MISCONDUCT | HS |

THIRTEEN

Harry

"Fuck, Dalton."

My head rolls back onto the exam table as her hands work over my muscles, kneading and massaging the places that have been tight and out of place since my injury.

It's been two weeks since I've been off the ice and I'm itching to get back out there.

"Don't be such a baby." Rolling her green eyes, she pushes her thumbs deeper into the tissue and my mouth falls open at the feeling. "If anything, I should work you even harder for leaving shit on my desk all the fucking time."

To Dalton, getting stuck with me has been like her ultimate nightmare.

To me, getting stuck with her feels like a gift.

We meet three times a week in which she puts my body through hell in order to get me back out on the ice as soon as possible. Recovering from an injury is never fun, but trying to push every single one of her buttons sure has been.

I can tell that she still wants to keep me at arms length and that's fine with me. Yet at the same time, there's cracks in the hard exterior she put up for me.

Cracks that her delicate, soft light glows through.

The night of my injury lives on replay in my head— and not even getting slammed into the boards.

What plays on repeat was feeling her body resting against mine, her fingertips against the laurel tattoos on my hips, the smell of her perfume reminding me what home really felt like.

That's what keeps me up at night.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I groan, watching the lilac polish on the tips of her fingers as they push into an even more tender spot.

Raising an eyebrow she meets my gaze. "Oh? So a box of donuts from Dunkin' and an iced coffee just came out of nowhere?"

"Stranger things have happened." I shrug.

"Right, yeah. Not to mention the brown bag with a double cheeseburger with extra pickles and a large order of onion rings from Matilda's?" Putting her attention back on my skin, her thumb runs over the small tattoos above my knee.

Taking a deep breath through my nose when she pushes back into the muscle, I do my best not to smile. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

"Must have been some other deranged Harry Styles who accidentally left their order receipt in the bag." Glancing up at me, a few strands of her hair fall in front of her face.

Without thinking, I reach out and tuck the silky pieces behind her ear and ignore the fire on my skin from just the briefest touch to her warm skin. "Must be."

The words fall from my lips barely above a whisper as her hands pause on my skin while she takes a deep breath.

"Harry—" She rolls her tongue across her full bottom lip. "Why— What's your endgame here?"

Dalton stands up from me and crosses her arms, looking down at her watch and in that moment I know that this session is over.

"There is no game at all, Dalton." Running my hand through my hair and sitting up and working on the straps of my knee brace, I shake my head as she turns her back to me. "Not once has anything with you ever been a game to me and never will be. This situation— us being here— it feels like my chance to make things right, like they should be. I'll never push you to talk to me but at the same time, I want you to know that I think about you. I want you to realize someone is here for you."