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BeforethePrescottnamebecamebiginthehockeyworld,therewasjustNoahPrescott,

fightingforaspotonanNHLroster.Neverdidheimagineasimplenotefromashyfan

wouldspeeduphisworld.

JoinNoahonhisrecollectionoftheyearshehadwiththeloveofhislife—beforethe

NHLcontract,beforethekids,beforegoingbackhome.

ThisisNoahandRyleighfromthebeginning.

PRESCOTTFAMILYSERIES

Interference

PlaymakerDuet

AHolidayfortheBooks

FromtheBeginning

ButterflySave

C

H A P T E R

O

N E

N O W

E

L E V E N

D AY S

.

Eleven days after the hard end to the most incredible thirty-nine years of my life, it

wasfittingtofeelthecalmrighthere,rightnow.

There’d been a painful holiday—a holiday where the kids had to come into holiday

breakearlierthanscheduled.

Apainfulbirthdaythattheboyshadtopreparetoplayafter.

The boys could have stayed home. The Enforcers organization was ours; we didn’t

builditfromtheground,no,butweweretheEnforcers.

TheEnforcerswereus.

Butmyboyswentontoplay,andtheyplayedfuckinghard.Icouldn’tbeanyprouder

ofthem.

Theyplayed,theywon…andtheywereallbacktoday.

Forherholiday.

IsqueezedthebridgeofmynoseasIlookedoutoverthefrozenlake,rememberinga

timelong,longago,thatIbroughtRyleighouthere.

Lifehadbeengood.

Reallyfuckinggood.

Butthelastthreeyearshadbeenreallyfuckinghard.

Lifehadawayoftestingyou,andshesureputmyfamilythroughthewringer.Just

when you thought you were on even ground again, though, she ripped the rug out from

underyou.

MylifechangedforthebetteroneNovemberday,thirty-nineyearsago.

Mylifechangedagainandagain,withRyleighbymyside.

Butthenelevendaysago…

Elevendaysago,everythingchanged.

AndIdidn’tknowhowthefuckIwasgoingtomoveonfromit.

C

H A P T E R

T

W O

T H E N

“ G

O D

F U C K I N G

D A M N

, ” Icursedloudly,slammingthebladeofmysticktotheiceasthe

arenawassilent,exceptforafewclapsfromChicago’stravelingfansection.

Fuckingassholes,thelotofthem.

Iskatedintothebench,mygoodfriendCadenPaynewaitingformebythedoor.He

slappedmybacktwiceasIsteppedinside.Islammedmyassdowntothebenchandslid

down, making room for both Payne and our roommate, Nick Kolak. The fourth in our

apartment,Teague“Ketty”Ketterhagen,wasskatinginfromhisperchatgoal.

“Alright, men, listen up,” Coach started the moment Ketty’s mitts hit the boards.

Ketty was handed a water bottle and he flipped his facemask up onto the crown of his

head,asCoachwentoverhowthehellweweregoingtoattempttowinthisfuckerinthe

lasttwenty-sixsecondsofthegame.

Weweredownbytwo.

Itcouldhappen.

Itwasn’tfuckinglikely,butitcouldhappen.

Coachfinishedhisspiel,andfiveofourmen,plusKetty,headedbackouttothewar-

torn ice. My eyes glanced around the zones, up to the scoreboard, then over the once-

crowdedarena.

Once-crowded was a stretch, but we sure as shit had more people filling the seats

fifteenminutesago,thanwehadassesdownnow.

TheBeloitEnforcerswerenew.

Newthearea.NewtotheAmericanHockeyLeague.

Atfirst,there’dbeensomeexcitementatthehockeyteamjoiningthissmallasstown

thatwasknownforitsHormelplant.Butquitefrankly,weweren’taconsistentgroupof

hockeyplayers,andthosewhostartedtocallthemselvesfans,werequicklydwindling—

andweweren’teventwofullmonthsintotheseason.I’dbetmyleftnutthatallusmen

wouldfindourselvesinadifferentlockerroomnextyear,becauseourparentNHLclubin

SanDiegowouldn’twanttokeepwastingmoneyonus.

I really needed this season to go off without a hitch, though. I was getting ‘old’ in

hockey standards. No, twenty-four wasn’t ancient, but when eighteen-year-olds were

coming into camp like Wayne fucking Gretzky, it made a guy realize: one of these

seasons,IwasgoingtobeafixtureintheAHLandnothaveawayout.I’dgetolder,start

playingslower,andenduponthelowestoflowtotempoles.

Ididn’twanttoplaytheBigGameforthemoney.Sure,thosezeroeslookedfucking

fantasticonthecontract,butIgrewupinamodesthouse,withpenny-pinchingparents.

Eventually, after working their lives away, my parents bought a gorgeous lake house up

north.Itwashuge,anditwastheirsoutright.

IwishIcouldhavehelpedthemwithit.Givenbacktothetwopeoplewhohelpedget

me to where I was at today—the midget club days; the high school days. I’d gone to

schoolonascholarship,sothatatleastlessenedtheirload.

Istillwantedtogivethemsomethinginreturn,butthatwashardtodoonaforty-K

year.

Shit,IjustwantedthechancetoproveIwasgoodenough,fastenough,toughenough,

forSanDiego.Iwantedtobecalledupsofuckingbadly,andI’ddoanythingtoproveI

waswhattheywerelookingfor.Iwasn’taskingtobeontheirfirstline.I’dgladlytakea

spotonthefourthline,ifitmeantshowingIhadthegrittheywerelookingfor.

ThatIcouldgooutduringmyshiftandbethegrinderI’dbeenlabeledas,incollege.

A grinder was a player who went out and played hard—whether that was stick and

puck handling, or handling opponents against the boards. The grinder could be a heavy

hitter,butwasmorethanjustapresenceontheice.

Icouldbethatperson.

Hell,Iwasthatperson.

Bzzzzz.

The buzzer and Kolak’s backhanded slap to my chest shook me from my thoughts,

and I realized I missed the last twenty-some seconds, but apparently that was all I’d

missed.

Wewerestilldownbytwo.

Whichfurthermeantwewereofficiallythelowest-rankedteaminourconference.

“Fuckin’A,”Imuttered,standing.Whiletheotherguysshuffledintowardthetunnel,

KolakandImovedtotheice,theretobringourboysbackin.Itwassomethingthetwoof

usstartedthreeweeksbackafterareallyfuckinggoodgame,andeventhoughwefound

ourselvesdoingitafteronelostgameafteranother,youdidn’tmesswithtradition.

“Maybeifwestoppeddoingthis,we’dstartwinning,”Kolakthrewoverhisshoulder,

asmirkonhismugbutapissygleaminhiseyes.

“YouwannapissoffthehockeyGodsmorethantheyalreadyare?”

“Point.”

Kolak turned in right after slapping Ketty on his padded shin, and I bumped our

goaltender’shelmetwithmystick.“Goodstops,Ketty.”

Hemutteredsomething,probablyalongthelinesofalltheswearsI’dbeencursingthe

entiregame,butskatedin,withmerightonhisheels.

“Prescott!” My name was called from the seats near the tunnel, but the woman

pronounceditlikebiscuit.

Gratedonmyfuckingnerves.

I glanced up to where the woman was standing. She was pretty, even in a heavy

hoodie,asherlongblondehairfelloverhershoulder.Shewasmytype,thatwasfordamn

sure.

ToobadIwasn’tinthemood.

Ortherewasalsothefactsheworeahugerockonherringfinger,arockthatcould

not go unnoticed as the woman’s arm hung over the rail, a folded piece of paper in her

down-stretchedhand.

Probably another phone number, though I’d have to admit it was my first from the

marriedtype.Buthey,bunniescameinallshapesandtypes.

Whowantedtogetitonafterashittygamelikethisone,though?

When my eyes met the woman’s, she reached the note down further. “My friend

Ryleighwantedtogivethistoyou.She’sridiculouslyshy,”thewomansaid.

Sure.Friend.

I grunted and reached up to take the paper, even though I had zero intentions to do

anythingwithit.Itwouldbefindingahomeinthenearesttrashcan.

“Good game, Noah,” the woman continued, turning to take the steps two at a time,

whichwasquitethefeatastheyweredeep-setstairs.Iletmygazefollowher,hopingfor

somesortoftwingeofexcitement.

Yeah,yeah,Iwasn’tinthemoodforabunny,butithadbeenalongdamntimesince

I’d gotten laid. A few dates, heavy kisses, hands and fingers and bodily fluids…but no

closing deals. I just couldn’t find prolonged excitement lately. My best guess would be

becauseofthestressoftheseason.

Atthetopofthestairs,thewomanmetupwithanotherfemale;thisonedarkwhere

theotherwaslight.Short,darkhair.Blackhoodie,comparedtotheotherwoman’slight

blueone.Nothingonherface,atleastfromwhatIcouldtelldownhere.

Then,whenhereyeslandeddownonme…

Thefeelinginmygutwaslikenoother.

IfeltlikeIknewher…Infact,IeventhoughtIrecognizedher,butIknewIdidnot

knowofanyRyleigh.

Ihadtofightagrinwhenthegirlblushedtohighheaven.

Huh.

MaybeI’dbekeepingthenote,afterall.

***

“Attention, all you grumpy bastards!” One of the many rookies on the team, Jason

Thompson,yelledfromhisspotattheendofthebus.“Itisofficially11:11—”Therewas

aninterruptedadditionof“23:11,”butJasonjustkepttalking.

That’swhatthekidwasgoodfor.Talking.

“…on November 11th. Now, we’re a bunch of superstitious fools, so how about a

wordfromourassistantcaptain,theonewhowearsourownbrandofeleven?Noah!Take

thefloor.”

Igroanedandsatfurtherdowninmyseat,mywindpantsslidingeffortlesslyagainst

theleather.Weweren’tluckyenoughtohaveaplane—wehadtodrivethisgodforsaken

busevery-fucking-where—butatleasttheyaffordedusleather.Clothseatswouldstinkto

highheavenwiththelotofus.

“C’mon,man,”Jasonsaid,struttinguptheaislesofthebusuntilhewasnexttomy

seat.“Giveussomewordsofencouragement.”

“Fuck off, Jason.” I ran my hand through my short brown hair before pulling it

roughlydownmyface.

“Goodstart,buddy.”

“Ijustwanttosleep.”

“No‘Go,team,go’?”

IknewIwasn’tgoingtogethimoffmycase,butmaybeifIturnedmyheadtolook

outthewindow…

“You’redowntotwenty-seconds.”

“Makethemcount,Prescott!”wasyelledfromthefrontofthebus.Nodoubt,itwas

Kolak.Ifhewerecloseenough,I’dtellhimwhatIthoughtofhimforthrowingmeunder

the bus. Unfortunately, Kolak and Payne preferred the front of the bus, my man Ketty

preferredthesolitudeofthebackofthebus,andIalwaysfoundmyselfsmack-dabinthe

middle.

Figuring I wasn’t going to get out of this one, I shook my head and spoke up, not

showing my face. “I just want to sleep, boys. So how about you all just sleep it off.

Tomorrow’s a new day, new game. We have plenty of time to make something of

ourselves.”Ihadalotmoretosay,butitwoulddonogoodnow.Besides,IjustheldtheA

tomychest;Iwasn’tcaptain.

WhatIreallywantedtosay,though,waswehadtoomuchfuckingpotentialtokeep

playing the way we had been. Rather than extending that potential though, we had guys

whotiredeasily,orjustplainwantedtoslackoffattheworstoftimes.Ifweallhustled

frombeginningtoend,ifweallfoughthardandpushedforit,wecouldbeateamatthe

topoftheleague.Ifeltitinmybones.

Isaidnoneofthat,insteadturningmyattentionbacktotherook.“Youhappy?”

“‘Eh,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “It could be better. Work on it.” The fucker

laughedasheturnedtomovebacktohisspotintherear.

Shakingmyhead,Itriedtogetcomfortable.WewereonourwaydowntoHouston—

oneofthoselong-assedtripsthatwouldbemuchmorecomfortableonaplane.Ineverdid

sleepwellonbuses,butwe’dhittowninthemorning,haveaquicktapesmeetingwhere

we’dgooverplaysandHouston’splayvideos,andthennap.

Shit, I was most excited to nap. We may not have the best in transportation, but we

stayedatsomeprettynicehotels.Icouldimaginethedowncomforter…

AsIclosedmyeyes,tryingtofeelthepillowsandsheets,avisionofshort,darkhair

filledmymind,andIfoundmyselfdiggingthefoldedpieceofpaperoutofmypocket.

Itneverdidmakeittoatrashcan…

Holdingitupinfrontofmyface,closeenoughtoseethewhiteinthedarkconfinesof

thebus,Iflippeditbetweenmyfingers.Restingmyelbowonthewindowsillofmyseat,

Irubbedatmytemplewithmyindexfinger,debating.

Icouldstillputitinthetrash.

Itwasn’tanythingimportant.

Ididn’thavetimetomakenicewithapuckbunny.

Thisyear,myfocuswasonprovingmyselfworthyofacall-up.Itwasaboutplaying

the ice hard, not the field. Women wanted sex, but then they wanted commitment, and

right now, the only commitment I had time for was with the team. I also didn’t need

another person—in addition to my parents and sister—to have to worry about when it

cametimeformetomoveteams.

NotthatIhadtoworryaboutthemexactly,butwhereIendedupwasasimportantto

themasitwastome.

…But then that high blush filled my memory banks, and I could picture that same

coloringgoingdownthewoman’sneck,flushingherupperchest…

Igavein.

I told myself it was because it was late, and I needed a quick laugh, a quick

disgruntledgroan,aquick…shit,somethingtoeasemybodyintosleep.

With the note in hand, I reached up to turn on the light that accompanied my seat,

hitting the soft-touch button with my pinky, before bringing the note back down and

unfoldingthesheet.

Thehandwritingwassoftandfeminine,butnotloopylikesomegirls’,andthenote

wasshort,butmuchlongerthanjustatelephonenumber.

Frowning,Iletmyeyesmoveoverthesweepingofink.

Noah—

I’msureyougetitallthetime,butImustjointheparadeandinformyouthat

youaregorgeous.Now,bynomeansamIapuckbunny,jerseychaser,what

haveyou,noristhatmyintent.Isimply…Honestly,I’mnotsurewhatIwould

accomplishbythis,butIwantedto,soIdid.Andifyoureceivedit,thatmeans

awell-intendingfriendpushedmetogothroughwithit.

Onanothernote,youhaveanamazingtalentthatIcannotwaittowatchgrow

asyoumovefromAHLtoNHL,asI’msureyouwantfromyourcareer.Ilook

forwardtowatchingyourcareerthrive.

—RyleighScott

Iturnedthepaperover,re-readthetwoshortparagraphs,onlytore-readitagain,sure

thatImissedsomething,butnope…therewasnonumber,noinnuendo.

Itwasn’twhatIexpected.

Sure,therewasthegorgeousremark—IsmirkedasIreacheduptoturnoffthelight

again.However,shehardlytouchedthecommentbeforerunningoffonanotherthought.

She’sridiculouslyshy.

I thought back to glancing up at Ryleigh, or who I assumed was Ryleigh, after the

game, and remembered the feeling of knowing her. I focused on it, trying to figure out

how,orwhy.

Thenitdawnedonme.

She was a ticket holder—or, at minimum, she was lucky enough to score the same

seats every game. There had been a number of occasions where I’d be on the ice,

randomlylookingoutovertheseats,andmyeyeswouldsettleonher.

Theseatsheoccupiedwasrightnexttotherailingseparatingseatsfromourtunnel,

andtheseattoherrightwasoftenempty.WheneverInoticedher,though,she’dhaveher

headturned,talkingtothosearoundher,includingtheboosterclubpresident,Maryan.She

maynotalwaysbetherewithsomeone,butshe’dmadefriendswiththosearoundher.

NowthatIthoughtofit…

Therehadbeenatimeortwowhenmyeyeswouldlandonhers,andshe’dlookaway

quickly,thatsameblushfromthiseveninghighlightingherfeatures.

Well,then…

Ifthenoteaccomplishedanything,itwasthatitleftmemoreconfused.

Therewasn’tacomeon;itwasprettymuchtothepoint—whateverthehellpointshe

wasmaking.Shit,I’dbeencalledacockyhockeyplayerinmorewordsthanRyleighhad

used!

Now that I placed Ryleigh in more places than just tonight, I could definitely agree

withthe“notapuckbunny”statement.Thelabelwasthrownongirlswholikedtoplump

uptheirtitsandflirt,withtheendgoalofmakingitintobed.Ryleigh,though,wasoftenin

baggysweatshirts.

Notsayinganythingbadaboutbaggysweatshirts.

Onceagain,mymindtookaleftturnandIpicturedherinanotherhoodie—onethat

belongedtome.

Herhairawildmessaroundherhead.

Awidesmile,herlighteyesshiningupatmeasIleanedoverher.

Damn.

Confused.

That’swhatIwas.

Sofuckingconfused.

IfthenotehadbeenatleastsomewhatofsomethingI’dexpected,Icouldchannelmy

thoughtsandputthedamnthingaside,butnow?

Now,IhadRyleighonthebrain.

Somuchforsleeping.

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thearenawasechoedbytheenergyontheice.

Houston’s fans were loud and crazy, but so was the chirping that was happening

throughoutthegame.However,thechirpingledtomorefightsthanweusuallytook,but

sometimesyouhadtostickupforyourmen.

ThiswaseasilygoingtobethehighestpenaltyminutesgameI’deverbeenapartof,

andIwasprettysuremyminutestonight—inameaslyfifteenminutesofplaytime—were

thesameasalltheonesI’drackedupwhileplayinginMolinelastseasonputtogether.

Moline was a middle-ground team. They had good games and bad games, and

generallymadetheplayoffsbythepeachfuzzgrowingontherookies’faces.I’dbeenthe

resident enforcer—even though I wasn’t usually a fighter. At six-two and two-twenty, I

wasn’t even the thickest guy on the bench, but for whatever reason, I played with a

presencethathadguysbackingoffofourkeyplayers.

I’d played with grit and made sure my shifts were played in the fullest. But still, I

neverhadasmanypenaltiesasIcarriedwithmetonight.

Itwasn’tevenlikewewerefiercerivalswiththeseguys.

However,losinggameaftergameputsticksupasses,andweweredefinitelyplaying

likeabunchofassholes.

The whistle was blown and all us guys on the bench moved down to make room,

some of the guys on ice slipping into the bench while others stayed standing on the

outside,waitingforCoach’sdirection.

“We’reshakingupoursecondline,boys.Thompson,Kolak,Prescott.Iwantyouout

there.” We were the heavy hitters, the guys who usually played on the third and fourth

lines.ThepuckwouldbedroppedinHoustonterritoryandweneededstrengthtoprotect

Ketty,butwealsoneededguyswhocouldplaythepuckwellifwemanagedtotakeover

possession.Ourfirstlinewasjustcomingoffafairlyheavyshift,soitwouldbeuptous.

Coach drew out plays and soon we were on the ice, set up to Ketty’s left. It was a

goodspot;hewasstrongonthisside.

Atcenter,Kolakbentdown,readytofighttheface-off.Iglancedovertohim,thenat

ourtwoDefensemen;therewerewordsbeingexchangedoverbyPolk,whowaseasilyour

strongestD-man,butthemankepthiseyestrainedaheadofhim.

Crouching down to my own ready stance, I ignored the words being spewed by the

kidnexttome.Thepuckwasdroppedandsoonthebattlebegan.

We fought hard, but Houston fought harder, and while the puck managed to cross

zones once, then twice, it quickly found itself slipping back behind Ketty and the net.

ThompsonandHouston’sMichaelVesswerebattlingitoutagainsttheboards,eachtrying

togainpossession;theremayhavebeenaslyelbowthrownin,butitwasn’tcaught.

Ifitwas—thereweresometimesshadyrefsonice—itwasn’tcalled.

Thompson kicked the puck out from the boards, and I stretched my stick out, but I

wasn’t quick enough. Another of Houston’s players tapped it out of the way, quickly

slippingaroundthesideofthenetandpassingitbetweenthepostandKetty’srightskate.

“Fuck!” I yelled aloud, not that it was heard over the screaming and yelling that

movedaroundthearena.

BeforeIcouldturntoheadintothebench,theyellingtookafeveredpitch.Ilooked

over my shoulder and watched as Thompson threw a mean right hook at Michael Vess.

Whateverthehellhadgoneonagainsttheboardspissedtherookoff.

Probablythatfuckingjabtothegut.

Ipushedoff,quicklyfindingmyselfinthemiddleofthemess,grabbingVessbyhis

shouldersandpullinghimback.

“Fuckingasshole,”IholleredloudenoughforVesstocatch.Ipushedhimaway,only

forhimtocomebackatme,hisfreefistflyingtowardmyface.

“You think you’re such a hotshot, Prescott?” he taunted, as I dipped to the side to

avoidhisfist.HisotherhandwaswrappedinmysweaterandIfoughttoshakemygloves

off.“You’rejustafuckingwashout.PlayingthefuckingAHL.”

HetriedforanotherpunchasImercilesslylaughed.“Yeah,well,Dallasdidn’twantto

keep you around, so they signed you on a fucking one-way in Houston. Looks like

someoneismakingacareerintheAHL,douche.”MygloveshitthegroundandIwound

upmyfist…

Butmyelbowwascaught.

Iglancedover.Kettywasholdingmebackastherefscamein,pullingVessback.

Vessspatinmydirection,butnootherwordscouldbesaidasthelinesmancamein

andtookmyarmfromKetty.“Goingin,Prescott.”

“Fuckthatshit,”Isaid,tryingtoshakehimoff.

“Roughing.”

“Asshole,”Imurmured,notnecessarilymeaningthezebras.

Overhead, the announcement was called. “Houstonnnnn GOAL! Goal by Michael

Vess,noassists.Penaltiescalled.MichaelVess,fiveforfighting.JasonThompson,fivefor

fighting.NoahPrescott,twoforroughing.”

Onceinthepenaltybox,Iglaredattherookie,whoglaredrightback.

“Ihadit,”hemuttered,wipingattheshieldofhishelmetbeforeplacingitonthebench

besidehim.

“Lookedlikeit.”Ikickedmyskateoutatthedoor,myglaresettlingacrossthewayto

ourbench.

Somuchforhavingagoodgame.Thisonewasn’tlookingtoopromising.

***

Thegamewasnearlyover.

Withlessthanaminuteleftontheclock,Ihadtobattlethatoddfeelingofhope.We

coulddothis.Weweretied,andwecouldwinthiswellbeforethatfinalbuzzer.

Wecouldgetourfirstwininwaytoofuckinglong.

Itoremyeyesofftheplayaction,lookingtowardCoachforanynewdirection.His

scowl was directed on the ice; play would resume as originally planned. With that, I

looked back at the game, trailing my eyes toward Thompson, who I was set to replace

upontheendofhisshift.

Thesignswerequick;themomentofchangehadtobedoneonadime.Noticingmy

cue,Istood,waitingforThompsontomakehiswaybackin.Ileanedagainsttheboards,

myhipslidingdown,thenassup,soIhadaskateontheotherside,readytogowhenthe

timecame.

Inonequick,fluidmotion,ThompsonskatedinandIjumpedoutontotheice,skating

withpurposetowardthenet.Isituatedmyselfnearthecreasesoifthepuckcame,Icould

easilygiveitaridehome.Withmyeyesshiftingaroundtheice,Imadenoteofourguys.

KyleConnor,atall,lankykidfromKansas,hadcontroloverthepuck,skatingitback

andforthashewatchedforoneofustobeopen,orforaclearshotonnet.“Con!”Iyelled

overthechirpingandfans,butquickly,Iwascoveredandnolongeropen.

Ipushedoff,tryingtomoveaway,onlytowatchasConnorwasslammedbackinto

the boards—but not before sending a beauty of a slapshot to Troy Walters, our team

Captain. Walters didn’t hang on to the puck long though; after finding myself clear of

defenders,Islappedthebladeofmystickontheice,hopinghecaughtmyintention.

Hiseyesshiftedtowardme,forallbutasecond,andheliftedthepuck,sendingitto

rollalongtheraftersoftheboards,whereitfinallyfell,andsettled,atmyfeet.Itcouldn’t

havehappenedanymoreperfectly.

Of course, Houston’s men watched it happen, so I had to act quickly. I slipped the

puckbetweenmyopponent’sskates,carefultonotbecalledforaninfraction.Wedidn’t

needthatshitrightnow.Withaquickweave,IskatedaroundoneofHouston’sforwards

and,likeanartistathiseasel,tippedthepuckintothenet.

All but for the noise of the cheers and slapping of sticks from the Beloit bench, the

arenawassilent.

Then, in loud unison, the place echoed with groans and “boos,” the sound waving

aroundthearenajustasthebuzzerforthegamewentoff,simultaneouslywiththebuzzof

thegoal.

Wedidit.

Inaterriblestreakoflosses,wefoundourfeet.

Anditwasaboutdamntime.

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quitetheseason.

Game-changing.

Life-changing.

ItwistedmyweddingringaroundmyfingerasIstaredoutoverthelake.

Therewasn’tadoubtinmymindthatRyleighhadbeenmygoodluckcharm,andit

allstartedwiththatsmall,foldedpieceofpaperpasseddownbecausemygirldidn’thave

thecouragetodoitherself.

Ifonlysheknewthen,whatacourageouswomanshewouldbecome…

Iswallowedbackthelumpinmythroat,tryingtofocusonthepastagain.

Afterthatnote,thingsstartedtochangefortheteam.Thatseasonwastheseason.We

playedharder.Weplayedwithsomuchpassion,weendedupwithareputationforit.We

wereknownforourheavyhitsandhighpoints.

But with heavy hits and high points came a healthy dose of testosterone. It was no

secret in hockey—hell, in sports in general—that testosterone drove the game. And that

team,thatBeloitEnforcersteam…?

Thetestosteronewashigh.

And it kept building—building, and building, and building. I couldn’t speak for the

otherguys,butforme?Itkeptbuildinguntiliteventuallyeruptedinwhatcouldonlybe

explainedasonething—jealousy.

Ishookmyhead,afaintgrintippingmylips.

Ittookalittletime.Ittooksomeweeksandafewmoresideeyes,buteventuallymy

futurewasdrawnout.

AnditwasallbecauseofthatfuckingJasonThompson…

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sap,butmyfavoriteSundayofthemonthwastheSundayweplayedathome

and had a post-skate session with the kids who called themselves Beloit Enforcers fans.

Once a month, the team hosted a post-game skating session, and it was always a good

time.

Betweenthekidsandtheplayers,Ireallycouldn’ttellyouwhohadmorefun.

The kids…damn, the joy on their faces was absolutely priceless. It reminded me of

growing up in northern Wisconsin, putting on my skates, and heading out to the frozen

lake, my dad’s hand in mine. Some of these kids were impressive, with their speed and

agilityonskates—again,remindingmeofyearswaylonggone.

Then there were the kids who needed their hands held; the kids who didn’t have

skates,butlovedsteppingontheveryicetheiridolsplayedon.

It was a time to forget whatever the hell happened on the ice—such as a loss, like

today’sgamehadbeen—andrelivetheexcitementofbeingyoungagain.

“Noah!”IturnedmyattentionfromKolak,whoIwastalkingtoatcenterice,asour

booster club president’s daughter shuffled toward us, bright pink skates laced up on her

feet.“CanIskatewithyou?”

Whileitsoundedlikeaquestion,Iknewfive-year-oldJulietwell,andthereforeknew

whatshewasreallyasking.

Grinning wide, I leaned down to lift the girl up to sit on my shoulders, keeping her

handsinmyown.

TheBeloitEnforcers’boosterclubwaslikeanextendedfamily.Theyputonpre-game

lunches,post-gamedinners,and,alreadythisseason,hostedtwoevents,withanothertwo

ontheschedule.Thekidswereeverywheretheirparentswere,andassuch,theywerelike

honoraryniecesandnephewstoallusguys.

“Watchyourblades,”Itoldher,theusualwarningIgavebeforelookingtowardher

mother. I spotted Maryan, then nodded up in her direction once for the okay, which I

received.She’dbeenwatchingJuliet,heryoungest,whilecarryingonaconversationwith

Coach’swifeandfewotherboosterclubmembers,butnowturnedherfullattentiontothe

groupofthem.

“Youready?”Iasked,turningmyheadanotch.

Julietgiggledandgraspedmyhandsastightasshecould.

“One…Two…”

“Three!” she shrieked, just as I took off in a speed skate toward the other goal line,

coasting across the back before heading in the opposite direction. The entire time, her

sweetgiggleshadmegrinningwide.

Ihadanieceandtwonephews,butIdidn’tgettoseethemasoftenasI’dlike.These

post-skates,thesemomentswithkidslikeJuliet,mademenostalgicformyfamily.Juliet’s

gigglesremindedmeofmyniece,Kendall;mysisterNatalie’soldest.

JustasIwasslowingtoastop,readytodropJulietoffbyhermother,shesqueezed

myhands.“Onemoretime,please?Please,Noah?”

I chuckled, and couldn’t help but concede. “One more, Jules. You can’t hog all my

attention,”Ijoked,beforeheadingaroundtherinkonemoretime.Oncewecametoaslow

stop,Iliftedherbackovermyheadandputherdowntotheicegently,makingsureshe

wassteadyonherbladesbeforelettinggo.

“Don’t tease your brother,” I told her. The girl liked to hold these things over her

eight-year-oldbrother’shead…which,honestly?Crackedmeup.

She laughed, but whatever she said was lost on me as I moved my gaze toward the

players’tunnel,wheremyeyeslandedononeRyleighScott.

Like every time I’ve noticed her—and I caught myself noticing her more since that

non-note her friend passed along—she was in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt; nothing

fancy,nothingjawdropping,butitmadenodifference.

OnceIsawher,thatwasthat.

During the game, I became focused on little things that I’d see during my glances

backandovertowardherseat,glancesthatIwasn’tawareIwasdoing.ButthenI’dcatch

her smile, her small claps, her shouts, her laughs. And now? Now, I watched how she

smileddownatalittlegirl,whosehandwaswrappedtightinhers.

Whowasthegirl?

“Noah!”Julietcalled,stillstandingbymyfeet.

“Sorry,Jules,what’sup?”

“Justin’s sick,” she informed me, referring to her eight-year-old brother. “Can you

signsomethingforhimtomakehimfeelbetter?Hewassad,butdon’ttellhimthat.”

“Surething.Icandothat.”

Weskatedbacktowardhermomand,evenafterinsistencefromMaryanthatIreally

didn’thavetosignanything,thatJustinhadplentyofmemorabilia,Igrabbedagamepuck

andsigned it inthe silver markerI kept in thepocket of mysweats during theseskates,

adding on it that I wished him to get well soon. I handed it to Maryan, who smiled

graciously,beforeheadingbacktowardthemiddleoftheice.

…whereCadenPaynewasicedancing.

The man couldn’t dance to save his life, and there he was, center ice, doing some

sidewayslawnmowermove.Withachuckle,Islidtoastopinfrontofhim.

“Hey,whiteboy.Leavethedancingforthegirls.Oryourfiancée.”

Caden recently proposed to a country music star—who, to be completely honest,

couldn’tdanceeither,butthegirlhadpipesonher.That,andwithlegsfordays,whothe

hellcaredifsheserenadedinthemiddleofthestage,justrockingbackandforth?

“He’sterrible,right?”NickKolaksaid,asheslidtoastoprightnexttome,crossing

hisarmsoverhischestwithagrin.

“I’m better than you two,” Caden cut in. “You and your sprinkler, Nick, need to go

backtothesixties.”

“Thosearenotdancemoves,men,”Isaid,shakingmyhead.Iheldmyhandsoutin

frontofmeand,afterlookingaroundandmakingsuretherewerenolittleeyestargetedon

us,didaslowgrindwiththeimaginarywomaninfrontofme.

YouwouldbecorrectinthinkingthatIhadRyleigh’ssofthipsonthebrain.

ButIdidn’tsayit.

“How’s the blow-up doll enjoying these moves?” Caden grinned, his brows lifted

high,tohisbuzzedblondhead.

“Screwyou,”Ilaughed,absolutelyzeroheatinthejest,asIdroppedmyhandstomy

sides.

“So,aboutthatletter,”Nicksaidslowly,nudgingmewithhiselbowthreetimes.

Yeah.

I’dtoldthemaboutit.

These two and Teague were not only my roommates, but three of my best friends.

TeagueandIwentbacktocollege,butKolak,Paden,andIwereallinMolinelastseason.

WhenSanDiegoannouncedtheirfarmteamexpansionto Beloit, and we all learned we

wouldbeplayingtogether,ithadbeenpartycentral.

“Whataboutit?”Istuffedmyhandsinmypockets,myrighthandfidgetingwiththe

markerthere.

Nick looked back over my shoulder, nodding upward once. When he looked back

toward our group, Caden took the opportunity to lean over, looking past my shoulder, a

shit-eatinggrinplasteredonhisfaceatwhathesaw.And,eventhoughIhaditongood

authorityitwasRyleightheyweregoingonabout,Ilookedovermyshouldertoo.

Thereshewas,stillhand-in-handwiththelittlegirl,astheytalkedtoTeague,herside

towardus.

Luckybastard.

Nowthatshewashardlytwentyfeetaway,ItookinwhatIhadearlierthoughtwas

‘just’along-sleevedshirt.

Itwasabitmorethanthat.

Itwasdeepmaroonincolor,fallinglooselyjustbelowherhips,buthuggedherchest

far better. Ryleigh Scott was probably average high and build by today’s standards. She

had a sweet hour-glass figure that wasn’t usually evident in the baggy sweatshirts she

seemedtoprefer,butwasabsolutelyputondisplaytoday.

BeforeIcouldsportwood,Iturnedbacktowardmyboys,butnotquitefastenoughto

missherquickglanceoverhershoulder,herblueeyeslockingwithmineforafractionof

asecond.

Iclearedmythroat.“Whatofit?”

Nick barked a quick laugh. “Why don’t you just talk to her? You two make eyes at

eachotherallthedamntime.”

Cadennodded,grinningfromeartoear.“Myfavoriteisduringwarmups.Dude,you

usedtostretchonthatsideoftheice,”hesaid,pointingtowardourbench,“butnow,you

stretchovertheresoyoucanwatchherwhileyou’redowninabutterflystretch.It’ssad,

man.”

Butterfly stretches were great for the groin, but they also could make a horny man

thinkofotherthingstobedoinginthatposition…andnowthatCadenputthethoughtin

myhead,Icouldn’tstopitfromfullyforming.

“Heynow,”Isaid,tryinghardtoreroutethedirectionofmythoughts.Iputmyhands

upand,reallyneedingtodivertfromtheconversation,startedtoslowlyskatebackward.

“I’mfiguringoutthebestmove.”

Whichwasapartialtruth.Ireallywasn’tsureifIshouldevenmake a move. I kept

tryingtotellmyselfIdidn’thavetime,butdamn,Iwasintriguedbythegirl.

“Sure,man.Sure,”Cadensaid,acockygrinonhisface.

With a sly middle finger salute in front of me, I turned to skate away, and while

Ryleighneverturned,thelittlegirlwhowaswithher,did.Whenshewaved,Iwavedright

back.

Cutekid.

Onemorelaparoundtheice,andIheadedtowardthelockers.

ThinkingbacktotheearlierthoughtofwhetheramoveonRyleighwasworthit…

WhenawomancaughtyourattentionasmuchasRyleighScottdid?Shewasprobably

worthit.

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starting to set. It wouldn’t be long before one of my kids came down to

bringmebackintothehouse.

WhenIcameouthere,thirty,sixtyminutesago,nooneaskedmetostay.

Ithadbeenalongday.

We may have laid my Ryleigh to rest nine days ago. We may have barely made it

throughChristmasandJonny’sbirthday.

Buttodayhadbeenthelongestofthemall.

RyleighlovedNewYear’sDay.Somethingaboutfreshbeginnings.So,atthecrackof

dawn,Igotupandtriedtoexperienceherday…onlythisyear,withouther.Iwatchedthe

sun rise behind the house. I listened for my grandkids to start rustling around as their

parentsfoughttheneedtosleep.

As a family, we did breakfast and coffee. The grandkids made snow forts and snow

angels,whilethebigkidspouredoverpicturealbumsandmemories.

Somanymemories…

Ithoughtaboutourbeginning;how,otherthanhernote,we’dbeenthrusttogetherby

themeddlersinourlives.

Ryleighmayhavewrittenthenote.Shemayhaveallowedherfriendtotakethenote.

Butshealwayssworethatshedidn’tactuallythinkSavannahwouldgivemethenote.

Savannah and Ryleigh’s friendship was much more than just friends. The little girl

whowasoftenhangingoutwithRyleigh?Savannah’sdaughter,Sage.

SageandSavannahwereupinthehousenow.LikeTeagueKetterhagenwasabrother

tome,SavannahwasasistertoRyleigh.

ThentherewasJasonThompson.

Ishookmyhead,thinkingabouthimagain.

Ihadn’tseenhiminyears,butunfortunately…

He had a younger brother—much younger—who, in small worlds of small worlds,

marriedmyniece,Kendall.

AsmuchasIhatedtheguythatfirstseason,Icouldn’tgetawayfromhim.

Buthe’dhadawayofpushingRyleighandmetogether.

NotthatI’devergivehimthecredit.

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digholidayparties.

Ididn’tmindtheboosterclubparties—theonesheldatthebowlingalleyorwherever

—butholidaypartieswerestuffier.Wewereexpectedtowearourpre-awaygameattire,

andassomeonewhopreferredhissweatsandskates,slacks,button-downs,andtieswere

notmyfavorite.

Thankfully,Coachandtheclubwereallowingustoditchthetiesandsportcoats.Ifit

wereaholidaypartyjustamongtheteam,noneofthiswouldberequired,butbecauseit

wasapartyforourfans,wewereexpectedtoputonashow.

Iwasmessy-spikingmynormallymessyhair—Iwaslowmaintenancethatway—in

thehalf-bathroomofthehousetheboysandIwererenting,whenJasonThompsoncame

barrelingintotheapartmentthroughthedooracrossthehall.Dudedidn’tevenliveinthis

complex,sowhatthehellhewasdoingherewasbeyondme.He’dhavehadtodrivepast

thehotelwherethisshindigwasbeingheld,togethere.

Ileanedoutthebathroomdoor,watchingastherookmovedintothekitchen,where

hegrabbedwhatIassumedwasoneofmybeers,toshoottheshitwithCaden.

Rook didn’t care for Caden’s big-name brews, and often gravitated toward my local

microbreweryones.

I was going to make him start paying, the shit; they weren’t cheap. Caden’s

Milwaukee’s“Beast”wasfareasieronthewallet.

I stepped back into the bathroom to finish my hair and wash my hands, and when I

headedintothekitchen,Jasonwasalreadygone.

Sureenough,asthebottleonthecounterwasanindication,thefuckertookoneofmy

beers—andonlydrankaquarterofit.

“He’sgoingtostartpaying,”Ithreatened,whichonlysentCadenintoadeeplaugh.

“You’llforgivehim.”TherewassomethingaboutthewayCadensaiditthathadme

pausing,butthenpushingpastitandignoringthethought.

“Thatshit’sexpensive.”Icouldaffordit,butstill.Respect.

“It’safallbeer,Press;they’vemovedontotheirwinterlagers.”

“Allthemorereasontosavorthem.”

“Whatever.Youdoneinthebathroom,Beauty?You’resuchafuckinggirl.”

Igrinnedcrookedly,givingmyfriendthemiddlefinger.“Hey,now,someofusliketo

lookgood.”Iranmyhandsdownmylightbluedressshirt,thentuckedmyhandsinthe

pocketsofmybrownslacks.Withashrugandagrin,Iadded,“Can’thelpthatI’mpretty.

Youshouldprobablystopbreakingyournose.”

“Carodigstheruggedness.”

“When is she due back, anyway?” Caroline Leigh, country superstar sensation, was

headlining a West coast tour. When it wasn’t hockey season, and she wasn’t on tour,

CadenandCarolinelivedinNashville—justlikeeveryoneofherclosestcountrycrooning

BFFs.IlikedtogiveCadenshitaboutit.Hewasthefurthestthingfromacowboy.

“She’llbeintownnextMonday,andwe’llheaddowntoherfamilyforThanksgiving

Thursdaymorning.”

Shit, I hadn’t even considered that Thanksgiving was coming up. I wasn’t entirely

surewhatIwasgoingtodowithourbigthirty-sixhoursofffromthegame.Thankfully,

myfamilywasonlysixhoursnorth,soIcouldprobablymakethatwork.

“Youmakeplansfortheholiday?YouhangingwithTeague?”

Ishookmyhead,movingtodumpJason’sbasicallyuntouchedbeer.“Nothingyet.We

gotaweek.”

“Yeah.Hardly.We’vegotfivedays.”

MylipskickeduptotheleftandInodded.“Yeah.Plentyoftime.”

“Well,” Caden said, pushing away from the counter, “what we don’t have plenty of

time for, is getting down to the party. We’re going to be fashionably late, so it’s a good

thingyouputonyourmakeup.”Then,hetossedmytruckkeysatme.“Youmaybethe

lady,butyou’redriving.”

***

Frommyspotatthebanquethallbar,IwatchedasJasonfuckingThompsonwalkedinto

theroomwithRyleighScottonhisarm.

Whattheever-loving-fuck?

Ishookmyhead,abadtasteonmytongue,eventhoughI’dbeenexpectingthisvery

moment. On the drive over, Caden slipped that Jason stopped over to inform him, us—

me?—thathewaspickingupRyleighwho,funnystory,livedinthesamecomplexthatwe

did.

IliftedthelongneckbottleofLeinenkugeltomylipsandwatchedthetwoofthemas

theycrossedthefloor.Shelookedlikeshefeltbothoutofplaceanduncomfortable,but

shecertainlylookedgood,wearingalittleblackdresswiththickstrapsoverhershoulders,

andacriss-crossactiongoingonoverhermiddle.Onherarm,asweaterwasdrapedand,

asmuchasIfuckinghatedhimforbringingher,IcursedJasonformakinghercarryit.

Beyondthat,though,shelookedrealfuckingcozybyJason’sside.

Allsortsofshitstartedtoracethroughmyhead.Shesaidshewasn’tapuckbunny,

andasmuchasIbelieveditatfirst,hereshewas,withaguywhowasn’ttherecipientof

hernote.

Shelooksuncomfortable.

ShewasherewithJason.

Ishookmyheadandtriedtoturnbacktothebar.Itwasn’tlikeshecameoutandtold

meshewaslookingtoscrewmeandnooneelseontheteam.Maybetheshynesswasjust

an act. Maybe she was looking for a stepping stone, and Jason presented the perfect

opportunity.

Maybe…

“Who’sthegirlwithThompson?”Nicksaid,pullingmebackintotheconversationhe

washavingwithKyleConnor.“Isn’tthatyourRyleigh?”

“Not my anything,” I said shortly, taking another drag from my beer and forcing

myselfnottolookatthemagain.“Butyeah,that’sher.”

Whatthehellwasshetryingtodo?Thelongerthisplayedout,evenasshortofatime

asithadbeen,themoreitwasbotheringme. HereI’dbeen, tryingtofigure outhowto

possiblyrespondtohernote,tryingtofindawaytobreachhershyguard,andthereshe

was.

Notonmyarm.

ButonJasonfuckingThompson’s.

“Whatisshe,like,eighteen?”Nickasked,withasquinttohiseyes.Hemustnothave

gottenthatgreatofalookatherbefore,ifhewasonlyseeingheryoungerfeaturesnow.

“Twenty-three.”Butitwasn’tmewhoanswered.

I swung my gaze to Kyle. “How the fuck do you know that?” It came out a little…

harsher…thanIthoughtitwould.

Theguyjustshrugged,notatallputoffbymytone.“JaceandIbumpedintoherat

themalltheotherday.Thenheinvitedherhere.Shesaidyes.”

With a short, slow nod, I turned my body back to the bar, away from Jason and

Ryleigh.Sobeit.Ireallywasjustasteppingstone,itwouldseem.Ifshewantedtherook,

goodforher.

“Why?”Kyleaskedme.“Youhaveathingforhertoo?”

Nickbarkedoutalaughbutbeforehecouldsayanything,Ishookmyhead,bringing

mybeertomymouthonceagain.“Nope.”

Notanymore.

Somethingsdiedfast.

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Itriedtoignoreher,anddamndidItry,itwashardformetonotfindherin

thecrowd.I’dbeengettingsettoleave,annoyedwithmyself,whenIwatchedaplastered

RyleighwalkoutoftheballroomwithJason.

AndI.

Saw.

Red.

Ihadnoreasontobepissed;noneatall.I’dseenthegirlahandful-plustimessince

her note. If I’d wanted to do something about it, if I’d wanted to make a move, I’d had

opportunities.

Ijustchosenotto.

ToldmyselfIwasfiguringoutawaytobroachthesubject.

Inreality?MaybeI’dbeenchicken-shit.

Soreally,itwasmyowndamnfaultthatIwasfuckingjealousoftherook.Hesawher

one-on-oneawayfromthearena.Hehadabonafideconversationwithher.

Hecouldhaveher.

Butfuck,ifIwasn’tfeelingalittlebitpossessiveoverher.

“Thatgamelastweek!Itwasamazing,”afanwastellingCadenandI.OnceIheard

Ryleighgiggling,I’dbeenhavingahardtimefocusingontheconversationathand.Thank

fuck,Cadenwasontopofit.

“Itwasagoodchange,”Cadenoffered,andInodded.

“Weneededit,”Imanagedtoadd,tryingtobeanactiveparticipant.“Justaddsome

testosterone and fists, and the game changes.” I forced my signature cocky grin into the

mix, which flashed a dimple. A dimple I’d been told made the cockiness slightly

charming. My eyes flickered toward the exit, hoping for…I don’t know. Maybe for

Ryleightocomebackthrough,butitwasn’thappening.

Ididn’thearthelastoftheconversation,butafterthefanwalkedaway,Cadenbusted

outahugegrin.“Man,you’regrowling.”

Frowning,Ishookmyhead.“Idon’tgrowl.”

Cadenlaughed,noddinghishead.“Youreallywere.Ithinkyouscaredofftheman.”

Henoddedhisheadinthedirectionthetwofanswalkedoffin.“Youdidn’tnoticethelook

theygaveyou?”

“Nope. Look, I’m going to head out,” I said, before he could cut in. “You coming

with,oryougonnafindawayback?”

Myroommatewasstillgrinning.“I’llgetawayback,don’tworryaboutit.”

Weslappedhandsandbacks,butbeforeIcouldheadout,mynamewascalled.

Bythefuckingrook.

Thistime,Inoticedmygrowlbutstill,Iturnedinhisdirection.“What?”Isnapped.

JasonThompsonwalkedovertome,fuckingcock-eatinggrinalloverhisface,ashe

handedmeacard.“Thisisforyou.”

Isnatcheditfromhim,glaring.“Why?”

“Yourgirlissafeandsound—”

“Notmygirl.”

“And sleeping off a bit of a tipsy episode. She’ll need a ride home. Lucky you, she

livesinyourapartmentcommunity.”

Ihadathousandthingstoaskhim;instead,Isettledon,“Whatareyouupto,rook?”

“Notadamnthing.Callmeyourfairygodmother,ifyou’vegottaputatitleonit.Girl

likesyou.Youmakeeyesather.”Heshrugged.“LikeIsaid,fairygodmother.”

Istillwasn’tfollowing,butIcouldn’tgetthe‘girllikesyou’outofmyhead.

Shecamewithhim.Shecameherewithhim.

“Unlike some people, I don’t take advantage of unwilling women,” I said instead,

holdingthekeycardbacktohim.

“I did no such thing.” He pushed my hand back at me and, cocky grin on his face,

said,“Puck’sinyourzone,man.”

***

Iwasn’tsurewhythehellJasonputherinahotelroomifIwassupposedtobetakingher

home.Didsheknowthat?Didsheknowshewasstuckdrivinghomewithme?

Andhowthehelldidn’tIknowshelivedsoclosetome?

IshouldhavefoughtJasonharder.Icouldn’tbetheguytodriveherhome.

Stillthough,Ifoundmyselfinherroom.

Whereshewassleeping.

Ishouldshakeherawake.TellherIwastakingherhome.

ButIdidn’t.Likeapsychopath,Iwatchedhersleep,fromanarmchairacrossfrom

thebed,forwhathadtobetwohours.

Adrenalinehadkeptmeawake,butslowly,myeyesstartedtogrowheavy.Justasmy

lids fell closed, a soft sigh from the bed pulled me back to attention. My eyes landed

quicklyonthebodycompletelycovered,headtotoe,inamassofsheetsandblankets.

Leave.Leavethisroom,pretenditneverhappened.Putthekeycarddown.Jasonwas

fuckingcrazytogiveittoyou.Tellhimtogiveheraridehome.

Islouchedintheseat.

She’sgoingtowakeup.You’regoingtoscareher.Leavetheroom.

ShecametothispartywithJason.Shecameuphere,withJason.

Jasonwasbackintheballroombeforeanythingcouldhavehappened.Therewasno

fuckingwaytheydidanythingotherthanhimputtinghertobed.

Ryleighshifted,herlegskickingdowntheblanketssoherupperbodywasexposed.

Shelayonherstomach,andwasstillinherdress,thetopofwhichtwistedinawaythat

the gentle swell of her breast was fighting to be freed from the side. My cock twitched

undermyslacks.

Fuck.

You need to have a talk with Jason. See what his endgame is. Yeah. Do that. Right

now.Standup.Leavetheroom.Before…

Ryleighsighedagain,butthistime,italmostsoundedtobeinpain.

Yeah.I’msureherheadiskillingher.

Sherolledtoherbackthenand—Iwasabastard—Ikeptmyeyesonthetopofher

dresswhereittuggedandpulled,herbreastnearlyspillingoutforsurenow.

Icouldn’tstayhereandnotsayanything.Iclearedmythroat,beforeleaningforward,

bracingmyforearmsonmyknees,waitingforhertosaysomething,dosomething.

Shedidn’t.

“Ryleigh,”Isaid,hernameonmytongue,directedtowardher,doingfunnythingsto

me.Itriedtofocusonthatandnotthefactthat,aftercallinghername,herbodystiffened

—andnotinthesamewayminehad.

Iwasatwarwithmyself.Thiswaswrong.Ishouldn’tbehere.Shehadn’tgivenme

permissiontobehere.Ifshehadwantedmehere,she’dhavecometomeduringtheparty,

beforeshe’dgottenplastered.Shedidn’tknowme.Ididn’tknowher.

I’mfuckingcertifiable.

Ryleighsatupthen,pullingthecoversuptoherchinasshestaredatmeacrossthe

room,inthesemi-dark.Shelooked…

I couldn’t say terrified was the right word, but she certainly looked more at unease

thanI’devernoticedonherbefore.

“So,”Isaid,tryinghardtokeepmymad.

Holdontothejealousy.

Ineededtobeaprick.Ihadto,soIdidn’tfocusonthefactthatIwasabsolutelythe

oneinthewrongatthemoment.“YouandJason,huh?”Yeah.FocusingonherandJason

wastherightcourseofactioninthismoment.

“What?”hervoicesqueakedout.

“I’mabitconfused,isall,”Iadmittedgruffly,stilltryingdamnhardtoholdontothe

jealousy.Shejustlookedso…

Good.

Shelookedreallyfuckinggood.

AndIwantedhermoreinthatmomentthanI’drealizedbefore.

ShecameupwithJason.

“You seem like this shy person. I decided, yeah, I’ll see what she’s about. I was

workingonit,”Iadded.“Iwasgoingtofigureoutawaytotalktoyou.Butthenyoushow

uptothisthingwithJace?”Ichuckledhumorlessly.“Joke’sonme,right?”

“Excuse me?” she managed to cut in. My eyes dropped to her mouth as her lips

moved.I’dhopedthatitwouldbeabetterplacetolookthanherhair,rumbledwildfrom

sleep,orhereyes,waryfrombothmybeinghere,andfromtherestlesssleepsheseemed

tohavebeenin.

Iwasafuckingsicko.Mycockwasenjoyingthisshow,whileatthesametime,my

head was warring with the fact I was in the wrong place. You should have just left the

keycard,asshole.

But, like my grinding playing style, once I made the asshole move, I had to follow

through.Youmakeonecomment,youfollowthrough,whetherthatwasbyplaying hard

andinthecorners,havingwordswithplayersandfollowingupwithfists,orbybeingthe

assholeI’dmanagedtomakemyselfrightnow.

So, I kept with the asshole role. “So, after a few drinks, loosening up on the dance

floor,youandJasonmadeyourwayuphere.Hadyourownparty,didyou?”Iasked,even

thoughIknewitwasn’ttrue.

Fuckmeandmymouth.

But,ofcourse,Ikept it running. “Contrary to what you want to believe, that would

makeyoua‘puckbunny,jerseychaser,whathaveyou’,”Iadded,usingherwordsfrom

thenote.

God,howIwantedhertocorrectme,provemewrong…anything.

She didn’t, though, and that was when I convinced myself that whatever I thought

wouldhappenafterthatfuckingnote?Itwasapipedream.

TheenergyIspenttryingtofigureouthowtogettothisgirl?Nothing.Wasn’tworth

it.

Iwasjustaguyonherradar,theoneshemadehernon-moveon.

Istoodthen,droppingthekeycardattheendofherbed,notrealizingI’dbeenflicking

it between my fingers while I stared her down. “I’m your ride home, princess. And

becauseIdon’tplanonstayingatthisplace,youshouldgetyourprettyassoutofbedand

readytogo.”Imovedtowardthedoor,buthervoicestoppedme.

“Youreadthenote?”Therewasahintofconfusionandembarrassmentinthetone.

“Suredid.”Thewordswerehardandstatedmatter-of-factly.

“B-but,”shestammered,“guysdon’treadnotes!”

Icrossedmyarms,leaningbackagainstthedoor,tryingtolookfarmorecasualthanI

was feeling. All the conflicting emotions in my head… “I had nothing better to do,” I

answered,cursingmyassholemouth.Fuck,onceIstartedit,therereallywasnostopping

it.“Neededagoodlaugh.”

“Youdon’tlooklikeyou’relaughing.”

Heranswerwassarcastic,soIgavehermyowndoseofsarcasm.“Ha.”Ilickedmy

lips.“Ha,ha.”

Shestaredatmefromacrosstheroombeforesqueezingthoseblueeyesshut.Opening

them again, she pushed herself from the bed and pulled her dress back in place. I tried

reallyfuckinghardnottogulp,totryandkeepthecool,calmpersonaIwasportraying.

Tryingtoportray.

Iwatched,entranced,asshewalkedtowardme.

Hereyesweren’tonme,butatthegroundnearmyfeet.Assheneared,shebentdown

to where I now saw her purse sat, and pulled out a bottle of little burnt-orange pills.

Ibuprofen. She shook three out, stood, and moved closer, closer, closer…and turned

towardtheopenbathroomtomyleft.Withherhandcupped,shetossedbackthepillsand

ahandfulofwaterbeforeturningtowardme.

Thoseblueeyesofherswerecompletelyfixedonmenow.

Thisclose,Icouldseetheywereagorgeousblue,too.Bright,likethesummerskyup

north.FlecksofruddybluethatremindedmeofthefrozenlakeIgrewupon.

I cleared my throat, fighting again to keep that hardness in my face—and not down

belowmybelt.

“One,” she started, moving until we were nearly toe to toe. She stood a good foot

belowmeandwithherchinangledup,Icouldseeafiercenessinherfacethatdidthings

tome.

Thiswasn’tagirlwhowouldbackdown.

Shemayhavehadahardtimemakingamove,butonceamovewasmade…

Shit. I knew, I could fucking feel, that everything was going to change in this very

moment.

“I am not, nor will I ever be, a puck bunny.” The blues of her eyes were misty and

fuck,buttherewasaslightsheentothem.Shewasgoingtocry.

But then, instead of breaking down to do just that, she raised her voice up a notch.

How she could with a headache, was beyond me—and if her pupils were an indication,

shedidindeedhaveaheadache.“WhoIdecidetosleepwithisnoneofyourbusiness.IfI

decidedthatbecauseJasonwasagentlemanandagoodguy, I wanted to be with him, I

couldbe.But,becauseyou’vedecidedtomakethisyourbusiness,letmetellyou.Ihave

nodesiretosleepwithanyofyoubullheadedhockeyplayers.

“You are in the wrong, Noah Prescott. How the hell do you get off coming into my

room,andthenaccusingmeofsomethingI’mnotguiltyof?Ididn’tgiveyoupermission

to be here. But because you’re here and accusing me of something, how about this? I

didn’twanttobehere.Iwasn’tgoingtocome.ButJasoninvitedmeand,quitefrankly,

I’m a people pleaser and couldn’t say no. Do you not think I’m not embarrassed that I

wroteyouafuckingnote,likesomemiddleschooler?Itwasamistake,Noah!Ishouldn’t

havewrittenit,itshouldn’thavegottentoyou.Andnowyou’rehere?Oh,let’sjustmake

ajokeoutofRyleigh.Whatwasityousaid?Oh,yeah.”Sheforcedachuckle,butIwas

lost.Sofuckinglosttoher.“Ha,”shesaid,mimickingmyearlierdrytone.“Ha,ha.”

Thosemuddyspecksinhereyesdarkenedinherrant,makingthebluesastormygrey.

Asshewentoffonme,ashervoicerosewithanger,herlipswouldpuckerduringwords

theyshouldn’tpuckerfor;wordslike,going,pleaser,no.

Ihadtopullmylipsin,asIfeltthemreachingout.Itwasfuckingcrazy.

Iwantedtotakeherinmyarmsandkissthoselipssenseless.

Certifiable,Itellyou.

And fucking guilty as hell for being in here. I should have left. I shouldn’t have let

Jasonbaitme.

FuckJason.

“Besides,youhaveagirlfriend!”shesaid,pullingmefrommythoughts.

Ifrowned.“Huh?”

“Ihadnorighttogiveyouthenote.AndIwasnosy.I’msorry.IaskedJasonifyou

had a girlfriend. It didn’t warrant an answer, but I got one. I’m just a nobody, and you?

You,NoahPrescott,aregoingtobeasomebody.So,justforgetaboutmeandthatdamned

note.”

Sherubbedahandoverherforeheadandturnedaway.

“Shit,”Iheardhermumble,butIcouldn’tletthisgo.

“Newsflash,”Imanagedtobiteout,“butthereisnogirlfriend.Idon’tknowwhatthe

hellgameJasonisplaying,butthereisnogirl.Asforthenote?I’llforgetitassoonasyou

changeyourseatsatthegame.”

Ryleighturnedaround,thefrownbackonherface.“HowdoyouknowwhereIsit?”

“Ryleigh.”Hernamecameoutwithahintofdryness.“Yousitinthesameseat,every

game. There’ve been countless games since the note, including a few where you’ve

brought your friend who gave it to me. This bullheaded hockey player is where he’s at

becausehecantakenoteofasituation.”Andthatwasthetruth,thoughI’dneverbeenas

fixatedonasinglepersoninasituationbefore,priortoRyleigh.

ButIneededtoleave.IfIstayedanylonger,shewaseithergoingtocallsecurityon

myass,orI’ddosomethingneitherofuswasinthepropermindsetfor,becausefuck,I

wantedthiswoman.“Meetmeinthelobby.”

Before she could say anything, I turned and left her standing in the middle of her

room,confusionmarkingoverherbeautifulfeatures.

Youandmeboth,Ryles.

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Icouldsaymymemoryofthatmomentwasexaggerated.Thatitwasfalse.

Butthatwashowithappened.

Notmyfinestmoment.

IwishIcouldsaythatIeventuallycorneredJason.Ineverdid.Notreally.

IsighedheavilyintothechillyNewYear’sDayair,mybreathcloudinginfrontofmy

faceasIrememberedthehellIletthekidsendmethrough.

I mean, he’d been good for something. He was the one who gave me Ryleigh’s

number. He was the one that basically pushed me into doing something where she was

concerned.

HewasalsothereasonwhyIalmostlosteverythingwithher.

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dates, Ryleigh quickly became a fixture in my life. One month turned to

two,thentothree,andnowitwastheendoftheseason.I’dspenteveryavailablemoment

withthegirl,whoIlearnedwassweet,creative,andajoytobearound.

Shewasartsy—shewasworkingonopeningherownphotographystudio.

She was sweet—she rarely had a bad word to say about anyone, which made her

yellingandswearingatmethatearlymorninginlateNovember,thatmuchmorecomical.

Butequally,sheneverbabiedmymoods—whichdefinitelyhappenedwhenitcameto

badgame.

Infact,shedidjusttheopposite.

Ispentalotoftimeatherapartment,andifIcameoverafterashittygame,she’dgive

memyspaceforsometime,butthentrytotalkmedownfrommymoods.

Thewomanunderstoodthegame.Shecouldtalktomethroughplays.We’ddiscuss

thingsIdidandthingsIcouldhavedonedifferently.Itwasinteresting,tosaytheleast,to

havethattypeofsupportat‘home.’

Theapartmentthatmeandtheguyssharedwashardlyeverusedthesedays,notwith

Caden’s Caroline off tour, and both Nick and Teague’s women more than ready for the

nextstep.

Asforme,Icouldn’ttellyouhowmanynightsIsleptinmybedversusRyleigh’s,just

thatIwasinhersfarmoreoften.Shortlyafterwegottogether—thathotelroommoment

wasn’tmybest,butImayhavestillgoneinforthekissafterdroppingheroffthatnight;

thekissledtodinnerthenextnight,whicheventuallyleadtoawholelotmore—Ilearned

partofthereasonforherquietwayswasthewomanhadbeenavirgin.Thatfirsttime…

Icouldrememberveryvividlyhowshetriedtocoverherface,convincedthatifshe

couldn’tsee…

Shewasafuckinghoot.

Now, it was the end of the season and she was going to come to our end-of-season

banquetonmyarm,andIcouldn’tbemorefuckingexcited.

The last time the booster club put on a party, Ryleigh and Ihadnothingbetweenus

butanoteandafeweyelocks.Tonight,shewasmydate.

Mygirl.

WhenIgotbackfromthegym,walkingintoRyleigh’splacelikeitwasmyown,she

greetedmeasshealwaysdid—standingatthetopofherstairs.She’dalreadyshowered

andwaswearingnothingbutoneofmydressshirts,asfarasIcouldtell.Shegavemea

smilebeforemovingbacktothebathroom,whereIeasilyfollowedherto.

“GuessI’mnotwearingthatshirttonight?”Iasked,grinningfrombehindher.

Shestoppedatthebathroomsink,flashingmehersweetsmile.“Ithoughtthegreen

onewouldlookbetteronyou.”Sheshruggedhershoulder.“Itmatchesyoureyes.”

“Will my khakis be fine, or should I go grab some slacks?” I asked in a teasing

manner, moving to the dresser that I’d claimed as my own, to grab a pair of khakis

Ryleighhadironedandpressedthedaybefore.

“Shutup.”IcouldhearthelaughinhervoiceasIpulledthemout,thenwenttothe

closetforthegreendressshirt.Iwalkedwiththemovermyarm,backintothebathroom,

where I deposited them on the lid of the toilet. I started to peel myself from my gym

clothes,butmyattentionwassnaggedbyher.

Ryleighstoodonhertiptoes,lookingintohermakeupbag.

Ifinishedpullingoffmyclothes,butkeptlookingather.Iwantedher,andIknewshe

wanted me. The woman wasn’t immune to my naked body, and sure enough, her eyes

slippedovertome.

Only,shewasn’tasslyasshethought.

Ryleigh’sfaceblushedbrightpinkwhensherealizedshewascaught.

“Ican’thelpit!”shemutteredwithasmile.

Chuckling,Imovedtostandbehindher.Mycockwasn’ttofullattention,butitcould

get there quickly, and easily, enough. “I didn’t say anything,” I said, slipping my hands

aroundherwaistonlytodropdowntothebottomhemoftheshirt.

“What are you…” she started, but stopped when I dropped my lips to her shoulder.

WhatevershewasabouttosaywaslostwhenIgentlynibbledonherfavoritespot.

“I can’t help it,” I mimicked against her skin. She tipped her head further away,

allowingmemoreaccess.“Ryleigh?”

When she replied in what could only be passed as acknowledgement, I continued.

“Wedon’ttechnicallyhavetobethereontime.”

“Hmm?”

Inthemirror,Isawhereyesflutteropen.Myhandswerestilldownbythesoftnessof

her thighs. I hadn’t brushed them up under the shirt yet, so I used the opportunity to

squeezeherhipsgentlybeforeturninghertofaceme.Now,Islippedmyhandsbehindher

tograbherdeliciousass,coveredincottonpanties,andshebroughtherhandstomychest.

Ibenttowhisperinherear.“I’mgoingtotakeyou…Here,onthecounter.”

Shewoundherarmsaroundmyneck,hersmileimpish.“Ohyeah?”

“Mmm. Yes.” I hooked my fingers into the top of her panties and slowly slid them

down her thighs, bending at the knees to pull them off. She stepped out of them and,

beforestandingagain,Ipressedlovebitestoherthighs.

Hersighabovemehadmyhardeningcockshoottofull-mast.Ineededtobeinher.

Standing,Istartedtorummagethroughoneofthebathroomdrawers,theonewhere

occasionally condoms ended up after I emptied pockets, as I kept one hand on her. I

needed to touch her. Before I could dig through the next drawer though, Ryleigh placed

herhandonmyforearm.

“Iwentonthepill.”

Mygazewhippedovertomeethers,andmyeyessearchedherblueones.Thathadto

bethebestfuckingnews…“Yousure?”

Shenodded.“Iwanttofeelyou.Comehere,Noah.”

I wish I could say that first time bare inside her lasted, but it sure fucking didn’t. I

swoopedherup,placingherassonthecounter,andwasinherinseconds.Thesexwas

quickandalittleawkward—shewassurroundedbymakeupandhairproducts,myshaver

andcologne—butshit,it’dbeenfun.

SexwithRyleighwasalwaysfun.

Whetheritwasthetwoofusfuckingagainstthewall,ormakingloveonthebed,I

absolutelyalwayshadfunwithher.Ilaughedmorewhilemakinglovetoher,thanIever

didinthepastwithanyotherwoman.

Ryleighwasit.

Shewasmyperson.

Iknewitinmygut.

Afterwebothcame,Ihelpedheroutofmyshirtandreachedtoturnontheshower.

We had to wash the sex off—the smell was high and erotic, but with both of our cum

slippingdownRyleigh’sthighs?

Ihadtoturnoffthetrainofthoughtbeforeweweregoingforroundtwo.

Wedidn’tnecessarilyhavetobetothepartyontime,no,butwedidhavetomakeit

totheparty.Andrightnow?Iwasreallyclosetoplayinghooky.

“Ican’tgetmyhairwet,”shewarned,steppingintotheshowerbeforeIcould.“We

havethirtyminutesuntilthedinnerstarts.Inandout,Noah.”

Sheshouldhaveknownbetter,though.

EvenwithawarningfromRyleighaboutnofunnybusiness,soon,Iwaswrappedin

herwetheatagain,makinghershoutasherbackslippedagainstthewettiles.Andasfor

inandout?

Iwas.

Againandagain,untilwewerebothshoutingoutourreleases.

We finally emerged from the shower, thirty minutes later. Through it all, Ryleigh’s

hairmanagedtostayupinabunonherhead,whereitstayeddry,sopointsforme.

Wedressedtogether,andInearlycalledhookyagainatthesightofRyleigh’sdress.It

was a dark green number, and the back…shit, it left her back bare as it dipped lower,

lower,lower,torightabovetheswellofherass.

“Isitokay?”Ryleighasked,glancingoverhershouldertolookatherreflection.

“Fuckyes,it’sokay,”Imanagedtocroak.

***

Wegottotheparty—late,ofcourse.

“About time you two got here,” Teague joked, after I helped Ryleigh into her chair.

CarolinesattohisleftandsmiledacrosshimtoRyleigh,whowaved.

Imovedtositinmyownchair,theopenonetoTeague’sright,andchuckled,“You

knowwomenandgettingready.”

RyleighcoughedintoherhandandIlookedoverather.Hereyesweretearingup,and

herwaterglasswasinonehandwhiletheotherwasoverhermouth.

“Youokay,Ryles?”

Shenodded,blinkingandloweringherhands.“Yeah.Uh-huh.”Then,sheraisedher

browsatmeandliftedtwofingersinfrontofherface.

Becauseyep,wedidittwice.Wefuckedtwiceandthatwaswhywewerelate.

I grinned, but wasn’t about to admit that to my buddies. Instead, I leaned in and

claimed Ryleigh’s lips with mine in a quick, hard kiss. Her retaliation? She palmed my

dickthroughmypants.

Shewasasassyone.

AfterdinnerandCoach’sspeechaboutallofourteam’saccomplishments—wehada

major turnaround at the midpoint of the season, which allowed us to go into postseason

nextweek—Ryleighexcusedherselftogotothebathroom.Icouldn’thelpbutwatchafter

herasshewalkedaway.

“So,” came from my right and down sat Jason, into Ryleigh’s currently unoccupied

seat.TherookandIhadstayedondecentterms.Wewereteammates,butotherthanthat,

wedidn’ttalk.

HenevermentionedRyleigh.

Inevermentionedhiswholefairy-godmotherspiel.

“When’sthewedding?”heaskednow.

I’dforgottenhowmuchIhatedhismeddling.IhatedthathewasthereasonRyleigh

and I were thrust together—I should have been man enough to do it myself, not letting

somerookierunmylife.RyleighandIweregoodnow,sofuckinggood,butIdidn’tneed

thereminderofthiskidpushingittobe.

I shook my head, trying to ignore him, but the kid was insistent and kept asking.

Eventually growing agitated with him, I pushed away from the table, so frustrated with

thiskid’shandinmineandRyleigh’sbusiness.“There’snotgoingtobeawedding.”

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aboutitnow,butthosesevenwordssentmeonacourseIhadn’tbeen

expecting.Askarmaandlawswouldhaveit,Ryleighoverheard.

MyRyleigh…

She’dhadatemper,Ithoughtwithasadsmile.

Sheseemedsoputtogetherallthetime,butwhenshewashurt?Youknewit.

Muchlikeourkids.

Avery,withherpushingCJaway.

Porterwith…ThelaughwaspastmylipsbeforeIcouldstopit;itwasthefirstlaugh

I’dhadintwelvedays.PorterwasRyleigh’stemperallthetime.

Mykaela,Caleb,andMcKennahadmoremypersonality,butthentherewasJonny.

HehadRyleigh’squietness,butyoucouldalwaystelltherewasmorepassionlurking

underneath.

God,Iwishedmyboyhappiness.

And fuck, I wish his mom would be there to see it. She’d always been worried the

most about Jonny, and more than because he was one of our middle kids. Jonny held

things to his chest; he didn’t share when he was sad or hurt, and he often hid it with a

smile.

Justlikehismomwouldwhenhecouldn’tmakeithomeforholidays.

MyeyesburnedintothecoldairagainandIdidn’tbotherpushingthetearsback.

Fuck,Iwasgoingtomissher.

AfterRyleighleftmethenightoftheend-of-seasonbanquet,Ifoughtlikehelltoget

herback.

Ithadn’tbeeneasy.

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liketheplague.

Ididn’tknowhowshegothome,butIhadn’tbeenabletofindheratthebanquet,and

when I got back to the apartment, all my things were sitting in bags outside her door.

She’dmovedfast.

Neverdoubtawomanscorned…

Ididn’tforcemyselfintoherapartment.Idecidedtogiveheranightortwoofspace,

butthatprovedtobeyetanotherwrongmoveonmypart.Ondaythree,Iknockedonher

door.

Nothing.

Daysfour,five,andsix,allthesame.

Dayseven,Idecidedenoughwasenough,andtriedtousemykey.

Ryleighhadhadthelockschanged.

Oneweekturnedtotwo,andnotoncedidIseeher.Notatagame,notoutandabout

aroundtheapartmentcomplex,andthemoreIwentwithouther,themoreIrealizedspace

hadn’t been what she needed. I should have been a man, and confronted her and the

situation—both what I’d said out of my ass, but also regarding Jason—not letting doubt

andill-at-easerunourrelationship.

It had been damn near three months, the post season dwindling to a close, when

Nataliecalledme.“Youaboutreadytogetyourheadoutofyourass?”

IknewthatNatalieandRyleighhadgrownclose.OverChristmasbreak,I’dbrought

Ryleighuptothelakehouse,whereshemetthefamilyandbecamefastfriendswithmy

sister.IfanyoneknewwhatwasupwithRyleigh,IhopeditwasNatalie.

WhenIdidn’tanswer,shesaid,“YouandRyleighwereperfecttogether!”

“Were.Nowwe’renot,”Itoldher,eventhoughthewordswerestifftomyownears.

Itcouldn’tbeover…

Ithadbeentenweeks.

Itwasover.

“Youshouldtalktoher.”

Shewon’tlisten.I’vetried.I’vebeenthere.I’veknockedonherdoor.I’vecalledher

phone.

“Isawher,”Nataliecontinued.“Youshouldtalktoher,Noah.”

I’d told her I would try, and I’d started hatching up a plan. Once again, though, the

decisionwastakenoutofmyhands—thistime,byRyleighherself.

Itwasmybirthday.Bigol’quarterofacenturyold.Icouldn’tevenbehappyaboutit

though,becausethehockeyseasonwasover.Itwasmybirthday,Iwasapparentlysingle,

andwe’djustlostingamefouroftheCalderCupseries.

Therewouldbenomorehockeyformonthstocome.

Iwaspissed,sure;we’dbeensofuckingclosetowinning.Soclose.

Welostinthelasttensecondsofthegame.

I drove back to my mostly-empty apartment, working off a mad, but that quickly

evaporatedwhenIwalkedinside.

StandinginfrontofmeafterIclosedthedoor,wasRyleigh.

MyRyleigh.

TheoneIhadn’tseen,orheardfrom,inweeks.

Shestoodthere,worryingonherbottomlip,andallIwantedtodowaspullitfrom

betweenherteethandkisshersenseless.Theonlypersonwhoshouldhavebeennibbling

onthatfulllowerlipwasme.

“Ryleigh,”Imanagedtosay,myduffledroppingandhittingthefloorbymyfeetwith

athud.

“Hi.” She visibly swallowed, uncrossing her arms and shifting uneasily in her spot.

Sheworealoosetanktop.Itwasstartingtoneartheseventiesduringtheday,butwasstill

chillyatnight.Shewasgoingtogetcold.Iwasabouttoofferherasweatshirtwhenher

stumbled words continued. “I’m. Um.” She swallowed again and pointed to the door

behindme.“I’mjustgoingtogo.Youhaveasparekey.Um.Jason…”Shefidgetedagain.

“JasongotmeyourkeyandImadeacopy,andnowyouhaveaspare.It’sonthekitchen

counter.I’msorry.”

Iheardnoneofit.

Well,Idid,butIdidn’tcare.

Shewashere,butshewasleaving?

Ryleigh moved toward me, trying to leave, but I had to stop her. “Where are you

goingsofast?Weshouldtalk.”Itsoundedawkwardtomyownears,butIwasonuneven

ground with her right now. I screwed up. She overheard me spouting bullshit about not

gettingmarriedwhen,inreality,allIwantedtodowaschangehernametomine.

IwantedRyleighwithafiercenessI’dneverexperiencedbefore.

ButIknewifIletherwalkoutthatdoor…

Itwasdone.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “You had a rough night. Maybe

tomorrow.”

“I—”Butshedidn’tletmefinish.

Ryleighslippedrightpastme,leavingmealoneinmybig-assemptyapartment.

“Fuck.”Istartedafterher,gettingasfarasswingingthedooropenandcallingouther

name,butthenthehousephonewasringing,andtheoventimerwasgoingoff—whichleft

memomentarilyconfused—andIcouldn’tleavetheapartmentinthestatethatitwas.

ThephonestoppedbeforeIreachedit,andwhenIgottotheoven,thetimerwasat

zero,butnothingwasinside.Ilookedaroundthecounter,eventuallynoticingacakepan.

WhywasRyleighbakinginmyapartment?

Iwalkedoverandpeeredunderthefoil.

It was a brownie with the words Congrats & Happy Birthday piped out in blue

frosting,buttherewasachunkmissing.Didshereallyeatmybrownie?

There was something comical about the moment, but I was having a hard time

musteringupthelaugh.Instead,Iwenttoworkcleaningupthekitchen;notthatRyleigh

leftamess.Theonlythingsleftoverthatsaidshewashere,wasaboxfromthebrownie

mixandanunusednapkin.

AsIwenttotossthemintothegarbage,myworldstoppedspinning.

Ontop,wasthemissingpieceofbrownie.

And,inthesamebluepiping,therestofthebirthdaywishspelledout—

Daddy.

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nextday.

Iwasatthearena,packingupmyshitandgettingoldgeartogetherfortheequipment

sale,butbythetimeIgotback,amovingtruckwasparkedoutsideofherplace.Itwasas

ifsheplannedit,waitingformetobegoneandnotaroundtostopher.

I’drushedover,buttheonlypeopleinsideherplacewerefromthemovingcompany,

sayingthewomanhadleftalready.

Itwouldtakemedamnneartwoandahalfweeksofhoundingmysistertofindout

where Ryleigh had gone. As much as Natalie tried to get me to talk to her before my

birthday,sheclammeduptightrightafter,nodoubtduetosomethingRyleighhadsaid.

Mygirlreallywasthemoststubbornwomanontheplanet,butthenagain,IguessedI

was pretty damn stubborn myself. I kept letting myself get pushed back, further and

furtheraway,whenallIwantedtodowasreelherin.

Iwasdone.

IwasgoingtofightforwhatIwanted,andwhatIwantedwasinapint-sizepackage

that,Ieventuallylearned,movedtotheothersideoftown.

Tonightwasthenight.

If I didn’t manage to win this battle tonight, I wasn’t sure when I was going to get

anotherchance.Thingsweregoingtostartmovingfastinmylife,butIneededtoknowif

Ryleighwasgoingtobetherewithme,alongfortheride.

Iwaiteduntilclosingtime.

As the clock neared six, I parked my rocket-style bike in front of the store Natalie

gavemetheaddressto.

Throughthewindow,Icaughtsightofmygirl.

Exceptshelookeddifferent.

Itwasamazingwhatacoupleofweekscoulddo.

Gonewasherbrownhair;now,itwasagoldenhue.However,therewasnomistaking

thatwasmyRyleigh.

Iwalkedintothestorefront—aplacethathadasignannouncingStudio11’seventual

opening, which made my gut clench; it made my questions for her seem worthless of

asking—andheadedtowardthedesk,whereRyleighwasturnedawayfromme.Iwatched

asherbodygrewstiff;sheknewIwashere.

Sheknewitwasmeinherstore.

“We’re closed,” her voice came, not that she bothered turning around. Her words

sounded forced, and it gutted me. I hated that I’d put her in this position. That she’d

becomeclosedoff.Shewasmoreclosedoffnowthanshehadbeenwhenwemet.Then,

shewasshyonemoment,andapistolthenext.Now?Now,shewasbreakingmyheart.

“Thestudiodoesn’topenforanotherweek.Youcancallduringnormalbusinesshours.”

“Ryles,”Imanaged,takingahesitantstepinherdirection.“Weneedtotalk.”

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Ilookedawayfromthelake,hearingmyoldestdaughter’svoicecallingmefromthe

directionofthehouse.Itwasjustaswell.

Ryleigh and I had always seemed to need a push to get what we wanted from one

another,anditwasthedaughterwalkingdownthehillnowthatgaveusourfinalone.

“Hey,sweetheart.”

Mykaela Grace, who looked so much like her mother, moved to my side. She was

bundled in her snow gear, a wool blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “How are you

doing?”

I slipped my arm around her upper back, pulling her to me. I didn’t answer her,

though;instead,Iwassweptbackintomemories.MemorieswhereIbroughtRyleighback

tomyplacethatlastnight,whereshe’dtakenalookatmypackedandbareapartment,and

thoughtIwasmoving,leavingherandthebabyinherbellybehind.

ThenightItoldherIwantednothingmorethanforhertomovetoSanDiegowithme

—where,earlierintheday,I’dgottenwordI’dbeplayingthenextseason.I’dhelpfigure

outherstudiolease;Ijustdidn’twanttoleaveherbehind.I’dfinallygottenmyNHLcall-

up,butitmeantnothingtomeifIcouldn’thaveRyleighatmyside.

She’dcried.

I’dhuggedher.

Wetalkedaboutherbeingpregnantandwhatlifewouldbelikemovingforward.

…andthensheagreedtomovetoCaliforniawithme.

“Thelittlesarestartingtogodown,”Myketoldme,leaningintomyside.“Thought

you’dwanttocomeupandsaygoodnight.”

“I’llbeupinamoment.”

Mykenoddedandkissedmycheekbeforeheadingbackuptothehouse.

Thehousethatheldsomanymemories.

MemorieslikethatfirstChristmas.ItaughtRyleighhowtoiceskateonthisverylake.

Then, throughout the years, we’d come back. Eventually, my parents willed it to us

and it remained the home where we held family holidays and get-togethers. We came

everysummer,fromthesummerRyleighandImarried,throughthesummersixmonths

past.

This was essentially our summer home. I watched my kids grow up on this lake—

swimminginthesummers,skatinginthewinters.Iwatchedmyfamilygrowatthishouse

—theearliersummers,whenCalebbroughthisfirstson,thenhissecond…

IcouldrememberhisdaughterBriellerunningthroughthewater,thesummerbefore

shepassedaway.God,thathadonlybeenthreeyearsago.

Threeyearsago,wastheturningpointforourfamily.

First,welostBri.

Alittleoverayearlater,PorterwasawalkingdisasterafterAveryandAsher,hiswife,

weretakenbyAsher’sformerfosterfather.Asherdidn’tcomeoutoftheordealaswellas

Averydid,andittoremysonup.

Then,justbeforelastChristmas,Ryleighcametomewithtearsinhereyes…

It’scancer.

Itwasn’tsupposedtobeso.

I could remember her first cancer scare, but it was for a mole. The damn doctor’s

appointment that she’d gone to, without telling me, nearly broke us up. That was in the

firstfewmonthsofourrelationship.She’dbeenscared,andshetriedtopushmeaway.

Ithadbeennothing,butitwasthenshelearnedthatshecarriedthebreastcancergene.

Ryleigh’s family had a history of skin cancer, which was why the mole freaked her out,

but breast cancer wasn’t anywhere on her radar. So, to be proactive, she had a double

mastectomyshortlyafterPorterwasborn.

Shewasn’tsupposedtodiefromcancer.

Iwasn’tsupposedtolosemywife.

Aroarwasgrowinginmychest.Icouldn’tkeepitdown.Iwaspissed.

Iwasangry.

Iwashurt.

Iwasn’tsupposedtolosemywife.

Isanktomykneesinthesnow,myfacescreweduptight,notgivingadamnaboutthe

wetnessseepingintothedenimonmyknees.

Shewasonlysixty-one.Weshouldhavehadtwentymoreyears.Atleast.

ButIlosthertoadamndiseaseshetriedtokeepherselffrom.

Cancertookmybabygranddaughter,andthenittookmywife.

Whenwoulditend?

Whenwoulditbeenough?

I fisted my hands in the snow, and let the pain pour from my mouth, the sound

guttural.Myshouldersshook,andIletitout.

Icriedformywife.

Icriedformyfamily’sloss.

Icriedforme.

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backuptothehouseashortwhilelater,andwasgreetedbyTeague.

“Youokay,brother?”

Inodded,eventhoughIwasn’t.Thankfully,myfrienddidn’tpress.

Tonight, the house would be full. Everyone was staying over. My kids and their

families occupied the bedrooms that had always been theirs growing up, with everyone

elsetakingcouches,thebasement,andthespareroom.

My boys would have to leave for Minnesota—a Winter Classic game—early in the

morning;JonnyandPortertoplay,Calebtocoach.Therestofthefamilywouldbeafew

hoursbehindthem.

Onceuponatime,Ryleighmadeitarulethatifyouweren’tontheiceandyoudidn’t

haveagame,youweregoingtoshowuptoyoursibling’shockeygame,sothatwaswhat

wewouldallbedoingthenextday.

Allday,we’dbeenatthelakehouse.I’dbeenupheresinceChristmas,andmykids

andfamilystartedtofilterinlatelastnight,justintimetobringinthenewyearinRyleigh

fashion—withablazingbonfire,eventhoughtherewassnowontheground.Throughout

theday,therewerestoriesandfoodandgoodmemories.Butthedaywasnowcomingtoa

close.

Itwastheendofdayoneofyearonewithouther.

My boys could have gone straight to Minnesota. They could have stayed with the

team.ButmyboysneededtobehereasbadlyasIneededthemhere.Tomorrow,though…

Tomorrowtheywouldplayliketheyalwaysdid.

Hard,andwithheart.

Calebwouldstandbehindthebench,directingateamthatbroughthimupandmade

him the award-winning player he’d been. Jonny would tend a goal net that had terrified

himasakid.Itwouldn’tsurprisemethough,ifthiswashislastseasonplaying.

Porter,though…

Ithoughtmyyoungesthadafewmoreyearsinhim,barringakneehe’dinjuredtwo-

and-a-halfyearsago.Iwouldn’tputitpasthimtopushbeyondwhathisbodywouldlet

himbutthankfully,hiswifewasn’tonetolethimpushtoofar.

For being such a stubborn shit, he fell into his role with the Enforcers easily, and

although he’d had the opportunity to find a new team at the end of his first partial

season…

Hechosetostay.

Alsointhehousetonightwasmyson-in-law,Parker.I’dcoachedhimdowninBeloit

afewyearsback,buttomorrow,he’dbesuitinguponMinnesota’sbench.Whilehewasn’t

anEnforcer,Minnesotagavehimapardonfrombeingintowntheeveofagame,sohe

wasabletobeherewithhiswife,myMcKenna.

Thinkingofmykids,Ineededtobewiththem.

TeagueandImovedthroughthehouseandintothelargefamilyroom,wherealarge

picturewindowfacedthelake.Throughoutthefloorandcouches,weremyfamily.

Avery looked up from the couch and flashed me a small smile, moving over and

closertoherhusband,CJ,makingroomformetosit.

Forthenexthour,wesataroundthelivingroom,untilthelastofmygrandkidsfell

asleep—and surprisingly, not the oldest ones. Brandon, Caleb’s oldest, and Ella,

McKenna’soldest,werethefirstonesout,bothsprawledoutonthefloor.

Kidswereputintobedandforamoment,Ihadthecrushingfeelingthatthenightwas

over; that I’d have to go back to my room and face another night without Ryleigh, but

soonmykidswereback.

Then,wesataroundalittlelonger.

Tellingstoriesofmywife,thewayIrememberedher.

Mykidstellingstoriesabouttheirmom,andhowtheyrememberedher.

“Rememberthetime…”

“Whataboutwhen…”

Forhours,thestorieswentaround.StoriesofMykewearingmakeupatten,towhich

Ryleigh had just shook her head and told her to ask her father; of when Ryleigh and I

movedourbroodbacktoWisconsin,andthegrowingpainsCalebwentthroughthatfirst

year—growingpainsthatwerenothingliketheonesPortereventuallywentthrough.

“Myfavoritetime…”

Somanystories.Somanymemories.

Thereweretears,therewaslaughter…

Andintheend,therewaslove.

Thisroom,everyoneinthisroom,washerebecauseoftheloveofonewoman.

As badly as I was going to miss her—I couldn’t imagine the pain in my chest ever

lettingup—allIhadtodowastakeinthisroom.

Shewasinthefacesofmysixkids.

Shewasinthespiritsofallmygrandkids.

Andmorethanthat,shelivedoninourhearts.

Shemayhavebeengone,butshewouldneverbeforgotten.

***

ContinuereadingfortheoriginalFromtheBeginningepilogue(apersonalfavorite),as

wellasthefirsttwochaptersofbothInterferenceandPlaymakerDuet!

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Helovedcominghome.

Overthepasttenorsoyears,leavingthemhadbecomeharderandharder.Whatkept

himgoingthoughwastheknowledgehewouldbecominghome.

He’donlybeengoneaweekthistimeforanoutoftownpre-seasoncamp.

Thecalendaronhisfridgeathome,theonethatalwaysmanagedtogetsyncedinto

his phone, would tell him he was heading out of town again tomorrow. The calendar

wouldalsotellhimthecountdownuntilRyleigh’ssurgeryinOctober.

After talking with her doctor, and then discussing it with him late one night, she

decidedtogothroughwithabilateralsubcutaneousmastectomy.Therewasn’tanywayin

hellhewasn’tgoingtobehomeforherduringthattime.

ThiswashowheandRyleighlivedthepastelevenyears.He’dspentmoretimeonthe

roadthanhewouldhavelikedbutwhenevertheopportunitycametocomehome,evenif

itwerejustforafewhours,Noahwouldtakeit.

HeandRyleighstillhadtheirargumentsofcourse,butifanythingtheywerestronger

nowthaneverbefore.

Noahgrinnedasheclimbedoutofhisgood-for-the-milescar,leavinghisgamebagin

thebackforthetimebeing.Hehitthegaragedoorbuttontocloseasheenteredthedark

foyer.

HehadnewsforRyleigh.Sure,heprobablyshouldhavetalkeditoverwithherbefore

making a definite decision, but he knew Ryleigh well and didn’t think there’d be any

problems.

Thefirstthinghehearduponclosingthedoorwasgiggling.

HeglancedtothelargeRomannumeralclockRyleighleanedonthefireplacemantel.

The only light in the room was from the moon so while he wasn’t one hundred percent

sure,hewasprettypositivethetimereadtwo.

Inthemorning.

Hefollowedthegigglingtothebasementdoorandcrackeditopen.

Thelightwason.

Hetookthestepsdowntotheirfinishedbasement,butcalledhername.“Myke.”

Thegigglingceasedandjustashefinisheddescendingthestairs,hewasgreetedby

histen-year-old.

“Daddy!”Hisoldestrushedtohimandwrappedherarmsaroundhiswaist.

“Hi,Mr.Prescott,”camefromtheothergirls.Helookedaround,notingthefacesof

thethreeothers.ApparentlyMykewashavingasleepover.

Hegreetedeachgirlbynamebeforelookingdownathisdaughter.Afterrunninghis

handdownherlongblondehair,hetookagoodlookatherface.Wasthat…?

“Iknow,Iknow,”Mykesaid,theeyesthatmatchedhisownrolling.“Momsaidno,but

thensaidIhadtoaskyou,butItoldher,duh,you’dletmewearitbecauseI’magirl.”She

was referring to the stuff caked on her face. Her blush was heavy and her lipstick was

definitelythewrongcolor.AndwhoputonMimi-blueeyeshadowthesedays?Ifthiswas

goingtohappen,anddamn,itlookedlikeitwasstartingto,Ryleighwasgoingtohaveto

teachhertheartofsubtlety.“Just‘causeIplayhockeydoesn’tmeanI’mnotagirl.”

“Iknow,sweetheart,butyouneedtowashthatoff.”Shewasonlyten,forgoodness

sake.Shewasalsoadamngoodhockeyplayer,hethoughtproudly.

“Butda-ad.”

“MykaelaGrace.”

ThatwasenoughtomakeMykeover-exaggeratehersigh.“Fine.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “You guys should start to wrap it up. I

couldhearyouupstairsandit’slate.”

Myke and her friends said ok and after his daughter kissed him on the cheek, Noah

startedtoheadbackupstairs.

Onechilddown.

Heheadeduptothesecondlevelofthehouse,hittingthedimmerswitchtothemain

staircasewhenhemadeittothelanding.Nextstop,theboys’room.

Openingthefirstdoorontheleft,hethoughtforsurebothboyswouldbeup.Their

TVwason,thesoundoff,andthelatestgamingsystemwaslitup.However,neitherboy

wasplaying.

Noahsteppedintotheroomandnearlytrippedontheyoungerofthetwo.

Jonnywassixandhadatroublemakerstreakamilewide,buthewasalsohissweet

boy. Although he had Noah’s personality, he was Ryleigh everywhere else. He had her

blondhair,herblueeyes,herchin…

Scoopinghimuptobringhimbacktothebunkbeds,NoahnearlytrippedoverCaleb.

Theirsecondchildwasnineandnamedforhim.NoahCalebPrescott,Jr.

He was Noah’s carbon copy, and because of that, he could be quite the handful. He

excelledinhockeyandhadatonoffriends.

More female than male, which was something that would have to be talked about

soon,Noahwassure.

HesteppedoverCalebtoputJonnyinthebottombunk,runningahandthroughhis

boy’scurlyhair,beforeliftinghisnineyearoldoffthefloor.HeputCalebinthetopbunk

thenturnedtoshutofftheTVandgameconsole.Justwhenhethoughthe’dgounnoticed,

Jonnywhisperedintothenowdarkroom.“G’night,dad.”Hisboy’svoicewasheavywith

sleep,makingNoahsmile.

“Goodnight,JonJon,”hewhisperedback,closingtheirdoorbehindhim.

Childrentwoandthree.

The room across from the boys’ belonged to the princess of his clan, little miss

McKenna.

Whenheopenedthedoortohistwo-and-a-half-yearold’sroom,hefullyexpectedto

seeherinoneofherprincessgowns,tiaraandall,sleepingonthefloor.Whilehisthree

oldestplayedhockey,hewasn’tsosureitwasgoingtobeMcKenna’sthing.

Shewashislittlepriss;hislittlegirlwhorefusedtogetdirtonherselfandpreferredto

beontheiceonlyifshewereinhisorRyleigh’sarms.

AndhethoughtseeingMykeinmakeupwasascarythought.

McKennawasgoingtoownthatshit.Hecouldfeelit.

WatchinghisKennagrowupwasgoingtododisasterstohisheart.Hertwoyearold

selfhadhimwrappedaroundherfingersincethedayshewasborn.

Afteraquicklookaroundherroom,Noahrealizedshewasn’tthere.

Frowning,hesteppednextdoortothenursery.Thebabywasmissing,too.

Thatonlymeantonething.

Hefinishedwalkingthehall,goingtotheroomatthefarend.Pushingthedooropen,

he entered the room he and Ryleigh shared. The only light came from the lamp on

Ryleigh’ssideofthebed.

His beautiful wife looked up from her book and smiled slowly at him. “Hello,

stranger.”

Sheclosedherbookandsetitaside,noddingtotheendofthebedwherehisbrown

haired princess was curled up, princess dress on and tiara crooked in her curls. “She

wanted to stay up for you. I told her you wouldn’t be home until late, but she wasn’t

havingit.”

Noahchuckled.“Seemedlikeeveryonewaswaitingupformetonight.IfoundJonny

andCalebsleepingwiththeirvideogameon.”

Ryleighshookherhead.“Thoseboys.Itoldthemtosetatimer.”

“Where’sthebaby?”

Ratherthananswerhimwithwords,sheturnedherheadtowardhissideofthebed.

With Noah’s pillow propped to her back, four week old Avery Nicole lay bundled in a

floweredreceivingblanketonherside.Aswiththefourkidsbeforeher,Noahhadbeen

home for her birth. The only birth he almost missed was McKenna, who was born just

aftertheWinterOlympics.

That had been an intense flight home, praying he’d make it back in time and if he

didn’t,thatbothRyleighandthebabywouldbefine.

Leavinghomewasalwayshard,especiallyafteroneofthekidswereborn.Thenwas

probablythehardestparttoNoah.

HewalkedtothebedandsatbesideRyleigh’scrossedankles,grinningather.“Idid

good,”hesaidwithawink,referringtobabyAvery.

“Youalwaystakethecredit,”shesaidaroundalaugh.

“I’llgiveyoucreditforthefirstfour,ok?ItakeAvery.”

“How about you just take it for what it is, fifty-fifty for all five?” she offered.

“Becausethat’sreallyhowthishappened.”

Noahchuckledbeforestandingagain.HewenttotheheadofthebedtokissRyleigh

softly.Then,reachingoverher,hegentlypickeduphisyoungest,cradlinghertohischest.

“Ihavenewsforyou,”hetoldRyleighwhilelookingatthesleepingfacecuddledtohis

chest.

“Ohyoudo,doyou?”Ryleighlookedamused.

“Mmhm.Yeah.”Still,hekepthiseyesonAvery.“Idecidedtonotplaythisseason.”

Finally,helookedtohiswife.

Staring at him wide-eyed, Ryleigh whispered loudly, “Noah! You can’t just go to

campandthendecide,yeah,notgoingtodothisthisyear.”

“They’veknownsincetheendoflastseasonthiswasapossibility.”

Noahhadonlybeenplayingprofessionallyforthirteenyears,andcouldprobablyplay

anotherfiveifhewanted,butinhisheart,heknewhewasdone.Notwiththegame,but

doneplayingit.

“Areyousureit’swhatyouwanttodo?”TrustRyleightomakesurehethoughtofall

angleswherehiscareerwasconcerned.

“Ihavemorenews,”hetoldhergrinning.Hesatbackattheendofthebed,Averystill

inhisarms,andreachedouttogentlypullthetangledtiarafromMcKenna’shair.“They

offeredmetheheadcoachpositioninBeloit.”

She stared at Noah for what felt like a full minute before she answered. “As in

Wisconsin?”

Noahpressedonthough.“AndthehouseIwantedtoputanofferonsitsonanacreor

two.It’sbrick,”hestartedbeforecontinuingtodescribethedreamhouseRyleighhadon

thenorthsideoftown.

“My house?” Ryleigh stuttered. “Are you being serious right now?” she nearly

whispered.

Noahlookedather,asplittinggrinonhisface.“I’mbeingserious.”

“Areyoupositive,Noah?Areyousureit’swhatyouwant?”

“IcanalwayscomeoutofretirementifI’mitchingtoplay.ButIwanttospendtime

withyouandthekids.MykeandCalebaregrowinguptoofast;Idon’twanttolosethose

years,letalonetheyearsthislittleonestillhastoshowus.Bothofourfamiliesareout

there.Theyhaven’thadmuchtimeinthekids’lives.”

“You’vereallythoughtthisout,haven’tyou?”

“Didn’twanttogiveyouroomtosay‘no’,”Noahtoldhersheepishly.

Grinning, Ryleigh gave her answer. “Ok.” She nodded a few times before her grin

turnedserious.“Butweneedtomakesurethekidswillbeokwithit.Myke—“

“Needsnewfriends,”Noahinterrupted.“Crissy,Anna,andEmtalkedherintoputting

makeupon.Youletherputmakeupon.Damnneargavemeaheartattack.”

“I,”shesaid,pointingtoherself,“didnotallowhertoputiton.Itoldhersheneeded

to talk it over with you, daddy’s girl that she is. She thought you would say yes and

thereforediditanyway.”

“Maybe you should teach her how to put it on. The shit was caked on,” he said,

waving his hand over his face after making sure his slip didn’t wake either girl. It

sometimes took him a few hours to remove the locker room vocabulary from his mouth

whenhegothome.

“She’sten,Noah.Shecanwaitafewmoreyears.”

“I agree, but if her friends are wearing it, then she’s probably wearing it. God, we

can’tlethergotothatmiddleschooldancenextweekend.She’sgoingto—“

Ryleigh started to laugh at him. “Listen to yourself, Noah.” Ryleigh loved how he

wasn’t quite as laid back as he was in his late twenties, now that he was a father with

growing kids. “Anyway, before you so rudely interrupted me,” she teased. “Myke has

really deep friendships, and Caleb is at the top of his hockey league. Those aren’t little

thingstoforgetaboutwiththispotentialmove.”

“Wecandiscussitwiththeminthemorning.”

“Ok.”

“Did you feed Avery?” Noah’s eyes dipped to her chest. Part of the reason why

Ryleighkeptputtingoffhersurgerywassheenjoyedtheclosenessbreastfeedinggaveher

withthekids.ShewasgivingupmonthsofthatclosenesswithAveryinordertohavethe

proceduredone,butshewasapumpingmachine,sheoftensaidsoherself,andhadplenty

ofmilkinthedeepfreezer.

RyleighhadthoughtNoahfoundherfascinatingwhenshegotdressedupandputon

makeup. To a point, yes, he did, but true to what Joe had told him all those years ago,

nothingwouldtopmakingbabies,holdingtheirbabies,watchingtheirbabiesgrow.

Ok,theonlythingthattoppedthatfeelingwastheintensefearandpanicuponseeing

Ryleighonastepladder,ninemonthspregnant,andpaintingthenursery.Thathadbeena

heartattack.

WatchingRyleighwithMykeandCalebwasprobablyhowtheyendedupwiththree

more babies after them and, if Noah had his way, at least one more after Ryleigh was

healedup.

“I did,” Ryleigh answered. It took Noah a moment to remember the question. “She

finisheduprightbeforeyoucamein.”

Noahnodded.“I’llputthesetwotobed,then.Youthinkupanyargumentsyouhave

forthismove,butyouknowyouwantitasbadlyasIdo.”

ShesmiledasshewatchedhimwakeMcKennaup.Noahhelpedheroffthebedand

heldherhandastheylefttheroom,Averystillcradledtohischest.

NoahandhisbabygirlsfirststoppedinAvery’sroom,whereheplacedakisstoher

baldheadbeforeputtingherdowninhercrib.Hemadesureherteddieswereonthefar

end where she wouldn’t be able to roll into them, before turning on the gentle sound

maker.

HethenpickedupMcKenna,whowrappedherlegsaroundhiswaist,andmovedwith

hertoherpinkprincessroom.Noahgentlypulledthetiarafromherhairthenhelpedher

outofherdressandintoaTanglednightgown.Whenshecurledupinbed,hecoveredher

withherpinkandwhitelacecomforterandkissedherforehead.

“Night,babygirl.”

Shewasoutbeforeheevenlefttheroom.

Whenhere-enteredhisandRyleigh’sroom,shewassittingagainsttheheadboard,her

kneesdrawnuptoherchestandherglassesperchedontopofherhead.“SoItookyour

adviceandthoughtaboutit.”

Noahshuttheirbedroomdoor,hittingthelockjustincase,leaningintothedooruntil

heheardthesoftclickofitlatchingshut.Hespokeashemovedandundressed.“Couldbe

adangerousthing,youthinking.Itwasmorerhetorical.”

“Well,” she said, watching as he changed out of his gym clothes and into lounge

pants,commando.“Ijustdon’tthinkIcouldlivewithyoutwenty-fourseven,threesixty

four,Noah.I’vegottenusedtoyouleavingandall,youknow?”

He gathered his clothes and walked to their en-suite to deposit them in the hamper.

Aftertrekkingtothebed,heclimbedinbesideherandflippedoffthelamponhisside.“Is

thatso?”Leaningover,hepulledherglassesfromatopherheadandreachedtoputthem

onhernightstand,flippingoffherlamp.

“Oh, absolutely,” she answered, a grin in her voice. “I’ve been told I’m difficult to

livewith.”

Noahchuckled.“I’veheardthatbefore,Ithink.ButRyles?”Droppinghisarmfrom

hisreachsohishandrestedbesideherhip,himleaningintoher,hemovedcloserstillto

nibblealongherear.

“Noah,”sherepliedinalustfulwhisper.

Henippedherearbeforewhisperingdirectlyinit.“Ithinkyou’lldojustfine.”

Whenhemovedtokissherlips,heknewshewouldkisshimback.

Justasheknewshewouldsmileagainsthislips.

God,helovedthiswoman.

Whenshepulledbackslightly,hergrinwidened,“Wellifyouthinkso…”

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Y D N E Y

Afterastressfuldayofexams,Iwasreadyforaglassofchocolatewine.Whoeverdecided

toputchocolateandwinetogetherinoneglasswasafreakinggenius.

Iopenedthedoortomycozy,somewouldsayquaint,apartmentandtossedmykeys

in the bowl I kept on the table there. I quickly closed the door behind me, bolting and

chain-lockingit,beforehaphazardlydroppingmymessengerbagfrommyshouldertothe

floor.

I’dmoveitinalittlebit.Theonlythinginitwasnotesuponnotes,andthosepuppies

couldburn.Thatclasswasdone;finito,sayonara,adiossenior-yearmarketing.Justaset

ofgradesbetweenmeandadegree.

Theclasseswereabreeze.Iwasjusthavingahardtimenarrowingmyfinaldirection

down.I’vealwayswantedmyhandsineverything;fromweddingplanning,toadvertising,

andeventheatermanagement.

Couldn’tactworthadamn,butIlovedallthebehindthescenesstuff.

Last summer, I interned with a local wedding planner and had a blast. I definitely

could see myself in that business. Granted, I hadn’t experienced any bridezillas but I

certainly heard the stories. While that route seemed to be my direction, a classmate of

minetoldmeaboutapaidinternshiphewasdoingwithasemi-bigproductioncompany

anditleftmemorethanalittlecurious.

Perhapssomewouldcallmeanoverachiever.

IwouldsayIjustlikedtokeepbusy.

And because, you know, senior year classes and college graduation weren’t keeping

mebusyenough,ontopofmyjobatthecollegebookstore,mindyou,Iaskedformore

information.SonowIwasgettingmeagerlypaidtostudyundersometalentdirectorout

ofLA.Notabadgig,right?

Did I mention I live in Utah..? Yeah, Utah. Not California. So the logistics of this

understudy thing were a little wonky to me, but in the age of the internet and Skype

meetings,itseemedtobeworkingwell.

IessentiallyjustdidresearchforDavid,theguyIwasworkingunder.Hegavemea

name; I Googled the heck out of said person. He gave me a scripted location; I found a

waytomakeitcomealiveinsomeback-lotstudio—thatI’veneverbeento.

I was pretty sure that anything I emailed him was getting sent to the trash bin and

wheneverheappearedtobetakingnotesduringourSkypemeetings,hewasactuallyjust

doodling…Idon’tknow,carsorsomething…butIenjoyedthisdiggingintostuff.

MaybeIshouldhavegoneintointelligence…

Idigress.

It’sbeenafewdayssinceDavidlasttalkedtome.Hesaidhe’dhaveabiggerproject

formethenexttimewespoke,soImadesureallmyduckswereinarow,school-wise,

butthewayitwaslooking,Iwasgoingtohaveaweekendtoreadanythingthatwasn’ta

textbook.

OrmaybeIcouldgotoamovie.

Notthattherewasanythingout…

Aftertoeingoffmyballetflats,Iwalkedthroughmywhiteonwhiteapartmenttoward

thelittlekitchenette,pullingmylongredhairoffmyneckandintoahighmessytop-knot.

Igrabbedawineglassfromtherackbeforeopeningupmyfridgetograbthatdelectable

chocolatewineI’dbeenthinkingaboutsinceturninginmylastexam.JustasIwasabout

to pour though, the sound of Adam Levine singing about being locked away, in that

sexy…sexy…voiceofhis,brokethesilence,muffledasitwas.

Puttingboththeglassandbottledownonthecounter,Itreadedbacktomymessenger

bagtograbmycellfromthesidepocket.

Thebagmayhaveendedupbackonthefloorbythedoor.

LikeIsaid,I’dmoveitlater.Forbeingsuchanorganizedperson,Isurehadlittlecare

overmybag.ItwastheonethingItendedtotosswherever.

Glancing at the screen showed me David was calling. Looked like he was making

goodonthatso-called‘biggerproject’.IslidtheunlockbarovertoanswerthecallasI

fellontomycouch,surroundedbymygoldandbrownpillows.“Goodafternoon,David.

Howareyou?”

“Ihavethatassignmentforyou,”hesaid,cuttingstraighttothechase.

Isatupalittlestraighterfrommyseatonthecouchandtriednottogrin.Iwassuper

curiousastowhathemanagedtoputtogetherforastudentlikemyself.Itwasn’tlikeyou

neededadegreeforthisparticularfield,butifthisdidturnouttobetheavenueI’dpursue,

IwantedalltheknowledgeIcouldget.

Ialwayskeptanotebookandpenonthecoffeetableinfrontofmycouch.Ireached

forthem,narrowlymissingthetrioofcandlesthatalsosatthere.Icrossedonelegoverthe

other,clickingthepeninplaceandsecuringmycellbetweenmyshoulderandear.

“Ok,shoot.”

“I’m going to have you do some casting. Your research ability has been pretty

impressive,andI’dliketoseehowyoufarewithcasting.Obviously,thefinalcastingwill

gothroughme,butyoudogreatlegwork.”

“Alright,awesome.Whattypeofshowarewelookingat?”

“Datingshow.”

Andjustlikethat,mymega-wattgrinfadedalittle.

Oralot.Itwasn’tlikeIwaslookinginamirror.AdatingshowwasnotwhatIwas

goingfor.One,datingshowswereadimeadozenandasidefromtheonesthathadasolid

fanfollowing,theydidn’tdotoowellintheratings.Andtwo,theguysandgirlsonthese

showswereterriblyfake.

Whothehellfindsloveinafewweeks?Andwhowantstosharehermanwithfifty

thousandothergirls,astheysticktheirtonguesdownhisthroat?Certainlynotme.

No.Thank.You.

Davidcontinuedon,soIpaidattention,scribblingnotesashespoke.“Thesingleguy

isgoingtobeanathlete.We’vecomeupwithashortlistofmenwe’dliketotryout,and

yourjobistofindthem,talktothem,talkthemintotheidea.Getagistforwhatthey’re

lookingforinanidealpartner.Youknow,thatkindofthing.”

“Andtheathletes?”Mypenwaspoisedandready.

“Well,theonewereallywantisCalebPrescott.”

Didn’tringanybells.

“…and?”Hedidsayathletes,didhenot?

“JustworkthePrescottanglefornow.Seewhatyoucanget;talkhimintoit.”

“Whoexactlyisthis…CalebPrescott?”

Therewasapauseontheotherline,followedbyaslightsigh,andIimaginedDavid

runninghishanddownhisfaceinfrustration.“He’sahockeyforward—”

…andthatwouldbewhymybellhadn’trung.Idon’tthinkI’veeverseenahockey

game,outsideofflippingpastoneduringtheWinterOlympics.

“…playsfortheSanDiegoEnforcers.HisfatherplayedNHL,wonatonofawards.

CurrentlycoachesinWisconsin.Calebisoneofsixkids.Hugehockeyfamily.”

“Andifhesaysno?”

“We’llworkonitfromthere,butIreallywantCalebontheshow.”WhenDavidshot

off Caleb’s agent’s phone number, I wrote it down. “Give him a call. Let me know by

tomorrow,sixp.m.,thestatus.Ifyouneedtoheadouttohim,tellme.We’llpullstrings

andgetyouthere.”

Six?

I put my pen down so I could pull my phone from my ear, the time flashing on the

screen.Ihadlessthantwenty-fourhourstofigurethisguyout,callhim,talkhimintothe

show…andwhatifhedidn’thaveananswerforme?WhatwouldIdothen?Makeaside

triptoSanDiego?

Butthenagain…didIreallyhaveachoice?Itreallydidn’tsoundlikeit.Talkabouta

tightdeadline.

WhenIputmyphonebacktomyear,Davidwasgoingonaboutthepremiseforthe

show. I didn’t bother to write it down. A dating show was a dating show was a dating

show. It sounded clichéd—like every other show of its type. While he continued on, I

mentally flipped through my calendar. I always took the week of exams off from the

bookstore,aswellasthefollowingweektoregroup.Iwouldn’thavetoworryaboutwork,

andIwasprettysuretherewasn’tanythingelseIhadplanned.

When all was said and done, and my call with David was complete, I tossed my

notebook down on the couch beside me. Pursing my lips, I puffed out my cheeks in

frustration. Besides random doodling, there wasn’t a whole lot going on on the page.

‘Dating show’ and ‘Caleb Prescott’ were the bolded items. The lines should be reading

characters,wants,looks,actions…anythingandeverythingmorethan…

…datingshowstuff.

ThiswasnotgoingasI’dhoped.

Forafirstcastingassignment?Quitefrankly,itsucked.

***

C

A L E B

Ishouldn’thavegonetoO’GallagherswithJonnylastnight.

Ipulledmypillowfromundermyheadand,faceplantingintothemattress,pushedthe

sidesasclosetomyearsaspossible.Anythingtoblockouttheannoyingringofmycell

phone.

Last night, San Diego won. As was tradition, Jon Jon and I went out on the town.

Sometimestheotherguysontheteamwouldcomealongbutforthemostpart,itwasjust

me and the kid brother. Back in our peewee hockey days, mom would take us to

McDonald’s;incollege,theoneyearheandIattendedatthesametime,wewouldparty

inmydorm.Now,wewentout,partiedlongandhard,andofcourse,shutitdown.Most

ofthebartenderslookedtheotherwaywithsomeoftheyoungerathletesintown,andwe

could always count on Conor O’Gallagher. Rumor had it the O’Gallaghers were a little

rough around the edges. Probably why Conor was willing to overlook Jonny not quite

beingtwenty-oneyet.

BothJonnyandIhadbeendraftedtotheSanDiegoEnforcers.Duringmysenioryear

ofcollege,Jonny’sfreshmanyear,webothwalkedintotrainingcampascollegekidswith

great stats, and walked out with spots on the roster. Sure, the Prescott name means

somethingtotheorganization,butJonnywasadamngoodgoaltender,andmystatswere

better than dad’s in the respect he didn’t touch majors until he was in his mid-twenties,

havingplayedintheAmericanleagueforafewyearsbeforehand.

Lastnight’swinmeanttheEnforcerswerethatmuchclosertoSirStanleyandhisCup.

Finals were well within our reach. All we had to do was win Tuesday night’s game and

we’d make it into the next round. It was a close series, but the odds were in our favor.

WithJonnyinnet,Vegashadtopullallthepunchestogetthepuckpasthim.

Isighedblissfullywhenmyphonefinallystoppedringing,butjustasIwasaboutto

drop off that sharp edge of sleep, Jonny slammed my bedroom door open. I lifted the

pillow enough to look over my shoulder at the intrusion, watching as my boxer-clad

brothertossedthecordlesshousephoneontomybed,bouncingoffmyhamstring–alittle

toocloseforcomfort.

“Fuckingasshole.”

Jonny merely raised a dark blond brow. Oh, the perks of sharing a condo with your

youngerbrother.

Iguessitcouldbeworse.Mysistersweren’texactlytheeasiesttolivewith.

“Nexttime,wakeupandansweryourdamnphone,”Jonnygrumbled.“There’salady

ontheotherend,andIdon’tthinkshemuchappreciatedmysarcasm.”

IreachedbackforthephonewithonehandasItossedthepillowasidewiththeother,

beforeshootingJonnythebird.AsIputthephonetomyear,Iwatchedmytwenty-year

oldbrothershufflebacktowardhisownroom.“Caleb,”Isaidontheexhaleofatiredsigh.

“Um,hi,”camethevoiceontheotherend.Female,likeJonnysaid.Nothighpitched,

butnotassexyandthroatyassomefemalevoiceswere.Nervous,maybe.Ididn’tthinkI

knewhervoice,andthelandlinenumberwasprettylockeddown,soshecouldn’tbesome

weirdstalkerchick.Isqueezedmyeyesshutbriefly.Waytoomuchthinkingforthishour.

“I’m so sorry that this seems to be an inopportune time. I figured you’d be up and

moving,asit’sten.”Wasittenalready?“Ithoughtthatwasthetimeyoustartedpractice

ongamedays.I’monatightdeadlineandwasreallyhopingtojustleaveamessage.”Ah,

shedidn’texpecttoactuallytalktome.

“Andthisis…”Istated,notasked,beforeyawning.

“I’msorry,”sheapologizedagain.“MynameisSydneyMeadowsandI’mcallingon

behalfofSorensonMediaGroup.Itriedtoreachyouthroughyouragent,buthedirected

mestraighttoyou.”

ImadeamentalnotetotalktoMarkthefirstchanceIgot.Hereallyneededtostop

directingpeopletome.Wasn’tthathisjob?Tofigureoutwhatappearancesandgigswere

best for his athletes when they weren’t doing what they were being paid to do? Fuck,

MarkknewIdidn’tliketosignupfortheextrathingsthatcamewithbeingapro-athlete.

Eventswiththeteam,sure.Gigsattherink,absolutely.Butbeyondthat,itwasahardno.

“Weareputtingtogetherarealitytelevisionseries,andyouareoneofthenameswe

wereinterestedinhavinginvolvedwiththeshow,”shestatedinarehearsedmanner.

I didn’t think sleep was going be coming back to me anytime soon, so I rolled over

ontomybackbeforethrowingmylegsoverthesideofthebed.AsIstood,Ishookmy

head.“Yeah,sorry.NorealityTV.”

“Ifyou’djustletmepitchittoyou—“

“That’sallyou’regoingtobedoing,MissMeadows.Doyoureallywanttowasteyour

breath?I’mnotdoingtelevision.”

“That’sfine,”sherushedtosay.Asshebegantalkingaboutmultiplewomenandjust

asmanydates,Istrodenakedtomydressertopulloutapairofold,wornsweatpants.I

pulledthemonwhilelisteningwithoneear.Shecontinuedtotalk,soIcontinuedtomove,

walking out of my room and down the hall that was home to both mine and Jonny’s

rooms, a spare room, and a bathroom, before walking barefooted down the stairs.

Whenevershe’dpauseforananswer,Iwassuretogiveabarelyverbal‘mmhm’justso

shewouldcontinueherrantandbeclosertodone.

Ihadsisters.Iknewhowtoworkaphonecallwiththelong-windedfemalespecies.

“Sogreat,”shesaidfinally,withasmileevidentinhervoice,sounliketheunsuretone

atthebeginningofourconversation,one-sidedasitmostlywas.“Iwillmeetyoutonight

afteryourgame.Thankyousomuch,Caleb.Ipromiseyou,youwon’tbedisappointed.”

Standing in front of the fridge now, I frowned when I heard the telltale sign of her

ending the call. I pulled the phone from my ear only to stare down at the ‘call ended’

screen,thefrownnotgoinganywhere.

Wellshit…

WhatdidIjustagreeto?

C

H A P T E R

T

W O

S

Y D N E Y

AftercallingDavidandtalkinghimintoextendingmydeadline—becauselet’sbehonest,

twenty-fourhourswasnotdoable,nottotalkaguyintoashowhewasapparentlyagainst

—IpackedanovernightbagandheadedtoGrandJunctionRegional,agoodhouranda

halfaway.TheonlyflightleavingforSanDiegowasatfiveintheevening,withaquick

layover in Phoenix. After all was said and done, I arrived in San Diego at almost eight

thirty. According to my calculations, that still gave me about an hour to head from the

airporttothearena.Notknowingtraffic,yetassumingtheworst,Ireallyhopedthatwas

enoughtime.

Ileftmyterminalandheadedtowardstherentalcararea.Seeingthelinesnakingback

and forth, I had to fight back a groan. I moved to the back of the line and propped my

wheeledbagupbeforedigginginthefrontpockettofindmyleatherfolio.Init,Ihadmy

printed confirmation codes, maps, a description of the show, random notes on the man,

andanyandeverysellingpointIcouldpossiblygiveNoahCalebPrescott,awardwinning

forwardoftheSanDiegoEnforcers.Ihadtoconvincehimtosignon.

AfterwhatlittleIfound,Iwasn’tentirelyconvincedIwouldbeabletopullthisoff.

ThesecondchildofNoahandRyleighPrescott,hewasthefirsttobeprofessionally

draftedinthefamily.Notforlackoftryingonhisoldestsister’spart,though.Shewasone

of the largest supporters of a professional women’s hockey team in the Midwest, and I

almostfoundmoreinformationonherthanIdidCaleb.

Caleb was a six foot five power forward, a player known for his speed and quick

moves.Hewasn’tonetogetintomanyscuffles,buthewasn’tafraidtopullapunchifit

wasnecessary.Mostofthejournalistsandforumpostershadnothingbutgoodthingsto

sayabouthim.

Tobehonest,Icouldn’tfindasinglenegativeremarkontheman.

Thatwasontheice.

Offtheicewasn’tmuchdifferent.

He gave back to his community at home. He participated in most of the teams’

appearances at local hospitals. He was endorsed by a few brands, but from what little I

couldfind,hisnamewassimplyattachedtothecompanies.Thereweren’tprintorvideo

ads,andthefewinterviewsIfoundweren’textremelylengthy.

Ididfindafewpaparazzishotsofhimwithmodelsandactresses,butneverwiththe

sameonemorethanonce.Andneversomanypictureswithdifferentwomeninaspanof

timethatwouldpainthimasatypicalathleticplayer.Theoneeventheseemedtogoto

annually was the NHL Awards in Vegas, which I can’t say I was aware was a thing. He

wentrightbeforehisrookieseasonandagainlastJune.Likemostoftheattendees,hewas

freakinggorgeousinwhateverbignamedsuithe’dwear.Mostofthosepicturesthough,

he was either by himself or with a blond male that the captions labeled as his brother,

Jonny.

So what I knew was the man didn’t like to be in the public eye, yet the public still

lovedhim.

AndIwassupposedtoconvincehimtosayyestoaverypublicrealityshow?

Ineededalltheluckintheworldwiththatone.

Itriplecheckedmycarrentalpaperworkbeforeplacingthefolioontopofmybag.I

tuggeddownonmybrowndresspantsbeforesmoothingmyhandsdownmythighs.My

hands went to the small of my back to check the tuck of the light green, long-sleeved

blouse I chose for the meeting, making sure it was tucked and tight, not billowing. I

guessedIkindofresembledatree,thebrownandgreenthinggoingon,butthelightgreen

workedwellwithmycomplexionandhair.

Ileanedtothesidealittletotryandcatchaglimpseofthepeopleaheadofme.When

itlookedliketherewouldbenomovingforamomentyet,Itoedoffoneofmythree-inch

heeledsandalstoflexandrotatemyfoot.Oh,thatfeltdivine…

Atfive-two,everyinchcounted.Ifmybodywasabletohandlethepainoffive-plus

inch heels for long periods of time, I’d wear those in a heartbeat. As it was, my baby

three-inchoneskilled.

IslippedtheheelbackonwhenIsawthelinestarttoshuffleforward.Grabbingthe

handleofmybag,Imovedwiththemasses,stoppingyetagainafewfeetlater.Asafanof

themessytop-knot,Ihadtriedreallyhardtokeepmyhairdownforthismeetingbutthat

wassonothappeninganymore.ThetemperaturedifferencebetweenUtahandCalifornia

wasprettysignificant,evenatthislaterhour.

Ileaneddowntounzipthefrontofmybagagaintofindahairtie.Ioptedagainstmy

go-tostyleforaclean,ifslightlyloose,ponytailinthemiddleofmyhead,partovermy

lefteyestillintact.Ibrushedmylongside-sweptbangsintoplacebeforeglancingatmy

watch.

Iwassuchafidgeter.PatiencewassomethingI’dneverhadawholelotof.

Itwasnearingnine.Afullthirtyminuteshadpassedalready?Thatwasnogood.

IwasthatpersonwhowouldhaveeverythingdoneyesterdayifIcould.Ihatedbeing

late;Ilikedbeingpunctual,ontime,andthereforenolessthanfifteenminutesearly.

According to the map I looked at earlier, it was ten minutes from the airport to the

arena,butthatwasonagoodday.

Again, I bent forward to the front zipper to rift around, pulling out my iPhone this

time.IopenedupawebbrowserandpluggedinNHL.comtofigureoutwhereIstoodin

regardstothetimingofthegame.FromwhatIpulledupearlier,itappearedmostgames

endedataboutnine-thirtyorso.Ifiguredthattogettothearenaontimebasedoffthose

numbers and the traveling times, I’d have to leave the airport in fifteen minutes to get

thereontime,Sydneystyle,orwithinthirtyminutesattheabsolutelatest.

Honestly,though,thethoughtofgettingthererightontimealmostgavemehives.

iPhone in hand, I crossed my arms and tapped my toes. Could this line move any

slower?

Asifmythoughtswilledittohappen,thelinemoved.Twomorelanesopenedandtwo

otherscleared,allowingthelinetomoveabitmorequickly.

Positivethoughts,Sydney…Positivethoughts.

***

Iwaslate.

Thisdidnotsitwellwithme.ThosehivesIwasthinkingaboutbefore?Icertainlyfelt

atwitchbehindmyeyeandwasfightingbacktheurgetoscratchatmyarms.Granted,it

soundedlikethegamewasstillgoing,ifthecheersandloudmusicwereanyindication.

Thislatethingdidn’tsitwellwithme,butwhatwasIgoingtodo,especiallywiththe

gameapparentlystillgoing?Godowntotheiceandtalktohim?

Ok,deepbreath;maybeIreallywasn’tallthatlate.

ThankstoDavid,Ihadbeenabletodrivetherentalrightuptothesideofthearena,

wheresecuritywouldwatchit.Noparkingticketshere,nosiree.

Istumbledbrieflyinmyjog-walkfromthefrontdoorsofthearenatoasetofdoors

separatingthelobbyandtheactualseatingandbowl.

Runninginheelswasn’treallymyforte.Ileftmybaginthecar,butcarriedmyleather

folio with me. When I was stopped for not having a ticket, all I had to do, according to

David, was give my name. Upon doing so, the ticket usher spoke into his walkie-talkie

and I was given clearance. An usher walked me around the side to a private elevator,

makingmefeelallsortsofspecial.

He sent me down to the lower level, where I was met by a security guard. This one

wasfemale,butshelookedabitscarytome,soIjustsmiledandlethertakemetowhere

Ihadtogo.

Thewomanstoppedwithmeinalonghallasechoesfromtheannouncerricocheted

the halls, expressing the organization’s thanks for coming out and that the kids in

attendancewerewelcometostickaroundforapostskate.

Well…Iguessthegamewasdonenow.

Afewfeetaheadofmewasalitopeningtotheright,thetunnelmaybe,anddirectly

acrossfromthatwasasetofclosed,doubledoors.Aswenearedthetunnelanddoors,I

couldheartalkingandmusicfrombeyondsaiddoors.Extremelyloudmusic.

I let out a quick breath through pursed lips before smiling over at the security lady.

“Thankyou.”

Shenoddedandturnedtostandabitfurtherdownthehall,neartheelevatorbutstill

watchingme.

Don’tworry,Iwantedtosay,Iwon’tbargeintothelockerroom.

WhileIhadgrownupwiththreeolderbrothers,bargingintoalockerroomfullofmen

ofallageswasn’treallymything.

Notknowingwhatelsetodo,Istoodnexttothewallacrossfromthecloseddoorsand

crossed my arms over my chest. I supposed I would wait; it wasn’t like I had any other

choice,right?

Patience,Sydney.Patience,Irepeated,overandoverinmyhead,tryinghardtorefrain

fromtappingmyfoot.Granted,Iwasn’ttoosureIcouldstayuprightifIattemptedtotap

my heeled toe, so instead I shifted my weight to the other leg, wincing slightly as the

pressurewasreleasedfromtheprevious.

No sooner than the wince left my face, the double doors opened wide and men in

work-outclothing,teamsweats,andafewinbusinessattire,startedtopileout.Ok,maybe

‘pileout’wasn’tentirelyaccurate,buttheyweren’texactlycomingoutsingle-file,either.

Two terrifyingly tall men walked out, wearing identical brown wind-pant bottoms.

OneworeawhiteteewiththeEnforcers’logotakinguptheentirefrontoftheshirt.The

logowaseitherprintedvintage-style,ortheshirthadseenmanytripstothelaundry.

The other wore a light brown long-sleeved tee with Enforcers written over the right

chest area. Both had wet hair and brought with them a fresh male scent; however, the

smellthatwaftedafterthemwaspungent,smellingofstalesweatandoldgymclothes.

Itriedreallyhardtonotturnmynoseup.

The man in the long-sleeved shirt quickly glanced in my direction, causing me to

straighten to my full, even if short, height. He nodded upwards once at his teammate

beforesayinginadeepvoice,“Seeyouontheice.”Theothersaidsomethinginreturnin

a heavy European accent, perhaps in agreement. Man-in-long-sleeved-shirt walked over

towardme;thenearerhecame,thelargerhistowerofheightbecame.

Takingabreath,Iremindedmyselfthatatfive-two,mostmentoweredoverme.Then

again,mostmendidn’tcomeatmewiththeadditionalinchesskatesgave.

“CanIhelpyou?”heasked.

“Um, yeah. I mean, yes, please,” I stuttered, nervously glancing down to my leather

folio. One of the things I needed to work on was my presence, and stuttering and using

half-wordslike‘yeah’wasnotacceptable.Iopenedmyfolioandpretendedtosiftthrough

paperswhenhonestly,IhadnoclueexactlywhyIwashere.WhatifCalebdidn’tagreeto

meetwithme?Whatifhewasonlyagreeingoverthephonetogetmetohangup?

I couldn’t look this man in the eye. He was…scary looking, with a yellowing black

eyeandamissingfronttooth.

Hepulledupthesleevesofhisshirtashewaitedforananswer.

“I’mlookingforCalebPrescott?”Iasked,finallygatheringthecouragetolookupat

theman,paintingalookofconfidenceonmyface.“I’mSydneyMeadows;he’sexpecting

me.”

“Oh,yeah. He mentioned something about something,” he said with a nod. His hard

face softened just slightly, no longer as intimidating without the stare in his eyes. “I’m

Winski. Trevor.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll get him for you. He’s

debriefing.”

“Ok,thankyou.”

I watched as Trevor turned away and went back toward the double doors, but rather

than going through them, he simply put a hand on the door jam and leaned in. “Yo,

Prescott!Yougotavisitor.”Heturnedbackaroundandcrossedthepathwaytoenterthe

tunnel,grinningandnoddingoncetowardme.

Wellthen.Ifyellingwasallittook…

I took a deep breath to compose myself before running my hands down my shirt to

straighten it again, as well as triple check the tuck. I was about to pull my hair tie out

beforethinkingbetterofit;itwouldlikelybeacrazymesswithanannoyingcreasewhere

thehairbandhadbeen.Tostillmyshakinghands,Icrossedmyarmsoverthefolioand

pulledittomychest.

Thenextmantowalkoutofthedoubledoorswasatallblond,hishairtoolongand

too curly for most guys – but managed to work on him. The nearly white curls were

extremelytightforblondhair,andtheyfellpasthisearsandwerenearinghisshoulders.

Unlike the previous two men, he still wore his hockey pants and socks but walked out

shoeless. He also was without a team tee, and instead wore a Reebok form-fitting shirt.

When he walked closer, seeming intent on coming to me, I was afraid that maybe I had

lookedupthewrongguyontheinternet.

No.

No,no.ThiswasJonnyPrescott.

“Youwantedme…?”heasked,acrookedgrinonhisyouthfulface,nodoubtdueto

thedoublemeaninghethrewout.Helookedlikeababystill,maybenewly-earlytwenties.

I was grateful that he wasn’t in skates; I didn’t have to look up too much further to

speaktohim.

“IwaslookingforCaleb?Hewasexpectingme.I’mSydneyMeadows.”

“Oh,” he said, drawing the single syllable out with a slow nod. “I’m Jonny. Wrong

Prescottatyourservice.”Heextendedhishandformetoshake.

Ilookedathisprofferedhandbeforeslidingmymuchsmalleroneintoit.“Sydney.”

“Yousaid.”

Withaquicknod,Idrewmylipsintoatightsmilebeforetakingmyhandback.

“JonnyPrescott…”hesaid,withaslightlifttooneofhisblondbrows.

Isimplynodded.Iwasn’tsurewhathewantedmetosay.

When I didn’t respond, he looked me over so quickly I thought I imagined it. Then,

withagrinhenodoubtedpracticedonwomenofallages,hesaid,“You’rethatsexyvoice

fromthismorning.”

Ifeltmyfaceblanchbeforegoinghot.Ibroughtoneofmyhandstothebackofmy

neck and squeezed gently in embarrassment. “Yes, I did call this morning. I’m sorry for

thetiming.”

“Ah,don’tworryaboutit.Look,”hesaid,steppingbackwithonefoot,“I’lljusttell

Caeltohurryhisassup.There’sapost-skatetonightsoheshouldbeoutofCoach’soffice

soon,anyway.”

Icouldn’tfindwordstosaythroughmyembarrassmentsoIjustnoddedandwatched

as he walked back toward the locker room. Unlike Trevor before him, he didn’t yell for

Caleb.Iwasn’texactlysurehowJonnysummonedhim,butitwasobviouslyadifferent

tacticthanthefirsttime.

It wasn’t too much longer before Jonny came back out, having ditched his hockey

bottomsforthesamewindpantshisteammatesbeforehimhadworn,aswellasaclean

tee.Walkingbesidehiminanearlyidenticalget-up,theonlydifferencebeingthetypeof

skates,wasCaleb.

Helookedevenbetterinperson.

JonnyandCalebmayhavebeenoppositesinlooks,butoddlyenoughIcouldtellthey

werebrothers.WhereJonnyhadcurlyblondhair,Caleb’swasbrownandstraight;maybe,

ifhegrewitoutlongerthanthehalforsoinchitwas,itwouldhaveaslightwavetoitif

thequickflipbyhisearswasanyindication.Theyhaddifferentjawlines,too,andCaleb

appearedtobeslightlytaller,butbeyondthat…

Shee-oot.

Fuckaduck.Peaceout,girlscout,thiswasn’tgoingtobeaseasyasI’dhoped.The

longer I looked at Caleb in person, the more intimidated I became by him. The elder

Prescottbrotherwashands-downgorgeous.Pairedwiththesleep-thickenedvoiceIheard

this morning, I could feel my lady bits tighten and my heart rate accelerate from

somethingotherthanbusinessnerves.

Caleb grinned crookedly and shook his head at a crack Jonny made before putting a

handtothesideofhisyoungerbrother’sface,pushinghimaway.Jonnyhelduphishands,

laughinglightly,thennoddedtohimastheyseparated–JonnyfortheiceandCalebfor…

Me.

With a quick breath out, I straightened as best I could, throwing my shoulders back

andputtingagrinonmyface.Iofferedmyhandyetagaintonight.“Caleb?I’mSydney.”

***

C

A L E B

“Youcouldprobablytuckherinyourpocket.Howthatvoiceonthephonecamefromthat

pixieofagirl…Damn,Cael,youbettertapthat,showbedamned.”

Ishookmyheadwithagrinbeforescratchingmyjawlinewithmymiddlefingerina

subtlejab.WeturnedthecornerfromthelockerroomtoheadoutwhenJonnyadded,“IfI

wasn’tinacommittedrelationshipwithJenna…”Hispausewasmoretell-talethanIthink

herealized.“I’dlooktwice.”

Thename‘Jenna’waslikenailsonachalkboard,soIjustshookmyheadagainatmy

brother. That girl sunk her nails into Jonny when he was drafted for the National Junior

team and hasn’t let up. The entire family could see what Jonny simply couldn’t—she

didn’twanthimforhim.

“Imean,nevermindthefactthegirlishot,thisideashe’spullingyouinfor?Dating

twentychicksforamonth?Damn,son…”

Jonnycouldtalk…

Whichwasfunny,becauseofmytwobrothersandme,Jonnydefinitelywasthemore

‘tenderheartedoldsoul’,asourmomoftensaid.Hewasn’tgenerallyonetorunhismouth,

butlatelyallhedidwastalkchicksandtitsandpussy;IhadafeelingJennawasgoingto

beoutthedoorsoonerthanlater.

God,Ihopedso.

I glanced up just as I pushed Jonny away from me, hand to cheek, and saw a well-

dressedredheadstandingafewfeetoff.Jonnypeeledofftotheice,notbeforesmacking

meintheback,andInearedthewomanwhohadtobeSydney.

“Caleb?I’mSydney,”shesaidassheofferedherhand.

“Yeah,JonJonsaid.”Iwantedtobeskepticalofthischick,butIhadmanners.Itook

hermuchsmallerhandinmineandsqueezedgentlyonce,ratherthanshakeit.Goddamn,

shereallywasapixie.

Shewasevenshorterthanmysistersandtheywereeasilyfive-four.Myke,myoldest

sister,wasmaybefive-six.Still,thisSydneystooddamnnearafootandhalflowerthan

me; sure, yeah, I was wearing skates,buton aquicklook down,Isaw shewaswearing

heels.Barefoot,thedifferencewouldn’tbemuchdifferentthannow.

I took my hand back and crossed my arms over my chest. I watched as her pretty

ambereyesflasheddowntomychestthenbackuptomyeyes.Well,Iwasprettysureshe

wasactuallylookingatmynose.

I reached up and ran a hand over my jaw shadow before scrubbing over my goatee,

continuingaquickappraisalofthetinyredheadinfrontofme.Iwasprettysuregreenand

brownshouldn’tgotogetherasarule,butthecolorsworkedwellwithherskintone.Her

blousewasunbuttonedjustenoughtoshowwhatminimalcleavageshehad.

Yes, I looked at her chest. I was an ass and tits guy. Didn’t know many guys who

weren’t.

Her neck was unadorned and with quick realization, I saw that the only jewelry she

wore was in her ears. Even there, though, she wore simple, tiny diamond studs. Two in

eachear.

Furtherdown,IgotatleasthalfofwhatIlikedtosee.Shedidn’thavehugehips,but

herass…

Ialmostwasexpectingherbackendtobeasflatashertopbutnope.Shehadaniceass

inthosetailoredpantsofhers.

AfraidIwaslingeringtoolongtobeconsideredacceptable,Imovedmyeyesbackup

toherface,whereInownotedmorethanhereyes.Thelightingwasn’tthegreatestdown

here,butIthoughtIsawalightsplashoffrecklesoverhernose.

Itmadeheralittlesweeter.

Asprettyasshewas,IhadtoputastoptothisrealityTVnonsense.

“Look.IknowIsaidI’dmeetwithyou,butcanwemakeitquick?Wehaveapost-

skatewithsomekidsandIreallyneedtogetoutthere.”

“Ok,yeah.Imean,yes,ofcourse,”Sydneysaidwithanod.

AssheandIstoodneareachotherinthecinderblockhall,Sydneywentovertheshow

withme,muchasshehadthatmorning,addingafewmoredetails.Sheexplainedthatthe

show would be filmed during a 30-day Hawaiian cruise, with excursions being used as

individualandgroupdates.ItwaslikeLoveBoatmeetsTheBachelor.

Filmcrewswouldstartfilmingmeinmynaturalelement,beinghereinSanDiego,as

soonastheendoftheweekifIagreed.Then,attheendoftheseason,thetruefilmingof

theshowwouldbegin.

AsshewasabouttorushintoexplainwhenIwouldboardthecruise-liner,asifIhad

agreed to it, I held up my hand. “Miss Meadows.” God that sounded too formal for a

womanlikeher.“Sydney,”Itriedagain,definitelypreferringthetasteofitonmytongue.

“Howaboutwemeetovercoffeeorsomethingtomorrow?Ten?”

Hereyeswidenedslightly,justbriefly,beforeshenoddedwithafixedsmileinplace.

“Ofcourse.Yes,thatwillgiveyoumoretimetoletitsinkin.Solongasyouagreeto—”

I cut her off with a grin. While yes, this show was against everything I had ever

thought for myself, I had a feeling that sitting with Sydney and talking to her about the

show, as if I were agreeing to it, would be the only time I’d see this gorgeous redhead

again. I didn’t quite know what was drawing me to this short pixie of a woman, but I

definitelywantedtoseeheragain.TomorrowI’dhavenotimeconstraintsandshecould

talkallshewanted.

But before I realized the words were out of my mouth though, I said, “I’ll do it,”

agreeingtoherpitch.

Shit.Fuck.

The smile filling her face wasn’t one I was about to take away, and her amber eyes

danced,lighteningjustslightlytobringoutfieryredspecks.“Wecandiscusscontestants

tomorrowthen.Wonderful.Oh,great!”

Ihadtoswallowachuckleatherobviousexcitement.Weagreedonaplacetomeet

andIwatchedherleaveoutofthecornerofmyeyewhileheadingtowardtheice.

LikeIsaid,Ilikedherass.

***

“So,”Sydneysaid,sittingacrossfrommethenextmorningatoneofthemanynon-chain

coffeehousesnearJonnyandmycondo.Todayshewaswearingaflowyblackskirtwitha

whitefittedteethathuggedherslightchest,andoneofthosechunkybelts.Thebeltwas

thatorangeycognacbrown—theonlybrown,mysistershadinformedmeonce,thatcould

be paired with black. Her red hair was down around her shoulders today, showing off

blondsandbrownsinthewavy,longtresses.IfIthoughtshewasprettyyesterday…

Damn,Iwasn’tpreparedfortoday.

Unlike most women I met, she appeared to wear minimal makeup, something I

couldn’t fully tell in the dim light last night. Her complexion was that peaches and

creamlikecolorpeopletypicallyattributedtoredheads,butonlyhernoseandcheekbones

weredustedwithlightfreckles.Icouldseeafewothersalonghercollarbonesprinkling

nearhercoveredshoulders,too.

Whileshewasdressedtothenines,Ihadshownupinacomfortablechoiceofjeans

that I’d had for probably the better part of three years, and a hooded sweatshirt, sleeves

pusheduptomyelbows.

“My job is to find you your potential…dates, girlfriend, wife, whatever it is you’re

trying to get out of this show,” Sydney continued. “Rather than going about this in a

completelyrandomfashion,IthoughtI’dstartoffbyhearingyourpreferences.”

“My preferences?” I slid back to slouch a bit in my hair, reaching both hands out to

wraparoundmycoffeecup.

“Yes.Height,build,hair,etcetera,etcetera,”sheanswered,pickingupherlegalpad

onlytoputitbackdown,slightlyangledthistime.Sheslidherpenoffthetopofthepad

andflippeditonceinherlefthandbeforeclickingtheend,extractingthetip.

Soshewasalefty.Different.

“Wheneveryou’reready,”sheprompted.

Isighedheavily,agrintuggingmylips.“Mypreferences…”Ireiteratedbeforetruly

beginning. I kept my gaze on Sydney while spewing off my ideal woman—or what had

beenmyidealbeforeashort,sexyredheadwalkedintomylifethedaypriorbecauseat

thismoment,I’ddoanythingforadatewithher.

“Tall. Nothing more than a foot difference. Did that once.” Though, truth be told, in

somewaysitmadesexmoreexciting.Itwaseasiertoworkagainstawallorinashower

withashorterchick.

I watched for any change of expression on her face, but she wrote what I said with

nilch,nada,nothingshowing.Ok,then,Ithought.

“Neverreallyhadathingforredheads,”Isaid,forcingafakegrimaceofapologybut

sheneverlooked.Again,noreaction.

Andnowforthebigguns.Isupposeditwasn’tanicespottoplay,onaccountofsome

womenbeingself-consciousaboutit,but,“Definitelyhavetohavemorethanahandfulto

workwith.”

Thistimeshedidlookup,aquizzicallookonherface.“Ahandful?”

“You know…” My voice trailed off as I raised my hands slightly out in front of my

chest.Ithrewinahandsqueezewithbothballsofair.

Sydney’seyesflicked from my hands down to her own chest, then back to her legal

padsoquicklyIthoughtitmaynothavehappened.

Butthereitwas,thatpinkinhercheeks.

Gother.

Italmostkilledmetonotgrininvictory.

“You seem to have rather large hands, Mr. Prescott,” she muttered, “but I’ll try my

best.”

This time, I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped, but she didn’t seem to notice or

mind.Yetagain,shewasinbusinessmode.

“Kids?Iunderstandyou’reonlyinyourmid-twentiesandattheheightofyourcareer,

butsomewomenwilldefinitelyhavethatontheirradar.”Sheglancedupatme,waiting

formyanswer.

Honestly, I hadn’t really thought of them. With hockey season taking up damn-near

three-quartersoftheyear,andtherestbeingfilledwithcampsandgivingbackandnota

lot of downtime, I hadn’t given a lot of thought to any sort of settling down, which is

partlywhythisshowideawassuchajoke.

Itoldherasmuch.

Well,theschedulepart.Notthejokeone.

Shenoddedandwroteonherpadbeforetappingthebackendofherpentwiceagainst

herchin,thengavemeasmallsmile.“Doyouhaveanyquestions?”

“Whatisyourroleinallof,”Iwaved my hand near her notepad, pausing a moment

beforefinishing,“this?”

Sheputherpendownonlytoreachforhercoffeecup,takingasipandreturningthe

cuptothetable.Shethensatupalittlestraighterandtuckedherhandsdown…underher

ass?Iwasn’tabouttoleanandlook,butIdefinitelythoughtshewassittingonherhands.

“Ijustcompletedmysenioryearofmarketing.Iofficiallygraduateinacoupleofweeks.I

didasummerinternshipwithaweddingplanneroutofSaltLakeCity—“

Iinterruptedher.“Utah?”

Sheraisedanauburnbrow.“Doyouknowofanother?”

Icouldn’tstopmygrinatherspunk.“Continue.Sorry.”

“As I was saying, I did a summer internship with a wedding planner, and then a

classmatewastalkingaboutaninternshiphewasdoingwithSorenson.I’vealwaysbeen

interestedinthebehind-the-scenesstuffwithtelevisionandmovies,soIfiguredI’dgiveit

ashot,too.Idon’tneedtheinternship,havingcompletedtheoneinsummer,butIwanted

the experience. So I’m like an intern-slash-casting assistant for my boss, David, who

reallyisacastingassistant.ThedirectoroftheshowgaveDavidthespielandhegaveme

your name. My other assignments have been typical assistant duties like scoping out

places.Iguesswithmoviesandscriptedthings,theassistanthelpswithreadingsbut,”she

shruggedashoulder.“SohereIam.Tryingtopitchashowtoyou.”

“Well,youpitchedtheshowtome.PrettysureIagreedtoittoo.”Igrinnedoverather.

“Anythingforabunchofladies,right?”Hersmilewidened.“Ihavebrothers,Iknow

howyouboyswork.”

Notsosureaboutthe‘anythingforabunchofladies’crack,asitwastrulyallabout

theonesittinginfrontofme,butI’dleavethatalone.Itlookedlikeweweredonetalking

abouttheshow,butIwasn’treadytoleaveyet.“Brothers?Howmany?”

“Three. I’m the youngest of four. Smith is twenty-eight, Sean twenty-seven and

Sawyeristwenty-four.”

“Andyouare…Twenty…?”

“Two.”

Inodded.“I’mtwenty-four,butyouknewthat.Ihaveanoldersisterandfouryounger

siblings.”

After an almost awkward silence where I didn’t expand and she didn’t ask, Sydney

smiledagainandpickedupherpen.“Well,I’llletyougo.Thepaperworkwillbesentto

youragentandfilmingcrewswilllikelybewithyoustartingtheendoftheweek.They’ll

do shots like playing, practice, hanging out at home. Couple monologues. I’ll work on

your cast, and I believe the cruise is set to start mid-June…” She pursed her lips as she

flippedthroughtheendofhernotepad.“OrbeginningofJuly,rather.Ithinktheywanted

togiveyouenoughtimetorestintheeventyouwenttothechampionshipgame.”

Ihadtoholdbackachuckleatthephrase.“Youdon’tknowhockey,doyou?”

Hereyeswidenedslightlybeforehercheeksflushedtoaprettypink.“No,notreally,

butthat’sneitherherenorthere.Thetemporaryitinerarywillbeemailedtoyouuponyour

signing the agreement, but you and the filming crew will board one week prior to the

women. At that point, the thirty-day Hawaiian cruise will begin. The last week, your

familyisinvitedtojoin.

“Theendgameoftheshowisn’tnecessarilyaproposal,buttheideaismorethanjust

‘adatewithCalebPrescott’.It’smoreliketheideayou’llmeetsomeoneyouwouldn’tget

tomeetotherwise.TherunningtitleoftheshowisBeauty.Ithinktheyneedtoworkonit,

personallybut—“

“Doyouknowwhatabeautyis?”Withher‘championshipgame’lingo,Iwaswilling

tobetthehockeyslangwentoverherheadtoo.

Shespokeslowly,unsurely,hereyesgoingfromlefttorightbeforesettlingonmine.

“Abeautifulgirl?”

Ishookmyhead,mygrintightbutIcouldfeelthatshitinmycheeks.“No.Abeautyis

aplayerwho’sgoodwithhishands,lovesthegame,givesbacktotheteam…Theguythe

teamloves.Butalsotheguyontheteamwho’s…”Itriedtothinkofadecentwaytoword

it,“goodwiththeladies.”

She smirked a little and nodded a few times. “Makes more sense now. I get it.” She

shookherheadinamusement.“Youhockeyplayers.”

Asshestartedtoputherpadandpenbackinherfolio,Iaskedthequestionthathad

beenlingeringinmymindsincethenightprior.“Areyougoingtobethere?”

“Where,theshow?”Inodded.“Oh,no.Iimaginethiswillbethelasttimeweseeeach

other.”Sydneysmiledagain.Damn,Icouldprobablydrownonthepullofherlipsonher

face.“Unlessofcourse,youmadeasidetriptoUtahsomeday.Icouldreturnthecoffee

gesture.”

“Yeah,I’llletyouknow.”Ismiledtohidemydisappointmentbeforestanding.“Itwas

nice to meet you, Sydney Meadows.” I extended my hand. “Even if you talked me into

somethingIdidn’treallywanttodo.”

She stood too, and took my hand in hers. “Let’s be honest, you changed your mind

prettyquickly.”

“Prettypersuaderscandothat,”Isaid,knowingthatitcameoffasalinebutmeaning

thewords.“CanIwalkyoutoyourcar?”She’dgottenherebeforeIdidandIhadtopark

whatfeltlikeamileaway.

Sydney just tilted her head down, motioning out the windows. “I’m just right there.

Butyoucanwalkmeout,Iguess.”

SoIdid.

Andonmywaytomyowncar,Itriedtofigureoutawaytoseeheragain.

P

L AY M A K E R

D

U E T

O

N E

N

O V E M B E R

P

O R T E R

IfIthoughtshewasbeautifulwhenIsawherwalkintoStarbucks,thisgirlwasfucking

gorgeousupclose.

And she was Avery’s friend. What were the frickin’ chances? I glanced over at Ace

inquisitivelybeforereturningmygazetotheprettygirlinfrontofme.

Iclearedmythroatandfinallyofferedmyhand.“Porter.”

Hereyes—apsychedelicblendofgreensandbluesandevensomered—shiftedfrom

mysister,tome,tomyhand,thenbacktomyeyes.Finally,shepulledahandoutfromher

jeansandputitinmine,squeezingonceratherthanshaking.

“Ge—Asher,”shestuttered.

The corner of my lips kicked up in a partial grin—and, I swear, an unintentional

attemptatflashingthePrescottdimple—asIsqueezedherhandback.“Nicetomeetyou,

Ge-Asher.”

Herfaceflushedandshepulledherhandback.

“Sitdown,youtwo!”Averysaid,movingbacktotheseatshe’dbeeninpreviously.I

pulledoutthechairnexttomeforAshertositaswell,notsureifshewouldtakeitorgo

totheothersideandsitbymysister.

AceandIwereclose.Probablytheclosestofalloursiblings.

Shewasolderthanme,butashardasItriedtobetheannoyinglittlebrother,sheput

upwithmethroughtheyears.Icouldn’trememberexactlywhenithappened,butAvery

wasnicknamedAcebecauseshewasafreakingaceontherink.Atfive-yearsold,shewas

surpassingtheboysontheice.Shewasprobablytheonlyfemalewhowasalmostbetter

thanmeathockey.

Almost.

Isatdown,notwantingtoseemlikeIwaswaitingforAshertosit,whileallalongI

wasincrediblydrawnandfocusedinonher.Fromthecornerofmyeye,Itookherinas

she studied the chair—it wasn’t going to bite her—and her upper lip pushed out as, I

assumed,sheplayedwiththebacksideofherMonroepiercing.

Shewassuchavisualcontradiction.

Her face was…sweet—there wasn’t any other word to describe it—with its soft

bowing of her upper lip, the gentle dip in her chin, and her soft cheekbones, all set in a

heartshape.

Butthenshehadherpiercingsandtattoos.Bothofherearswerepierced,nearlyfrom

toptobottom,withherrightbeingpierced…

Icountedfourstuds,aswellasaninner-shellearpiercingandanotheralongtheupper

crest.

Herleftearonlyhadtwostudsinherlobe,buthertraguswaspiercedaswell.

Add those to her beauty mark piercing in her upper lip and the swirl of colorful

splashesonherrightarm,andsheshouldhaveabad-asslooktoher—nottheunsureone

thatwasalloverherface.

Evenaftershesatinthechairbesideme,sheseemedunsure.

“We’regoingtogotoIKEA,”Averyannounced,andIcouldfeelAsherstiffennextto

me.AverydirectedherlooktoAsher.“Trustme,you’regoingtowantnewfurnitureinthe

guesthouse.Whothehellknowswhathashappenedonsomeofthosesurfaces.”Thenmy

sisterlookedatme,herbrowsup.“DidyouknowthatKennastayedthereforawhile,and

whenParkercametosweepheroffherfeet,theydidn’tleaveforaweek?”

Kenwasmytwenty-three-yearoldsisterandParkerwasherfiancé.

Parker also played for my dad in Beloit, which made his sleeping with McKenna a

real big no-no but apparently, he hadn’t cared. Parker had a six-year-old daughter, Ella,

whoprobablywaswelcomedintothefamilyfoldquickerthanParkerhimselfhadbeen.

“Idon’treallywanttoknowwhatKendidinthereforaweek,”Ianswered.

“Icangotoahotel,”Asherspokeup.Ihadn’tcaughtitwhensheintroducedherself,

buthervoice,withits slight Southern drawl, had a raspy quality to it—like that woman

whoplayedErinonChicagoP.D.

Thetypeofvoicethatgirlsgotwhentheyweresick.

Ididn’tthinkAsherwassick.

Anditwasfuckingsexyasallgetout.

Again,Ifoundmyselfconsideringthisgirlnexttome.

“You will not go to a hotel!” Avery said, picking up her mocha. “It’s semi my fault

you’restuckhere.”

Ifrowned.“Whatdoyoumeanbythat?”Iaskedmysister.

“CJ rear-ended me over on 2nd street, and I pushed into Asher. All of our cars are

ruinedandAsherwasheaded…wherewereyouheaded?”

Ashershruggedbesidemeandherchindippedassheconsideredthetable.“Ididn’t

haveanenddestination.”

Iturnedinmychair,alegoneitherside,andleanedintothetable.Frowning,Iasked

Asher,“HowdoyouknowAvery?”

AveryknewAsher,orshedidn’t.Thiswholethingwasn’taddingup.

“Porter,leavethegirlbe.”

Asher lifted her chin. “I don’t.” She shrugged. “Know Avery,” she clarified. “Not

really.WejustmetandIhavenowheretogo.”SheswallowedandIwatchedasherface

hardened, her eyes darkening. “She offered me a place to stay, and then your mother

insistedItakeittoo.Anymorequestions?”

Again,myhalf-grinkickedonmyfaceathershowofattitude.Damn.

With a chuckle, I shook my head. “Nope. No more questions.” I turned back to the

tableandpickedupmyFrappuccino,sippingfromthegreenstraw.“Youguyswillneed

muscleatIKEA.I’llcomewith.”

“Youhaveaflight,”Averysaidwithafrown.

IwavedoffherconcernandswirledthecontentsofmycupasIhelditfromthedome

lid.“Rescheduled.”Ishrugged.“ForSunday.”

I’dhavetoremembertodothat.

AndtogetintouchwithNico,theteammateIwasroomingwithfortheseason.

I was drafted first round to South Carolina Rockets, an NHL team on the opposite

coast from where my brothers played. It had been my goal throughout high school to

becomedraftedtoanyoneotherthanSanDiego,andwhenithappened,Ihadbeenfucking

excited.

WhereSanDiegoliterallywasfamily—mydadplayedforthemforyears,Igrewup

knowingthecoaches,andbothmyolderbrothersplayedforthem—SouthCarolinahada

family-likeaspecttothem.Theylikedtopairrookieswithseniorplayersforthefirstyear,

and I got placed with Nico D’Amaco, a forward who hailed from his own family of

hockeyplayers.

I didn’t imagine we would chat about it over bonbons, but maybe he’d have some

pointersforme.

“MomwasgoingtopickusupinalittlebitandIwasgoingtoborrowDad’struck.

Youcandrive,”Averysaid,herblueeyesunwaveringandsteadyonmine.

Acewaschallengingme.

SheknewIwasn’tthebiggestfanofDad’struck.

I had gotten into an accident in it when I was seventeen and while it wasn’t a bad

accident by any means, it still wasn’t my favorite vehicle to drive. For all intents and

purposes, I should be more fearful to drive my new baby, a Honda CBR 1000 bike, or

even the little sport car I’d been driving since sixteen—had I been in it during the

accident,theendresultwouldhavebeenfarworse—butthereweresomemajornegative

connotationsassociatedwithDad’struck,andmeinthedriver’sseat.

“Fine,I’lldrive,”Icaved.Itwasjustafuckingtruck.

Besides,asathleticasAverywas,thesetwocouldstilluseamantohelpmovesome

oftheheavierfurniture.

Justcallmeagentleman.

“So,we’llneedtofindyouacouch,abed—”

“Ican’taffordthis,”Ashercutin.Herfacewasdrawnintoafrown.

“Psh. Don’t worry about it. My parents will cover it. The furniture needs to be

replacedanyway.”

I took out my phone to cancel the Uber I was going to take to the airport, while I

talkedtomysisterandAsher.“YoushouldprobablytalkaboutittoMomandDadfirst,

beforeyougoandspendtheirmoney.”

“Look,there’sMomnow,”AverysaidandIglancedtothedoorwhereourmotherwas

walkingin.

“Iwantedtosaygoodbyebeforeyouleft,”Momsaid.

BeforecomingtomeetAveryforcoffee,Istoppedatthehouseandsaidgoodbyeto

Dad,butMomhadbeenout.InowknewthatitwasbecauseofAvery’saccident.

Istoodandshewrappedherarmsaroundmystomach.Icouldrestmychinonmyher

head these days—all us boys could. She cried the day I was no longer shorter than her.

Thememorymademechuckle.

“Don’tlaugh,PorterAshePrescott!”Momsaid,leaningbackandhittingmystomach.

“Iwasn’tlaughingatyou,Mom.Justthinkingaboutsomething.”

“He’s not leaving today anymore. Rescheduled,” Avery cut in. Her fingers in air

quotes,pairedwiththelookshegaveme,toldmeshedidn’tbelievemylie.

Ohwell,wasn’therlietobelievein.

“Ace wants to spend your money,” I told Mom, lifting my brows and challenging

Averytokeepopeninghermouth.

“Porter—”

Momlaughedandsteppedawayfrommyside.“Onewouldneverguessthatyoutwo

are nineteen and twenty-one. My goodness.” Mom smiled down at Asher, still sitting in

herchair.IwatchedasAsherscrambledtostand,herkneecatchingthetable.Iwincedfor

her,eventhoughitdidn’tseemtofazeher.

“Howareyoudoing,Asher?”Momaskedher.

“I’m good.” She nodded a few times. “Really, I can find a hotel. Please don’t put

yourselvesoutforme.There’snosenseinspendingmoneyonfurnitureforapersonyou

don’tknow.”

“Nonsense.Itallneedstobereplacedanyway.Ithinkit’sbeenabouttenyearssinceit

waslastupdated.Besides,I’msureAverywantstogotoIKEA.WecanaffordanIKEA

update.Wereyouguysreadytoheadtothehousethen?”

“Let’s do it,” Avery answered, and I picked up what was left of my Frappuccino to

toss the cup. I headed the group of us toward the door, holding it open for Avery, my

mom,andfinally,Asher,asshewalkedthrough.

Followingbehindher,Itookherin.Hershirtsleeveswerenowdown,coveringupthe

swirlofcolorsonherarmbutthatwasokay.Atthemoment,Iwasfixatedonherhair,the

thickmassofwavybrownlocks.

Irubbedmyhandovermyjaw.

I wanted to unwrap this girl. I wanted to figure her out, because something told me

shehadahellofastory.

JustlikewhenIfirstsawherwalkintoStarbucks,IfoundmyselfwishingIweren’t

goingsofaraway.

T

W O

A

S H E R

WedrovebacktoAvery’shouseinhermom’sconvertible,withthetopup.Ihadclimbed

intothebackandthereseemedtobesomesortofstandoffoutsidebeforeAvery’sbrother

foldedhislargeframeintothebackbesideme.

The entire drive to their house, Porter leaned forward as he spoke to his mom and

Avery,butIcouldstillfeelhimwatchingme,eventhoughhisgreeneyeswerenevertruly

onme.

Itmademedamneduncomfortable.

IhadmyhandstogetherbetweenmykneesandIplayedwithmyshirtasIsatthere

quietly, listening to their conversations. I learned on the short drive to their house that

Porter was leaving for South Carolina to play professional hockey, and more than that,

theirentirefamilyplayedsomepartinthehockeycommunity.

Their dad was a coach here in town for a minor-league team, but had played

professionally when he was younger. They had two older brothers playing for the same

team in San Diego, a sister who coached college hockey and was putting together a

Midwestdivisionforthewomen’sprofessionalhockeyleague,andanothersisterwhowas

engaged to a hockey player that played for their dad, who she met through the team

becauseshedidmarketingforthem.

Turnedout,Averywasevenfinishingschoolsoshecouldbeasportsagent.

WhatkindoffamilydidIstumbleinto?

Nowondertheywereokayrefurnishingaguesthouseforanobodylikemyself.

“Youokay?”

IturnedmyheadtowardPorter.Hewasstillleaningforwardbutitsoundedlikehis

mom and Avery were having a discussion among themselves now—I’m pretty sure I

caughtCJ’snameinthere—andhisfacewasturnedtowardme.

Porterwasabeautifulman.Hisgreeneyesregardedmecautiously,asifheknewmy

secrets and was afraid of stepping on the wrong button. His jaw was shadowed with

stubble,butittooknothingawayfromhisbeauty—itonlyaddedtoit.Hislowerlipwas

slightlyfullerthanhisupper,andhisnosehadaslightbendinthebridgewherehelikely

brokeitatonepoint.

Hisearlobeshadsmallplugsinthem,too.I’dneverreallythoughtmuchaboutguys

withgaugedears,butitsimplyaddedtohisattractiveness.

Heliftedhisleftbrow,notreallycallingmeoutfornotanswering,butmakingapoint

ofpointingitoutallthesame.Thatsameeyebrowhadaslicethroughtheend,ascarfrom

somethingoranother.

“I’mgood,”Ifinallyanswered.Itoldmyselftositbackinmyseatandlookoutthe

window,butIwasheldcaptivebyhisgreengaze.

“What’syourstory?”

Ifrowned.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“Your story. Where did you come from, how did you end up here, of all places; a

smalltowninWisconsinthat’sknownmostlyforitshockeyteamthesedays,butalsofor

itsHormelFoodsplant?”

Ishruggedandwasfinallyabletoturnmyhead.Throughthewindow,Iwatchedas

wepassedthroughtownandthenthroughfarmfields.Thecolors—mostlytheyellowsand

orangesthatcamewithautumn—blurredtogetheraswedrovedowntheroad.

In the reflection of the glass, I could make out Porter still watching me. Whatever

relaxationIfoundinthelastfewminutesquicklyflewoutthewindow.

Porter made me uncomfortable…but I was surprised to realize it wasn’t in a fearful

way.

Ispentmyearlyteensabitpromiscuously.Atease,ifyouwill.IlearnedthatIliked

heavypetting,heavykissing.Upuntilmysenioryear,Ihadn’tevergonealltheway,butI

certainlyearnedareputationatthehighschoolIattendedthroughmyjunioryear.

Iwasn’tthatpersonwhowaslookingforloveinallthewrongplaces—Iwasn’tnaïve

inthinkingthatsexmeantlove.

Iscoffedtomyself.

No,sexwasapowerstruggle,anditwasoneIsorelyloston.

Whenmyfosterfather…

Ishookmyhead.Irefusedtogothereanymore.Iwasdonewiththattimeinmylife.

Regardless, sex and guys were the last things on my radar. And because of that, I

couldn’trecallthelasttimeIfeltattractiontowardanyguy.Sure,someofmymaledrill

instructorsinthefailurethathadbeencalledbootcamp,hadbeenhandsomeinahardway

—when they weren’t scowling. And Hunter Douglas, the brother of a boot camp friend,

certainlywasn’thardontheeyes.

ButbeforeseeingPorterwalkintoStarbucks,beforeshakinghishandinintroduction,

neverhadtherebeenamalewhogavemebutterflies.Iwasn’tabutterflytypeofgirl.

Butterflieswerereservedfortheperfect,prettygirls.GirlslikeCarterandAvery.

Notfortrashygirlslikeme.Girlswhoweren’tworthyofaplaceonthisearth.

Soyes,thebutterfliesandPorter’sattentionmademeincrediblynervous.

ImovedmyfocusinthereflectionfromPorter’soutline,backtothelandscaping.The

fields were giving way to trees now—pines primarily, but also several regular trees that

werechangingcolorswiththeseason.ItremindedmeofTennessee,andIwasn’tentirely

surehowthatmademefeel.

“Howoldareyou?”Porterbrokethesilenceinthebackseat.

Imademyselfturnmyattentionbacktohim.Itwouldberudenotto.

AveryandtheirmomwerestillhavingaconversationinthefrontsoIgavePorterthe

answerhewaslookingfor,quietlyconfessing,“Seventeen.”

Bothofhisbrownbrowsrosetohishairline.“Areyouarunaway?”

AdrychuckleescapedmymouthasIshookmyhead.“No,I’memancipated.”

“So, what, you’re legally on your own? What’d your parents do to make you want

that?”Hisbrowshaddropped,butratherthanberelaxed,hisfacenowlookedperplexed.

IfhisfamilywastrulylikewhatI’dbeengathering,Icouldunderstandhisconfusion.

“Iwasafosterkid.”MyeyesshiftedbetweenbothofhisasIadmitteditandagainI

foughttheneedtoturnmyattentionbacktothewindow.Hiseyesonminewasnearlytoo

intense.

“Wellthat’sshitty,”heanswered.“So,noterribleghostsinyourcloset,”headded,a

hintofhiscrookedsmile—theonethatgavewaytoadeepdimple—gracinghisface.

Mymindflashedtodarknightsofbeingwokenup,nightswhereIdidn’tsleepforfear

ofhim,nightsofmybodybetrayingme—givingwaytopleasureIdidn’twanttofeel.

I gave Porter the same hint of a smile he gave me and shrugged. “No. No terrible

ghosts.

P

O R T E R

Seventeen.

Seventeen.

I wasn’t exactly that much older than her, no, but I couldn’t very well act on any

attractiontoher.Notrightnow.

Fucker,you’releaving.

Yeah,yeah,therewasthat,too.

Istaredatheracrossthebackseat;shekepthereyesonmine.Everytimesheturned

toward the window, I fought the need to turn her face back to me. There were secrets

swirlingbehindthosefascinatingcolorsinhereyes,andIwassurprisedtofindIwanted

touncoverthem.

Seventeen…Ishookmyheadmentally,notbecauseofherbeingjailbaitbutatthefact

she was by herself and seemed to be doing alright on her own. Hell, when I was

seventeen…

Ichuckled,whichonlycausedAshertofrownatme.

Ishookmyhead.“Nothing,Iwasjustcomparingmyselfatseventeen,toyou.Iwas

onlystartingtogetmyshittogether.Youseemtobeprettyputtogether.”

She nibbled on her cheek, the action pursing out her lips. My eyes dropped to them

andIforcedmyselftoraisemygazeagain.

“Howoldareyou?”shefinallyasked,beforeshakingherhead.“Oh.Duh.Yourmom

saidtwenty-oneandnineteen,soyoumustbethenineteen-year-old.”

“Whycan’tIbethetwenty-one-year-old?”Iasked,mylipscurlingupinvoluntarily.

Whateversemi-humorIuseddidthetrickbecausethesoft,not-quite-theresmileshe

gavemebeforewasnowherenearasblindingasthefullsmileshegavemenow.

My dick didn’t seem to care that she was too young for me. It twitched under my

zipperandIrefrainedfrommovingmyhandstomylaptohidetheimpendingtentaction,

whichwouldonlybringattentiontoit.Maybeshewouldn’tnotice.

Hell,maybeIcouldmanagetokeepitunderwraps.

“Averyreferredtoyouasherlittlebrotherearlier.”

“Ah,thatwoulddoit,”Ianswered,tryingdamnhardtokeepthemoodlight.

Aguycoulddrownonhersmile.

Whensheturnedherheadawayagain,Ibattleddisappointmentbutwewerenearlyto

the house. I checked my phone to be sure my cancel request went through, and quickly

typedintheairlinewebsitetochangethatover.Lessthanaminutelater,Ihadaseatona

planeleavingSundayinstead.

Granted, my shit was going to arrive to South Carolina later today, but I still had

clothesinthehouse.I’dbefine.

“Youguysaretakingthetruck?”Momcutthrough,liftingherchintolookatmein

therearviewmirror.HerbrowswereupandIcouldsweartherewaslaughteralloverher

face.

Myfamilywasabunchofcomedians.

“Yep!AndPorter’sdriving,becausehewantedtocomesobadly.”

LikeIsaid,comedians.

Mompulledtoastopoutsideofthegarage,cuttingtheengine.“Thecardshouldbein

yourdad’sglovecompartment.”

“Ireally—”Asherstarted,sittingupagain.

“Justbesuretobringmethereceipt,”Momcontinued.

IwasbeginningtothinkAsherwasn’tusedtoreceivingthings.Sure,notmanypeople

were given a newly furnished place to stay, but that was the joy of ending up in the

Prescottfold.

Forafosterkidwhosecarbrokedowninthemiddleofthecountryside,shesuremade

outprettygood.Itwouldprobablytakesomegettingusedto.

After Mom and Avery got out of the car, Avery folded her seat forward. I pulled

myselfoutandstretchedtall,andwhenAsherfollowedmeoutofthecar,Iwatchedasher

eyeslatchedontotheskinthatwasmakinganappearanceasmyshirtrodeup.Herface

flushedasshefinishedgettingout,tuggingonthesleevehemsofhershirtagain.

Wasn’tintentional,theskintease.

But it worked all the same. Girl wasn’t immune. It gave me a slight thrill of

excitement.

“Truck’s this way,” Avery told Asher, who avoided looking in my direction as she

skirtedpastmetofollowmysister.Iwenttheoppositedirection,followingMomintothe

housetograbthetruckkeys.

MomheldthedooropenformeandIwalkedintothekitchenbehindher.

Dad,whowasatthecountermakingasandwich,leanedintoMomtokissherwhen

henoticedmecomein.Mid-bendtowardMom,hefrowned.“Aren’tyousupposedtobe

onaflight?”

Mom finished what Dad failed to do and turned his head toward her, kissing him

squareonthelips.

Theywerealwayskissingandtouching.

Itwasawkwardasapreteen,especiallywithfriendsinthehouse.NowIpretendedto

notnotice.

Hardtodowhenitwasallover,allthetime,butItried.

“There’sagirl,”Momsaid,afterkissingDad,rubbingherhandoverhisstomach.

“No, my flight was rescheduled.” I walked over to where Dad’s keys would be,

makingsuretograbthesetwiththeguesthousekeyonittoo.

“There’sagirl,”Momrepeatedherselfwithagrin.

“I’mconfused,”Dadsaid.“What’sagirlheregottodowithanything?”

“Yourboy’ssmitten.”

“Solongashewrapsit.”

“Guys!” I had to stop them before they went much further. “My flight was

rescheduled.AndIdowrapit,foryourinformation,butthat’snotwhatthisisabout.She’s

Avery’sgirl.”

“What about CJ?” Dad asked me, bringing the knife he was using for mayo to his

face.“IreallythoughtshehadathingwithCJ.”

“She’s… Well not…” I rolled my eyes—yep, just like my sisters. “She’s not, like,

withAvery,butshe’sAvery’sfriend.I’mjusthelpingthemwithfurniture.”

“You think he likes this girl?” Dad asked Mom after licking the knife and putting it

downonthecounter,apparentlynotlisteningtome.

“Oh,Ithinkhelikesthisgirl.”Momsmiledwideatme.

“MorethanMo-like?”

“Mmm,”Momcontemplated.“Tooearlytotell.”

“Mo’sagoodgirl.”

“True.”

“Alright,yeah.We’regoing.”Islippedthekeyringonmymiddlefingerandwavedat

them.“Ciao.”

Ileftthekitchen,hearingtheirlaughterbehindme.PrettysureMom’ssuddengiggles

hadtodowithsomethingotherthanme,tobehonest,butIwasn’tabouttoturnaround

andcheck.

AsIleftthehouseandheadedthroughthegarage,IthoughtaboutMoforthesecond

timetoday.

Mo.

She and I had been friends for as long as I could remember, but the summer before

junior year—the night before, really, if you wanted to get all technical—we decided to

give “us” a shot. We’d been friends with benefits for a while before then but with

schedulesandmyowndistasteforgoingsteady,wehadn’tthoughttocrossthatline.

Andithadbeenafunlinetocross.

MoandIhadfamiliaritybetweenus.

Butourliveswereontwoverydifferenttracksrightnow.

I broke up with her the week after graduation. The last I’d seen her was two weeks

ago,beforesheleftforschool,andwhileshedidtextmeearliertoday,Iwasclosingthat

door.

IwasgoingtobeSouthCarolinafortheforeseeablefuture.Ididn’twanttoholdher

back.

SowhyareyousocuriousaboutAsher?

Whothefuckknewwhy.

Iwascurious,andIwascurrentlyokaywithit.

MaybeI’dgettoCharlestonandtheroommatewouldhavesomechicksIcouldmeet.

Maybe then, my fascination with the seventeen-year-old with freaking amazing eyes

wouldgoaway.

Yeah.Maybe.

“Yousuretooklongenough,”AcescoldedwhenIreachedherandAsher.Theywere

standingbythebedofthetruckandAsherhadhersleevespushedupagain.Itriedtogeta

good look at her sleeve tattoo but all I could make out were colors—like a watercolor

goneawry.

Butpurposelyso.

“Icouldn’tjustgetthekeys.Dadwasconfused.”

Averyliftedherbrowsandgrinned,herarmscrossed.“Yeah.Seemstobethegeneral

Prescottconsensusatthemoment.”

Asher herself looked confused but rather than keep this going—because Ace and I

coulddothisfordays—Ihittheunlockbutton.“Justgetinthetruck.”Ipulleddownthe

tailgateandhoppedup,quicklyrollingbackthethickbedcoversowewouldn’thavetodo

itlater.

“I’llsitintheback,”IcouldhearAshersayastheyroundedthebedandwenttothe

passengerside.

I’dreallyrathershesatinthefrontbut…

“Nah,Igetcarsickinthisbeast,”AveryansweredandIhadtorefrainfrombarking

outalaugh.

Carsick,myleftasscheek.

Ihoppedoverthesideofthebedandclimbedupintothedriver’sseat.

“But you were in the front before? And don’t people get carsick in the back seat?”

Asherasked.

Smartgirl,thatAsher.

“Something about the truck,” Avery answered. I looked over my shoulder and

watchedasshescootedaroundAsherandclimbedintotheback.Asher’seyesmetmine

through the short distance and she sighed heavily, before begrudgingly getting into the

frontseatbesideme.

T

H A N K

Y

O U

Someofyouknowthis,butmanyofyoudonot—

ThisisactuallythethirdtimeNoahandRyleigh’sstoryhasbeentold.

(Thirdtime’sacharm?)

Onceuponatime,Iwenttoahockeygameandfellinpuppylovewithaplayer.There

may have been a note involved ;) Authors often get asked: where do the stories come

from?AndthePrescotts?Theycamefrommystupidtwenty-year-oldself.

NoahandRyleigh’sstory,wasfirst“published”inpaperbackonly,inJanuaryof2011.

Icanlaughnow,butIdidn’tgothroughAmazonorwithe-publishingbecause“e-books

weren’tgoingtobeathing.”Truestory.So,ifyou’reeverbrowsingmynameoninthe

interwebsofbooks,andcomeacrossNeutralZone—that’stheoriginaloriginalFrom the

Beginning.

Then,whenitwasDecemberof2015,Idecidedtoactuallygivethiswritingthinga

go.AsIwasworkingonInterference,Ithought,“Itwouldbefuntointroduceanyreaders

who pick it up, to the original Prescotts!” I also never imagined more than a handful of

strangerswouldfallforthisfamily,but…Colormeimpressed.InAprilof2016,Ireleased

whatwasmydebutbook…andwhatamessandmistakethatwas.Iwassoexcitedtoget

FromtheBeginningout,thatIdidn’tdoanythingrightwithpublishingit.Becauseofthat,

it was riddled with errors. I had readers reading Interference, then pick up From the

Beginning,andwhiletheyweren’tnecessarilymentioningtheerrors,theywerehavinga

hardtimewiththetimeframeandreferences.So,that’sanotherthing.WhenIwroteFrom

theBeginningoriginally,IhadplanstoalsowriteKettyandJason’sbooks,butinstead,I

jumpedrightintothePrescottboys.

Needlesstosay,ItookFromtheBeginningdown,butIwasgettingnewreaders,and

theyheardthatNoahandRyleighhadastory,andwherewasit?!Okay,thepeoplehave

spoken.Iwasgoingtotakeoutmodernreferencesandthenhaveitactuallygotoediting.

…Butthensomethinghappened.IcouldpictureNoahonahill,surroundedbysnow,

heartbrokenatthelossofRyleigh.It’snotveryoftenthataPrescott,whosenameisnot

Porter, “talks” to me without being prompted, so I knew it was something I had to look

into;tothinkaboutandtrytoexpandon.

Idid,andherewehavethenew,andfinal,versionofthestory.It’smuchshorterthan

the original—salvaging the story was like pulling teeth—but if anyone really wants the

originalFromtheBeginning,

emailme

andIcanmakethathappen.

Asalways,toJenn,myrockstareditor.I’msorryImadeyoucry,butI’llalwaysbe

grateful to have you in my corner—even when I’m messaging you in the middle of the

night,whileI’matPennedConandhavingananxietyattackand,and,and.

Melissa—yourrolehaschangedinthelastfewmonths,butthankyouforbeingmy

sounding board and my listening ear, even when it’s just silly stories about the biker

neighborguy.

To the Troublemakers—you all make what I do fun. Thank you for sticking around

and enjoying this family as much as I do. It’s because of you, that I decided to write

Jonny’sstoryearly(eventhoughthatmakesthetimelinewonkyandwe’llbegoingback

intimeforafewofmyfuturetitles).

Andtoyou,thereaderreadingthisnow.Whetheryou’reanewreaderoranold,thank

you,thankyou,thankyouforallowingmetofollowmydreams.

Untilnexttime…

A

B O U T

T H E

A

U T H O R

Eversinceayounggirl,Mignon(yes,likethefilet)hasbeenpenningstoriesoffallingin

love,fromtheinnocentloveofaseven-year-oldandherapplefriend,toaholocaustlove

storyattheageoftwelve,totheeventualLoveInAllPlacesseries,aserieswithreader

favoritefamily,theNHLplayingPrescotts.

Aself-professedStarbuckssnob,youwillmoreoftenthannotfindherinwhathasbeen

dubbed“hercorner”atalocalStarbucks,whereshewriteswhateverhercharacterstellher

—atleast,whenPorterPrescottisn’tinterrupting.

Whennotwritingornannyingthecutestsetoftriplets,youcanfindhersinging,painting,

designing book-ish things, or hiking the beautiful mountains of her current home in

Arizona(althoughshewillalwaysbeamidwestgirlatheart).

ConnectwithMignononline:

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B

O O K S

B Y

M

I G N O N

PRESCOTTFAMILYSERIES

Interference

PlaymakerDuet

AHolidayfortheBooks—comingsoon

FromtheBeginning:APrescottOriginsStory

ButterflySave—comingJanuary2018

O’GALLAGHERNIGHTSNOVELLASERIES

OneNightStand

AboutLastNight

AllNightLong

O’GallagherNights:TheCompleteSerieswithBonusHolidayNovella

LOVINGMEADOWSSERIES

SavingGrace

EmberBright—coming2018

HonorBound—coming2018

CarpeDiem—coming2018

ENFORCERSOFSANDIEGOSERIES

27:DroppingtheGloves

32:RefusetoLose

25:AngelsandAssists—comingDecember2017

LOVEINALLPLACESFULLSERIES

Interference(PrescottFamily)

O’GallagherNights:TheCompleteSeries

SavingGrace(LovingMeadows)

PlaymakerDuet(PrescottFamily)

27:DroppingtheGloves(EnforcersofSanDiego)

32:RefusetoLose(EnforcersofSanDiego)

FromtheBeginning(PrescottFamily)