The Hockey Captain’s Unwanted Wife (Blair and Grayson) novel Chapter 250

Chapter 250

NCA-

I started running the second Marco said it.

“She’s at the airport. She just texted me. Don’t make me regret telling you.”

10 vouchers

The corridor blurred. I took the stairs because the lift suddenly seemed too slow. Two at a time. My lip throbbed every time my foot hit the ground. I did not slow down.

She was in love with me.

Me?

How was that even possible?

She had hidden it. Years of it. I had never once seen the true feelings underneath.

I was blind, just like Marco had pointed out.

All those nights. Girls in the hotel. Charlotte in the next room, listening. Hurting, Marco had said. And still there in the morning, telling me to eat.

If I had known, I never would have done it.

Not once.

I would never do anything on purpose to hurt Charlotte. That was the part that made me want to put my fist through a wall. I had done it anyway. Blind. Selfish.

I should have been able to see her true feelings. I thought I knew her well. Turns out I could not even tell that I was hurting her, breaking her heart every time I brought a woman close to her.

I was a fool for telling her it was a mistake.

A fool for making her believe I did not want to be more than friends.

A fool for standing there with that bruise on my face while she still reached up, even then, and touched the bruise like she was the one who had to protect me.

And what had I done?

Let her leave.

Acted cold.

Told her brother I would never touch her again.

I hit the parking lot. Found the car. Dropped into the seat so fast the door slammed on my ankle and I did

not feel it.

I pulled out too fast. The tyres screamed. A valet jumped back and swore at the bumper.

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500 Sat, Oct 3

The Mockey Captain’s Unwanted Wife

10 your herd

Barcelona at night became a racetrack the second the woman I could not live without was at an airport ready to leave me for good.

I went around a taxi, my mirror close enough to scratch, and shot the gap before the bus closed it.

I heard horns. A long, ugly blast from the bus. Another from the taxi. I did not lift my hand. I did not look.

Third gear. Fourth. The engine climbed and I let it.

A scooter drifted out of a side street. I braked hard enough that the belt locked across my chest, then dropped a gear and went again before the light finished turning.

Someone leaned on their horn until it became one long note. I heard it. It did not matter.

My hands were tight on the wheel.

I thought of every girl I had brought upstairs and the silence on the other side of the wall.

I pressed the accelerator until the engine roared back at me.

A red light stopped me. I counted the seconds out loud because if I did not count I was going to run it.

The second it changed I was gone, a line through traffic, cutting between a van and a car that had to press on its brakes. More horns. A man in a white shirt shouted asshole at my window.

I caught his face in the mirror and kept going.

I did not care about anything right now but her. I did not care about the car. I did not care if a camera caught the number plate and the team spent the morning explaining why their race winner was driving like he wanted to die in the city he had just won.

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