to my spot.

I lifted my hands above me…and then I slowly went en pointe.

In the dimly-lit studio, I let the music wash over me, each beat a lifeline tethering me to my sanity. With every movement, I poured my heart and soul into the dance, letting the pain and frustration bubble to the surface. I surrendered myself to the rhythm. My movements began with a controlled grace, but as the music swelled, so did the turmoil within me.

My body moved with a fluidity born of years of practice, but tonight, it was different. Tonight, every step was a battle, a desperate struggle to keep the darkness at bay. But still, I danced on, my movements growing more frantic with each passing moment.

The tears blurred my vision as I twirled and spun, the agony of my shattered dreams threatening to consume me whole. I danced. And then I danced some more.

I pushed my body beyond its limits, my muscles protesting with every twist and turn. My arms reached out as if grasping for something just out of reach, while my legs propelled me across the floor, every step like a dagger to my useless leg.

The music crescendoed, and I threw myself into a series of intricate movements, ones I shouldn’t have been doing on my best day with the state of my leg. Sweat dripped down my brow, mingling with the tears that streaked my cheeks.

And still, I pressed on.

Until I took a step, and my leg couldn’t hold me up.

It buckled, and I collapsed.

My sweat and tears stuck me to the floor as I fell in a heap. Everything was too much. The pain, the grief, the fear.

I was drowning. The edges of my vision blurring from exhaustion. Maybe they’d just find me here in the morning.

I could picture them dancing around me, not bothering to call the police or move my body because I was nothing anymore.

Nothing.

There was the slide of footsteps nearby, and I wearily blinked my eyes, staring in the direction of the door listlessly.

My eyes opened wider when I saw who was standing there.

Camden.

Shame coated my throat, the taste of it bitter and disgusting. Embarrassment lit up my insides. This perfect creature was seeing me at my very worst.

I didn’t move, though. I just laid there as we locked eyes. Maybe this was it. Maybe I’d lost my last will.

Or maybe I wanted someone to see me. To see how much I hurt. How much I burned. How much every fucking day zapped my will to keep going.

“Baby girl,” he breathed, and there was an ache in his voice, like the sight of my pain was hurting him too.

That ache burrowed its way inside me, like roots growing beneath a plant.

He walked toward me slowly, like he was approaching a dying animal who was taking its last breaths. He squatted down next to me, brushing his fingers softly against my cheek.

“Oh, baby.” His touch warmed me, but I still didn’t move.

And I didn’t move when he slid his arms around me and pulled me into his chest, lifting me up like I weighed nothing.

I wasn’t sure if I was conscious or not. Everything felt like a dream, the world around me a hazy blur of pain and exhaustion. But through the fog, his strong arms lifted me gently off the cold studio floor, cradling me like I was infinitely precious.

I’d never had anyone hold me before but him. Maybe my mother had held me as a baby, but with what I knew of her, I kind of assumed she’d just thrown me into a crib until I stopped crying.

I didn’t have it in me to move, or ask him where he was taking me.

I just surrendered, allowed myself to be carried away, the rhythmic sway of Camden’s steps lulling me into a state of…peace.

The complete opposite of the frenzy I’d been in before.

The night air brushed against my skin, cool and soothing, as we made our way to his truck.

I was still in a daze as he pulled open the door and set me down softly on the seat. He pulled the seatbelt across my chest, and I blinked slowly at him.

Safety. That’s what I was feeling. It was washing across my skin, a golden light filling my insides, wiping away the anxiety that had been there the whole afternoon.

“Thank you,” I whispered to him.

He smoothed my sweaty, matted hair out of my face.

“Forever,” he answered, and I closed my eyes at that word, allowing a tear to slip down my face.

Because I didn’t know if that word was real.

I was a mess the next day at dance. Camden had put me right to bed after he’d taken me home, and I’d slept right up until it was time to leave for class again.

He’d tried to cajole me into telling him what was wrong…but I’d told him we would talk later. A cop-out if there ever was one.

It had taken five extra strength Advil for me to be in this room, holding onto the barre as I dipped into a plié.

My leg was so sore. I needed a day off. I probably needed a month off actually. This was the worst my leg had been in a long time.

“Anastasia,” Madame Leclerc’s voice cut through the noise of the class. I eyed the doorway, dread pulsing through me as I saw her standing there, her red lips pressed into a severe frown. It never seemed to be a good thing when she needed to talk to me.

The instructor nodded her head at me, and I walked across the room, trying to look elegant and graceful as I did so because Madame Leclerc cared about things like that.

She still eyed me disdainfully the entire way.

“Yes, Madame?” I said, after I’d stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind me. It wasn’t farfetched to think that whatever she wanted to say was not something I wanted the whole class to hear.

“The Company is raising rates,” she began, her French accent clipped and cold. “The economy is not what it was and prices have gone up on everything. This means costumes, tuition…everything will be going up.”

I took a deep breath, my heart sinking. It was already ridiculously expensive to attend here. Only the senior dancers were paid livable allowances for their performances and for whatever reason, I hadn’t been brought up yet. What I was paid for performing, cleaning, and bussing tables, had barely paid for everything.

Hence, why I had been living in a shelter.

I didn’t have a job anymore.

I took a deep breath, thinking of the money that Michael was also expecting in a few weeks.

What was I going to do?

The Showcase. I was dancing with a senior dancer—and not just any senior dancer—the male lead for the entire Company. Regardless of how I’d gotten the role, the performance was still happening.

Shouldn’t I be paid like a senior dancer then?

I gulped, trying to dig up some bravery. Madame Leclerc had always terrified me. I kept hoping she would be old enough that she’d want to retire, and someone new would come in who would see me as the performer that I was.

“I’m dancing with Dallon in the showcase,’ I began softly. ‘I…I think that should qualify me for an additional salary for the performance.”

Her face curled up in a sneer, but she didn’t say anything for a moment. Probably because I had a fair point. Her lips pursed again, though, and I stiffened, preparing myself for whatever misery she was about to throw my way.

“I’m not entirely convinced your performance is even going to take place, Anastasia,” she said in a haughty voice. “The reports from Dallon have not been exemplary.”

That didn’t surprise me at all. It’s not like he was going to report that his own poor performance was the thing holding us back. It was much easier to blame the junior dancer that Madame already despised.

“I’m perfectly confident about my performance,” I responded, lifting my chin and holding eye contact with her.

It was the only time I’d seen her…squirm.

“How about this, Ms. Lennox, if you are able to properly perform Giselle, I will promote you. But your performance has to meet my standards.” She peered down her nose at me. “And I think we both know that you have not met those standards even once yet.”

I tried to be a glass half-full kind of person. It was kind of a necessity with what I dealt with on a daily basis—at least until I’d met Camden.

But it seemed to me what she was saying was that no matter what I did at the Showcase, there was no hope.

I was fucked, so to speak.

I needed to find a job.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. I even went through the motions during my practice with Dallon. Surprisingly, he didn’t comment on it, probably because he’d almost broken my leg yesterday.

At least the day was done. I sank onto the bench in the locker room, rocking my head back against the locker. I was so tired. I could probably fall asleep right there. I sat there for several minutes until my phone buzzed.

Camden was here.

For the first time since we’d met—I was kind of dreading seeing him.

I gathered up my bag and walked slowly outside, taking a deep breath when I saw him standing outside his truck. Some dancers were gathered in groups, and they kept shooting him looks, giggling as they talked about how hot he was.

My hackles immediately rose when I passed one group who were discussing all the ways they wanted him to fuck them.

Mine, I wanted to scream. He has a freaking dick tattoo in my honor!

I ran a hand down my face. Seriously, I was falling apart.

“Hi, baby girl,” Camden said, meeting me halfway, like he couldn’t bear to wait for me to get all the way to him.

“Hi,” I answered, and he frowned at the flatness in my voice.

“Everything okay?” He glared at everyone around us like they were responsible for my pissy attitude.

“Just…” My shoulders drooped. “I got some bad news today. And now, I really have to find a job. Immediately.”

He was quiet as he got me into the truck and then walked around to get in.

“What was the bad news?” he asked after we’d started driving.

I glanced at him. He looked so calm and beautiful. Camden was just as busy as me. I knew he’d had weights today and two team meetings, and yet he still was put together, completely unflappable.

“Anastasia?” he pressed, when I hadn’t said anything because I was staring at him.

“Madame Leclerc—who’s always hated me—she informed me that the Company is raising prices on everything, but not raising salaries for the junior dancers. I told her I thought I should get a raise—be paid something I could actually live on—since I’m dancing with a principal for the Showcase. She basically told me it would only happen if she was pleased with my performance…and then she followed that up with telling me she hasn’t been pleased with anything I’d done so far.”

“She sounds like a bitch,’ Camden remarked.

“Unfortunately, bitch or not, she’s one of the most famous former Prima Ballerinas in the United States. People flock to our Company to train with her. It just hasn’t worked out for me,” I whispered, staring out the window at the city passing by. “But it’s a little hard to find a job when, literally, your only training is to dance, and you can only work at night.” I laughed to myself. “Actually…I think I’m qualified to be a stripper, so I guess there’s that.”

There was a cracking sound and my gaze shot to Camden, only to see that he looked vaguely panicked…and he was gripping the steering wheel really tightly.

“Camden?” I asked cautiously.

“I thought we’d discussed not talking about stripping anymore?” he said roughly.

Except, I wasn’t sure that I was actually joking.

“I can cover anything you need, Anastasia. It’s not a problem.”

I frowned. “Why would you do that?”

Camden glanced over at me, his eyebrows raised. “Because that’s what couples do when they’re in a relationship, baby girl—they help each other.”

You owe me.

You’re using me.

Michael and his parents’ words echoed in my head.

No, that was not happening.

“You’re not paying for anything else, Camden,” I snapped after a moment, an edge of hysteria in my voice. “You’ve already done enough. I’m literally sleeping in your house rent free, eating your food—that you cook for me, by the way, going to fancy performances, and sleeping on satin sheets. You’re not giving me anything else!”

An awkward silence descended over us.

“What would you like to do then?” Camden said stiffly.

“I’m going to get a job.”

Camden pulled into the parking garage and turned the truck off. “Anastasia, you were almost passed out when I found you last night. The last thing you need is to add more to your plate. What you need is rest.”

“Don’t tell me what I need, Camden.” My voice was bitter and mean, and I hated it.

This was it, this was when he would be done with me. Who wanted an insecure, stubborn street rat when they could have anyone else? It seemed we’d been uncovering each other’s triggers really well over the last few days.

Except, mine was in direct opposition to his. He wanted to take care of me…and I was terrified to let him do it.

The silence continued as he opened up my door and we went into the penthouse, and as we sat through an awkward dinner—because, of course, my perfect boyfriend had delicious baked ziti ready as soon as we got through the door.

I had taken my last bite and had just gotten up to put my plate in the sink when he pounced, pulling me into his lap, not caring as my plate clattered on the table, spilling flecks of tomato sauce all over. I squeaked in surprise, staring at the mess.

“Are you paying attention, baby girl?” he growled.

“It’s kind of hard not to when I’m sitting in your lap,” I drawled.

His eyes flashed, and I knew he was thinking about the last time I’d been a brat.

“I love you, Anastasia,” he said sweetly, gentling his voice. “It would be my privilege to help you, to take care of you, to be there by your side as you work toward your dreams.”

He didn’t understand. He could say that now, but it would change. Every fucking time I’d depended on someone in my life—it had fallen apart.

“And how do I help you, Camden? If I’m not allowed to cook, and I’m certainly not allowed to clean. What am I bringing to the table? What am I contributing to the relationship? If it’s about sex, I’m sure there’s a million women better at it than me. You can get another hole.”

I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth. It physically hurt to think about him with another person.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Camden spat hotly.

Feeling like I was about to burst into tears, I took his beautiful face in both of my hands. He looked so miserable right now.

“What if you do all that, and you decide I’m not worth it? What if you think I’m someone I’m not? What if you wake up one day, and you realize that I’m…nothing? I’m nobody.’ My lips were quivering, because I’d realized that I wouldn’t survive.

I wouldn’t survive him deciding he didn’t want me anymore.

He’d ruined me.

Just like he’d threatened.

I’d survived losing everything else in my life…but I couldn’t survive losing him.

“It will never happen,” he swore fiercely.

I kissed his lips softly and laid my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

If only I could believe him…