365 Days With The Hockey Player I Hate

~~~Soraya “Savage”~~~

The memory of Declan Shaw pinning me against that Vegas wall still burned under my skin two weeks later. Not because it was romantic because it was humiliating.

After our teams’ exhibition games ended in disaster, the charity event had spilled into that overpriced nightclub. One minute we were trading insults across the VIP section like always. The next, Declan had me backed against cool dark paneling, his massive 6’4” frame caging me in, forearm braced beside my head. His stormy gray eyes had been wild with fury, breath hot against my face as we screamed every vicious thing we’d stockpiled over the years. My fists had twisted in his shirt. His body had pressed into mine pure muscle and rage.

Cameras had flashed. 

Phones had recorded. 

The internet dubbed it “Rivals Gone Nuclear.”

I still hated how my pulse had raced. Not entirely from anger. And now I was about to legally chain myself to him.

I stormed into the sleek downtown Boston conference room twenty minutes late on purpose, Declan was already there.

Of course he was. 

He leaned back in a leather chair like he owned the building, one ankle crossed over his knee, wearing a crisp white button-down that stretched across his broad chest. His dark hair was still damp, jaw sharp, that faint scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Twenty-five years old and already the youngest captain in the Blades’ recent history.

Such an arrogant prick. His eyes locked on me the second I entered.

Full of disdain and something darker that made my stomach tighten.

“Nice of you to show up, Savage,” he drawled, using my on-ice nickname like a weapon.

 “Thought maybe you’d run back to the girls’ league where you belong.”

I dropped my bag with a thud and took the seat directly across from him, close enough that our knees almost brushed under the table. 

“And I thought maybe you’d get traded to Siberia after that little temper tantrum. Guess we’re both disappointed.”

The sponsor’s lawyer cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Miss Rivera, Mr. Shaw, we’re here to finalize the agreement,”

She continued. “One year cohabitation mandatory. Public appearances required,”

“In exchange, Miss Rivera’s family medical debt of $280,000 will be cleared in full, and Mr. Shaw’s contract extension with the Blades will be honored despite the morals clause violation.”

I picked up the thick contract packet, flipping through pages I’d already read a dozen times with my agent. Every word still felt like a chokehold.

Declan smirked, tapping his fingers on the table. “Read it slow, Rivera. Big words might confuse you.”

“Big words like accountability?” I shot back.

“Or consequences for acting like a drugged Kangaroo on camera?” His eyes narrowed. 

“Says the twenty one year old who dumped her drink down my back and called me a talentless pretty boy riding Daddy’s draft pick.” 

“Real mature.”He scoffed

“You deserved worse,” I hissed. “You’ve been undermining me since my debut.”

“Every interview, every presser, ‘She’s flashy but soft,’ ‘Women’s hockey isn’t ready for prime time.’ Now you need me to save your precious captaincy? Irony is delicious.”

The lawyer shifted nervously. “If we could focus on the signatures…”

I leaned forward, pen hovering. “Let’s be crystal clear, Shaw. I’m doing this for my family. Not for you. The second that year is up, I never want to see your face again unless it’s across the ice when I embarrass your team.”

Declan’s smirk faded into something sharper. He leaned in too, voice low and rough so only I could hear. 

“Keep telling yourself that, wife,”

Wife? Already?

The word sounded like poison.

He continued. “You think this is easy for me? I’m the one who has to pretend I actually like the loud mouthed, reckless rookie who nearly cost us both our careers,”

He continued. “But unlike you, I’m not doing this for money. I’m doing it because if I lose this contract, everything I’ve bled for since I was seventeen disappears.”

Our eyes clashed.

The air crackled with pure hatred and unwanted awareness. His gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second before snapping back up.

I signed my name with vicious strokes, the pen digging into the paper. Declan followed immediately, his signature bold and confident like he was claiming territory. 

The sponsor rep smiled brightly. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Shaw. The penthouse has been fully stocked. Moving crews have already transferred your belongings.”

“You are officially cohabiting as of tonight. First joint public appearance is in three days, a charity brunch. Act like you’re in love or the deal collapses.”

Thirty minutes later we arrived at the penthouse.

The penthouse was ridiculously luxurious.

I stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, while Declan prowled the space like it was nothing new to him. 

He dropped his duffel bag near the island and turned to face me.

“Ground rules,” He said, voice dangerously calm as he stalked closer.

 “You stay on the left side of the apartment. I take the right. Don’t touch my protein shakes, don’t mess with my recovery equipment, and absolutely no bringing teammates here..”

“I won’t have Blades guys seeing you prancing around in your tiny shorts.” 

I laughed in his face, stepping right into his space even though he towered over me. 

“Tiny shorts? This coming from the guy who walks around shirtless doing ab workouts like it’s his full-time job. Newsflash, Shaw I don’t prance.” I said with my hands up.

“And if you think I’m staying out of ‘your’ side, you’re delusional. This place is neutral ground,”

I continued. “My rules, no loud music after midnight, no parading puck bunnies through here, and if you call me ‘pom-pom girl’ one more time, I will knee you so hard your future kids feel it.”

Declan braced one hand on the wall beside my head, not quite touching me, but close enough that I felt the heat radiating off his body.

Ice and cologne with pure masculine frustration. My heart slammed against my ribs.

“You talk a big game for someone whose family debt I’m bailing out,” He murmured, eyes darkening.

 “How does it feel knowing the big bad rival is your knight in shining armor?”

“Knight?” I shoved at his chest. He didn’t move an inch. 

“You’re a fucking hostage situation. And the second I can pay my own way out of this, I’m gone. I don’t need your pity or your charity.” His jaw flexed. 

“Good. Because I don’t do pity. Especially not for a cocky little savage who thinks she can hang with men twice her experience level.”

“Twice the experience and half the talent,” I fired back, tilting my chin up. Our faces were inches apart now.”

 “I saw your tape from last season. Your edge work is getting sloppy, Captain. Maybe you should focus less on chirping me and more on not getting benched.”

Declan’s breath ghosted across my lips. 

“Keep running that mouth and I’ll find better uses for it.”

Heat flashed through me, low, traitorous, and infuriating. 

I hated my body for reacting. 

Hated him more for noticing.

“I hate you,” I whispered, voice shaking with conviction.

His smile was slow and dangerous. 

“Perfect. Keep hating me, wife. It’s the only thing stopping me from doing something we’d both regret.”

He pushed off the wall and headed toward the kitchen, leaving me flushed, furious, and far too aware of every inch of my body that still tingled from his proximity.

One year in hell.

One year of pretending to love the man I wanted to destroy.