Off the ice, elite defenseman Hawke Therrien enjoys his fair share of booze and good times. And why
shouldn’t he? He’s worked his way up from the minor leagues and made himself a star. The only thing Hawke
misses from that life is the pierced, tattooed free spirit who broke his heart without so much as an explanation.
She’s almost unrecognizable when she walks back into his life seven years later—except for the look in her
eyes

that

feels

like

a

punch

to

the

gut.

Vale Campbell isn’t the same girl she was at twenty. As crazy as she was about Hawke, her reckless behavior
and out-of-control drinking were starting to scare her. She had to clean up her act, and that would never
happen with Hawke around. Cutting him loose was the hardest thing Vale ever had to do—until now. Because
she’s still crazy about Hawke. And if he could ever learn to forgive her, they just might have a future together.

Prologue
Hawke
S

EVEN YEARS AGO

...

"Dude...you are going to miss your fucking plane. We do not have time for this shit," Oliver says in warning as
we pull up in front of Vale's father's house.
My head is pounding, my throat is dry, and I feel like I'm about ready to hurl. Oh, yeah, and I'm still just a bit
drunk from last night's party.
"This will only take a minute," I mumble as he puts the car in park and I practically fall out when I open the
door.
Fuck, I'm hungover. No, wait...definitely still drunk.
Not sure how last night got so out of control on me.
No, wait...I know the answer to that too.
Because I love to get out of control. I love to party my ass off. Love the freedom that comes with a killer buzz.
Love how happy and carefree it all makes me feel. Love partying with my boys. Love partying with my girl.
Mostly my girl. Fuck...Vale can hang right with me when it comes to our booze. She's as crazy and as
uninhibited as I am when we're stone-cold sober, but when you get the two of us going at a party, we take it to
a whole new level. We are young, boisterous, crazy daredevils. We get jacked up on alcohol and do stupid,
whacko things. Hell, it's not considered a real party unless Vale and I end a glorious, drunken night getting
new tattoos together.
It's what you do when you're twenty years old, and we do it well.
Actually, I may have done it a little too well last night. I woke up about an hour ago on the floor of Oliver's
living room, along with about six other people that I didn't even recognize. There was a girl lying next to me
with her head on my shin, drool coming out of her mouth.

For a brief, panicked moment, I had no clue what the fuck was going on. I didn't see Vale, but rather a strange
girl lying there. We were fully clothed. Hell, everyone was, and after a few unsteady heartbeats, I realized we
all had possibly passed out right there. Empty Solo cups littered the floor, a fifth of vodka lay next to me with
maybe three swallows left in it.
So where the fuck was Vale?
We had come to the party together. Oliver had given it for me, a last farewell throw down, so to speak, in my
honor. I was high on life before I even got there, and I actually felt drunk just on impending success. So much
so, I considered not even drinking that night, but then Vale cracked open a beer and handed it to me, and
without a second thought, I drank it down.
Then another.
And another.

How could I not? All my friends and teammates had come out to wish me good luck. The small community of
Sydney, Nova Scotia, nestled on the east coast of Cape Breton Island, boasts only a little over thirty-one
thousand residents, but I'm well known around these parts.
As the league's leading defenseman in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League—better known as the
"Q"—my name is familiar to many throughout much of Canada. I've been playing for the Cape Breton Oilers
since I was sixteen years old, and with my talents, I was drafted into the NHL by the Pittsburgh Titans when I
was eighteen.
Third round, sixty-second overall.
For the next year, I had a brief and glorious rise up to Titan training camp, where I made the cut and survived
seven games before I was scratched because I pretty much sucked.
Too young. Needs more development. Not ready.
I was sent back to Cape Breton to play another year in the "Q" rather than Pittsburgh's minor league team out
of Wilkes-Barre Scranton, a move that was decided best for me by Titan management. This was fine by me, as
it put me right back with Vale, who was content to take some classes in a local college, not sure what she
wanted to do with her life. While I had been gone maybe a total of four months, we were still rock solid
together, so we just picked up right where we left off.
It's not like I was happier to be with Vale than building a professional hockey career, but I was okay with the
decision to send me back down to the "Q," and so Vale was sort of like a bonus for me. I love that girl so
fucking much, so what if it took me an extra year to make it back into an NHL game? At least I had my
dream-come-true girl beside me.
Vale Campbell.
Same age as me...twenty, but definitely the free spirit of the two of us. While I can get as wild and crazy as she
does on any given day, I'm usually the voice of reason within our relationship when I bother to care enough to
bring reason into a situation. Vale is such a fly-by-her-seat kind of girl, and it's one of the things I love about

her the most. She says "fuck the consequences," and I'm usually right there beside her, urging "let's do it." We
are more than lovers. We are the best of friends, two peas in a pod, Frick and Frack.
Which makes me wonder what the fuck happened last night that I woke up on a beer-soaked carpet without
her, rather than naked in the bed we shared at our apartment?
I checked my phone as soon as I dislodged the girl's head off my leg. She did nothing more than let out a soft
snore and roll over.
No messages.
I called Vale and it rang four times before I got her voicemail. "Hey," I said with a voice crusted in some type
of hangover gunk. I gave a hard cough and tried again. "It's me. Not sure where you are. Hopefully at home.
I'm on my way there now, so I'll see you soon."
I hung up, my stomach threatening to rebel on me, and stumbled down the hallway to wake up Oliver. I found
him naked in bed with a girl I vaguely recognized from last night. It took me a good five minutes to rouse him
so he could drive me back to our apartment, where I assumed Vale was waiting to drive me to the airport in
Halifax.
Unfortunately, when I got there, my throbbing headache seemed to magnify even more when I realized she
wasn't. I started to get a sick feeling in my stomach—non-booze related—

that something bad had happened. Bits and pieces were returning to me, and I did remember that she hadn't
been feeling well and wanted to leave the party. Period cramps, I think. I also distinctly remember me telling
her I didn't want to leave because this was my last night before flying out to Pennsylvania, and I wasn't about
to leave just because it was "that time of the month."
I had been called up to the Titan minor league team and this was what I had been waiting for. My foot was
back in the door and it was a moment of huge celebration. I was leaving, and if I was lucky enough to get
solidified within the Titan organization, I probably wasn't ever coming back here. In just a year, I had gained
massive improvements in my conditioning, my skills, and my confidence. I was ready for the big leagues and
they wanted me, so it was a night to party, celebrate, and say goodbye. I was going to be sad to leave this
community where I've lived for the past four years, so I wanted to make it count.
Of course, I would be crushed to leave Vale, but in my mind, that was just temporary. I had to work on getting
her to come with me. Despite her libertine ways, she was at heart a smalltown girl deeply meshed within her
community and even closer to her dad. So, we'd be separated for a while until I could get her to make that leap
with me, but still...I'd be seeing her. Surely she'd come to visit me and we'd make our long-distance
relationship work. But these guys...my bros that I'd played junior hockey with for so many years? This was my
last night with them. Surely she understood why I didn't want to leave.
Surely she wasn't pissed at me for that?
Oliver made a quick call to Avery, his twin sister and Vale's best friend. The call was short, and even though
Oliver tried to find out where they went last night, the most he got out of her was that Vale wasn't feeling well
and was staying at her dad's house. I'm sort of thinking that her "not feeling well" translates into her being
pissed at me.
And as I look at the little gray house, which holds two bedrooms along the front and a small hallway that leads
to a cozy living room and even cozier kitchen, my heads feels like it's about to split open. I know that's not
from the hangover anymore, but has everything to do with the fact that something is seriously wrong for Vale

to have stayed the night here without any word to me about it. I must have done something awful last night,
and I'm practically choking on the dread rising within me.
My plane to Pittsburgh leaves in a little less than seven hours, but I have a four-and-a-half-hour drive to
Halifax. I'm packed up and ready to go—made sure of that yesterday before the party—but I have to make
things right with Vale, and that doesn't leave me much time. My bags are in the car and Oliver is prepared to
take me to Halifax, but I'm hoping a very sincere apology to my girl will put things right again and she'll be the
one seeing me off. Putting on my best hangdog look, I slowly walk up the immaculate sidewalk that Vale
faithfully plants with flowers every summer for her dad. Apparently it was something her mom used to do
before she died, and it was a tradition she took seriously.
Dave's not home, and I know this because her father is the athletic trainer for the Oilers. At this time of day,
he's at the arena working on players before conditioning training, which I'm sure is filled with dudes that are as
hungover as me. I noticed none of the people lying on Oliver's floor this morning were my former teammates.
I knock on the door, hear the padding of footsteps, and when it opens, I'm staring at Avery. She's Oliver's
fraternal twin sister and they look a lot alike, with auburn hair and dark brown

eyes. You would think that with me being Oliver's friend and her being Vale's friend we in turn would be
friends.
Not the case.
Avery and I don't like each other very much and I'm not sure why. We know each other well because when I
first came to live in Sydney, Oliver and Avery's parents fostered me until I turned eighteen. We lived together
for two years and never warmed up to each other. I find her abrasive and too princesslike for my tastes. She's
told me on more than one occasion, usually when she's drunk and uninhibited, that I'm an egotistical bastard.
Still, we try to maintain a polite existence when we are in the presence of Oliver and Vale. Neither appears to
be around right now, so I cut right to the chase as I take a step toward the entryway. "Where is she?"
Avery sidesteps, puts herself in my path, and sneers at me with malice. "As if you even care."
"Spare me the dramatics," I mutter, trying to act as if I have nothing to be ashamed of, when in fact I'm not
quite sure I know what happened last night. "Why did she stay here rather than at our apartment?"
I expect Avery to light into me, call me a creep, an asshole, or some other equally "princesslike" curse she can
come up with. Instead, she takes a deep breath while something wars within her eyes. She gives me what I
might almost believe is a look of sympathy, but I quickly shake that off. Avery can't stand me and wouldn't
feel sorry for me in the slightest over anything that could come between me and Vale.
Instead, she sort of lowers her head in resignation and backs away from the door so I can come in.
Vale's bedroom—the one she grew up in, that is—is directly to my right, and I see the door is closed. Dave's
bedroom is just across the hall, so when Vale and I started dating when we were sixteen, I couldn't have ever
dreamed of sneaking into her room at night.
I give Avery a long look before turning to Vale's door. I square my shoulders, put on my most apologetic look,
and enter.
Immediately, I realize what I had been feeling as dread truly wasn't that. I know this because now I'm feeling
it. A cold, heavy pit of foreboding sits low in my stomach as I see Vale in her bed under the covers. The blinds

are closed, curtains drawn shut, so the room is dim despite the early morning hour. I have her back, her small
body clearly outlined under the burgundy quilt pulled up to her chin.
She looks lost, pathetic, and utterly alone. A sharp stab of pain hits me square in my breastbone.
"Vale," I say quietly, and her body gives a slight jerk, but she doesn't respond in any way.
"Baby," I say as I take a tentative step toward her. I'm envisioning that I did the worst thing ever to her last
night, without a single recollection of it. And yet that doesn't seem right because no matter how drunk I may
have been, no matter how out of control, I know deep in my heart I could never, ever do anything to hurt Vale.
Never.
I sit down gingerly on the edge of her mattress and lay an unsteady hand on her shoulder.

"Vale...are you okay?"
I want to grab her and pull her onto my lap. I want to wrap my arms around her in comfort, even though I don't
know why I'd be offering it. I want her to cling to me in need, and assure me that I haven't done something to
fuck all of this up.
Still, she doesn't answer me, so I push at her, despite what I'm now feeling as a very thick and icy wall of
tension between us.
"Vale," I say, my voice a bit stronger. "You've got to talk to me, honey. Are you too sick to take me to the
airport today? Because if so, Oliver can do it. I'd want you to stay in bed and get better, but I'm leaving, babe.
We have to talk. Need to know why you're pissed off at—"
"Hawke," she says quietly, cutting me off.
I freeze, peer at her through the gloom, and she turns that beautiful face my way. Vale is wildly stunning in a
completely unconventional way. She's always been a bit of a rule breaker when it comes to fashion and norms.
In fact, I remember the first time seeing her at school after I'd moved here, I was stunned that one side of her
head was shaved, while the other side held a long, thick fall of raven-black hair. Those crystal-green eyes
sparkled, but they did have competition from her facial piercings—one ring through an eyebrow, a Medusa
stud piercing just above her upper lip, and one ring through her right nostril. She also has one through her
tongue, a solid barbell that has slid across my own tongue and even my dick on hundreds of occasions.
Her black hair is now worn in long, choppy layers, but she still sports all of her facial metal, including two
high nostril piercings, and her body holds a variety of tattoos she's had done over the past two years. While
Dave is an easygoing and laid-back type of dad who had no problem with her piercings, he wouldn't let her get
a tattoo until she turned eighteen. That was too permanent in his mind to agree to for a minor.
So on her eighteenth birthday, I picked her up at Dave's house and took her straight to a tattoo parlor. He just
shook his head with a knowing smile, because he had no doubt that's where his spitfire daughter would be on
that day.

With me. At a tattoo parlor.
He sure as shit wouldn't have wanted to know that we ended the night with her in my bed, losing her virginity.
"Hawke," she says again...quietly, and I'm displaced from my memories. Her hair is lank, her skin pale. Dark
circles under her eyes tell me she didn't get any sleep last night.
I reach a hand out to touch her face but she shrinks away from me, and the pit in my stomach grows tenfold.
"I don't want to see you anymore," she whispers as tears fill her eyes. "You're leaving, I'm staying, so we just
need to end things now."
"Did I do something last night?" I blurt out in a panic, my hands coming to her shoulders. I need to hold on to
her...desperately. "Please tell me, I don't remember shit."
She shakes her head and pushes up in the bed. Her hands come out from under the quilt to pull it up to her chest
as she rests against the headboard.
"What the fuck, Vale? Why did you stay here last night?"
She looks at me with dead eyes and says, "It doesn't matter."

"It does fucking matter. The only thing I remember is you wanting to leave the party and me not wanting to. I
woke up on Oliver's living room floor. Now what the fuck happened in between?"
If it's possible, Vale's eyes look even more fatigued and she takes in a shuddering breath. Just as I think she's
getting ready to enlighten me, her door opens and Oliver sticks his head in. "Dude, you have got to hit the road.
As it is, you're going to be lucky to make your flight."
His eyes cut from me over to Vale, who turns her head away to stare at the wall.
I scrub my hands through my hair, which I've always worn long, between chin and shoulder, depending on my
mood. "Fuck...give me just a minute, man." Oliver nods and eases out, shutting the door quietly.
I turn to look back at Vale and she won't give me the courtesy of a return glance. So I take her jaw, squeezing
slightly, and force her to turn and look at me. When she does, I feel my heart shrivel up and die.
There's nothing there.
It's just...dead.
"Are we over?" I ask her quietly.
"Yes," she says, with absolutely no hesitation, but there's a warble to her voice and a quiver to her lip.
"Will you at least tell me why?"
"No," she says just as resolutely, but tears fill her eyes. "I don't want to discuss it with you."
I have one more question as I feel my entire world start to darken. Depending on how she answers, this decides
whether or not I miss my plane. Because if there's even a chance that I think I can reach her, I'm going to sit on
this bed and talk to her until I'm blue in the face.
"Do you still love me?" I ask, practically choking the words out.
I brace as if I'm about to get pounded by the biggest goon in the league. I know that her answer has the power
to hurt me worse than I ever have been before on the ice.
She stares at me a moment...a single, silent tear slips down her cheek. Then she lowers her face and says, "No.
I don't love you, Hawke."

In that one moment my entire world stops spinning. I go deaf, my vision dims, and I swear the breath just
evaporates from my lungs. Time stands brutally still, holding me captive in a nightmare. I can do nothing but
stare at the girl who in one instant has my heart, and in the next instant makes it disintegrate.
Absolute and utter quiet.
Me staring at her.
Vale staring at her lap.
This moment could go on for an eternity, but then I hear Oliver's car engine start from out on the street, a subtle
reminder I have places to be.
Everything starts moving again.
My heart begins a steady thumping. I can hear Avery emptying the dishwasher in the kitchen, and I can hear
Vale's ragged breathing as she refuses to look at me.
I stand from the bed and look down at her, willing her to look up and tell me she just lied

to my face.
But she doesn't.
So I turn around and walk out of her room, but not without letting her know that this isn't over. "I'll call you
tonight after I land."
She doesn't respond, and somehow I just know. When I call tonight, Vale's not going to answer the phone.

Chapter 15
Hawke
P

RESENT

D

AY

The vibe in the air is palpably electric. Makes my skin prickle and my blood race. The first day of training
camp...where it all starts for us. A new season. Another run at the Cup.
My first day as a member of the defending champion Carolina Cold Fury.
Fuck yeah...I could probably get a hard-on just from the way I'm feeling right now.
I walk to the team meeting room in the basement of the Cold Fury arena. First order of business is to attend this
"welcome back" meeting where all the new acquisitions are introduced. Then we'll have a team picture,
followed by individual meetings with the coaches, and end the day with a party at Coach Pretore's house. I feel
like tying one on tonight, and I never deny myself something I want. I understand Coach's welcome back party
is pretty sedate, but I guarantee a few of the guys will be willing to head out after for some real partying. It's
sort of my last night of freedom before the season starts, and I can't think of a better way to end it than drinks
with my new buds and a hot piece of ass to finish the night
off.
Nodding at a few players I recognize, either from having played with them before or from having checked
them hard into the boards, my eyes catch on Garrett Samuelson as soon as I enter the room. He's sitting about
five rows up from the bottom with the man I know to be my new team captain, Alex Crossman, along with
Zack Grantham, the second-line left winger for the Cold Fury. Garrett sees me and waves me over.
We played a year together in Pittsburgh and I was his defenseman on the right side. Good dude and glad to be
back playing with him, although I know it's not a given I'll be playing on the first line. I mean, I should be, I
just know it's never a given.
Gray Brannon, the general manager of the Cold Fury, used her statistical mojo that has all the tongues wagging
in the league and put a hard push to acquire me this year from the Titans. My stats have me as the third-ranked

defenseman in the entire league, but Gray says those numbers don't show the true story. While I didn't talk to
her directly, according to my agent, she says in her opinion I'm really the best. I'm not an overly humble man at
the best of times, so I'll have to just go ahead and agree with her.
I make my way directly up to Garrett, who stands and gives me a bro hug. Introductions aren't needed, since
the last time the Titans played the Cold Fury was just this past February. Afterward, I went out for a few beers
with Garrett, Alex, Zack, and the team's then-goalie,

Ryker Evans, as our team plane wasn't heading out until the next day. All good dudes, and fuck...Alex is the
best player in the league right now, so I know how fortunate I am to be here on a defending championship
team. The only one missing from the group today is Ryker, and that's because he decided not to renew his
contract with the Cold Fury.
In a move that was very controversial and set all the hockey gossips buzzing, Ryker stepped off his goalie
throne as one of the all-time hockey greats and decided to retire the week after he helped bring the Cup to
Raleigh, just a few short months ago. In another not quite so controversial move, but one that set female fans
all ablaze, Ryker and Gray eloped to Vegas and got married. Thereafter, it was absolutely no surprise when he
accepted a position on the goalie coaching staff with the Cold Fury. While it didn't appear the executive board
had a problem with a player being involved with the team's boss, I'd bet dollars to pesos that Ryker had a
problem with it. From what little I know of the man, he has huge respect for Gray and doesn't want to interfere
with her history-making career as the league's only female general manager.
"Welcome to the team, my man," Garrett says as they all shuffle down a seat to let me take the one on the end.
"Thanks. Good to be here," I tell him.
"Are you all moved in?" Alex asks as he leans forward on the other side of Garrett to look at me.
"All moved in, just not unpacked. Figured that will get done sometime next summer."
"Say the word, dude," Zack says from the other side of Alex. "I bet Sutton, Olivia, Kate, and Gray could get
you unpacked in about two hours flat. You provide pizza and beer for us all, we'll get it done."
"Yeah," I drawl out with a grin. "Not about to have my boss unpack my underwear boxes." "It's all good,"
Garrett says. "Gray is just a normal chick when she steps out of the GM's
office."
And speak of the devil, Gray Brannon walks in alongside her father, the team's CEO, Brian Brannon, followed
by Coach Pretore and the rest of the coaching staff. Ryker Evans brings up the rear, his eyes pinned to wife's
ass. The voices in the room immediately go silent as all eyes swing their way, and then apparently planned

without my knowledge, all of the players stand up and start clapping. The claps increase in staccato and
volume. Cheers start ringing out, and then a low chant, "Gray, Gray, Gray, Gray."
I stand up and do the same, not wanting to be a douche, and totally willing to give kudos where they're due.
Gray Brannon turned this team into champions, and she did it against overwhelming opposition from players,
coaches, executives, and fans across the country.
Gray actually blushes, slides a grin to her dad, and then holds up her hands to quiet the team. When the sounds
dissipate and the guys all start sitting back down, she says, "Okay, you big jerks, trying to make me girlie cry
or something?"
Everyone chuckles, and then her eyes harden. It's time for business.
"We're going to win the Stanley Cup again this year," she says with not a hint of egotism in her voice. "Any
questions?"
Dead silence until someone behind me says, "Fucking right we are."

"Exactly," she says, leveling a beaming smile at the person, and Christ...she is one gorgeous chick. No wonder
Ryker fell for her. "Now, that's all I have. I'll turn it over to Coach Pretore."
Gray and Brian Brannon both step back and lean against the wall. Coach Pretore steps up to the podium and
rests his forearms on it. "We had a great team last year. We got a better team this year. But we must be humble
and realize that it still takes hard work, perseverance, and unification as a team. I'm going to work you harder
than you've ever worked before, and you're going to beg me to give you more. You, in turn, are going to reach
deep into your gut for every game, and you're going to bleed victory for this organization. Am I right?"
A chorus of guys echo out agreement, and the air vibrates with male testosterone eager to get out on the ice.
Coach Pretore scans his men with proud eyes and nods his approval.
"All right, we got some new members to the team. Let's take a moment so I can introduce
them."
Pretore reads from a list in front of him, alphabetical. Only three names before me and I'm the last.
"Hawke Therrien," he says, and his eyes scan the rows until he sees me. With a lift of his chin, I stand from my
seat and tuck my hands in my pocket while he reads my credentials. "You all know Hawke. Played the last
seven years with the Titans. Originally from Toronto. Joined the Cape Breton Oilers when he was sixteen.
Drafted by the Titans, third round. Small stint in the minors and has been on their first line the last five years.
Won the James Norris Trophy twice."
His eyes swing up to mine and he barks out, "Did I miss anything?"
I can't help myself. "Yeah...my favorite beer is Molson and I can solve a Rubik's Cube in like twenty-seven
minutes flat. I'm a fucking phenom."
The entire room erupts in laughter and Coach snickers before nodding his head at me to sit back down. I drop
into my seat, grateful to be out of the limelight, and Garrett punches me on the shoulder. "So glad you're here,
dude."
"Me too," I tell him sincerely. I feel really good about this year.

"We have a new addition to our training staff," Coach Pretore says, and my gaze slides back down to him. My
blood practically freezes in my veins when he adds, "Everyone welcome Vale Campbell to our team."
From the very first row, a person I didn't even notice when I entered the room stands up. She turns and it's like
a punch to my gut as her eyes come straight to mine. Just like the last time I looked into them, there's nothing
there. Not really a hint of recognition, anger, indifference. They just stare at me a brief moment and then move
away as she makes a cursory swipe of the room before sitting back down.
"Vale is our new assistant athletic trainer. She's crossing sports, coming to us from Columbus, Ohio, where she
spent the last two years as the Buckeyes' assistant AT. Her roots are in hockey, though, as her dad was the head
trainer of the Cape Breton Oilers for many years—"
Pretore stops and it suddenly dawns on him. His eyes snap up to mine and he says, "In fact, Therrien, you two
might know each other?"
I quickly peek at Vale, who's slumping down in her seat.

Totally fucking awkward.
"Yeah," I say, then give a little cough. "I know Vale."
"Excellent," Pretore says, not picking up on the tension I'm feeling, and then looking back down at the paper
before him. "Vale has excellent credentials...she's a board-certified AT and also has her certification as a
strength and conditioning specialist, so men...get ready to get your asses kicked. She graduated with a
bachelor's degree in kinesiology from Penn State and got her master's in exercise and sports medicine there as
well. Originally from Sydney..."
I tune Pretore out.
Fuck...talk about a blast from my past. I hadn't thought of Vale in years. Well, that's not true. I've actually had
some dirty dreams about her from time to time, but I haven't really thought about her or what we had together
in years. That was something put firmly out of my mind when I walked out of her house seven years ago. True
to my word, I called Vale that night when I landed in Pittsburgh.
Just as I suspected, she didn't answer the phone. Didn't return my call. Didn't answer my texts.
It took me a grand total of three days, and a gut full of fury and rage, before I cut her out of my thoughts. The
anger was eating me up, the pain almost too much to bear. So for me, it was just easier to wipe her from my
existence or I'd wallow in misery.
I kept in touch with Oliver sporadically after I got to Pittsburgh, and he'd throw me an unsolicited bone about
her every once in a while, but last I heard, she was still living in Sydney. But then Oliver and I drifted apart,
sad to say probably all my fault because I'm a lousy fucking friend, and I just lost touch with everything from
my past on Cape Breton.
I put my head into the game literally and figuratively and I lived, ate, and breathed professional hockey. I made
new friends...my teammates. When I went home on holidays, it wasn't back to Cape Breton to see Oliver and
his family, it was back to Toronto to see my own. I partied hard in my downtime and I fucked around...a lot.

Keeping track of old friends and moping over lost loves just wasn't my thing. I got over Vale Campbell and I
moved on.
Never in a million years thought we would ever cross paths again. And as evidenced by the hot flame of
bubbling anger sitting low in my gut right now, I'm guessing that I'm still a bit pissed at her.
I can't deny it, though, she's still a goddamn knockout. And so different than the last time I saw her. Not a
single piercing on her face. Her black hair still long, but in a stylishly sleek fall down to her shoulders. She's
conservatively dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a black Cold Fury polo shirt.
Body is still slammin'.
Noticed that when she stood up.
And those eyes...I could see their crystal clarity from up here. Sexy as hell, but when they looked at me, not an
ounce of warm recognition in them.
Christ..! can't imagine what could turn red-hot passion and love into a fucking iceberg within her. Still the
greatest mystery I'll ever be faced with.
"There's a story there," Garrett mutters quietly as he leans his head toward me. Coach Pretore has finished with
Vale's accolades and is now going over our practice schedule, which

has already been emailed to all of us. I jerk and glance at him. "What's that?" "You and the new AT," he says
with a knowing look. "Nah, man," I say in quick denial. "Just a girl I used to know."
"Fucking liar," Garrett says emphatically. "When she looked at you, the air was so thick you could have cut it
with a knife. I want the deets."
I'm saved when Pretore says, "That's it, men. Your equipment is in your lockers. You have twenty minutes to
get dressed, pretty yourselves up, and get on the ice for the team photo."
I stand abruptly, but I can hear Garrett snicker before whispering to Alex. "There's definitely a story there."
Ignoring him, I move into the aisle steps that lead down to the exit door. My eyes can't help themselves. They
go immediately to Vale, who scrambles up out of her chair and follows the rest of the training staff out the
door. Not a backward glance my way, and fuck...that pisses me off. She's the one that bailed on our
relationship and she can't give me the courtesy of just saying hello?
Fucking women.
I'm definitely tying one on tonight. Something...anything to make me banish her from my thoughts once again.

Chapter 24
Vale
"Get down from there, Vale," Hawke says to me gruffly, reaching his hand out.
"Why? Afraid I'll fall?" I ask with a drunken grin. I level my arms out for balance, take another precarious
step on the rough stone wall that runs along the Sydney River. A slight wobble and I right myself, but I don't
miss the sound of the frustrated grunt that Hawke lets out.
"If you fall in, I don't want to have to come in after you," he says as he walks alongside me, his feet firmly on
the path beside the wall.
"You're a good swimmer," I tell him confidently, although my words are slurred a little. We'd decided to share
a pint of bourbon, but I ended up taking a few longer pulls on it than Hawke did. Plus he outweighed me by
almost eighty pounds. I was definitely drunk, while he was probably just sporting a nice buzz.
Huh...all the better for him to come in after me should I fall.
"I don't want to get wet," he grumbles, but I can hear it in the tone of his voice.
He's worried.
"Okay, let me do just one pirouette, show off my ballet skills—"
"Christ, Vale," Hawke barks at me, and grabs my wrist. With a hard pull, I am indeed tumbling off the wall but
not toward the river. Instead, I fall right down into Hawke's strong arms. "You're a nut job."
"Am not," I breathe out as my breasts mash into his chest and his breath feathers across my face.
"Are too," he murmurs as he looks down at me.
It's dark, but I can see the half-moon reflected in his eyes. Even though he has the lightest of blue irises, they
are dark with liquor and frustration and even a little bit of lust. I wrap my arms around his neck and tilt my
head to look at the blackened sky. I smile at the stars and they smile back at me just before I turn my face to his
again.

I always thought I was a bit of a free bird. My father let me run wild—within certain limits—because what's a
widowed father to do but dote on his only daughter and give into her every whim?
But really, until I met Hawke, I was merely existing. Going through each day, one step at a time and closing
my eyes at night without truly knowing my purpose.
Now, my blood races constantly when we're together and I feel like I'm on the verge of conquering the world.
I guess that's what love is all about.

"So you wouldn't come in the river after me because you wouldn't want to get wet?" I ask playfully, my fingers
sifting through the long hair at the back of his neck.
"I wouldn't want you to break your neck," he says with a smirk, and then leans down to place his lips right at
the spot he mentioned. He glides a kiss over my skin and a shiver runs up my spine. "It's a lovely neck."
"You take all the fun out of me," I tell him halfheartedly, because really, this is way more fun than me walking
on an uneven wall in the dark after drinking several shots of Jack.
"I've got an idea for fun," he says ominously, and another shiver follows the first. I recognize that tone in his
voice. It's one I love hearing, especially after he took my virginity on my eighteenth birthday four months ago.
"Oh, yeah?" I whisper as my fingers curl deeper into his hair and then clutch hard. I give a tiny pull so his face
lifts and his eyes slam into mine. "What's that?"
"Let's go back to our apartment," he says gruffly. I moved in with him just two weeks after my eighteenth
birthday much to my dad's dismay.
"Want to make love to me?" I tease, enjoying my new sexual freedom now that I've reached adulthood. Hawke
impatiently waited, out of respect for my dad, until I attained majority. I'd have given it up sooner, but Hawke
was ever the romantic, wanting to make it a special occasion on my birthday.
"No," he says with a dark laugh. "I want to fuck you."
"Dirty boy."
"That I am," he mutters, and grabs my wrists to pull my hands away. "Let's go."
He manages to tug me two steps before I dig my heels in. "Wait."
Hawke turns to look at me and my breath seizes in my lungs.
Absolute hunger on his face.
For me.
And love.
Always love.

"What?" he says impatiently.
I look around...left, then right. It's dark, secluded. No one else around. "You could just fuck me here," I suggest
coyly, and even bat my eyelashes at him. I think it's a wasted move in the gloom.
A low growl emits from deep within Hawke's chest and he tugs on my hand. "We might get caught."
"So?" I challenge him as I wrench my hand free of his and reach for the hem of my T-shirt. "You've seen one
dick, you've seen 'em all." I stare at him a moment and then whip the tee over my head, tossing it onto the rock
wall.
His posture is stiff with tension and he looks around with uncertainty. I use the opportunity to kick my tennis
shoes off and unzip my jeans. His head snaps back to mine and he watches me guardedly.
"Come on, baby," I urge him quietly. "Get naked."
He looks around once more, then his shoulders go lax. He grabs his shirt and pulls it off.

Hawke advances on me and mutters, "A fucking nut job." "But you love me," I assert as my hands go to my bra.
"Too fucking much," he agrees.
My alarm goes off and my hand slaps at it. It takes two tries, but I manage to quiet it and open one bleary eye,
which confirms it is indeed five

A

.

M

.

Rubbing my hands over my face, I try to shake off the foggy dregs of my

dream.
Freaking Hawke.
Of course I had to dream about him, didn't I?
A dream about the glory days of my youth, really only but seven years ago. Walking around with my head held
high and my eyes gleaming with the possibility of unparalleled fun. Laughing, joking, and getting drunk.
Spending every free moment with Hawke because we were young and in love and so into each other we could
barely see anything else. But in seven years, my life has changed so drastically I'm nothing but a mere ghost of
that same person I was then.
And I've been thinking about that since yesterday. Ever since seeing Hawke at the team meeting.
It wasn't a surprise to me that he would be there; not the way I know it shocked him. I could see it in his
expression when I turned to face the crowd of hockey players staring down at me. Long before I saw him
saunter into the meeting room, I had been preparing myself for when he'd first lay eyes on me again. While
there's no doubt in my mind that Hawke never kept track of my whereabouts, I couldn't say the same. Of
course I knew he'd been traded to the Cold Fury, so I was somewhat prepared for this. But that's only because
I know everything that goes on in the hockey world. It's my passion and always has been, compliments of
being Dave Campbell's daughter. I follow the sport religiously. Can tell you anything you want to know about
the "Q," the Western Hockey League, and the Ontario Hockey League, and those are just the Canadian juniors.
I know all the American minor leagues and without a doubt, I follow the NHL with an eagle eye. I do this not
only because I was raised in hockey, but because I now want to work in hockey. I've put in my fair share of job
applications from the juniors all the way up to the top. My time working in college football wasn't a desire but

a lack of options, but here I am now. At the top with nothing more than one well-placed call by my father to
Brian Brannon, his old college buddy, and I became a Cold Fury employee.
It was a terrible twist of fate that I ended up joining the team at the same time Hawke did. Just as it was a
terrible twist of fate, my needing to come to the Cold Fury—and trust me when I say, I desperately needed to
relocate.
With a sigh, I swing my legs out of the bed and grab my iPhone, unplugging it from my charger.
There's a text from Todd that came in at 9:45 p.m. last night and I wince slightly as I read it. Waited for your
call. Assume you fell asleep. I miss you.
Crap. I was so exhausted last night after I got home from the gym I just completely forgot

to call him. I remember taking a shower, eating a quick sandwich, and then lying on the bed to rest my eyes for
a bit.
I shoot him off a quick reply. I'm so sorry. Was exhausted. Heading to gym now but will call later. xoxoxo
Todd would understand. It's one of the reasons I adore him so much. He just gets me, and not many people do
anymore.
"Fuck, dude...that hurts like a motherfucker," I hear Kip Sutherland snarl as another piece of kinesiology tape
is ripped from his back.
"Not my fault you got a hairy back," Goose says with a dry look.
I twist my neck to look at the two of them and yeah...Kip does have a hairy back. He's a third-line defenseman
for the Cold Fury and he just came off the ice with some lower back spasms. Goose is the other assistant
athletic trainer. No clue what his real name is, but this is technically my first day on the job, so there's still a ton
to learn. I figure his real name is the least of my problems at this point.
My head swings back down to the laptop in front of me. I have it propped up on a therapy table, reviewing the
procedural manual for the Cold Fury athletic training program. Our head trainer, Bruce Duvall, handed me the
laptop and suggested I just set myself up somewhere and get it read. I don't have an office, and I suspect that's
because the Cold Fury wasn't actively seeking another trainer when I got the job offer. Bruce told me I could
share desk space with Goose, but one look at the top covered with binders and medical charts and I decided it
was just easier to set up in our large training room. Practice had been running for thirty minutes, so all the
men—minus Kip and his hairy back—are out there and it's dead quiet in here.
R-i-i-i-p.
"Fuck," Kip groans. "How many more pieces are there?"
I grin to myself and reread the first paragraph on the chapter entitled "Medical Charting." "Three more, you
big sissy," Goose says with a chuckle. "Then we'll get you in an ice bath." "I need something for my head too,"
Kip grumbles.

"Why? Did you hit it?" Goose asks.
"Nah, dude. Just went out with a few of the guys after Coach's party last night and I'm hungover as shit. That
goddamn Therrien, man, he can drink like a fish and I about killed myself just keeping up with him."
Figures.
Hawke was still partying hard, but that has been his reputation within the league. Play hard, party hard. I bet he
even has that tattooed somewhere on his body.
I force myself away from their conversation, trying to absorb the content on the screen before me. I have a
notepad next to me on the vinyl-covered cushioned table but I haven't taken any notes. The stuff is easy,
straightforward, and pretty much in line with the way things were done at my last job. Still, I want to make
sure I do things right because it's imperative I keep this job. And let's face it, they don't really need me here so
I have to rise

and then shine brighter than Goose to maintain my position.
A knock on the door doesn't quite disturb me from my reading, but the voice that says, "Hey, man...I need my
knee taped," does, and my head swings up.
Hawke stands in the open doorway in full gear minus his helmet, his forehead sweat slicked and his long hair
sticking to his temples. He stares straight at Goose and I use the moment to try to still my beating heart, which
started running away from me the minute I saw him.
But damn...why does the man have to look so freaking good?
I just saw him but a few hours ago in my early morning dream, and yet even that memory of what we had was
dull and faded next to him up close and personal. Dark brown hair that he still wears long. It curls just above
his shoulders with a heavy wave and his blue eyes are set deep below darkly slashed eyebrows. The one thing
that's different in this man just seven years later is that he now sports a beard. While we are well out of playoff
season, Hawke apparently liked the look and decided to keep it. It's full but well trimmed; dark with some
subtle lighter strands woven in.
I have to say, it does him justice, only serving to highlight his high cheekbones and strong jawline.
He's perfection, and while I want to tear my eyes away, I just can't. Besides, he hasn't spared me a glance, and
while we were over years ago, I can't say it's a chore staring at him like this. What woman in her right mind
wouldn't stare at that?
"Be just a few minutes," Goose says with good nature as he pulls another piece of tape from Kip's lower back,
who in turn groans dramatically. "Then I need to get him in an ice bath."
"Why can't she do it?" Hawke asks, and his eyes slide lazily over to me.
My body stiffens and I stand upright from the way I was leaning on the table as I read from the laptop. My
heart skitters out of control as I realize Hawke was very much aware of me.

He stares at me now with those mesmerizing eyes that don't speak a single word to me. There was a time in our
lives when he could communicate to me just with those irises. I could read want and need. Anger and love.
Pain and happiness. Hell, I could tell if he was hungry for a steak or a chicken by the way he stared at me.
Now I get nothing. Not even a hint of welcome or even curiosity about me.
I have to wonder what he's feeling, because we did not part on good terms. In fact, we parted on very bad
terms. I shut him down and out, and refused to even let him know my thinking.
Of course, I was operating on pain, loss, guilt, and anger myself, so I felt I was justified back then.
Now?
I'm not so sure I did things right, but I can't change the past. I was ruled by emotion, and I acted in the only way
I knew my conscience would let me at that exact moment in time.
"Vale's still reading the procedural manual," Goose says. "I can get you in a few."
"Or she can tape me now," Hawke suggests with what borders on an imperious tone. "I need to get back on the
ice."
"Suit yourself," Goose says with a shrug of his shoulders. "She fucks it up, not on my

shoulders."
My body jerks and my gaze swings over to Goose. Now why would the asshole say that?
"She fucks it up, it's on her shoulders," Hawke clarifies, and my head snaps back to him. He's got a challenging
glint in his eyes, and I realize in this moment that I much preferred the blank, uninterested look he gave me
earlier. This look right here says there's still some bitter feelings toward me, and that's just an unnecessary
complication I don't need in my life right now.
With a sigh, I tip my head toward the table next to the one that holds the laptop. "Skates, socks, shin pads, and
pants off."
Hawke lumbers toward me, his skate guards clacking dully on the industrial tile floor. "Jock strap too?" he
asks without a trace of humor.
"No," I tell him coolly as I grab a towel and toss it at him before turning to the supply cabinet. "You can put
that over your lap though."
He's only half a foot away when he catches the towel and murmurs so low I barely hear him, "Why? Seen one
dick, you seen 'em all."
I freeze with my hand on the cabinet handle and a sudden wave of longing and sadness crashes through me.
Anguish over what we had, which was still so fresh in my mind from my dream of him and me and that stupid
stone wall along the Sydney River. Wondering through the years, and more so now with him standing just a
few feet away, what would have happened had things been just a little different.
"Vale?" Hawke says softly, and I jerk into action. I pull the cabinet open and gather adhesive, gauze, and tape,
knocking it closed with my shoulder.
I turn to face him, squaring my shoulders and sliding a neutral expression on my face. I tip my head toward the
table. "Let's go, Therrien. Thought you wanted back on the ice?"
His eyes flick back and forth between mine, his jaw muscle ticking. He studies me, appears to want to say
something else, but then silently bends down to start unlacing his skates.

I take a deep breath but blow it out silently.
This should be fun.

Chapter 36
Hawke
I quickly shed my gear from the waist down, actually a bit self-conscious of getting seminaked in front of
Vale. No clue why, because that woman has seen parts of my body up closer than even I have. But I guess
there's something about this tension and the cool vibe radiating from her body that has me feeling off-kilter
around her.
I should have just fucking waited for Goose to finish up with Sutherland. I suspect he's in here getting his back
worked on not because it hurts but because his face is fucking green as hell. His parting words to me last night
when he stumbled into a cab were, "Dude...I hope I don't puke before I get home."
Still, the guy did an admirable job of keeping pace with me last night, and even though I could have kept on
partying, I knew I had to be up early for practice today. Didn't stop me from collecting the phone number of a
really hot waitress from the bar we were at last night, and I think I'll give her a call this weekend.
Vale keeps her back to me until my ass is on the therapy table and the towel is covering my lap. I take a
moment to watch her as she lays out her supplies on the table beside us, her slender fingers using a pair of
scissors to open a new package of tape. She then cuts off uniform lengths of tape and attaches them to the
table.
Fuck, but she's still gorgeous. Even in her "uniform" of khaki pants and her tidy, black Cold Fury shirt, she still
rocks sexy. Her face is devoid of makeup, but she was never the type that needed it. Oh, she wore it, back in
her days of frenzied punk style. Thick, dark eyeliner that made her eyes pop and dark red lipstick that left
streaks on my dick. Her hair is conservatively pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Not a single piercing to be seen,
not even in her ears. So different, yet so damn hot still.
Her body is different though, I notice that. Her arms seem more toned.defined. Her stomach flatter and her
hips flared more. It's like she filled out and shrunk down in certain places, but not those tits. Nope, they are still
spectacularly big and full and were my favorite part of her body before.

I shake my head and chase away those thoughts before I get a boner. Vale still may be one spectacular
knockout of a woman, but there's no extinguishing that tiny flame of anger that continues to burn over the way
she ended things with me. While it's true I haven't thought much about her over the years, it's not from
antipathy. No, I forced myself to let her go and block what we had, otherwise my anger would be burning
deeper and hotter, and I don't have time in my life to get sucked into that shit. What's done is done and all that.
Vale turns to face me and asks, "Left knee?"
"Yeah," I say with surprise.

"I looked up your medical chart while you were getting undressed," she says by way of answer to an unasked
curiosity. "Arthroscopic medial meniscus repair two years ago."
"Yeah. Sometimes it feels a little loose. A good taping is all it needs."
She nods and steps up in between my legs that dangle over the table. She's not wearing perfume, but a subtle
floral scent hits me...must be her shampoo. I look down at her as her fingers go to the inside of my knee,
pushing in firmly.
"Any soreness?" she asks.
"Nope."
"Clicking or popping?"
"Nope."
"Locking?" she inquires as she lifts her face to mine. Clear, green eyes on a perfectly polite and professional
face.
"Nah," I tell her, suddenly wanting her to step back and away from me. "Just feels a little loose."
"Okay," she says, laying a soft pat on my thigh. It's nothing but a move of reassurance, but I feel it all the way
through to my gut.
What the fuck?
Vale grabs her supplies and gets to work taping my knee. I watch her with narrowed eyes, wondering how she
got to be here. How did she go from supremely fun party girl with absolutely no aspirations all the way to the
athletic training department of the Cold Fury...my new team?
Why in the hell have our lives collided again?
"So how are you?" I find myself asking without the foggiest clue why. I mean, do I really care?
Apparently, I do, because when she doesn't answer right away, I almost bring my fingers under her chin to
make her lift those eyes to me. But she clears her throat and says, "Fine. Happy to be here and all that."

She starts an elastic bandage, holding it deftly to the inside of my knee with the thumb of one hand and starts a
practiced, tight wrap. I wait for more but she stays silent.
So I prod. Because.well, fuck if I know why.
"What made you decide to go into athletic training?" I ask.
She gives a nonchalant shrug. "Just thought I'd follow in my dad's footsteps, you know?" I don't buy her blasé
tone for a minute. "You never wanted to do that before." Vale finally lifts her face and looks at me intently.
"Well, things change, don't they?" "Yeah, sure they do. But why?"
Why the new career path? Why did you dump me all those years ago? Why did you refuse to tell me why?
Why, why, why?
She finishes the wrap, holding the end while taping it with the precut pieces. "There you go," she says,
stepping back.
Clearly, she's not in a sharing mood, and while I need to get back on the ice, I still press her

in a roundabout way. "How's your dad?"
She wasn't expecting that question, and for some reason, I can see it clearly on her face, she doesn't want to
answer me. But then just as quickly, she schools her features to bland perfection and even gives me a tiny
smile. "He's good. I'll tell him you asked."
"Bet he's still running the training room with an iron first," I muse, thinking of the paces that hard-ass used to
put me through when I played for the Oilers.
Vale doesn't respond, instead turning to pick up the scraps of tape and empty wrappers. Something about her
stubborn silence piques me.
"Well?" I push at her as I hop off the table. My towel falls to the floor but I ignore it, instead reaching down to
pick up my shin pads. My knee feels good. Damn good, actually.
She clears her throat, back still to me, and says quietly, "He retired actually. At the end of this past season."
My head snaps up and I narrow my eyes at her. By a quick calculation of his current age— fifty-four if
memory serves—there's no way he'd be retiring. Dave Campbell is a man so in love with his job and career
you'd expect he'd die out on the ice.
"Why did he retire so early?" I ask.
A brief look of panic flits over her face, so fast I almost doubt I see it. But it's gone, replaced by that cool
aloofness. "Just got tired of the grind of it all."
Our eyes lock, and it's a staring war. She swallows hard but then tacks on, "And don't you have to get out on
the ice?"
Shit.
I totally need to get back out there. This is training camp. Where decisions are made who makes the team and
what line you start on. I can't afford to be wasting it back here trying to push at a woman to open up to me when
I really absolutely don't give a fuck if she opens up to me or not. In fact, it's better for me all around if she
doesn't.

I tip my head at her in acknowledgment. "Thanks for the tape-up."
Relief floods her face and it's clear she's glad I'm letting it go. Which really makes me want to push it further.
But she turns her back on me, grabs her laptop, and heads toward Goose's office. I watch her retreat from me,
totally conflicted. I'm curious about Dave and why a workhorse like him would give up his career. A
conversation about Dave would hold us together here...keep us communicating. A luxury she denied me seven
years ago.
Granted, it's been a stilted, practically one-sided conversation, but it's still conversation with a woman who
holds so many answers that I used to want answered. Is it possible I still want to know what made her do what
she did to me all those years ago? Even as I tell myself I'm past that shit and it doesn't make a damn bit of
difference?
Shaking my head, I finish suiting up and decide that it's probably best I let it go. Who knows, maybe if I'm
lucky, I can go injury free all year and won't have to cross paths with Vale for the rest of the season, and
eventually the need for questions to be answered will just fade away like they did before.

And yet, I can't let go of this opportunity to appease my curiosity.
As I walk through the player parking lot after practice, I see Ryker and Gray standing next to a sporty red
convertible BMW. His hands are on her waist and he's leaning in to give her a kiss. A sweetly intimate
moment, yet I'm fixing to bust it up.
I drop my bag to the ground and trot over toward them. When they hear my footsteps, Ryker pulls away and
they both turn to look at me. I'm greeted with friendly smiles, so it appears it's not a big deal that I'm
interrupting their kiss.
"Hey, man," Ryker says as he sticks his hand out. "Good practice today."
I give him a quick pump and then turn to stick my hand out to Gray. "Miss Brannon."
She decided to keep her maiden name after marrying Ryker, I suspect an ode to her strong independence as
well as reluctance to depart from the branding that makes "Brannon" and "great hockey" synonymous.
She smirks at me even as she shakes my hand. "It's just Gray."
"Okay, just Gray," I say with what I hope is my most charming smile. "I was wondering if you have a second
to talk."
Her eyebrows raise in surprise, because really, what could a player need to talk to the GM about? Contract is
signed, sealed, and delivered, and besides, those talks would be through an agent. She slides a quick glance at
Ryker, and then looks back at me. "Sure. Is this private?"
"No," I say quickly, and nod toward Ryker. "Not anything like that."
She settles her hips back against her car door and tucks her hands into the pockets of her skirt. A skirt I happen
to notice fits her form fantastically, and again I have to think Ryker is a lucky fucker. "So what's up?"
"Well...um, I was curious about Vale Campbell."
More raised eyebrows, this time from both Gray and Ryker, but they don't say anything.
"I was talking to her earlier today, and she mentioned her father, Dave, had retired as the trainer for the Oilers,
and, well, I was wondering if you knew why."

Gray narrows her eyes at me slightly and tilts her head to the side. "That's sort of an odd question."
I take a deep breath and scrub a hand through my hair, rubbing it hard at the back of my neck as I give her a
sheepish smile. "Okay...here's the deal. Vale and I used to have a thing. Well, not a thing. We were serious.
Dated for four years when I was with the Oilers."
"I see," Gray says noncommittally.
"She was taping my knee today and mentioned her dad retired, but didn't say why. And, well, I sort of got the
impression...well, not so much an impression as it was I can't imagine that man retiring early to save my life,
and I was curious if you knew why."
"And she wouldn't tell you," Gray surmises.
Wincing internally and with knowledge I'm probably going to hell for this little white lie, I say, "Well...there
wasn't much time to get into it. I was due back out on the ice, and she had to get back to work—"
"I'm sorry," Gray says as she pushes up off her car, her tone going from casual friendly to general-manager
polite, "but that's probably a private matter that you should take up with Vale. Or Dave, for that matter."

"So you do know the reason?" I push at her.
"I do, but again...not my place to say," she hedges.
I let out an exasperated breath, slide my gaze back over to the arena, and try to figure a way to get her to just
fucking tell me. With a soft hand to my shoulder, my attention is brought back to Gray.
"Look," she murmurs. "Why don't you just talk to Dave yourself?" Huh? Hadn't thought of that.
"I don't have his—" I start to say, but Gray cuts me off.
"Go back into the executive offices. See my secretary, Charlene. She'll give you his phone number and you can
give him a call," she says with a smile, and then turns back to Ryker. "Ready to go, baby?"
"Yeah," he says as he leans in to open her car door. As an afterthought, he says, "Hey, man...want to get
together sometime this weekend? Me, Garrett, Alex, and Zack. Get a beer or something?"
"Sure," I say with a grateful smile toward both of them. "And thanks, Gray." She nods and then I turn from
them, trotting back into the arena. In just five minutes, I'm calling Dave on his cellphone. He answers on the
second ring. "Um...hey, Dave...it's—"
"Hawke Therrien," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "How the hell are you?"
"I'm good," I say as I walk back toward the player parking lot. "Saw Vale today...said you'd retired and just
thought I'd give you a call to see how you're doing."
"Well, that's mighty nice of you," he says gruffly. "Been following your career. You're a fucking star, boy.
Always knew you had it in you."
I can't help it. The affection in his voice...not just for a boy he trained, but for the boy that became a man that
was in love with his daughter at one time. And I feel like shit for letting so many years go by.
"Yeah, I appreciate that. It's really good to hear your voice. Nice to be able to catch up, even if it's from a very
long overdue call."
"I get it," he says. "You get busy and all that."
"Not much of an excuse, really," I say lamely.

"Listen, why don't you come on by and let's visit a bit. Vale's at her second job and it gets lonely sitting in this
apartment all by myself."
I freeze in midstep. "You're here...in Raleigh?"
"Well, yeah. Didn't Vale tell you?"
"No," I say quietly into the phone. "No, she didn't."

Chapter 46
Vale
I pull into my apartment complex, beyond exhausted. I had three clients to train at the gym tonight and haven't
eaten dinner. As if to prove its displeasure with me, my stomach emits a snarly grumble as I turn off the
ignition. At least I had the presence of mind this morning to put a roast in the slow cooker for me and Dad, and
nothing sounded better to me than wolfing down some food, taking a hot shower, and collapsing into bed.
Sucks having to work two jobs, but what the Cold Fury pays me isn't enough to cover everything. When Dad
and I realized we'd need to do a fast relocate to this area, I did a mad scramble to put in applications anywhere
I could think to get a job. While there's a nice selection of collegiate sports teams in this area, the pickings for
a coveted AT position were slim, so I also put in applications at all the area gyms. My certification as a
strength and conditioning specialist earned me several offers, but the pay was even worse than the Cold Fury
because it was commission-type work, and without a solid base of clientele, there was no way we'd be able to
make it. Luckily, though, the offer came down from Gray Brannon, and after I accepted it, I was fortunate to
still be able to take on a part-time position at Xtreme Fit gym just a few miles from our apartment. It meant
hitting the gym early each morning before I started work at the arena, and most nights after work I was back
there again, but it meant the bills were paid and there was money left over for pot roast.
My legs are heavy as I walk the stairs to the second floor. I wanted a ground-floor apartment, but there weren't
any available and the waiting list is long. So far, though, it hasn't been a problem for Dad to navigate the stairs,
and I hope that remains true.
The minute I unlock the door and open it, I inhale deeply, willing the scent of slow-cooked meat to permeate
and hopefully give my stomach a promise of something good to come. Instead, I smell.is that pizza?
I step inside and my eyes immediately go to a pizza box on the coffee table, then slide over to a pair of long
legs encased in dark jeans. My gaze travels up and I see Hawke sitting on the sofa with a beer bottle in hand,
watching me with harsh eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt out as I remove my key from the lock.
"He came by to visit me," my father says jovially, and my head snaps over to him as he sits back in his recliner.
He also has a beer bottle in his hand.
My blood pressure spikes, my vision goes hazy from anger, and I stalk up to him. "What are you doing,
drinking beer? You can't have that."
Dad just chuckles and holds it up for me to see. "Relax, Vale. It's nonalcoholic."
I expect the anger to quiet but it doesn't. I look back pointedly at the pizza box and then back to my father.
"And pizza? What about the roast I put in the Crock-Pot?"

Without waiting for his answer, I spin on Hawke. "Did you buy that for him? He shouldn't be eating that."
Hawke doesn't say a word, but narrows his eyes further at me.
"Honey," Dad says, and I spin back on him. "You, um.forgot to turn on the Crock-Pot, and I didn't realize it
until a bit ago. So...we, um...we just ordered some pizza."
My stomach bottoms out, sad to not have roast for dinner, and filled with leaden guilt that I forgot to turn on
the cooker. I was so damn tired this morning when I rolled out of bed, it must have just slipped my mind.
"I'm sorry," I murmur as I lean down and kiss my dad's cheek. "I forgot, and I hate that you had to eat pizza.
You need to eat better than that."
"It's okay," he says as his hand comes up to palm my cheek, holding me a second so my lips stay pressed to
him. He then pats me and I pull back. "You've got a lot on your plate and I don't need you doting over me."
I look down at my father, worry and love I know evident on my face, because his eyes get shiny with warmth.
We stare at each other a moment as he silently communicates to me that it's all going to be okay.
Except, I don't know that it is.
Setting my purse and keys down on the table beside my dad's chair, I lean over to grab the pizza box. Shooting
a quick glance at Hawke, I bite out, "So, what, you decided to stop by and check in on an old friend?"
"Something like that," he growls. "Of course, it would have helped if you'd just told me what the hell was
going on when I asked about your dad today at the arena."
I slam the top of the pizza box over the remaining contents—two pieces of New York style with pepperoni,
and my stomach grumbles again.
"Now why would I tell you that, Hawke?" My voice is bitter with confusion and anger. "It's not like you kept
in touch with him all these years. Why would anything about my dad be any of your business?"
"Vale," my dad says in warning. "Ease up."
"Whatever," I mutter, and stalk off into the kitchen. I head to the garbage can, stomp my foot on the pedal at
the base, and when the lid raises, I try to stuff the box inside.

Except it's about two sizes too big, so I wrestle with it, taking my frustration out on the cardboard and the two
aromatic pieces still in there taunting me. I feel tears welling in my eyes as I push and punch at the box, trying
to get it to conform.
"Not hungry?" Hawke asks quietly from behind me.
My body stiffens as I make a last hard push to cram it all in and I blink my eyes rapidly to dispel the moisture.
"No," I say sullenly.
Starved, more like it.
"Your dad says you have a second job training people at a gym," he says conversationally.
I ignore the remark and instead turn on him. "Seriously, Hawke.why are you here?"
"Because I was worried about your dad," he says simply. "I knew you were hiding something from me, and
while I might have lost contact over the years, I still like and respect your dad very much. Why wouldn't I
check in to say hello?"

He has a point, and I don't like it, because I don't like anything about Hawke being back in my life. It dredges
up too many memories and flares my guilt and heartache back to life. My heart is already full to bursting with
worry and dread; I don't have room for all of the emotions that come with the territory of Hawke Therrien even
talking to me.
"Fine," I say, my voice heavy with exhaustion. "You're concerned about him. You've come to visit. You can
feel good now about making contact with old friends."
No mistaking the sarcasm in my voice.
I turn to the refrigerator and pull out a protein shake I keep stocked. It won't satisfy my hunger, but at least it
will give me something. As I twist the cap, I notice Hawke lean back against the counter, crossing his arms
over his chest.
"Why are you so angry with me?" he asks softly. "I'm not the one that abandoned first."
My eyes widen with surprise even as guilt flushes through me. He's right, I'm the one that cut ties, but surely he
has to admit that I tried to rectify.
No, wait...doesn't matter. What's done is done.
"Listen, it's late for me and I need to get a shower, head to bed," I tell him firmly as I move past him.
His hand shoots out, lands on my shoulder. His fingers curl in to stop me, and I hate the sudden flash of
euphoria over his touch. That shouldn't happen. I should never feel that way from one simple touch.
"Why, Vale?" he whispers, his eyes hard yet filled with need.
My breath seizes in my lungs, the urge to rail against him clogging up my most basic need to survive. I
swallow hard, suck in deep through my nose. "Why? You want to know why now?"
"Yes," he grunts with exasperation.
More hot anger flashes through me, giving me a resurgence of energy. "Maybe you should have asked why
back when—"

The sounds of Pharrell Williams's "Happy" starts bleating from my phone, a ringtone that generally puts a
smile on my face. The most it serves to do is shock me into instant recognition that I forgot to call Todd again.
I pull away from Hawke's grasp and pull my phone from the case clipped to my hip. I don't even give him a
glance as I connect the call and put it to my ear. "Hi, honey," I breathe into the phone. "I'm so sorry I didn't
call."
My eyes slide to Hawke, who lowers his arm and drops his face to look at the floor. A muscle ticks in his lower
jaw.
"Hey, sweetie," Todd croons at me, because he can hear the exhaustion on my voice. "Rough day?"
"You have no idea," I tell him as I push past Hawke and walk back to my bedroom.
"It must have been a doozy. No room in your life for me right now, huh?" His tone is light, but I don't miss the
underlying censure.
"It's been nonstop since five a.m.," I tell him defensively as I step into my bedroom and shut the door behind
me.

"You're working too hard," he says pointedly. Well, there's a news flash.
"Yeah, well, someone's got to do it," I say as I sit down on the edge of my bed and then lie back. I stare at the
popcorn ceiling with water stains indicating the apartment above me at some point had a leak. "And until I win
the lottery, well.this is just the way it is."
"I can send you money," he says automatically, and it's a rote offer, because we've had this conversation
before.
Too many times.
"You know that's not an option for me," I remind him.
Todd blows a pained gust of frustration into the phone and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. I roll my eyes,
curious as to why he feels affronted over my refusal to accept his help. It wouldn't change anything between us
one way or the other.
At least on my part.
On his, I'm sure he thinks it will bring us closer together. Almost as if he wants to tie me by dependency, and
that's never going to happen.
I feel bad thinking these things about him.
Todd Walters has been in many ways very good for me. We met almost six months ago while I was working in
Columbus for the Ohio State Buckeyes. He's a dentist and works for a large practice specializing in sedation
dentistry. We met when one of my players cracked a tooth wide open during spring training practice and I was
tasked with driving him for an emergency repair. The poor kid was so terrified he insisted we go somewhere
that would knock his ass out, and thus my first meeting with Todd. By the time the tooth was repaired, I'd
accepted his invitation to coffee because he was cute and charming and I was lonely.
Todd wasn't happy about my decision to relocate, but I think he understood. While we've been attempting to
make a go of this long-distance relationship, the stresses that are piling on top of me do nothing more than

push Todd to the bottom of my priority list, and that just adds more guilt on top of what I already suffer on any
given day.
".and I could probably swing next weekend," I hear Todd say.
I push up from the bed, scrub my hand over my face. "I'm sorry...next weekend?"
"To come visit," he says with hurt in his voice. "Were you even listening to me?"
"Yes, of course," I lie, feeling another slice of guilt. "Next weekend would be good. It's the last free weekend
I'll have before we start into preseason games, so things will get really hectic."
"Look...Vale," Todd says, and I can hear resignation in his voice. "If this isn't working for
you."
"No," I exclaim quickly, and then soften my voice. "It is. It will. We'll make it work. I just... it's been stressful
starting with the Cold Fury. But it will settle down, I promise."
Silence.
A slight clearing of his throat.
Finally, with some relief in his voice, "Okay, then...rll fly in next Friday night and we'll make a weekend of it."

"I can't wait," I say, and I hate how I have to force enthusiasm in my voice.
"And maybe we could get a hotel.so we could have some privacy," he says in a low voice. "I really miss you."
I wonder if Hawke is still here. Perhaps sitting back in the living room with Dad, large frame stretched out on
the couch. Those jeans fitting a little too perfectly.
I give a vigorous shake to my head and scream internally at myself to stop thinking about Hawke. I
focus.make myself think of Todd with his light blond hair and kind brown eyes. The sweet way he kisses,
and the gentle way he.
Hawke wasn't often gentle. He could be, but he liked it rough and tumble...just like me.
F-u-u-u-c-k!
My hand goes to my hair and I pull hard on a lock of it, trying to force my thoughts to settle down.
"Yes," I say quickly and with total focus on Todd and his sweet, romantic ways. "A hotel room would be nice.
Just me and you and a lot of catching up together." "Awesome," he says, and the relief in his voice is almost
painful to me.
"Okay, I'm going to grab a shower and get to bed. Five o'clock rolls around pretty early for me," I say softly.
"All right, sweetie. Take care of yourself. Talk tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow," I tell him, and then say, "Good night."
I know my first move should be to get my ass in the shower so I could indeed get some much-needed sleep, but
instead, I head back out to the living room. I immediately see Dad still sitting in his recliner and I can tell just
from the lack of tense vibes in the air that Hawke is gone.
Dad angles his head and looks at me with a censuring smile. "Why were you so rotten to
Hawke?"
I walk around the couch and plop down on one end. Swinging my legs up so I'm facing my dad, I say with a
shrug, "I don't know. It's just awkward."
"You two have some air to clear," he says as his eyes slide back to the TV where a baseball game is on.

I study my dad intently. His face is still puffy from the last dose of steroids he took to control the brain
swelling. There are dark circles under his eyes because he's not sleeping well, but otherwise, he's doing
relatively well.
All things considered.
Almost four years ago, Dad went to a doctor because of unrelenting headaches and blurred vision. What we
thought might be a result of stress turned out to be from a golf-ball-size glioblastoma in his head. Most of the
tumor was removed with surgery, the remainder blasted with chemo and radiation. He recovered and went
back to work.
But we waited for it to come back, because it was most likely coming back.
Borrowed time, lots of praying and living under a shroud of dread.
It came back less than two months ago.
And I quit my job in Columbus and moved with my dad so he could enter a clinical trial at

Duke.
Hoping beyond hope...against all odds...for a cure.

Chapter 57
Hawke
It's a standard power-play drill, me stationed point at the blue line.
The puck gets passed back and forth. Garrett to me. Back to Garrett. He eyes the net, tapping the biscuit back
and forth. Winds up.reconsiders, passes back to me.
My stick reaches out to connect, and the puck slides right under it, crosses the blue line, and kills the play.
Coach blows his whistle and I slam the blade of my stick on the ice in frustration. "You're out, Therrien," he
says. "Camden...take his place."
I skate off the ice, ripping my helmet off. The minute I hit the bench, I sit my ass down and slouch back.
Been off my game all fucking day and can't seem to get my shit together. It's a good thing this is only the
second full day of practice, or else I'd be worried as shit about my ability to make the first line. Everyone
deserves an off day, right?
Poor goddamned soul, Dave Campbell, lives in a perpetual off day now, and I can't seem to wrap my head
around the fact that he could be dying very soon.
When he opened the door yesterday to the apartment he and Vale share, I knew in one glance that something
was seriously wrong. His face was swollen, his skin pale.
He took one look at my face and his eyes softened with regret that I was seeing him like
that.
Fifteen minutes later, I had the entire story, and it's some crazy, whacked-out sci-fi shit too.
Apparently Duke is running a phase-one clinical trial—whatever the fuck that means—to try to eradicate a
disease that is essentially terminal to patients. Recurrence of a glio-whatever-the-fuck-he-called-it is fatal. No
cure. Nada. You're going to die.

Except apparently Duke engineered some mojo fucking treatment, taking the polio virus of all things, mixed in
a little bit of the common cold virus, and bingo, a half-teaspoon cocktail injected right into the center of his
recurrent brain tumor.
I didn't understand all of the technicalities, but Dave was very educated on what was going on. Apparently the
virus breaks down the cancer so that it's not invisible to the body's own immune system. The theory is that then
the immune system will in turn attack the tumor and kill it.
Hocus fucking pocus, but apparently the clinical trials have been working. Somewhat.

About 50 percent of the patients have done well, while 50 percent have died.
Still, as Dave says, "What did I have to lose? Fifty-fifty odds are pretty damn good when I was looking at zero
percent chance of survival."
The shitter was, those patients that died were probably due to overdosing of the drug. In a phase-one clinical,
as he described it, the main priority isn't to kill the cancer but to try to figure out the maximum dosage that
would do the job without killing the patient.
So far, it appeared to be working for Dave. Perhaps a little too well, because once the virus started working on
the tumor, it got inflamed, causing it to triple in size and put pressure on his brain. Dave had to go in for an
emergency dose of steroids and a chemotherapy drug designed to reduce the swelling.
And amazingly, he seems to be feeling pretty good now that the inflammation is under control. He's just under
watch and will have another MRI to check the tumor's size in a few weeks. He's being monitored by Duke and
it's a wait-and-see game.
"Vale never hesitated," Dave told me yesterday with equal measures of pride and guilt. "Quit her job without
even discussing it with me once I got accepted into the trial." "Lucked out getting on with the Cold Fury," I
observed.
"Not luck," Dave said slyly. "Called in a favor to Brian Brannon. We went to college together."
"What did he owe you for?" I asked curiously.
"He didn't," Dave told me quietly. "But now I owe him everything. There wasn't an opening on the staff, so he
talked to Gray and they created that position so Vale could have a job."
And I thought that was a fucking nice thing to do, because you don't just add on a salary all willy-nilly within
an organization like this. Made me even more proud to be part of this team and instilled in me some type of
gratitude I felt like I really owed the Brannons now, on Dave's behalf.
I watch the drills continue out on the ice, wondering if Coach is going to put me back in today. We've been out
here almost two hours already, so it's unlikely.

And yeah, this shit with Dave has me a bit wigged out, but that's not the only thing that's got my jockstrap in a
twist.
In fact, probably not even the greatest thing.
No, that's reserved for one Vale Campbell, and I can't even begin to list all the ways in which she's bothering
me.
But I'll give it a try, because there's nothing else to do at this moment but ruminate on all the ways she's tying
my stomach in knots once again.
First, the long-standing grudge I'm carrying over the way in which she cut me out of her life. That sort of
speaks for itself.
Second, the fact that even after all this time and all the bitter feelings, I still fucking feel something for her. I'm
not sure if it's an unrelenting longing for what we had, or the fact that I feel terribly sorry for what she's going
through right now. Hell...it's probably because she's still the hottest goddamn woman I've ever known despite
how much she's changed over the years, but it's irking the hell out of me that I'm affected like this.
Third, the fact that she's apparently got a boyfriend. That was clear last night when she

answered the phone with a "Hi, honey," all sweet and breathless sounding. No clue who the fucker was on the
other line, but I wanted to pound him senseless, and feeling that way also irritates me.
Finally, and this is by far the most important thing that has my mind all tripped up, is that she started to say
something—implied, really—that perhaps there had been an opportunity for us to reconnect years ago. It was
subtle, and her words were cut off when her phone rang, but she clearly said, "Maybe you should have asked
why back when."
Asked what, Vale?
What? Why? What? Why?
All these fucking questions are driving me bonkers.
I left after she answered the phone, promising Dave I'd come back and see him in a few days. That's one thing
I'm not going to let go of, my renewed friendship with him. Not when he's going through...
Christ, it hurts to even think about it.
Hurts to think about the way Vale must be suffering and terrified for her father.
One thing I know for sure is that she's back in my life even if only by way of us working together, but now
Dave is back in my life too, and I need to figure out a way to live with all this shit that's been stirred up.
More important, my anger and hurt over what she did all those years ago need to take a backseat right now. I
don't need to make this any more stressful for Vale, with what she's already carrying on her shoulders. And
besides, why do I really need the answers anyway? That's over and done with and I've moved on.
She's clearly moved on.
Sudden resolve surges within me and I push up off the bench. Bruce Duvall is the only athletic trainer out here
on the ice during this practice session, as there's usually one nearby at all times in case someone gets injured. I
assume Goose and Vale are in the training or therapy rooms.
Bruce looks at me as I swing my legs over the boards and drop down onto the ice. As I skate by him, I say,
"Knee's feeling a little sore; going to get it iced."

He hardly spares me a glance but gives a quick nod before his gaze slides back over to watch the drills in
session. I skate across the empty half of the rink to the far side where the door to the underbelly of the arena is,
slapping on my skate guards and heading back toward the locker rooms.
Confident that practice will be over soon, I go ahead and strip down out of my equipment, tossing the various
items in the large canvas bins on wheels set along one wall. The equipment staff will handle the cleaning and
laundering of everything. I put on a dry T-shirt and workout shorts, slip on a pair of athletic slides, and then
make my way over to the training rooms.
There are three rooms devoted to the athletic training department. The treatment room where Vale taped my
knee, the therapy room that holds ice baths, TENS units, and other modalities, and then the workout room
where the athletes can work on strength and conditioning. All three rooms are side by side with glass walls
facing the interior of the locker

room, and are connected room to room by doorways. I imagine Vale gets an eyeful if she is so inclined after
practices and games, as some of the guys walk around naked and let their junk hang loose. But she's a
professional and so are we, so I suppose it comes with the territory.
As long as none of the guys willfully wave their dicks in her face, it's all good.
I can see Vale in the treatment room, which has a row of five padded tables along one wall, an adjacent wall
holding a long counter with cabinets above and below that hold supplies. The far wall houses Bruce's and
Goose's offices with a small supply closet separating them. I don't see Goose in there so I have no clue where
he is, but it's even better that we're alone.
I have some things to say.
I walk in, watching as Vale rips tape off a box and starts unloading packages of Steri-Strips from it. She
doesn't hear me walk in and I don't want to startle her, so I rap lightly on the door jamb.
She still gives a little jump and turns to face me with a smile on her face. It pains me when it slides right off as
she recognizes me, and cool politeness takes over.
"Hey," I say as I walk her way. "Knee's a little sore. Thought you could take a look at it."
Vale's brows draw inward with concern and she motions toward a table. "Did something happen to cause it?"
"Nah," I say, not feeling the slightest bit guilty for my lie just so I can have a few moments to talk to her. "Just
came off the ice and noticed it."
I hop up onto the table with my legs hanging over the edge and kick off my slides. She's silent as she turns to
the sink and washes her hands. After they're dry, she walks up to me and says, "Go ahead and lie back. I'm
going to do some range-of-motion tests."
I do as she says, contemplating the best way to break the ice with her. So far, her stilted, short answers to any
questions I've posed have made it clear she doesn't want anything to do with me. So obviously, asking her
questions isn't going to work.

I'm silent as she maneuvers my leg, trying not to focus too much on the feel of her soft hands against me or the
smell of her shampoo.I had thought before it was flowery, but I think it might actually be strawberries, and
the scent is fucking delicious.
"Any pain when I do this?" she asks with one hand on my calf, the other on my thigh as she rotates my knee.
"Not really," I say, because I don't want to call any attention to my knee. What happens here today will go in
my chart, and that will be considered when decisions are made at the end of camp.
"How about this?" she asks, rotating the opposite way.
"Nope."
The hand on my calf slides down, grasping the bottom of my foot firmly. With the other hand still holding on
to my thigh, she pushes hard into my foot. "This cause any pain?"
"Nope," I say quickly, and then add, "I think it's nothing more than my muscles getting back in shape. But
figured some ice can't hurt, right?"
Vale slowly lowers my leg and gives me a small smile. "Well, doesn't appear anything's loose or torn, but if it's
worrying you, we can make an appointment with Dr. Godson."
He was the team's orthopedic doctor, and I sure as shit wasn't doing that. Talk about an

unnecessary red flag.
"I think it's just lack of conditioning. Got lazy this summer," I tell her firmly. "Just get me some ice and I'm
sure it will be fine."
"Well, let's go sit you in an ice bath," she says as she turns back to wash her hands again at the sink.
"No fucking way," I growl. "Those things are torture and my balls will go into hibernation until next summer.
Just an ice pack will do."
Vale chuckles without turning around to look at me. "Okay. Just an ice bag. I'll be right
back."
She turns and heads through the door to the treatment room. I take a moment to admire her gracefulness. It's
something she always had...more of an innate security about her body, causing all of her motions to seem
effortless. I remember one time we were at a party in Sydney, and some of the girls were dancing on the tops of
the tables. Of course, Vale had to do the same thing, and I remember being entranced with the way her body
undulated as I stared up at her. All the other girls looked awkward and forced, but Vale was fluid and so
damned sexy, she had every guy in the room panting after her.
Back then, it made me proud to have such a hot, gorgeous, and sexy girl, but if she did something like that
today, it would drive me insane to have other men watch her that way. I guess when you grow up and mature,
certain things become more important.
"Here you go," she says as she comes back. "Scoot back on the table and stretch your leg out. Keep this on for
twenty minutes, then you can go."
She places a towel over my knee, then lays the bag of ice on top.
"Thanks," I say quietly.
"It's my job," she quips, and then walks back over to the box of supplies she had been unloading.
"Well, you're very good at it," I say quietly. I watch as her head drops a little, but she remains quiet.
"Vale?" I murmur.

Her neck twists so she can look at me over her shoulder. Eyes guarded, fingers clutching hard at the small box
in her hand.
"I'm sorry your dad's going through this shit. And you too...I'm sorry you have this stress on you."
Right there, in her eyes, the tension just drains, and for the first time since we've reconnected, she looks at me
with no filter, and I can guess her feelings.
I see gratitude clear as day.
"Thank you," she says with a smile. "That means a lot."
"If there's anything I can do, for either of you, I hope you'll ask me."
I know that may be pushing it, and fuck, I'm not sure why I offered, but it's out there now. I expect she may
draw inward again, but her smile goes a little wider.
"I appreciate the offer, Hawke. I think we're okay, but I don't know...maybe visit Dad every once in a while.
He doesn't know anyone here and I'm so busy all the time."

"Already had decided on doing that," I assure her. "I'm glad we reconnected. It was long overdue."
"Yeah, it was," she affirms. Not in a derogatory or chastising way, but merely agreeing with me on a fact of
life. She then turns back to unpacking the boxes, and because I don't want to push her any further, I watch the
clock on the wall tick down the minutes until I can take the ice pack off.
I accomplished what I intended to do here—let Vale Campbell know that I won't be a stress upon her at this
time, and that we can have a friendly working relationship like adults.

Chapter 68
Vale
Tuna salad. Bottle of water.
And what the hell, a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie.
I slide my tray down the line in the executive cafeteria, also located on the bottom floor of the arena. I have a
grand total of twenty minutes to eat lunch and get back up to the weight room, where I'm doing a strength
training session with Max Fournier, who looks to be a shoo-in for the starting goalie slot now that Ryker Evans
has retired. Fournier tore his ACL season before last, had a terrific rehab, but wants to up his game as far as his
core strength. So I put together a plan for him and we have our first session today, which I'm excited about,
because although I love tending to acute injuries, I really get a kick out of helping players with their
conditioning.
I pay for my meal and grab the closest table. The cafeteria is deserted because it's almost two p.m., which
means this could be a late lunch or an early dinner for me. The morning drills are done and most of the players
have left, but they're due back for a practice scrimmage in a few hours.
While I really want to eat my cookie first, I force myself toward the tuna salad, thinking maybe that will fill me
up and dissuade me from the cookie after. I can afford the calories for sure, because no matter how busy my
day is, I usually budget time for getting in at least a half-hour workout of my own, but for some reason,
cookies and sweets seem to congregate around my hips.
Just as I place the first bite of tuna in my mouth, I hear, "Up for some company?" That voice. Rich, deep, and
rough.
I don't even need to glance up, but I do, meeting Hawke's bright blue eyes dead on. He has his hair pulled back
into a short ponytail, one lock at his forehead having sprung free to hang down over his eyebrow. His face is
open and affable, which is still taking a bit to get used to. Ever since last week when I iced his knee, the tension
that had existed between us seems completely gone. And that's all on Hawke. He extended an olive branch to

me and I took it, and as of now, we seem to be existing on a polite and friendly basis. I see him around the
locker room or training rooms and he always waves or says hello. He has me tape his knee up every day before
practice and we make small talk, usually about current events or something funny that's happened in the news.
All very easy and nonthreatening, and it's put me completely at ease with him.
But there is a downside to this renewed yet casual friendship.

And that's the way in which this new cordiality between us only serves to highlight the void that still exists.
Every time he gives me a friendly greeting, I remember the days when he greeted me every morning by rolling
over in bed and kissing me soundly. Every time I tape his knee, I realize how cold, clinical, and unfeeling my
touch is upon his skin, especially when Hawke and I used to be all about the passionate touch. All those things
tear me up inside, because I went a long, long time missing those things about Hawke after I called it off with
him.
And then there came the inevitable time from deep within my misery when I realized I had probably played it
all wrong. I had cut ties with him as a means of punishment—both to him and myself—but after a few weeks
of reasoned thought, I knew I had made a mistake. I missed him so damn much and I had to believe that he
knew I didn't mean it when I told him I didn't love him. Surely he knew that wasn't really me. Surely he
understood that people don't just love one day, and the next it's gone.
So I called him and left a voicemail, asking him to please call me so we could talk. I waited two days before I
called again. Left another message.
I never tried to call back after that. He was making it clear he didn't want to talk, but that didn't mean I was
giving up. So I sent him an email and then I waited patiently, because Hawke wasn't much of an emailer. In
fact, he tended to eschew all social media, so there was no telling when he might ultimately see my email.
But he never wrote back.
And then I gave up.
I went through a period of self-castigation for ruining something that may have been built on young and
unsteady love, but it was love all the same. And I got very low. So low, I wasn't sure how to exist. I didn't hang
out with my friends—except for Avery, who refused to let me shut myself fully away. So she would hide in
my bedroom with me while I listened to sad music, and when I got really depressed, would pelt me with
gummy bears from the other side of the room. I dropped out of the local community college I was attending

and I even took up writing morbid poetry. Nothing tasted right. The sky always seemed gray. I was broken
over everything I'd lost, solely due to bad judgment and decision making.
It finally took one—or maybe several—stern lectures from my father to get me going again. He wasn't about to
watch me wallow in self-pity forever, and after about a month, he practically dragged me out of the house and
to the arena with him. For the first time ever, I actually watched my father do his job. Sure, I'd been into
hockey, but everyone in Sydney was into hockey. We're Canadians, after all. I'd gone to Oiler games both
before and after I started dating Hawke, although they were more thrilling having a boyfriend on the team. But
I never really knew what my dad did day in and day out to bring home a paycheck.
I found it fascinating watching him have a very close and personal hand in an athlete's prowess. I started
spending my days with him there, watching him rehab injuries and build muscle and core strength. I watched
young men come to him for advice, and I watched him improve play.
And then I decided that's what I wanted to do as well.
"I assume your lack of acknowledgment means you don't want company," Hawke says, and I shake my head
slightly. He grins down at me, and because I know his face like my own, I

can only imagine those two perfect dimples he sports underneath his beard. I miss those dimples, but the beard
is a mighty fine look too.
I wave a hand to an empty seat. "Sorry. Was woolgathering."
He plops down and unwraps a large Italian sub on his tray. "Thinking about your dad?"
I quickly shake my head because I'm not now, nor will I probably ever be ready to tell him what I had been
thinking. It was too painful to think about the night of the party. Just talking about it would lead to more hurt
feelings, mostly likely an argument, and I was enjoying this truce with him too much.
"No," I say with a smile. "Actually just thinking about how good that beard looks on you. What made you
decide to keep it after the play-offs?"
"Lazy groomer, I guess," he says before taking another bite of his sandwich.
I dip my head so he doesn't see my smile get bigger, because that was always Hawke. While he was
fastidiously clean and always smelled amazing, he hardly ever paid attention to his appearance. Usually a
quick brush of his fingers through his long hair or a shave once a week was as good as it got with him. I loved
that wild, untamed look about him, though, and the beard definitely suits.
Hawke swallows, takes a sip of his bottled water, and tips his head at me. "What about you? You've changed a
lot."
I cock an eyebrow at him, seeking elucidation. "The piercings," he prompts.
"Oh," I say in understanding as I absently run a finger across the bridge of my nose. "Well, turns out those
aren't the best things to be sporting when you're trying to get a job. I got rid of them before I started my
master's. Tried to polish up my image just a bit."
Hawke gives a gruntlike chuckle and then dives back into his sandwich. We eat in silence for a little bit and it's
not the slightest bit awkward. I'm wondering if that's because we've shared hours of silence together before,
and know the safety of it. Or maybe it's just that we have nothing to say to each other and that's okay too.

That's probably it. So much time has gone by, feelings have died and we're not who we were all those years
ago.
Except, have feelings really died? There's been anger and defensiveness on both of our parts for sure. He
wronged me, I wronged him, he wronged me again. All things that we should wisely confront and clear the air
because we were mere kids back then and we're adults now. All things that will probably never happen
because this peaceful little truce is safe and stress free.
"Your dad says you've been busting your ass with work," Hawke says out of the blue. I look up from the
remnants of my tuna salad and he's eyeing me with concern. "Two jobs. You came home pretty late last week
when I was visiting and I saw your dad yesterday. Stayed until around eight p.m. and you still hadn't come
home. Is that par for the course?"
"Yeah, well, it's what we have to do right now. Dad's treatment is covered by the clinical trial, but we're still
making his house payment back in Sydney and he can't touch his retirement from the Oilers until he turns
sixty-five. Plus I still have student loans and there are some incidental medications that aren't covered by
insurance, so it's necessary right

now."
"Do you mind me asking what you make here?" Hawke asks, and while that's a deeply personal question to ask
an acquaintance, I suppose our history means something because it doesn't bother me.
"Forty-one thousand dollars and some change. I bring home a few hundred extra bucks a week at the gym, but
that's commission based and I only have a handful of clients right now."
Hawke is silent as he pops open a bag of chips. He'd finished his sandwich, but that was always the way
Hawke ate, one thing on his plate at a time until it was finished. And he didn't like his food touching, despite
the fact I used to remind him often that it would do so in his stomach.
"Do you need some financial help?" he asks quietly, raising his eyes from the bag to me, pinning me in place.
"Financial help?" I practically squeak out in surprise.
"Yeah.money to help pay expenses or something. I make considerably more than forty-one thousand dollars
and I don't mind. You know I'd do anything to help...um, your dad."
My head is shaking in the negative before he can even finish his sentence. "No, thanks. We're good."
"Then how about taking me on as a client?" he asks as he picks a chip out of his bag. He waves it in a circle in
front of his face with an impish grin. "I could use some extra conditioning."
"That's part of the job I already get paid for," I remind him with a stern look. "If you want to schedule some
time with me each week, we can do that."
"But I don't like the equipment here," he counters. "Your gym would be better."
"You don't even know what gym I work at, Hawke. You're just trying to find a way to give me money when I
don't want to take it from you," I say, my voice bordering somewhere between a hint of frost and downright
icy. Regardless of this new truce, there's still unspoken anger on my part as well. I sure as shit cut him loose,
but he sure as shit turned his back on me when I reached out to him. I don't want any handouts from him, now
or ever, because in the back of my mind, I'll always believe it's purely guilt driven.

"Okay," he says with both hands raised up defensively. "But maybe I will take you up on some additional
strength training."
"That's fine," I say curtly before wiping my mouth with my napkin. "Just let me know and we'll get something
scheduled."
Hawke dips his head in acknowledgment and pops another chip into his mouth. I ball up my napkin, throw it
on the remains of my unfinished tuna salad, and stand up from my chair.
"Want my cookie?" I ask him as an afterthought, picking it up from my tray and holding it out to him.
A peace offering, perhaps to counter my snappish attitude? Added benefit—I won't get those extra calories.
"Sure," he says with a grin, and reaches out to take it from my hand.
His forefinger touches the end of my thumb.barely a graze, and yet I feel it ricochet through my body.

"Ouch! Son of a fucking bitch," I scream out as I jerk my hand away from the bathroom vanity drawer, where
I had just slammed my thumb.
Loud, crashing footsteps echo through our tiny apartment, getting closer until Hawke bursts in the bathroom
door that I hadn't shut all the way while I was taking my shower.
"What's wrong?" he asks as his panicked eyes rove all over my towel-covered body in search of blood or guts
hanging out.
"My thumb," I whine as I hold it out for him to inspect. It's red on the tip and throbs like a bitch. "I slammed it
in the drawer."
Hawke lets out a huge gust of relieved breath and mutters, "Jesus, Vale. You gave me a heart attack."
I can't help it. I giggle and try to look apologetic. "Sorry. But it hurt, and that was just a little reflexive curse
that popped out."
Hawke takes my hand, lifts it up to examine the end of my thumb, and then bends down to press a kiss on the
tip. "That wasn't a little curse that popped out. You screamed like Freddy Krueger was in here getting ready to
slice you to bits."
"And you burst in to save me," I say as I step in closer to him.
"Always," he murmurs before bringing my thumb back up to his mouth and kissing the tip again. Except this
time, his tongue flicks out and licks the end, while his other hand comes up to finger the edge of my towel just
below my hip. "Bet I know something I could do to you to take your mind off this little thumb injury."
I release the cookie and jerk backward from Hawke. I drop my gaze quickly, but not before I see his eyebrows
knit together in confusion. Grabbing my tray, I kick the chair back in toward the table and mutter, "I have to
get back to the training room. I'll catch you later."
"Later," he says softly, but I don't look back at him.

Chapter 77
Hawke
I place the last stack of plates onto the shelf and shut the cabinet. The kitchen is now officially unpacked. I
look around wearily at the empty boxes, crumpled newspaper, and packing tape scattered all over. It all needs
to be cleaned up and I still have my bedroom to unpack. But it's not going to get done today because I made
plans to go hang with Dave tonight and watch some college football. It's opening game day, and while us
Canadians don't quite get nor fully appreciate the sport, it's what guys do when they hang out together.
It's okay if I don't get my bedroom unpacked, though. I'm having a party tomorrow night for the team to
celebrate the end of training camp. A sort of last hurrah before our first preseason game on Monday, so I'll just
make sure my bedroom door stays shut so no one can see the mess inside. And personally, I'm quite content to
live out of my boxes for a while. I mean, truly, what does it matter if I pull my underwear from a box or a
drawer?
We had our last scrimmage this morning and I expect the coaches are hard at work right now making the
release notifications. Those poor dudes that just didn't cut it will get sent back down to the minors. I feel for
them more than they'll ever know because I've been there. Felt what they're feeling today when someone tells
you you're just not quite good enough to play with the big boys.
I obviously made the cut. I mean, it was really a given, and Coach has had me playing first line all week, so I
know I'll be starting right alongside Alex and Garrett on Monday when we travel to Chicago for the preseason
game against the Bobcats. I'm really digging my new team. How could I not? Defending Cup champions and
all that? But man, seriously, playing alongside greats like Crossman and Samuelson. Fucking heaven.
I start to pick up the newspaper that had been cushioning my kitchenware for the move. I downsized
tremendously with this move, and that's just a product of living and learning. I bought my first house in
Pittsburgh my second year in the league, a monstrosity of six thousand square feet. I learned that's a lot of

fucking house to keep clean. It was also a lot of fucking house to pay for when I basically lived in no more than
nine hundred square feet of
it.
So I bought a moderate-sized home here in Raleigh half the size of my previous, which meant I had to get rid
of a lot of furniture as well. I just donated it to a veterans' charity because it was easier than trying to sell it.
Still, there's plenty of room for a party tomorrow since it's just my teammates and their better halves, and I
have a kick-ass back deck that spans the entire length of the house. I'll set tubs of beer out there, and with the
mild, late-August evenings, people will congregate out there rather than inside.
It doesn't take me long to clean up the rest of the kitchen. I break the boxes down, shove

them and the newspaper into my large recycle bin in the garage, and glance at my watch. Just enough time to
get a quick shower before heading over to Dave's.
I wonder if Vale will be there. Considering what I know, I'm sure she'll be working late even though it's a
Friday night. End of a workweek, and when everyone should be relaxing, I'm sure Vale will be working. And
damn if that doesn't twist my guts up. I hate thinking of her and Dave struggling. I hated even more seeing the
look of disdain on her face when I offered to help. I hated it because it truly showed me that despite the olive
branch—despite the truce—there are still hard feelings.
No clue why she's the one that has them, but I'll look past it. She's got so much on her plate right now, I figure
she's just being defensive. And besides, I plan to hit Dave up tonight with the same offer. I expect he'll decline,
but he won't be nasty about it.
When I hit my bedroom, I rifle through some boxes and pull out clean underwear, a pair of faded jeans, and an
old vintage Mountain Dew T-shirt with a few holes in it. Not dressing to impress anyone tonight, so might as
well be comfortable. Before heading into the master bathroom, I grab my phone off the bedside table and give
it a quick check. I see a text message from Michelle and a quick smile comes to my face.
How's life in Carolina?
I toss my clothes on the bed, sit down beside them, and text her back. Just finishing up some unpacking. It's
great here. Where are you?
She immediately responds, which is just like Michelle. As long as there's cell service or Wi-Fi, the woman is
always connected. Pittsburgh. Flew in yesterday.
Michelle is a sales rep for a large winery based out of the Hudson Valley. She flies pretty much all over the
United States, but she's originally from Pittsburgh and keeps a permanent apartment there. I met her at a party
just under a year ago. Fucked her at that same party, as a matter of fact, and thus started a sort of
friends-with-benefits type of relationship. We don't get to see each other often; maybe every few months
between both of our travel schedules. But when we do get together, we tear it up nicely between the sheets.

Plus, she's a really cool chick. Someone I could hang out with and have a beer—or a glass of wine, in her case.
Our no-strings relationship was clearly defined early on and we operate on a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. Still,
when Michelle's in town, she's my preferred hookup just because she's great in the sack and has no aspirations
of anything more.
Before I can text her back, she sends another. Up for some company soon?
Ordinarily, I'd respond immediately with my schedule over the next few days so we could iron something out,
but my thumbs hesitate before hitting the screen. I hold my position and stare at her words. My mind blanks
and a feeling of foreboding wells up within me.
What the fuck? I've got the next three days cleared before I fly out. I like to fuck. I really like to fuck Michelle.
What's with the doubt?
And before I can even fathom an answer, a picture of Vale bursts through my head. It's of the younger
Vale...the one I loved. Wild dark hair, facial piercings shining, a look of utter deviousness in her eyes that
never failed to get me hard.
I shake my head hard to dislodge the image.
It's an illusion. A memory that should be faded and not Technicolor. It's of a woman who doesn't exist
anymore and shouldn't ever be taking up residence in my conscience like that.

I force myself to text back to Michelle. Can you fly in tomorrow? Having a team party but I'll clear everyone
out early.
I wait with a feeling of anxiety for her response, praying she accepts. Hoping she will show up on my doorstep
tomorrow and do whatever fucking sexy mojo she can do to make sure Vale doesn't cross my mind again like
that. My heartbeat is racing in anticipation, and when her reply comes, I'm stunned at how I feel.
Can't this weekend. But maybe next if I can clear some things.
Relief. Fucking relief that she's not coming.
What the ever-loving fuck is going on with me? Vale Campbell cannot be impinging on my sex life. She has
no right. No business. She should be nothing to me other than a friendly acquaintance.
And yet, I still find myself hoping I get to see her tonight when I get to Dave's.
I glance at my watch...again.
It's 10:45 p.m. and Vale still hasn't shown up. I've resolutely refused to ask Dave about her whereabouts, and
besides, he fell asleep in his recliner going on two hours ago. That happened not long after we ate some
chicken tortilla soup that Vale had made and he had a nonalcoholic beer I brought him, while I sucked back
three Molsons.
The football game is almost over and I'll have no reason to stay when it's done. This sucks, because I'm a little
worried about Vale and the fact she's working so late. Does she even get to eat dinner?
My heart about lurches out of my chest when I hear a key in the door and I sit up straighter on the couch,
prepared to see a probably exhausted Vale walk through the door.
Instead, a radiant woman walks in. A different Vale than I've seen in her tidy Cold Fury AT uniform since
training camp started. Her hair is long, loose, and curled into soft waves. She's wearing makeup and her lips
are glossed slick. She's casual in a gray striped cotton skirt that flutters around her knees and a white T-shirt,
but she looks utterly feminine and sexy. Her head twists over her shoulder to look at something behind her and
she laughs. "That's so not true. I'll make you pay for that."

And then I see a man behind her, and he's laughing back at her with utter devotion in his eyes. She twists back
to face us and her eyes immediately slam into mine. She comes to a dead halt and the guy runs into her back.
His hands come to her waist to keep from knocking her over, and I have a sudden rush of hatred toward this
guy. I want to rip his hands away and break every finger...at least twice.
Vale's gaze slides to her dad and her mouth goes soft when she sees he's sleeping. She looks back to me with a
gentle gaze as she whispers, "How long's he been out?"
"Since the end of the first quarter," I whisper back, and stand up from the couch.
"I made it to almost halftime," I hear Dave grumble, and I look down at him. His eyes are open but a little
bleary. He leans forward and puts his recliner back in the normal sitting position.
Dave then stands up, gives a cough to clear his throat, and leans past Vale with his arm

extended. The dude steps forward and accepts Dave's handshake.
"Hey, Todd. Good to see you," Dave says, and I try to analyze his voice. Does he like this guy? Clearly this is
someone Vale's been seeing awhile, and I know without a doubt it's the guy that called her the other night
when I was here. I don't hear any overt affection for the dude, but he seems happy to see him.
I take a moment to really look at the guy. He's good looking enough, I suppose. Nothing spectacular, in my
opinion. He's wearing a pink button-down, khaki shorts, and a pair of deck shoes.
"So, hey," Dave says as he realizes introductions need to be made. My eyes cut to Vale and she's staring back
at me. "Hawke...this is Todd Walters. And Todd...this is—"
"Hawke Therrien," Todd says with a beaming smile. He pushes past Vale, rounds Dave's recliner, and
advances on me with his hand out. "I'm a big fan. Huge, as a matter of fact."
His hand grabs mine and he pumps enthusiastically. With a nod over his shoulder at Vale, he says, "Knew
you'd been traded here and Vale told me tonight that Dave used to train you in the minor leagues."
"Junior majors," I correct him, the moron clearly not knowing a damn thing about me or my career.
"My bad," he says sheepishly as he pulls his hand away. "Yeah, Vale said you used to be friends way back
when."
"She said that, did she?" I look back to Vale and her eyes are now lowered as she fastidiously studies the
carpet. Refusing to look at me and acknowledge the fact that she's withholding information from her
boyfriend.
Interesting.
"Yeah, Vale and I go way back," I say as I continue to look at her, watching her shoulders tense. A quick
glance at Dave and I see him with his face lowered, biting back a smirk. It's in this moment that I realize Dave
isn't all that fond of Todd and is relishing this interplay.
"Well, as much as I'd like to reminisce about old times, it's getting late," Vale says as she steps past her father
to stand beside Todd. His arm slips around her waist and he pulls her in close, still beaming that smile at me.

Vale looks at me imploringly, her message clear. She doesn't want her boyfriend to know about me and what
we had together. I bet she's afraid it will scare him off, knowing how quickly she can cut a guy off at the knees.
"Yeah, I need to get going," I say as fish my keys out of my pocket. I turn to Dave. "See you tomorrow around
eight?"
Even as Dave is nodding, Vale butts in. "What's tomorrow at eight?"
"A party I'm having at my house for the team and their spouses or girlfriends. Figured Dave would enjoy being
around some hockey-minded folks again."
"Oh," Vale says quietly, and Dave adds, "Can't wait."
I watch as Vale gives me a tight smile and her boyfriend pulls her in tighter. It's a move I don't like, and I know
I shouldn't have feelings about it one way or the other, but I'm slightly mollified when Vale pulls away from
him to grab my beer bottles off the table. Her brow is lined with confusion, and I can see she never expected
Dave to get sucked back in with me.
Or maybe she's just worried about him being out on his own so soon after having a virus

injected into his brain.
"Would you like to come?" I ask Vale, and her head snaps up. "I mean, I didn't invite any of the staff but you
and I...we're old friends, right?"
She just stares at me. Eyes all wide and unblinking.
"Both of you," I clarify, giving Todd a quick nod. "It will be fun."
"We'd love it," Todd exclaims.
But I don't look back at him. I continue to look at Vale and wait for her answer.
Finally, she gives a little sigh of affirmation and says in a quiet voice, "Sure. We'll be there."

Chapter 86
Vale
Everyone's having a good time.
My dad is in his element, talking hockey war stories with some of the players. He holds them captivated, a
natural-born storyteller and an icon within his field. The smile on his face says it all, and I realize that my dad
has been way too secluded since we moved here. With me working all the time and the only friend he now has
being Hawke, he has to be utterly miserable and alone. I vow to myself to find some way to spend more time
with him.
Hawke is sure as hell having a good time. I only talked to him briefly when we first walked in. He greeted Dad
with a hand to his shoulder, which he squeezed affectionately. He smiled at me and then turned to Todd.
"Good to see you again, Tad."
"It's Todd," I said automatically, and Hawke gave me an impish grin.
"Right...sorry...Todd," he says, without an ounce of apology in his voice.
Then he led my dad off to introduce him around to the rest of the team. I kept my eye on Dad, which meant I
kept it also on Hawke, who stayed by his side pretty much most of the time. While Hawke sucked back beer
after beer, he always kept a fresh nonalcoholic one in my dad's hand, and I thought that was sweet of him to
accommodate him that way.
Most of the partygoers congregated on Hawke's back deck, so I found myself out there as well. Todd is one of
those people that can hold a conversation with any stranger, so he would often leave me alone to make rounds,
where he happily introduced himself to anyone and everyone that he could.
It feels a bit awkward standing here by myself while I nurse my one and only beer. A few of the players make
small talk with me, introduce me to their girlfriends and wives. There are plenty of puck bunnies roaming
around, and I suspect that's par for the course at any Cold Fury party. But for the most part, I'm left to my own
devices, and that's fine by me. My days of being the center of attention—the life of the party—are well and

truly over. I learned in the hardest of ways the terrible things that can happen when you party to extremes and
don't consider consequences.
"Want another beer?" I hear from my left and turn to find Todd walking toward me with a fresh bottle. My
inclination is to say no, but I only have one warm swallow left in my bottle, so I down it with a grimace and
accept the offer from Todd. He comes to stand beside me, our shoulders brushing against each other.
Ordinarily, if we were out together, Todd would have his arm around my waist, and I would lean into him for
warmth and security, but there's a definite void between us tonight, which

is completely my fault. This "romantic" weekend that Todd envisioned hasn't happened so far and he's not
been happy about it.
The weekend started off good when I picked Todd up at the airport. It was refreshing seeing him, face all
glowing with adoration as he opened his arms to me. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to be held, and I
actually felt a slight measure of peace.
Then the weekend quickly started going to hell when we got to the apartment and Hawke was there. I really
need to keep track of my father's social agenda a little better so I can quit being surprised by his presence at our
home. It was like a proverbial power punch to my gut when I saw him on our couch, looking like he belonged
there. When he unfolded that massive frame from the couch, looking unbearably sexy in faded jeans and a
ratty T-shirt, I felt something shift inside of me that I think has tarnished my feelings for Todd.
It was a realization, maybe a recognition, of something that Hawke does to me that I believe no other man will
ever do. I can't name it. I can't place it other than it resides deep within me. The feeling came along much like
an epiphany that Hawke owns a piece of me that will never be touched by another man. I'm not sure I
recognized it before with Todd, but in that singular moment when I saw Hawke standing up from the couch in
my apartment, I realized that something has been lacking in my feelings for Todd and in every other
relationship—long or short—that I'd been in for the past seven years.
Todd's weekend continued to get worse because I insisted we stay at the apartment rather than get a hotel as
Todd suggested. I told him I was worried about leaving my dad alone, and while that is in fact true, it's also
misleading, because my dad can certainly stay alone by himself for a weekend. Frustrations grew that evening
when we finally crawled into my bed. Todd, ever formal and wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, tried to
make a move on me.
Don't get me wrong. Todd and I have a nice and healthy sexual relationship. Or we did when I lived back in
Columbus. It was natural, safe, and, well.um, comfortable, I guess. I was attracted to him, body and mind. I'm
absolutely certain of it.

But when he kissed me that night, slipping his tongue in my mouth, my instinct was to push away rather than
to receive and reciprocate. So I forced myself to let him kiss me for a moment, but it wasn't working. I couldn't
make the connection, so I gently disengaged and told him the mother of all blatant lies to get out of sex.
"I'm sorry, honey, but I started my period this morning," I whispered in the dark.
And Todd did exactly as I suspected. He was frustrated, no doubt, and that was evidenced by the deep sigh he
let out, but he still pulled me into his arms and whispered with his lips against my hair, "It's okay."
With a dash of bitterness and a whole lot of sadness, I realized Hawke would have never capitulated that
easily. He never cared if I was on my period and if he didn't care, I didn't care. We had no walls between us,
and if Hawke were lying in bed with me, nothing would have stopped him from fucking me. He would have
fucked me like a champion and then he would have carted me into the shower straight after to get us both
cleaned up. He was wild, raw, and uninhibited. Nothing would keep him away from what he wanted, and at
that time in our lives, Hawke wanted me more than anything.
So last night I lay there, in another man's arms, and I thought about Hawke.
I tried to remember every detail of our four years of happiness. I squirmed a little as I

remembered our times in bed together. I thought about him all damn night and didn't get a wink of sleep. I
tossed and turned, listened to Todd's soft snores, and I felt miserable for letting him down. I felt guilty for
allowing a memory to twist my feelings for him, and it made me angry at myself.
Angry at Hawke too.
"You know, this weekend is kind of sucking for me," Todd says quietly.
While it's loud out here between the music and the chatter of dozens of partiers, I hear him clearly. No, I more
than hear him.I feel the condemnation in his words.
"I'm sorry," I say as I turn toward him, my fingers picking at the soggy bottle label in my hands. I'm just so
damn sorry that my insides are all twisted over a man I thought I had moved past. And yet I can't utter one
other word of reassurance to Todd.
I want to hug him, give him a kiss. Press in close to him and let him know that it will all be okay, but I can't
know that. Because I'm filled with terror over my dad, nervousness over my new job, exhaustion from the
hours I'm keeping, and let's not even get into the slew of emotions that have been rocking my very core since
Hawke Therrien became involved in my life again.
Todd's eyes study my face shrewdly. "I get it, Vale. I know you have a lot on your plate right now, and clearly,
there's no room for me—"
"That's not true," I blurt out, but I know it's a lie.
He knows it too, because he rolls his eyes at me. "Vale, you're distant. Closed off. This isn't like you. You used
to talk to me about everything, and now it's like pulling teeth to have even a five-minute conversation. You
won't accept my help, you won't commit to anything for the long term, and I can't help but think that what's
really going on is that you don't want a relationship with me anymore."
"I do want a relationship with you," I say hurriedly as I set my bottle down on the deck railing. I walk straight
into Todd, wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest. And because he's gallant, despite

his hurt, he returns the gesture by hugging me back. "Things are just so screwed up right now in my life. But
this won't last forever. Once dad makes it through the clinical trial, it will be better. You'll see."
He doesn't say anything, but gives me a squeeze before letting go. He pulls back, stares down at me, and again
searches my eyes for the truth of what I'm saying.
"You'll see," I repeat, and I see a flicker of hope in his gaze, so I press on. "I need you to have some patience.
I just need some time to work through all of this craziness."
I need some time to figure out how to purge my thoughts of Hawke.
I need some time to make sure my dad isn't going to die.
I need some time to figure out what in the hell I really want in my life.
Because Todd has always been rock solid. Because he's always given me the benefit of the doubt. Because his
romanticism has always been tempered with good common sense, I expect him to see things my way.
I expect him to tell me that it's all good.
Instead, he gives a pained sigh and steps back from me. "I wish you'd work through this a little sooner rather
than later. You've been handing me that line for a few months now."

I blink at him in surprise. Surely it's not been that long? I mean, yeah...my life has been topsy-turvy since
Dad's cancer recurred, but this tension between us now. This void that I'm feeling...rm sure it's just come to a
head this weekend.
Because of that damned Hawke. I just know it.
I open my mouth to argue, to disagree with his assessment because I've been all in on this relationship until just
recently, but Todd stops me by leaning in and placing his hand at the back of my head. He pulls me forward
and places a kiss on my temple. When he releases me, he says, "I'm going to get another beer. Mingle around."
I do nothing but nod at him in acknowledgment, my mind already racing to try to figure out what the hell is
wrong with me. My eyes scan the crowd on the deck, immediately resting on my dad as he regales a group of
guys with some story that has them laughing. Hawke stands there, beer in hand as he listens, a gorgeous smile
on his face, those blue eyes shining brightly. He's not sharing that happiness with me, yet I feel it all the way
down to my toes. Just a simple smile, a crinkling around those eyes, and I'm entranced.
I shake my head and pick up the beer, taking a healthy slug. I don't put it down, but keep swallowing until I
knock back half the bottle. The fizz instantly goes to my head and I feel dizzy, and it's sad how far the party
girl Vale Campbell has fallen. A beer and a half and I have a buzz.
Taking another sip, I feel a slight pressure on my bladder and figure now is as good a time as any to go ahead
and break the seal. I weave through the crowded deck and make my way inside the house to find a bathroom.
I smile and nod at a few of the players, stop once to get an introduction, and then easily find the bathroom that
sits along a short hall that borders the staircase to the second floor. There's a line waiting, so I take my place
and lean back against the wall, thinking about everything that just transpired between me and Todd.
It would be so easy to blame part of my reticence on Hawke. He's got my stomach in knots, taking what very
little focus I have left and destroying it. Stirring up feelings, making me rehash old memories. It's enough to
drive a girl batty, and surely it's why I'm having some doubts about my feelings for Todd.
Right?

"You doing okay?" I hear Hawke ask, and I twist my neck to see him standing there, an affable smile on his
face.
"Yeah...sure. Just need to use the bathroom. I don't handle beer as well as I used to."
And the minute those words pop out of my mouth, I realize I really need to use the bathroom. I squeeze my
legs together involuntarily.
Hawke gives a chuckle, takes my hand, and pulls me away from the line. "Come on. You can use the one in my
room."
My body instantly rebels, pulling back against him. "No, that's okay. I don't mind waiting."
Hawke doesn't even look at me, but tugs me along behind him. Past the line of people waiting and right up the
staircase. I try one more time to pull away, but the pressure in my bladder increases at the thought of a toilet
nearby and I find myself trotting up the stairs in urgency.
He turns right at the top and down a hallway to the end, where he opens the door to what must be the master
bedroom.

I take a quick survey, see packing boxes all over the floor. His bed is devoid of sheets and just has a few
pillows and a blanket on top.
"Still unpacking?" I ask.
"Yup. But this is the last room," he says as he releases my hand. He nods over my shoulder with a pointed
look. "Bathroom's in there."
I gratefully spin away from him and practically waddle my way in, not failing to hear the soft chuckle from
Hawke that causes my belly to flip. I shut the door firmly behind me, twist the lock, and then lean back against
it for a moment.
The skin on the palm of my hand still tingles from where we were touching and my heart is fluttering madly,
taking the focus away from my bursting bladder.
Damn, Hawke. Why does he do this to me?

Chapter 95
Hawke
I know I should turn around and walk my ass back down the stairs. Rejoin the party. Drink another beer.
I'm already sporting a massive buzz, and the last thing I need to do is lose my head completely around Vale.
Who sits just on the other side of the door—literally—with that flowing cotton skirt speckled with flowers
probably hiked around her waist.
Fuck, but she's different. The old Vale would have shown up at a party with ripped jeans hanging low on her
hips, a bustier that came down to just above her navel with her tits spilling out, and those green eyes lined with
heavy eyeliner. She screamed party. She always screamed sex.
But tonight, the simplicity of her skirt that hangs just at her knees, along with a white tank top and a
lightweight yellow sweater, screams a different kind of sexy. It's fh'rty.. feminine. Something Vale always
was, but it was always just so understated. Now she looks like she should be sitting down to afternoon tea
rather than slamming beers at a Cold Fury party.
And yet I'm just as much, if not more, attracted to her in this getup that's so very different from the woman I
knew. It's a more mature Vale...a softer woman. Still with that scared look in her eyes that I've become used to
when she's near me, and that is something I don't like very much.
Don't like the douche she showed up with either, but I have to say, they haven't hung together much tonight.
Instead, Vale nursed a beer and hovered near her father, while her boyfriend mingled. I walked by one
conversation he was having with a puck bunny about veneers. Talk about lame.
I hear the toilet flush and I tell myself again.get the fuck gone.
Instead, I walk over to the door and prop my arms up on the door casing. I listen to water run, assume she's
washing her hands. I can imagine her possibly fluffing her hair while she looks in the mirror, possibly
reapplying gloss to those perfectly full lips.
I nearly groan at the thought of those lips. The way they used to look as they slid up and down on my.

The doorknob turns and my fingers grip into the casing, holding steady rather than retreating. Vale's head is
down as she steps out, causing her to walk right into me. She bounces back slightly and I resist the urge to
reach out and steady her.
She looks up at me standing there, hulking in the doorway, and her eyes flare wide with surprise.
"What are you doing?" she mutters.

"Making sure everything came out okay," I tell her with a cheesy grin. Her lips quirk up and she shakes her
head. "That's lame."
I release my hold on the door casing and then lean one shoulder against it, crossing my arms over my chest.
This doesn't have me towering over her, but still blocks her exit. "You know what's lame?" I ask her with a
smirk.
"What's that?" she asks, her head tilting to the side and her eyes bright with curiosity.
"Your boyfriend.Tad."
She narrows her eyes at me and the smile slides from her face. "It's Todd." "More like toad," I counter.
"What are you like five years old or something?" she asks dryly.
Pushing off from my perch, I take a step into her. She takes a wary step back.
"Seriously.what do you see in that guy?" I ask her as I advance. She continues to walk backward, until her
back comes up flat against the door to my shower.
"Todd's a great guy," she says firmly. "He's kind...nice. Devoted."
"Loyal?" I ask as I take one more step, bringing me to within inches of her body.
She sucks in a breath and whispers, "Yes."
My hand reaches out, probably fueled by my buzz, but more so by a flare of anger that suddenly hits me square
in the chest. I take a lock of her hair in my hand and rub my fingers against it. My eyes slide up to hers. "Does
he know you're not?"
"Not what?" Her voice is quietly full of shame.
"That you're not loyal."
Vale's eyes flare hot with indignation and her hands come up to slap against my chest. She tries to push me
back but I don't budge an inch. "I've been loyal to Todd."
"I'm sure you have been," I say with a nonchalant shrug as I look down at her. "But you'll cut him loose too.
Break his poor heart. Leave him high and dry."

Vale lets out a snarl of outrage, but I cut her off, my alcohol consumption lowering my inhibitions and turning
me into a supreme asshole.
"Come on, Vale, it's what you do," I taunt her, feeling an overwhelming need to make her feel bad about
herself. I want her to feel bad so that maybe she feels a tiny bit of what I went through when she cut me loose.
I place my hands flat on the shower stall, one on either side of her head, effectively caging her in. "Isn't that
right? When you've had enough, you just slam the door tight."
I see pain and misery flash across her face and I instantly feel like shit. I promised myself that I wouldn't do
this to Vale...not while she was going through all this shit with her dad. I know the alcohol is fueling me on. I
know I should say I'm sorry, but I still can't bring myself to apologize for true feelings, so I let loose any
further inhibitions I may have been holding back and let my buzz push me to do something else instead.
I kiss her.
Lean my body in, press my lips to hers, and push them apart.
Vale gives a tiny gasp of surprise, and it's enough of an opening that my tongue slides fluidly into her mouth.

And I groan, because this right here is fucking heaven.
Vale may have changed into someone virtually unrecognizable to my old self, but this mouth...these lips...her
taste. It's all 100 percent the same, and a jolt of lust seizes me hard.
My hands go to her shoulders first, then slide around to her back so I can pull her in tight to me. I stake my
claim by moving one hand to the back of her head, the other to her lower back, and I press her into me so she
can feel just how much I want her.
No matter how much I might despise what she did to me, I apparently still want her.
Vale tries to pull her mouth from mine, but I just hold her tighter. She manages to mumble against me,
"Hawke...don't..." I ignore her but use the opportunity to slide my lips over to her jaw. "I can't do this," Vale
whispers, but I choose to believe she doesn't mean it.
I kiss along her neck, heartened when her fingers curl into the material of my shirt. With my lips now by her
ear, I murmur, "Yes, you can."
She gives a shake of her head and I feel her tense up, so I kiss her again, full on the mouth. My fingers grip into
her hair and I tug so her face tilts more toward mine, deepening the kiss. I'm rewarded with a very clear moan
from Vale that I can feel bubbling against my tongue.
Then she's kissing me back.
No holds barred, her teeth knocking against mine as she pushes into me. Tongue rolling over mine, lips soft
but insistent. I drop a hand to her waist, grip it for a moment, then start dragging the material of her skirt up her
leg. Blood is roaring through my head and I feel dizzy from lust and beer and the taste of Vale.
Suddenly, Vale's hand is clamped onto my wrist, stilling the motion of me pulling her skirt up. She pulls her
mouth free of mine and desperately pleads, "Don't."
That's unacceptable to me. I'm too far gone.

My mouth goes back to her neck, and I do this because it's Vale's weakness. It's where she's most sensitive, and
there was a time in our lives where she could deny me nothing if I was kissing her there. The minute my lips
slide along her soft flesh, I feel her body relax, although her grip on my wrist remains firm.
"Come on, Vale," I whisper against her neck, and my cock thumps in my pants when she shivers. "Let me in."
"I can't...Todd," she murmurs, but her grip loosens on my wrist. Her mind and body are warring, so I'm going
to take advantage of her body's weakness, not giving a fuck about her boyfriend.
I inchworm my fingers, pulling the material up by the handfuls until finally I feel the silky, smooth skin of her
outer thigh. I nip at her neck with my teeth before leaning away from her. I have to see this.
Tilting my head to the side and down, I see that Vale's creamy skin is bared to midthigh, her skirt bunched up
in the palm of my hand. It's overwhelming seeing her like this. I want to touch her, taste her...I want to go
down on her until she forgets Todd's name and she's coming on my tongue.
But apparently, without my lips against her neck holding her hostage, some semblance of sanity returns to
Vale and she pushes against my hand again. "Don't," she says firmly.

Unacceptable.
Absolutely, unequivocally not accepting that.
"Vale," I cajole as I lean in toward the sweet spot just beneath her ear. "Let me touch you."
Her fingers tighten on my wrist. "No, Hawke...I'm with Todd."
Unacceptable.
"Not at this moment," I tease her just before licking against her skin. I pull against her hold, trying to get her
skirt higher. My fingers skim against the inner part of her thigh and she lets out another tiny moan.
"That's it," I praise her, layering my words in between kisses against her neck. "Just a little more."
Vale tenses, relaxes, then tenses again. She's conflicted but I'm winning.
"Come on, baby," I murmur. Kiss...nip, then a lick. "Let me see that tattoo. Just a peek and I'll let you go."
She tenses again and my fingers brush against that spot on her inner thigh that I need to see. That area where
she branded my name on her skin when she was eighteen.
"Hawke," Vale says softly, and it's not a plea this time. It sounds like a warning, but I choose not to heed it.
I have to see. I need to see that spot on the softest part of her body, right on her inner left thigh just a mere four
or five inches from her pussy.
"Let me see it, Vale," I say harshly.
See it. Lick it. Bite at it.
My head spins faster.
"No," she says as she shakes her head.
I pull my face up and glare down at her. "What does your boyfriend think every time he goes down on you and
sees my name staring at him? Does it piss him off? Has it dissuaded him from putting his face between those
beautiful legs?"
Vale goes rock solid in my arms, her nails digging down into the skin of my wrist viciously. I know I've
crossed the line as fury blazes from those fern-colored eyes and she hisses at me, "You want to see it?"

Her voice is so venomous I'm not sure that I do anymore, but I go ahead and nod. "Yeah...I want to see it."
I need to see that tiny part of me that she was forced to keep after she abandoned me. It will be a victory of
sorts, I tell myself.
"Fine," she seethes, and wrenches her skirt out of my grasp, pulling it right up to her hips. I catch a flash of pale
pink underwear as she tilts her leg, giving me the inside of her thigh. Her eyes are shooting daggers at me and
she taunts me, "Go ahead, Hawke. You want to know what Todd thinks when he sees my tattoo? Go
ahead...get your precious look."
Dread fills me and now I most certainly don't want to look. But I can't fucking help myself. I'm a glutton for
punishment.
My eyes slowly drag downward, barely heeding those pink panties made of flimsy lace, right down to where I
should be seeing the word Hawke in capital Gothic lettering.

Instead, I'm greeted with a massive array of red roses and green leaves woven into latticework that curls
around her leg. It's stunning...darkly beautiful, and completely concealing. My name is simply.gone.
My head jerks up as I step back from Vale. "You covered it up?"
Her face flushes red and she looks at me with scorn. "Of course I did. What did you expect?"
I sure as fuck didn't expect that.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I take two wobbly steps back and sit my ass on the edge of the sink counter.
My gaze lowers to the floor and from my periphery, I see Vale drop her skirt, covering the offensive-to-me
roses.
"I know you think I was disloyal to you, because of the way I—"
"Vale," I say tiredly, my head pounding as my buzz starts to fade.
I don't want to hear this. I thought I wanted answers, but now is not the time. Knowing she obliterated me from
her body tears open old wounds that I'd rather she not pour salt into.
"And I was.no doubt," she says, continuing. "I know the way I handled it, it was wrong."
I want to clap my hands over my ears. I want to reverse time to just five minutes ago when I showed her the
bathroom. Because that Hawke, the one that doesn't want to hear this, would have hauled his ass down the
stairs and rejoined his party, being none the wiser.
"But just know this," she says softly. "I did it because I was being loyal to myself."
Vale then scurries out of the bathroom, and in a flash, she's gone.
I let out a pent-up breath of frustration and push off the counter.
I was being loyal to myself.
Now what the fuck did that mean?
Just a mere moment ago, I was tired of the conversation and didn't want to know a damn thing anymore. But
she can't just leave that little tidbit there unresolved and think I'm not going to demand an explanation. I stride
with purpose out of the bathroom, down the hall, and take the stairs two at a time. I head straight out to the

back deck, instinctively knowing Vale is in flight mode and will be in the process of collecting her father and
boyfriend for a hasty escape.
I spot her quickly, leaning up on tiptoe to whisper something into Todd's ear. He looks irritated, glances
around, and then nods curtly at her. She takes him by the hand and starts leading him toward her father.
I push through the crowd, and in four well-placed steps, I'm in front of her. She looks up at me with surprise
and drops Todd's hand.
"You're going to have to explain that one to me, Vale," I tell her, referring to her parting shot.
Her face becomes panicked and she glances up at Todd. I don't bother doing the same, instead keeping my
gaze pinned on my quarry. She turns back to me and says, "Not now,
Hawke."
"Yes, now," I say, widening my stance and crossing my arms over my chest. "What did you mean you were
being loyal to yourself?"

"Hawke," Vale whispers pleadingly. "We can talk about it later."
"Fuck that," I say with quiet menace as I lean forward. Keeping my voice low so only she and Todd can hear
me—because I don't intend to embarrass Vale in front of my guests—I tell her, "You can talk about it now
because seven years is fucking long enough. We can go back up to my room if you want privacy, but it's time
you came clean with me."
"Vale," Todd says as he takes a step closer to her. "What's going on?"
Vale cuts Todd a sharp look. "I'll explain later."
She then turns to look at me and in a pleading voice, she says, "Hawke...please, let's talk about this later."
A low burning in my gut wants me to push her, but the tone of her voice gives me some pause. I have a
houseful of guests and I truly don't want my business aired in front of them.
So I reluctantly give her a curt nod of acceptance.
But then, I can't help myself. I need to lash out, just a bit, so I add, "You might as well tell Todd the entire truth
since you're going to be explaining things to him. Make sure he knows exactly how close we were all those
years ago."
I turn away from them both, but not before I see Vale's shoulders sag in defeat.

Chapter 106
Vale
The ride home from Hawke's party is tense and silent. Todd sits beside me as I drive, slouched down and
sullen. He caught Hawke's inference loud and clear, and I imagine he's all kinds of confused.
Join the club.
My dad has no clue what's going on, but he knew by my sudden demand we leave and the silence that lays
heavy between Todd and me that something's wrong. I suppose I'll have to fill him in later after Todd and I
talk.
I could strangle Hawke for outing us to Todd. While my feelings may be jumbled, and plain bat-shit crazy, the
last thing in this world I want is to hurt Todd. He doesn't deserve it, not with the way he's already been feeling
about our relationship.
As I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex, my heart starts racing from the anticipation of
confrontation. I hate it, always have. I have no clue what to even say to Todd, and even less of a clue as to what
I really want, but I suppose it's time for me to put my feelings under a microscope and figure out what the hell
is going on with me. I need to either commit to Todd or cut him loose...which, apparently, is what Hawke
thinks I'm destined to do.
He called me disloyal. Not in the sense of cheating, but he's saying I'm disloyal to love and trust.
He called me disloyal and he's absolutely right, but he's also a hypocrite. While I may have bailed with
uncertainty over the strength of what we had all those years ago, he's the one that slammed the door on us
permanently. Maybe he feels justified. Maybe he thought to give me a taste of my own medicine, so I would
never forget my lesson on the consequences of impetuosity.
I pull into a spot close to our outside stairwell, and my dad is already opening the door before I can turn the car
off.
"I'm really tired," he says before stepping out. "I'm going to hit the bed. I'll see you kids in the morning."

" 'Night, Dad," I murmur as I cut the engine. He closes the door and the overhead lamp fades, throwing the car
into semidarkness because the security light on the stairwell is broken.
My mind spins with how to begin with Todd, but I'm lost without a compass. It's ironic. When I think about
how I broke things off with Hawke, I was just so sure of myself. Unforeseen circumstances threw me for a
loop, but I came to a rapid decision to alter the

course of my life. To my way of thinking—which, granted, was muddied with grief and terror —there truly
was no option other than to part ways with Hawke.
Things aren't so easy where Todd's concerned, and the only thing muddying up my current relationship is one
bitter ex-boyfriend who doesn't seem to want to share any responsibility for the demise of what we had.
Just ironic.
"So, you want to tell me what Hawke is to you?" Todd says from the gloom of the passenger seat.
"Just a friend," I say quietly, but I intend to give him the full truth. "We were more, though.back in Sydney.
We dated."
"For how long?"
"Four years; started when I was sixteen years old." Todd coughs, clears his throat. "Why did you break up?"
I don't answer him, because I can't. It's not a story that I feel comfortable sharing with him, especially when I
haven't ever shared the reason with anyone other than Avery and my father.
"The reason is private," I say carefully as I turn in the seat slightly to face him. "But that was a long time ago.
Hawke and I went our separate ways and haven't spoken with each other until we both landed here at the Cold
Fury. He's angry at me, and I suppose he feels he has the right. Hell, he does have the right, but I'm angry at
him too. I'm trying to set that aside, though, because I can't afford to get caught up in the negativity of it all. I
don't have room for that in my life."
"And do you have room for me in your life?" he asks as his hand reaches out to take mine. "Of course I do," I
say automatically. Almost like a robot.
And I realize that's a true statement. I do have room in my life for him, but he didn't ask the right question. The
one that would have me really hesitating is if I want him in my life. That, I'm not so sure about.
And that's because Hawke complicates things for me.
He's dredged up so many emotions these past two weeks, I feel near to bursting from it all. Anger, bitterness,
yearning, sadness, desire.

Yes, there was desire tonight in his bathroom. There was a moment when I was all in. Where I might have
even given myself to him. But when he started in on the tattoo and reminded me of my disloyalty, I realized
Hawke didn't want me.
He wanted to punish me.
So I beat him to the punch and let him get a quick peek of what I refer to as my rose garden. That quick look
was enough to make him stumble backward and away from me with a look of shocked disdain on his face. I
quickly dropped my skirt, because if he looked closely, he'd see his name was still there. I couldn't bear to
cover it up, instead merely asking the artist to camouflage it so I would always have a tiny piece of him with
me.
"Listen, your dad has another MRI coming up this week, right?" Todd asks in a complete change of subject.
"Yeah," I say hesitantly, not sure where he's going. "Wednesday."

"And didn't you say if it's under control, they'll probably do another three months after
that?"
"That's right."
"Well, I've been thinking...why not just move back to Columbus? Bring your dad, because I have plenty of
room at my house. You both can stay there, and just fly back for the follow-up visits. I mean, if the tumor is
shrinking and he's doing well, there's really no reason for you to stay here. You won't have rent to pay. I'm sure
you'll be able to get another job quickly... maybe even back at Ohio State. What do you say?"
What do I say?
My entire being rebels against the idea, so what in the fuck do I say to that offer? "Todd," I say softly, giving
his hand a squeeze. "I just don't think that's feasible." "Why not?" he asks, leaning in toward me, trying to
search my eyes in the darkness. "For a lot of reasons. My dad.he needs to be here near Duke in case something
happens." "But if the tumor is under control, and he's doing well—"
"I have a job," I cut him off gently. "I can't just quit my job. That would be unprofessional."
"They created that job for you," Todd reminds me with no tact whatsoever. "You'd be freeing up their budget."
And damn, he's right about that. I'd probably be doing the Cold Fury a favor, adding my measly
forty-one-thousand-dollar salary to their profit margin.
"Without a job, I'd still be living off of you," I point out desperately, with the utter realization that I'm
scrabbling for excuses. "You know how I feel about that."
"Then what would you say if I asked you to marry me?" Todd says quietly. "Would you have a problem with
it if you were my wife?"
I drop Todd's hand like it's a hot potato and rear backward. "Is that a proposal?" I ask, stunned beyond all
belief.
"Not the most romantic, I know, but I do love you," he says, his face dropping down to stare at his lap.
"But...we've only been going out for a few months."

"Six," he supplies as he raises his face back up to mine. My eyes have adjusted to the gloom of the night, and
I don't miss the unfettered hope in his eyes. "But who's counting?"
I clasp my hands tightly together, almost in a desperate attempt to cling to myself for strength and clarity.
Todd has laid it all out on the line. He's declared his love for me. He's offered me marriage and a stable home.
He's invited my father to live with us. On its face, it seems the perfect solution, and yet.my mind still races
trying to figure a reason to decline.
What sane woman would pass up an offer like that?
Perhaps one that still has unresolved feelings for another?
Is there something there to be realized with Hawke? With so much anger and bitterness, betrayal and loss
between us, could the reason I'm so hesitant with Todd be because my destiny actually belongs to another
man?
There's no clear-cut answer, because so far, outside of extending a courteous olive branch to me in light of my
dad's condition, Hawke's shown me that he's still very hurt and pissed at

me. I know showing him that tattoo tonight probably widened the void between us. If I break things off with
Todd, there's no guarantee that Hawke is the one I'm supposed to be with.
And besides that, pinning my hopes for a future on a man isn't something that I'm cool with. That goes for
Todd's unseemly marriage proposal as much as it does for trying to rekindle a flame with someone from my
past. Vale Campbell doesn't need to depend on a man for anything.
So take Hawke out of the picture. Remove him completely and let's just say the most we'll ever be is common
friends because of my father. In fact, let's just pretend he doesn't even exist in my world.
Now how do I feel about Todd?
"Hey, kiddo," my dad says softly as he walks into the living room. He's got on his old, ratty plaid robe over a
pair of gray pajama bottoms. "Want to talk?"
It's almost three

A

.

M

.

and I haven't been able to go to sleep. My mind is still all sorts of jumbled with the way

things went down tonight.
"Todd and I broke up," I say glumly.
"I'm sorry," my dad says as he comes to sit by me on the couch, giving my knee a squeeze.
"I'm not," I say softly, but then amend. "I mean^I'm sorry I hurt him, but it was the right thing to do."
"What happened?"
"He proposed to me."
"Oh," my dad says, sounding faintly surprised but maybe a little expecting that. "You said no, I assume?"
"I don't love him," I say.
"Because you love someone else." He hazards a guess.
I turn to face him on the couch, throwing my arm over the back. I give him a patronizing smile. "No, Dad. I
don't love another. What Hawke and I had...that love...it dried up a long time ago."
"But he played some role in your decision," he pushes at me, and is that hope in his eyes?

"No, he didn't," I admonish, bringing him back down to earth. "He's stirred up some feelings, for sure, but
that's all anger and bitterness. I think I realized that Todd just wasn't the one for me. When he put the proposal
out there, I knew deep in my gut I didn't love him. Not like he deserves, anyway."
"Is he okay?" my dad asks kindly. I know he wasn't overly crazy about Todd, but he didn't dislike him. And he
did like him a heck of a lot more than some of my other boyfriends throughout the years, though I know the top
spot has always been reserved for Hawke in my dad's mind. He knows why I broke things off with Hawke, and
he never minced words with me when he told me it was a dumbass move. But he also saw me go through major
heartbreak when I reached out to Hawke and he turned his back on me.
"I think he's okay," I say, referencing his question about Todd. "I took him to a hotel by the

airport. He's going to fly out in the morning. He actually said he'd be there for me if I changed my mind. I think
he's holding out hope that once things settle down with you, I might come back to Columbus."
My dad is silent, his face lowered and his fingers playing with the belt of his robe. When he looks back up at
me, his eyes are sad and weary. "You know, Vale, I never wanted my illness to impinge on your life."
I react instinctively, pushing up and lunging toward my father, throwing my arms around his shoulders and
burying my face in his neck. "Stop it. You are not impinging on my life. We're in this together...thick and thin.
There's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be than by your side, so I don't ever want to hear that out of your
mouth again."
His arm comes up to pat my back. I give him a squeeze and pull back, looking at his face whiskered with gray.
He smiles at me and nods his head in acknowledgment. "Thick and
thin."
"We're agreed," I say with a grin. "Now come on, let's get to sleep. I've got some midmorning appointments at
the gym and I need a few hours of shut-eye."
We both push up off the couch, my dad looking a little wobbly, but he rights himself.
"You okay?" I ask, my hand going to his lower back.
"Yeah, just a little dizzy for a minute," he says, shaking his head slightly. "But I'm fine. Got my bearings
back."
"Okay," I say dubiously, letting him precede me down the hall toward the bedrooms. I watch his gait carefully,
and he looks fine.
When we reach our doors, which are on opposite sides of the hall, Dad turns to look at me. "You know,
Vale...don't discount Hawke."
"Excuse me?" I say, blinking at him in surprise.

"I know you said he played no part in your decision to break up with Todd, but don't discount that there could
be something there. You were both so young, and you made some bad decisions, but there was real love. I'd
even say given the strength of the bitterness you both have, there might still be some underneath.hidden deep."
I want to shake my head and deny my dad's words, but there's a ring of truth to it. We're both nursing hurt
feelings, and to be hurt, you have to have the capacity to care.
It's definitely something to think about.

Chapter 116
Hawke
I'm juiced. Totally amped up.
It's only the first preseason game, but when it comes to stepping back out onto the ice for official competition,
it feels like a Stanley Cup game to me every time.
I'm nearing the end of my shift, defending against the Bobcats' power play. The Cold Fury is up 4-2 with just
under six minutes left to play in the game, and I'm determined they're not going to score here. I pass my stick
from hand to hand, sweeping it on the ice as the center passes to his left winger and back again, attempting to
cut off any pass they want to attempt through the crease.
I get lucky too when the center doesn't put enough zip on the biscuit and I lunge for it, tapping it from its
trajectory and into the boards. Unfortunately, not enough to knock it past the blue line, so I hustle after it.
I reach the puck a millisecond after the center, who wedges himself between me and my prize. We scrabble,
throwing elbows and shoulders and even kicking at it with our skates to expel it out. It's a hard-fought battle,
probably not lasting more than a few seconds, but starting to wind me since I was at the end of my shift
anyway.
I really don't even see it coming, and it probably wasn't intentional, but it still hurts like fuck when the dude's
stick pops upward, the end catching me just above my left eyebrow. I don't feel the pain at first, but red,
blurred vision lets me know I have blood streaming down my face. The ref blows the whistle and play stops as
the penalty is called.
The pain hits me next, and I bend over at the waist, my clear eye watching as a stream of blood hits the ice and
freezes. Within mere moments, a towel is covering the cut and I hear Vale say, "All right...let's get you off the
ice."
Her hand stays steady at my back as I lift up straight, taking the towel in my own hand to hold it in place. She
walks alongside me gingerly while I skate to the bench, which has an exit door on one end that will lead back

to the locker room. A few of the players slap me on the shoulder as I walk past. Grant Izerman, a second-line
defenseman yells out, "Get stitched up so you can come back out and kick his pansy ass."
I can't help but chuckle, because that's exactly what I intend to do. A tiny cut sure as shit isn't stopping me.
Hell, I played with a fractured jaw three years ago for two periods, only accepting a face guard when the AT
wouldn't let me return to the ice without it.
It's funny, even through the layers of my gear and thick sweater, I can actually feel the loss of Vale's hand
when it drops away so I can precede her through the exit door. I've been

wanting to talk to her, not only to find out what she meant about loyalty to herself, but because I've been
feeling increasingly guilty about the way I handled things with her.
I practically accosted her in my bathroom, knowing full well she had a boyfriend, then outed her to said
boyfriend about the nature of our prior relationship, which I know put Vale in a bad situation. I don't feel guilty
about Todd, but I do feel guilty about Vale having to deal with the fallout. Even more so because I had
purposefully set myself on a mission of not adding any more stress to her life right now. I had no fucking
business touching her or demanding answers, because in the grand scheme of things, what does it fucking
matter? Vale and I are over and there is nothing she could possibly say to me that will erase the pain, nor let me
forget all the things I lost. I know I should just be happy with reconnecting with her and Dave, so that's what I
need to focus on. I need to let Vale be...let her get married to her toad of a boyfriend and have lots of little
babies that hopefully look like Vale and who can play inside their white picket fence. This is something I need
to do and let go of the other shit, and we'll both be happier for it.
Vale slides past me, entering the locker room and heading over to the training/medical room set up for the
visiting team. Our travel doc, Herman Collins, is waiting for me, having been watching the action from a TV
feed back here.
"Up on the table," he says briskly, and I watch with my one good eye as Vale starts unloading the necessary
supplies from the travel case. I hop up onto the table, and in just under five minutes, Dr. Collins has my injury
evaluated, lidocaine injected, and the cut closed with four stitches. The entire time, I watch Vale, who keeps
her eyes solidly pinned on Dr. Collins's hands as they work me.
I wait for her to give me a glance—not expecting any conversation due to the presence of Dr. Collins—but just
something to show me what she might be feeling. I wait and wait for it, but it never comes. The minute the last
suture is placed, Vale heads out of the locker room to get back to the ice.
The elevator door opens to the hotel lobby and I file out along with a few of the other players. We decided to
hit up a local pizza joint that supposedly serves the world's best deep-dish pies known to man, although I'm

sure every Chicago pizza place boasts the same thing. We're all buzzed after our final 4-2 victory, and despite
the slight throbbing in the cut above my eye, I'm high on the win.
I'm heading out with Grant and Max, although a few of the other guys said they'd meet us up there. I imagine
we'll stuff our guts and then head somewhere for a few beers after.
As we head through the lobby, a small group of fans wearing Cold Fury jerseys waits for us, clamoring for
autographs just before the large carousel door that leads outside. We stop and oblige, signing jerseys and
scraps of paper. When I look up to the next woman waiting, my eyes slide past her face and into the restaurant
that sits off the hotel lobby. I see Vale in there, eating a salad by herself and scanning something on her phone,
which lies on the table beside her plate.
My eyes cut back to the fan in front of me, and I dutifully sign her jersey and pose for a picture. I do that three
more times, each time not able to resist glances back at Vale as she

eats in solitude.
When the last autograph is handed out, Max and Grant start for the door, but I stay pinned in place, indecisive.
One more glance at Vale.
"Hey guys, I'll catch up to you in a bit," I call out, and they both turn to look at me inquisitively. "If I'm not
there in fifteen, order without me."
I wait for them to leave and then turn toward the restaurant. I'm sliding into the booth seat opposite Vale before
she even notices me. Her head jerks up, and at first I don't get even a hint of recognition, but then she breaks
out into an easy smile that catches me off guard. I was quite sure I'd be getting daggers.
"Hey," she says as she sets her fork down on her plate.
"Rabbit food for dinner?" I ask with a cut of my eyes down to her meal before looking back up at her again.
"Have to keep my girlish figure," she quips.
I chuckle and stretch my legs out, making sure to spread them wide enough so they don't touch her. I don't
think I could handle touching her.
She looks at me with vague curiosity and a touch of wariness. I decide to go ahead and put her totally at ease.
"I'm sorry about Saturday," I tell her with my eyes holding hers. "I shouldn't have come on to you like that.
Shouldn't have been such an asshole and said those things."
"Oh," she murmurs in soft surprise, and I can see her shoulders relax a little.
"And I'm really sorry for outing us to Tad," I say with what I hope is a charming smile.
She returns it hesitantly but says, "Todd."
"Whatever. I'm sorry about that. I know it's not stress you need right now."
Vale's eyes hold me for a moment, then drop to her plate. She picks up her fork, toys around with a piece of
lettuce covered in blue cheese dressing. "Todd and I broke up Saturday
night."

"Oh, fuck," I groan, actually sorry over the fact that I caused that. Well, wait...no, I'm not sorry, but I keep that
to myself.
Her face raises and she gives me a smirk. "It wasn't because of you."
Hmmm...I don't like that either. I kind of want to be the cause of her dumping the toad.
"Actually," she says with sober eyes, "I just sort of realized he wasn't the one."
"Bad kisser, huh?" I say jokingly.
"Good kisser," she says, and I wince internally. "But he proposed to me, and that sort of put things in
perspective."
My eyebrows raise sky high, as I had no clue things were that serious. "Proposed? As in bended knee, ring, and
marriage?"
"Well, he sort of blurted it out in the parking lot of my apartment, but in fairness to him, I think he was
nervous."
For some reason, that makes me sad. Sad that a man that wanted someone like Vale to spend the rest of her life
with him didn't have the decency to make it good for her. This thought confuses me somewhat, because I'm not
sure why Vale holds any vested interest for

me. Outside of not wanting to cause her undue stress while she's going through this stuff with Dave, I'm not
sure why I've got some protective instincts rising within me.
Vale takes a stab at her salad and an idea strikes me. "Hey, you want to dump the roughage and come eat pizza
with me and a few of the guys? We're going to grab a few beers after to celebrate our victory."
She gives me a sweet smile and shakes her head. "Nah. That's not my sort of scene anymore."
"So, what is your scene now?" I ask curiously, wondering exactly how much the party girl I once knew has
changed.
Her shoulders lift with silent laughter and her voice is dry. "Nowadays, it's getting a good eight hours of sleep,
which I'm actually looking forward to tonight."
"I can understand that," I say sympathetically. The girl is a workhorse, caught by circumstance and obligation
to keep her and her dad afloat. "But what about before you moved here?"
"Hmmm," she says thoughtfully before taking a dainty sip of her water. "Let's see...I like to read—sci-fi and
paranormal thriller stuff—and I used to spend a lot of time with my dog, Piper. We'd go hiking a lot. She's a
Lab and loves the water, so we'd spend a lot of time at this local lake that was near my house."
"Where is she now?" I ask, intently curious now that for the first time Vale seems to be holding an easy
conversation with me. A brief thought filters through my head, and that's to hit her up with what she meant
Saturday night about loyalty to herself, but I instantly quash it. It's not the time. Maybe it won't ever be.
Vale's eyes go sad and I have a sudden urge to reach out and grab her hand. I curl my fingertips into the edge
of the wooden table to resist as she says, "I had to leave her with Avery. Todd wasn't a dog guy, but Avery
gladly took her for me."
"Where is Avery these days?" I ask, a sudden flush of guilt going through me that not only do I not know
where Avery is, but I don't know where Oliver is either. We just simply lost touch.
"She's still living in Sydney. Married to a boat mechanic. They have a little boy who's
three."

"Wow," I say, almost stunned at how much has changed when sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that
we were all together. I cough slightly, almost hating to ask because it lets Vale know how much I left
everything firmly behind. "And what about Oliver?"
A knowing look filters into her eyes. She's very much aware I haven't kept in touch with Oliver, yet I don't
indicate any censure. Instead, she leans forward in a conspiratorial manner and almost whispers, "Well, he
ended up getting involved with this married woman. She was married to this really rich old guy and they
would spend weekends on Cape Breton. You know Oliver, it was just a screw to him, nothing more. But then
the husband caught them together, and because he really liked having his trophy wife on his arm, he just
merely demanded she make a choice. Him and his riches, or the young, poor stud."
"And what did she do?" I ask, caught up in the juicy details of this forbidden affair. Relishing the power of her
tale, Vale hunches forward a little more. "Well, Oliver of course was just in it for the hot sex. I mean, Nina is
smokin', but she's also really nice too. But she

knew Oliver wasn't offering her any commitment, or at least he'd made that clear in the past. So she made with
the tearful goodbye and went back to her loveless marriage."
"That's a sucky ending," I mutter.
"But it's not the end," Vale says slyly, and sits back in the booth. With an impish grin, she says, "According to
Avery, Oliver realized he loved her and marched up to their mansion on the bay, stormed inside, and carried
Nina out over his shoulder."
"You're kidding?" I say, not able to see Oliver doing something like that. It fills me up with respect for him.
"Nope. They got married last year and they're working on making babies. They'll be beautiful too."
We're interrupted when the waitress comes up and asks if I'll be eating. I look to Vale. "Mind if I just hang out
here with you?"
She shakes her head and takes another bite of her salad. I turn back to the waitress. "I'll just have a burger and
fries. And a Coke."
"Have that out in a jiff," she says, and scurries off.
"So Oliver's still in Sydney?" I ask as I turn back to Vale.
"He is now. They had actually moved to upstate New York where Nina's from, but then decided he missed
Sydney too much. So they moved back about six months ago. He's managing a building supply warehouse.
Nina is a receptionist at a veterinary clinic."
"Wow," I say in wonder, a sudden feeling of remorse overtaking me. I've missed so much.
"You should give him a call," Vale says as if reading my mind. "He'd love to hear from you."
Weirdly, an odd sense of hope and excitement courses through me. In the matter of just a few weeks, and all
due to Vale coming to the Cold Fury, I've been reconnected to my old life, which, let's face it, was a fantastic
fucking life. I had good friends, even better times, and despite the way our paths veered apart, the possibility of
having them come back together makes me feel uniquely joyous.
"You know, I think I will," I say as the waitress returns with my Coke.

Vale gives a tinkling laugh, the very one I remember from when she was in a mischievous mood. She leans
forward again and says, "So, I'll tell you more about the whole Nina scandal. There was a rumor her rich, old
husband had some Mafia ties. Not sure how it got started up, but for the longest time after Oliver carried her
out of the house, we were all convinced he was going to swim with the fishes or something. You should have
seen Oliver."
I sit there and listen to Vale. Her voice is light, carefree, and melodic. I let her fill me in on the details of my
friends I had lost, and I let myself get swept away in the memories.

Chapter 12 Vale
While I did indeed get eight pure hours of sleep last night, I'm still exhausted. It clearly wasn't enough to catch
up on all of the late nights and early mornings I've been suffering through the past few weeks. Still, I went to
sleep with a smile on my face last night after Hawke and I had dinner together. It was nice.
Casual.
Fun.
When he first sat down at my table, there was a fleeting moment of awkwardness, and then it was gone as soon
as he apologized for what happened at the party. In hindsight, I'm not sure I wanted him to be regretful over
what happened in the bathroom, but it was a bit of a balm to know that he seemed truly sorry for making waves
with Todd and me. It showed me that despite the anger and secrets and blame, Hawke still has feelings for me.
As I clearly still have feelings for him.
That became evident to me when Todd proposed. While my initial reaction was a general rebellion against the
notion of a lifetime with Todd, it was quickly followed with a sad yearning for what I had lost with the man I
thought I was supposed to be with the rest of my
life.
It was even more evident, and not in a good way, when I woke up this morning in my Chicago hotel room all
squirmy with frustration because of a dirty dream I had about Hawke. Call it guilt over showing him my
cover-up tattoo job, or the way in which I can all too clearly remember how much I wanted him to touch me in
that bathroom, but I dreamt of the night I got his name etched into my inner thigh to be held for all eternity.
We practically tumbled into our apartment. We were drunk, a little stoned, and had just come home from the
tattoo shop. Our hands were all over each other, tearing at clothes, deep wet kisses punctuated with groans.
We stumbled into the bedroom, completely naked by the time we fell to the mattress. Well, almost completely
naked. I had a sterile pad held in place over Hawke's name with medical tape. He had a matching pad on his
right hip, where he had tattooed

VALE

in a flowing script of dark green ink.

Then he was in me, careful of our bandages, and kissing me hard the entire time.
Hawke and I had sex—and I mean a lot—those first few months after I turned eighteen. But that night was
different, almost desperate. What made it so hot, and I'm sure the reason for it infiltrating my dreams, is the
way he was so possessive of me. Carefully cradling that leg in the crook of his elbow while he pummeled into
me with smooth strokes, he lifted his face and

with glittering eyes said, "Need to see it." "What," I had moaned as he hit me especially deep. "My name. On
you."
He reared up, still seated to the hilt, and carefully peeled the bandage off. Then with the same care, if not more,
he held my leg up and out while he fucked me, looking at his name on my tender skin the entire time.
It was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced in my young life, and I was so sure, in that moment, that we
were meant for each other forever.
I brooded about that dream the entire flight from Chicago back to Raleigh. When we landed, I called Dad to let
him know I was back, but he didn't answer the phone. He's been tiring out quickly since the virus injection so
I assumed he was napping.
The rest of the day was spent at the arena, where I did some training with Max and then helped Goose
reorganize supplies, but by three p.m. we were out of work to do and I was told to go home. I hadn't seen
Hawke since dinner the night before, but I sure was thinking about him, much to my chagrin.
With no training appointments at Xtreme Fit, I'm actually looking forward to a quiet afternoon at home with
Dad, and looking forward even more to another full night of sleep before getting back to double duty the next
day. I think I'll make spaghetti for us tonight. It's his favorite and it's easy. I could do without the carbs, but
with as busy as I've been, they'll get burned up quickly.
When I unlock the door and open it, I'm hit with eerie quiet. The living room is empty and dark, so I turn on
one of the floor lamps by Dad's recliner. He must be napping in his bedroom, which is odd, because he
normally lives in that damn recliner. He says he doesn't feel like such a wimp in it.
With quiet stealth, I head to the kitchen and dump my purse on the scarred, wooden table that we moved from
my small house in Columbus. I had found it at a garage sale a few years ago and I loved the charming
farmhouse style. It takes me only a few minutes to pull some hamburger out of the freezer to thaw and cans of
sauce that I lay on the counter before I decide to go check on Dad.

His bedroom door is open and when I spot him on his bed, I know immediately something is wrong. My father
is a portly fellow and he's a back sleeper, two factors that cause his chest to heave deep in slumber and usually
with a resounding snore. It's way too quiet and he's on his side, his back to me.
Absolute terror seizes my body and my heart seems to thud to a dead halt. Then a rush of adrenaline spikes and
I reach his bed with a few quick steps. With my hand to his shoulder, I
whisper, "Dad?"
I'm immediately relieved when I feel warmth radiating from underneath his white cotton T-shirt and his body
jerks from my touch. He lifts his head from the pillow, tries to angle his face toward me, and mutters, "Vale?"
His voice is hoarse and my hand immediately goes to his forehead. It's so hot that fear jolts through me again.
Dad rolls to his back and looks at me blearily. "Hey, honey. I had a headache and was just taking a little nap."

"You're burning up," I tell him as I lift my hand from him, turn it, and place the back against his cheek. Just as
hot. "Are you sick? Maybe flu or something?"
"No," he says as he shakes his head and then winces. "I just have a really bad headache. Little nauseous, I
guess."
Dave Campbell may be portly, but he's still a strong man. He hauls himself up so he can lean back against the
pillows and headboard. His hand gingerly rubs against the side of his head where I assume he's hurting.
"Let me get the thermometer and some Tylenol. Some ice water too," I say as I turn from him, only to have his
hand come to rest on my forearm.
"No, I'm good. It's time to get up anyway. I'll come out there."
"Okay," I say guardedly. The fever is freaking me out a bit. "But straight to your recliner. I was going to make
spaghetti tonight, but I'm thinking some good old chicken noodle soup.
What do you think?"
Dad chuckles then winces again. "Sounds good, honey."
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, puts his hands on the mattress, and pushes himself up. I want to
put my arms around his waist to steady him, but I know he wouldn't like that. He gives me a wink as he stands
straight, and the pressure in my chest seems to lessen a bit. He looks strong and lucid.
I watch keenly as he takes a step forward, a smile of relief gracing my face.
Then I watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he drops to the floor.
My hands are shaking when I dial Hawke. They hadn't been shaking in the past fifteen minutes, but they're
sure as shit quaking now. He answers on the second ring.
"Hawke." My voice is piteous, trembling, and weak.
"Vale? What's wrong?" he asks urgently. He can tell something is definitely wrong.
"It's my dad. He's got a fever and he had a seizure."
"Where are you?" I can hear rustling, maybe a drawer slamming.

"At our apartment. The EMTs are here. He's conscious, has a really bad headache. They're getting him on the
stretcher now."
Fifteen minutes ago, my dad's eyes rolled and his body dropped dead weight. He landed on his side and
immediately started convulsing. If ever there was a time I was grateful for my training, it was then. I fell to my
knees, held him lightly to keep him on his side should he vomit, and I rode it out. I even had the sense to look
at my watch and time the seizure.
Sixty-seven seconds of pure hell and torture.
When his body relaxed and his eyes started to flutter open, I was already on the phone calling 911. Ordinarily,
a single-episode seizure may not warrant an ambulance trip to the hospital, but my dad is no ordinary person.
He has a brain tumor and an active, live virus attempting to do battle with it. His poor brain is the battlefield,
the enemies fighting without regard for the tender tissue surrounding them.
I was cool, calm, and collected. I attended to my father as only a daughter with medical

training can do. I kept him assured, watched him carefully, and only left his side to unlock the door when the
EMTs arrived. I efficiently filled them in on his medical history, and I even shot off a quick email to Dr.
Furhman, his oncologist at Duke. I did all of this without a single quake in my body.
But the minute they started loading him onto the stretcher, an almost shattering weakness gripped my body
and I felt my knees buckle. I was fortuitously standing at the foot of Dad's bed and I sat down on it hard and
heavy. My hands immediately started shaking, and I thought to myself, I can't do this. I can't just sit by and
watch my dad possibly die.
My hands automatically worked to dial Hawke, the one and only person I thought to call.
"Where are they taking him?" Hawke says, and I hear the jingle of car keys.
"To Duke," I whisper. "I've emailed his oncologist."
"Ride in the ambulance with him," Hawke orders me, and I hear the opening and closing of a car door. "Don't
you dare get in your car."
As if I'd leave my dad's side, but I understand what he's saying. He can tell by my tone of voice and the mere
fact that I reached out to him that I'm in no shape to be driving a car.
"Okay," I say softly.
"He'll be fine," Hawke says reassuringly as I hear his car roar to life. I then hear the creaking of a garage door
and I envision Hawke backing out.
"Okay," I say, distrusting the confident statement. Because really, wasn't this potential miracle cure just too
good to be true?
"Vale?" Hawke says, and I blink my eyes to dispel the tears starting to form. "He'll be fine."
"I'm scared," I say, my voice cracking under the weight of my fear.
"I know, baby," he says gently. "But I'll meet you at the hospital and you won't be alone.
Okay?"

The EMTs have Dad fully strapped in and he gives me a weak smile. They start to maneuver the stretcher to
the front door. "I've got to go. They're loading him up. I'll see you at the hospital."
I don't wait for his response, but disconnect him immediately, afraid that any more soft words from him will be
my complete undoing. While Dad is watching me, I need to remain strong for him.
I can always fall apart later.

Chapter 134
Hawke
I've only seen Vale look this way one other time in her life. The normally assured, confident, and self-aware
woman is barely holding it together tonight. She looks lost.
Defeated.
And my heart aches for her.
The other time I saw her this way was on the morning she broke up with me. Lying in her bed, covers up to her
chin. So vulnerably small and delicate.
Dave was admitted to Duke a little over seven hours ago. I arrived about five minutes after the ambulance to
find a shaken Vale sitting alone in the waiting room of the emergency department.
Her head was bowed, her eyes closed, lips moving in what I believe was a silent prayer. As I approached, her
face tilted upward and I know I shouldn't have derived pleasure from it, but fuck.I did. She was relieved to see
me.
She stepped into my arms as if she had never left them seven years ago. She laid her head on my chest,
wrapped her arms around my waist, and I couldn't help myself. I embraced her back, relishing in every inch of
her touching me. I found solace in the familiarity that still existed between us. I kissed the top of her head and
murmured words of assurance to soothe her. She shuddered once, and then went still except for her fingers,
which clutched at me harder.
Ordinarily, waiting in an emergency room can take hours. Hell, sometimes it feels like days. But when you are
a patient in an exciting and almost miraculous clinical trial that could eradicate cancer from the face of the
earth, you tend to get treated like a rock star. Vale and I were still in midhug when a nurse collected us, gently
ushering us down halls until we reached the emergency-room bay that held all the beds. She put us in a room
separated by curtains with an empty bed, telling us that Dave was receiving an MRI and that Dr. Furhman was
on his way in. She offered us something to drink, which both of us politely declined.

Vale and I sat beside each other on plastic chairs, clasping hands and silently ruminating. Dr. Furhman found
us there twenty minutes later, looking serious as only a doctor can, but without that grave look that spells
death.
"Your dad's MRI looks good," he said first, and Vale let out a shuddering breath of relief. "He was due to have
one this week anyway, and as we had hoped, the prior inflammation caused by the virus has reduced
significantly. The tumor itself hasn't, but we don't expect to see that start to shrink for another month at least."
"Then what happened to him?" Vale asked as her fingers still clutched mine tightly.

"A secondary infection," Dr. Furhman said calmly. "That's what caused the fever, and probably the seizure,
although that could have been from the inflammation caused by the virus. But your dad is stable and I've got
him on a high dose of antibiotics and some steroids. We'll monitor the fever, but I expect it will start to drop
pretty quickly. This has happened in our protocol before, so it's not a surprise."
Dr. Furhman spent another fifteen minutes with us, answering a multitude of Vale's questions. The woman
knew her shit when it came to her father's medical condition. The good doctor spent every minute patiently
answering her questions and giving reassurances where he could without simultaneously giving false hope.
Bottom line, he said, was that Dave's prognosis was good and that he should be able to go home in a day or
two.
Now it's closing in on midnight and Vale is stubbornly refusing to leave her dad's side. This I get. If it was my
mom or dad, you'd have to pry my ass out of the chair. But Dave is starting to get a little cranky with his
obstinate daughter, and I sense a fight brewing.
A nurse is in, checking his vitals. After she disposes of the thermometer sheath, she smiles and says,
"Temperature's at 99.1. It's come down significantly, so all hail the antibiotics."
"Still higher than normal," Vale points out, and her dad rolls his eyes. For a split second, I almost think it's the
start of seizure, but then he shoots her a glare.
"My temp always runs a little high," he tells the nurse with a wink. "And I'm actually feeling pretty good. Any
chance I could get something to eat?"
"Sure," the nurse says with a return wink. "Dr. Furhman put in some orders for a low-sodium diet. I'm sure
they can send something up."
"Excellent," Dave says, and then turns his gaze to Vale. "Now I want you to get your butt home and get some
sleep."
"I'll sleep here," Vale says primly, and drops her gaze fast. I merely lean back against the wall, shove my hands
in my pockets, and get ready to watch the fireworks.

"You most certainly will not," Dave says firmly. "I'm going to eat me a roast beef sandwich, or something
probably with less salt, and then I'm going to sleep. I don't need you here."
Vale isn't swayed. "You may not need me here, but on the off chance something were to happen, I'd just as
soon stay here so I can be close by."
"Nothing's going to happen—" Dave says calmly, but he's cut off by the cutest snarl.
"You don't know that. I just watched you have a seizure in front of me, which took ten years off my life."
"But I'm fine now," Dave placates.
"But you may not—"
"Enough," Dave growls as he levels the sternest look I've ever seen him give his daughter. Normally he
indulges her every whim, but even I'm feeling the sting of those words.
Vale's eyes go wide and then she blinks at him in disbelief.
With a gentler voice, Dave tells her, "Honey, I get you're worried, but you are doing me no good here. You're
only going to make me worry about you. So if you really want to help me, you'll go home, get some food in
you, and get a good night's sleep. You can come back at the crack of dawn if you want, okay?"
It's like a balloon deflating. Vale's shoulders sag in resignation and she gives him a wan

smile as she nods her head. Standing up from the bedside chair, she gives a suffering sigh and says, "Fine. I'll
go."
Vale leans over the bedrail and kisses her father on the cheek. I push up off the wall, walk to the bed, and pat
him on his lower leg covered in crisp, white sheets. "Take care, Dave. We'll be back tomorrow."
"Don't you have practice tomorrow?" Dave, the athletic trainer and competitor at heart, asks me with a grunt.
"Yes," I say with a cheeky grin. "But it doesn't last all day."
Vale gives no less than three backward glances over her shoulder to her dad as I gently push her from the room
with my hand on her lower back. It's a given I'll give her a ride home, so no words are necessary as she follows
me to the parking garage located outside the hospital.
Once we hit I-40 east, Vale leans back in the passenger seat and says, "You remember that time we were at
Lollerman Creek...swinging from a tree rope into that swimming hole?"
I give a grunt of a laugh. "Yeah, it took forever for you to get psyched up to make the jump, but once you did,
you couldn't stop. What were we...like seventeen or so?"
"Yeah, seventeen," she agrees softly. She's quiet a moment, and because I suspect this particular memory is
plaguing her mind, I hold my tongue. I can see from the corner of my eye her hands nervously twisting and
rubbing in her lap. "Before I made that first jump, I was so scared."
I nod in understanding. I was scared too, as that tree sat on a small cliff a good twenty feet up from the water.
There was always a rumor floating around that some unnamed kid had drowned there after breaking his neck
in the jump, but that was never confirmed to my knowledge. Probably just a rumor started by parents to
discourage their adrenaline-seeking children.
"I prayed right before I jumped," Vale says in an almost silent whisper, as if she's embarrassed to admit that.
She's never been an overly religious person, and as far as I know, didn't pray routinely. We most certainly
didn't go to church. "I told God that if he let me make the jump and not break my neck, I'd never ask him for
another thing as long as I lived."

Understanding washes through me like a tidal wave. "You were praying in the waiting room."
A laugh pops out of Vale's mouth, not born of amusement but of bitter self-castigation. "I've been praying to
God since my dad was first diagnosed. I'm afraid I used up my allotted prayers on that stupid fucking jump into
Lollerman's Creek."
There's no thought to my actions, just instinct. My hand reaches over, pries into her clenched hands, and pulls
one of them over onto my lap. I lace my fingers through hers, give a reassuring squeeze. "I don't think that's
how it works, Vale. Besides, who's to say that one of your prayers didn't land on the Big Guy's desk and that's
what led him to the clinical trial
at Duke? Huh?"
Vale reactively squeezes my hand, and while I don't hear it, I feel an amused chuckle in that action. "You
always have an answer for everything."
"It got us out of a lot of trouble with your dad and Oliver's parents when we were younger, that's for sure."

Another small laugh from Vale, and she makes no effort to move her hand from mine. Her head tilts to look
out the passenger window, and we sit in comfortable silence until we get to her apartment, where our hands
finally part.
I put the car in park and switch off the ignition. Vale exits the car and doesn't say a word as I get out too. It's
dark outside, the light on her stairwell is burned out, and I'm going to walk her up. In fact, I'm going to make
sure she gets something to eat, then I can leave knowing she's been taken care of.
And it feels good.not going to lie.
To take care of her, have her dependent on me. The man that she cut out of her life so long
ago.
I'm not sure if this is validation, or maybe it's retribution on my part that she has to depend on me in this
moment, but it's driving me to walk up those apartment stairs with her.
Vale unlocks the door, pushes it open with a soft creak, and I walk in right behind her. She doesn't even blink
twice but drops her purse to the floor as her shoulders seem to be pulled way down by fatigue and gravity.
"You need to eat something," I say as I step past her and into the tiny kitchen with stained-by-time,
cream-colored linoleum that is curled slightly at the edges.
She doesn't argue and follows me. I open the refrigerator and hear the scrape of a kitchen chair as she pulls it
out, then her sigh as she sits. "I've got to get up in almost five hours," Vale says tiredly. "I figure I can hit the
gym, train my two morning clients, and then head back to Duke. I'll need to talk with Bruce and let him know
I won't be in today at the arena."
"Bruce will be fine with that," I say as I pull out some turkey from the fridge, along with a jar of mayo.
"Where's your bread?"
"Cupboard to your left," she says automatically.

I lay my materials down on the chipped Formica counter mottled blue and gray and reach for the cabinet. After
grabbing the bread, I turn to look at her pointedly. "You need to text your clients right now and tell them
you've had a family emergency and you won't make it in tomorrow."
"I can't just bail on them," Vale argues, but I hold up a hand, point my finger at her.
"Text them now, Vale. This is a legitimate excuse to cancel, and you need the rest. Especially if you plan to
park your ass at the hospital all day tomorrow, which I expect you
will."
She stares at me.
I stare back at her and then growl, "Text. Now."
It's a definite surprise that she immediately capitulates, pulling her phone out of her pocket. I turn around so
she doesn't see the triumph lighting up my eyes and I make both of us sandwiches. Pulling two bottles of water
out of the fridge, I lay the simple meal on the table and take a seat.
We eat in silence, not because there isn't anything to say but because we're both starving and exhausted. I
inhale my sandwich and Vale isn't far behind me, chugging half her water bottle after she swallows the last
bite.
She gives me an almost shy smile as she wipes her mouth and lays the napkin on the plate.

"Thank you."
"Just a sandwich," I say as I rise from the table and grab the plates, turning to take them to the sink.
The scrape of her chair against the floor indicates she's risen. I hear her soft footsteps come up behind me, and
just as I'm setting the plates in the sink, her arms come around my waist from behind. She presses her cheek to
my back and my breath freezes in my lungs.
"No," she says softly. "Thank you for everything. Being there when I called, coming to the hospital. Staying
all night.holding my hand. For the ride home, and yes, for fixing me dinner. I'm not sure why you did it or why
you think I deserve it, but just...thank you."
A stab of something close to painful longing pierces the center of my chest and I have no will over my body. It
turns in her embrace so we come face to face. My arms go around her, folding over her lower back, and I pull
her in to me. Her cheek goes to my chest, just below my collarbone, and her hair feels soft against my throat,
which seems to be clogged with weird and poignant emotion brought on by her vulnerability and my need to
save the day for her.
For a blessed moment, I don't question all the hurt between us. I simply hold her.
After several long moments, Vale stirs in my arms and I loosen my hold. She pulls her head back, followed by
her chest, and leans back to look at me. Her eyes are tired, but it doesn't diminish the beauty of the fern-colored
irises boring into me. I think she may say something, maybe another expression of thanks, but then she lifts up
on tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips.
It's soft and over all too quickly, and I sense a world of gratitude within it. I expect her to drop down to her
heels, but she continues to stare at me.
Then she kisses me again.
I hold absolutely still, shocked by this move, because as she presses her mouth to mine, I think that this is
something definitely more than just gratitude.
I'm sure of it when her tongue tentatively pushes past my lips and brushes against the tip of mine.

My body reacts swiftly, completely independent of my brain. My arms tighten around her and I angle my face,
pushing back against her.pushing my tongue against hers.
She purrs deep in her throat and the rumble slips into me, rolling down my body, which starts to tighten with
need.
For a brief moment, I consider all the ways in which this is wrong.
She's vulnerable.
Lost.
Not thinking straight.
I would be taking advantage of her if I let this go on. But then I think of other things.
Like her breasts pressed into my lower chest, and how soft her lips feel against mine. The warmth of her body,
the swell of her ass just three inches below my hands that are clasped at her lower back. The little moaning
sound she makes as our kiss enters erotic territory. The

utter and irrefutable knowledge of just how fucking good it feels to be buried deep inside of her. I've never had
better, and now that I've gotten a reminding taste of her, I want to feel it again. It's at this point that my cock
starts to outwit my brain.
I spin both of us around until her back is resting against the refrigerator. She gasps but never moves her mouth
from mine. I nip at her lower lip and then pull back slightly to look down at her.
She's glorious. Chest rising and falling with faltering breath, eyes at half-mast but heated through with need,
lips wet and puffy from our kiss.
"Vale," I say warningly. "We're getting past the point of no return."
She shivers over the tone of my voice, presses into me. Her voice quakes when she asks, "Is it wrong of us to
want this?"
My heart thuds loudly, maybe even stutters, and I grit my teeth over the way in which my body and mind are
warring. So fucking dangerous to go where I want to go, but ultimately, it's a prize I want too much, damn the
consequences.
"It's totally wrong," I tell her as my hand comes up to her face. I rub my thumb over her lower lip, letting my
gaze drop briefly to watch. When I look back up at her, it's with naked honesty that I tell her, "So goddamn
wrong, but I don't give a fuck."
And I kiss her again.

Chapter 145
Vale
So goddamn wrong, but I don't give a fuck. That's what he said, and I'm rolling with it.
I'm stretched beyond capacity for reason, completely exhausted in my mind and spirit, and Hawke stands
before me like an anchor in the storm. I clutch on to him hard, accepting his continued offer of comfort, and if
he's the same old Hawke that possessed me all those years ago, I know he'll make me forget all of the bad in
my life right now. I'm actually counting on him to do just that.
Am I using him?
Even as his mouth descends back onto mine and my hands inch their way up into his long hair, I know the
answer to this is yes. Guilt and remorse flood through me, but I push in closer to him rather than pull away.
He told me he didn't give a fuck, and so neither do I. He had the chance to bolt and he didn't, so that has to say
something, right?
"Where'd your head go, Vale?" Hawke mumbles before moving his lips from mine, down and over to my jaw.
My head drops back and my head goes fuzzy. "You tensed up. Want me to
stop?"
My head snaps back up and my fingers grip his hair tight. I go to my tiptoes again, push my nose almost
against his. "Please don't stop, okay?"
His eyes flare with relief, a tiny smile forming on his lips, but his voice is gruff.strained. "I don't think I can."
"Good," I say with equal relief.
"Great."
"Bedroom. Now," I prod him along.
Hawke leans his head down and runs his nose along my jaw. "Still sassy," he murmurs, his breath causing
prickles to break out on my neck. "But you've forgotten the way it is between
us."

"And what's that," I gasp as his teeth scrape against my skin.
"That I'm in charge, and we'll get to your bedroom when I'm good and ready."
And just like that.I melt. Completely sag against him, letting the weight of the world roll right off my
shoulders. I let my worries go and trust that my needs will be taken care of. I gladly and most willingly hand
over the control to him.
It's one of the things I loved most about him in the past...his self-awareness and

confidence that he would always get the job done no matter what. Ironic, that when I needed that most from
him, I refused to let him have the chance to prove himself.
Hawke's mouth returns to mine and we kiss slowly but no less deeply than before. The passion is there,
simmering below the surface, yet any sense of urgency is gone now. He knows I'm not going to call a halt to
him this time. I know he can't walk away. His hands slide up my rib cage just under the hem of my shirt,
pushing it up along the way. I almost let out a sob from that simple touch, because it's so electric it borders on
painful. How had I forgotten what this felt like? How could I ever let anything like this go?
With one hand resting on my ribs, he inches the other higher and turns inward, finally coming to rest over my
breast. His fingers dip into the cup of my bra and pull the fabric down, scraping my nipple with his nails. My
entire back arches and my pelvis knocks against him. I feel the briefest measure of his erection before I pull
my hips back, shocked at my own brazen bodily response.
Hawke merely responds by stepping in closer to me, pressing his own hips forward until his thickness is
pushing into my belly. Liquid heat pulses between my legs and my hips move against him. He grunts in
appreciation as his fingertips pluck at my nipple.
Without ever breaking the kiss, Hawke drops his other hand from my rib cage and pulls at the button on my
khaki pants. I'm still wearing my Cold Fury uniform, never having had the chance to change once I got home
this afternoon. Or rather, yesterday afternoon, as the clock has long since struck midnight.
Hawke's not moving fast enough for my needs, so I let go of my hold on his hair and squeeze my hands in
between our bodies. I knock his out of the way, deftly undoing the button. He, in turn, bats my hands away and
yanks at the zipper with a muttered curse against my lips when it catches briefly before sliding down.
Then his hand is down the front of my pants, skillfully dipping into my panties and his fingers are against
me.in me.rubbing me.
My head falls back in ecstasy, and even though my mouth mourns the loss of his, the feelings he's evoking
between my legs more than makes up for it. I'm wet, almost embarrassingly so, and the only way I know this is

a turn-on to Hawke is by the low moan of appreciation in his throat as his fingers get drenched from their
ministrations.
My blood is racing so fast I feel dizzy, and all I can do is clutch on to his biceps while he works me. I'm so
turned on right now I'm on the verge of blowing. My hips rock against him...almost there...just about—
Suddenly his hand is gone and I cry out in frustration over being denied. He just smirks as he lifts me up in his
arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Time to get to the bedroom."
Now? He wants to go right this very second?
I almost think to argue with him, but that plan goes out the window when his head tilts and kisses my neck to
soothe some of the sting of a lost orgasm. He chuckles when I try to grind my hips down on him for some
friction, and his hands squeeze my ass cheeks as he walks down the hall.
"Which one?" he asks.
"On the left," I mutter, grinding down on him again.
Always and ever efficient, Hawke pushes my door open and dumps me on my bed

unceremoniously. He leaves me to walk back to the door where he hits the light switch, flooding the room in
brightness.
And my heart gives a knock of quiet recognition. Hawke always did that. Always wanted the light on so he
could see exactly what he was doing to me. So he could see every nuance of pleasure written on my face. So he
could experience firsthand every dirty and filthy thing we did to each other without anything standing between
us, including the dark.
He stalks back to me, his eyes pinning me in place as I lay there. I know that look on his face as I've seen it a
hundred times before. It's animalistic need and it turns me on.
Hawke works swiftly, the slow seduction phase of this mating now complete. Shoes, socks, my khakis.all
pulled clear of my body by Hawke and thrown to the floor forgotten. He kneels on the bed, in between my
legs, and pulls my shirt off quickly. His gaze drops to my chest, my one bra cup still pulled down and tucked
under the globe of flesh. His hand comes to the middle, and with a slight flick he pops it open. With a subtle
graze of his hand back and forth, he peels the material away and just stares at me.
There once was a time he stared at me only in reverence. Now, I'm not sure what I'm seeing. Definitely lust, of
that I have no doubt. But I also see something flicker through his eyes...I'm thinking it might be sadness.
Without a word, Hawke backs off the bed, his fingers hooking my panties at my hips and dragging them down.
His eyes travel the length of my body, which should make me feel pretty and wanted, but I have a thump of
pain in my chest when I note that he specifically refuses to look at my right leg that bears the rose tattoo with
his name skillfully hidden.
For a moment, as he stands up straight, I think he might leave me there, because his eyes come up to mine and
I see a moment of condemnation in them. I'm not sure for what, but it could be a number of things.
For hurting him all those years ago.
For calling on him tonight when I had no business doing so.
Maybe even for tempting him to come back to the very vessel he was denied with no explanation.

But he merely strips away his clothes with the same efficiency that he used on me.
Unlike Hawke, there is no doubt in my gaze. My eyes roam over inch after inch of exposed, tanned skin and
lean muscle. My eyes follow the V from his lower abdomen, all the way to his cock, which is revealed to me
when he pushes his jeans and underwear to the floor. And when he's as naked as I am—more so if you consider
my bra straps are still hooked to my shoulders—he crawls right back onto the bed, right in between my legs,
and stretches out over my body, where he holds himself up with elbows pressed into the mattress next to my
ribs.
He stares at me, those eyes reminiscent of the way sunlight dances on the blue sea. Such intensity.such need
and desire. Such wariness I also see, but also a tiny bit of care. Such emotions that I can't even begin to guess
what he could be thinking.
But it becomes clear to me when he lowers himself so his pelvis meets mine, his cock coming to rest hot and
heavy right at the juncture of my thighs. His face descends slowly and his lips touch mine.softly at first, but
only momentary in their slight graze, to then be deepened into a full-out kiss full of lust and passion.

It's on.
Our hands both journey against the other's body. Mine roam from muscled shoulders to his chest, down his
ribs to his ass, where I dig into him in invitation to press against me. Hawke leans to one elbow, moving the
other hand down my stomach, back in between my legs. He knows my body so well, even after all these years,
that his finger slides inside me like a homing beacon.
God, that feels good.
Another finger in.
Shit...feels really, really good.
I slip my own hand in between us, pushing and grappling for space until I find his cock. So thick, satiny. I
always loved the feel of it in my mouth.in my hand, inside of me. I squeeze it, give it a few rough pumps while
he fingers me.
Our kissing becomes more desperate. For every moan that gurgles out of me, he lets out a grunt or a growl of
his own, more particularly pronounced when I pull my hand up his cock and graze the underside of the tip
that's silky, wet.
His fingers move against me faster, causing me to suck in air desperately. My hips pump against him. My hand
works him roughly.
"Fuck," Hawke groans as he rears up, kicking his legs out to spread mine further. Tiny ripples of anticipation
race up my spine as I watch him take his cock in hand, give it a rough stroke, which is sexy as hell, and then
place the tip right at my entrance. It's a beautiful moment, only to be ruined slightly when his gaze flicks to the
left to look at the rose tattoo. He doesn't give more than the briefest of looks before he's grabbing that leg and
hooking it around his waist, moving the offensive tattoo out of his line of sight.
Hawke's hands then go to the mattress, and with a sharp punch of his hips, he drives into me.

"Oh, God...Hawke," I moan as he fills me up in one powerful move. A long gust of air whispers out of his lips
and he drops his forehead to mine. He holds still for a moment— maybe to get his bearings, who knows—then
he starts moving.
It's just like old times, and yet...it's different. We're frenzied in our need as we continue to touch each other.
His hand to my breast, mine to his ass to help keep his strokes steady and deep. Yet, there's also a reservation
on his part...maybe a lack of fully committing and losing himself in the moment.
My sad and sore heart knows this is because he's afraid of giving me anything other than his body and an
orgasm. This is purely physical for Hawke, him needing the release apparently as badly as I do.
"Kiss me," I say softly as I bring my hands to his cheeks. He raises his forehead from mine, looks at me with
troubled eyes, but ultimately he gives me his mouth.
I roll my hips against his, my tongue against his, and he responds in kind. Steady, deep thrusts of tongue and
cock, almost like a choreographed symphony. His breathing becomes labored so I know he's getting close. I
know this so well about him. He slips a hand in between our bodies, presses and then rubs against my clit, and
an unforeseen and previously dormant orgasm springs to life within me. I cry into his mouth as it explodes and
consumes. My hips buck up, causing him to ram deeper. He tears his lips from mine, buries his face in

my throat, and lets out a long groan as he grinds his pelvis against me, trapping his hand against my pulsing
clit.
I feel him unload, remembering the first time we disposed of condoms and made the move to just relying on
my birth control. The unbelievable closeness I felt to him in that moment, actually replicated here, and I can't
find it within me to even question the haste by which we just had sex with no protection.
With a long huff of breath against my neck, Hawke pushes up and rolls off me. For a brief moment, I feel
utterly alone, then his arm is circling my waist and dragging me into the side of his body. He lifts my torso
with little effort, pulling me half onto his chest. His other hand comes up, and he silently brings it to my head
where he pushes it down.
I lay there with my ear against his sternum, listening to his heartbeat start to slow while warm fluid leaks out of
me. I'm completely spent, entirely boneless. I couldn't move if I wanted to, and I don't want to.
We don't speak, but then again, we didn't say much while we were just fucking. While there were so many
things that were as familiar as my mom's old quilt that still graces the back of our couch in the living room,
there was one thing that was glaringly different about the way in which we just had sex.
And it was the silence in which we did it. All those years ago, Hawke and I were so consumed by each other in
our passion that we held nothing back in the way of touches or words. Just as he wanted the bright light of a
room to bathe us in transparency, he was vocally passionate to me as well. He used words, filthy and sweet, to
drive me higher and higher. His words and the way in which he always spoke them to me were as much an
aphrodisiac as his skilled fingers and lips.
But not tonight.
Tonight Hawke never said a word, further proof to me that he held a great part of himself back. And God, does
that hurt. It hurts because that's on me and what I did to him. It makes me feel empty instead of fulfilled as I
should be.

But not even the hollowness in my chest can eradicate my exhaustion, so I close my eyes with my cheek to his
chest and I fall asleep.

Chapter 155
Hawke
I'm not prepared to see Vale in the team workout room.
I'm not prepared to see her at all because I'm not sure I can behave myself around her. I want her and yet I don't
want to want her.
And I mean I want her viciously.
After last night, how could I not? Every single emotion and feeling I ever had for her that was positive flooded
me as I moved inside her sweet body. My words were jammed tight in my throat, which was good. I certainly
didn't want to blurt out an endearment mid-fucking and confuse things even further.
I woke early in her bed, our naked bodies spooning, just like we used to. Twin torrents of pleasure and anger
coursed through me as I realized that even in sleep, I wanted her. I let anger win out, for once, or otherwise I'd
be rolling her over and fucking her again. I stealthily slid from the bed and quietly put on my clothes. I did it
while watching her sleep, chastising that part of me that was grateful she'd get a few extra hours today.
Not my fucking problem, I remind myself.
With my shoelaces almost tied, I thought I'd make a clean escape when I heard her bed creak and looked up to
see Vale perched up on her elbows, the sheet hanging just low enough on her breasts I got a peek of cleavage.
My cock twitched in clear interest and I wanted to strangle the monster.
"Are you leaving?" she asked, her voice rough and craggy with sleep.
"Yeah, going to head home for a shower, then to the arena for practice."
Vale's head turned to look at the clock on her bedside table. "Yeah, I better get up too and go to the hospital."
"You should sleep some more," I blurted out, then smacked myself mentally. Not my fucking problem.
Vale is not my problem. I helped her last night, gave her a good ride and an even better orgasm, but that's all
there is to this. I can't go back there with her because she's too dangerous to my heart. I gave it to her once and
she stomped on it. Can't let her do it again.

She gave me a bright smile and shook her head. "Actually, I feel pretty good."
There was no helping myself. I stared and stared some more when she swung her legs to the side of the bed and
slipped free from the bedsheet. Watching her standing naked, stunningly gorgeous and probably sore between
her legs, I had to physically restrain myself from launching myself at her. She ignored me, walked to a small,
battered pressed-wood dresser, and pulled a pair of panties out that she slipped up her long legs. My nose
wrinkled

in distaste when I saw them glide over those roses. She then took out a T-shirt and slid it over her head before
threading her arms through.
When she pulled her long hair free, she said, "I'm going to make some coffee if you want some."
"No, thanks," I returned woodenly. "I need to get going."
Vale's eyes went soft...limpid pools of ferny green understanding. She got my reticence because she still knew
me and my layers very well. She got my discomfort and then went the extra mile to try to ease the situation.
"Well, okay," she murmured with a smile as she walked toward me. She stopped just before where I stood near
the bedroom doorway and laid her hand on my forearm. "Thanks again for last night. You really helped me out
of a rough patch."
I coughed to clear my throat. "Yeah, sure.no problem."
Vale nodded and slipped past me, padding down the short hall into the kitchen. I followed along and glanced
to the left to see her at the coffeepot. She didn't turn back to me, and I had to wonder what the fuck was going
on.
I saw it on her face last night. The open acceptance of me back into her life.her body. Fuck, I'm pretty sure her
heart was inviting me in. I saw the gratitude laced with desire and smothered in tenderness written all over her
face as I fucked her. I wanted to fall prey to it as much as I wanted to fly out of this apartment and not look
backward.
"I'll try to get to the hospital later today to see your dad," I told her as I reached for the door.
She looked over her shoulder at me with another bright and thankful smile. "Thanks. He'd
like that a lot."
I stared at her, she stared at me.patiently.
I should have gone, and yet I stayed, searching vainly for something to bridge those weird feelings simmering
at a low boil deep in my gut. "Hey, need me to tell Bruce what's going on for you?"

Her eyes crinkled with another smile, another radiant display of gratitude. "No, thanks. I also texted him last
night and he told me to take all the time I need."
"Oh, okay. Well, I'll just get going."
She gave a wave of her hand. "Have a good practice today."
As I stood outside her apartment door, I had to question what in the hell had been going on. Was she using me
as a means of escape from a shitty situation? Or did she still truly care for me and gave me her body to show
me that? Or did I misread everything and take advantage of her last night and now she's just too polite to be
rude about it?
Fuck. What a mess.
And now I'm stunned to see her in the workout room with Max, as I figured she'd be at the hospital all day. It's
barely two

P

.

M

.

Max is on the treadmill running with a VO2 mask on to measure his volume of oxygen. Vale stands beside
him, her back to me, a clipboard in hand and her other poised above the buttons on the treadmill to increase the
speed and incline.
I had intended to work with weights today, in particular my legs, but I cut across the room

to the treadmills and take the one beside Max. My movement catches Vale's attention but Max keeps his eyes
straight ahead, breathing hard at seven miles per hour and an incline of eight. When Vale's eyes meet mine I
ask, "They let Dave out of the hospital?"
She shakes her head and turns back to look at the numbers on the VO2 machine. "No, but he chased me out of
there for a bit. I'm going to train a client at Xtreme Fit after I'm done with Max and then head back to the
hospital after that."
"How's he doing?" I ask as I start the treadmill and inch the speed up to a fast walk for warm-up.
"Great," she says while not looking back at me, her attention on Max and his performance. "Said he can
probably come home tomorrow."
She's not giving me the cold shoulder exactly, but she's not engaging either. In fact, she steps up closer to the
machine, more to Max's front so he can see her and says, "Let's bump the speed up to nine for another sixty
seconds and then we're done."
Max nods and Vale pushes at the button several times to up the speed.
I grit my teeth, trying to figure out just where we stand. The obvious thing would be to just ask her, but fuck if
I'll do that. Especially not with Max in the room. So I push my speed up, break into a jog, and concentrate on
running.
By the time Max is slowing to a walk, I'm on an eight-minute mile pace, which is just perfect for a short run to
warm up. Max removes the mask and hands it to Vale, who sanitizes it and packs it away. She stands next to
him, going over the results in low murmured tones. He asks her a few questions, she responds, and then he's
heading out of the workout room.
Perfect.
Except Vale walks out right behind him and my opportunity for conversation, surely stilted, starts to wither
away.
"Hey," I call out as my hand hits the Pause button. I'm hopping off before the belt comes to a full stop. "Wait."

Vale stops dead and turns to look at me curiously. "What's up?"
I walk up to her, a glance to the open doorway of the locker room revealing it's empty. When I come to within
a foot, I lean in a bit closer just in case someone's lurking. "Want me to pick you up after your training
session...grab some dinner and we'll head to the hospital together?"
What in the ever-loving fuck am I doing?
Vale blinks at me in surprise, but then schools her features into a bland mask of ambiguity. "Um...thanks, but
I think I'll just head over there myself. But maybe I'll see you there."
A fucking brush-off, and now my hackles rise.
"What the hell is going on here, Vale?" I grit out, stepping in closer.
Her eyes flash hot but her tone is calm. "What do you mean what's going on?"
"Last night, you're clinging to me in desperation, accepting of the great fucking I gave you, and today it's the
cold shoulder."
Vale gasps in outrage but doesn't respond, instead spinning to leave. I reach out and grab her arm, spinning her
back my way. She jerks loose, and rather than fleeing again, she steps up to me and pokes me in the chest.
"You might be right, I may have been clinging to you last

night in desperation, and yeah, that was a great fucking, but I seem to remember you're the one that jetted out
this morning faster than lightning."
"I had to get to practice," I say lamely.
"You had to escape me and your feelings," she sneers. "Don't deny it. I saw it written all over your face while
you were giving me that good fucking. You may have given me your dick, but that's all you gave me last night,
and that part really, really sucked."
I'm the one who blinks in surprise now that she was actually that perceptive. I figured she was caught up in the
passion of it all, the escapism. I didn't think she was reading me that clearly. Which is stupid, now that I think
about it. Of course Vale would read me clearly. She knows me better than practically anyone.
I try to come up with an excuse but it's equally as lame. "Come on, Vale...we have a history...a bad one."
"No, Hawke," she seethes in anger. "We have a great history. We had one bad moment. But it's clear that's
never going to be forgiven, so let's just call a spade a spade and realize that you and I are not meant to be."
Why those words almost cause my knees to buckle is beyond me, but I push that aside. This is getting way off
the track I had hoped to take. I put my hands on her shoulders and rub my thumbs back and forth in an attempt
to calm her.
Her voice cracks and my heart aches over the misery in her eyes. "I know what you think. that last night was
just a hookup, some 'random' to get our rocks off. But it wasn't like that for me. I was all in, and whether you
believe it or not, you're the only man I've ever let into my body without protection."
I'm stunned to complete inaction. My words fail me, even though I desperately want to ease away her hurt
right now. Maybe I should just pull her into my arms hard, kiss the breath out of her, and let that be the truth I
can't seem to say.
"Hey, Vale," I hear from the doorway, and my hands drop from her shoulders like she has hot potatoes stacked
on them.

Vale takes a deep breath and turns to see Max standing there. His eyes flick back and forth between us, finally
resting permanently on Vale. "We didn't set up our next training session."
"Oh," Vale says as she turns away from me. "Let's go pull up the calendar on my computer and get some slots
scheduled."
She heads for the door but stops when I say, "Vale."
She doesn't turn to look at me but she's listening. "I'll see you at the hospital tonight."
My eyes slide to Max, who's looking flummoxed over what is clearly a tense, personal moment between me
and the staff athletic trainer. He raises his eyebrows at me in silent offer to back the hell away. I give him a
shake of my head and Vale pushes past him, out the door and toward the AT offices.
Max holds his arms out in question. "Dude.what the hell was that?"
I let out a long breath of frustration before turning my eyes to him. "It's such a long story, it deserves a beer or
two. Interested?"
"Sure," he says with a smile. "Let me get this next session set up with Vale and we can head
out."

Chapter 163
Vale
"You okay in there?" I ask my dad from the kitchen. He's in the living room, recliner kicked back and eyes
glued to the TV. Our apartment is so small, I can speak in a normal voice and he'll hear me even with the
volume of Jeopardy! at a moderate level.
"For the fifth and hopefully last time," my dad says with faux frustration, "I'm good. Dandy. Peachy keen. Stop
asking."
I snicker and slip the last dinner plate into the dishwasher. I brought him home from the hospital this morning
and I have to admit, he looks good. In fact, he probably could have come home yesterday, but out of an
abundance of caution, Dr. Furhman requested he stay an extra night for some more antibiotics given via IV.
Last night while dad noshed on some low-sodium hospital chicken and I ate a questionable meatloaf from the
cafeteria, we watched the Cold Fury play their first home game of the preseason on the flat-screen TV affixed
to the wall. I had offered to come in to work for the game, but Bruce told me to stay with my dad. I expect this
is because they really don't need me anyway, because this job was pretty much created just for my dad's and
my benefit. But still, it's fortuitous that I can have some flexibility with Dad's illness.
I was also a little grateful to avoid the opportunity to run into Hawke, who has knotted my gut up tight this
week. It seems he and I are nothing but up and down since we've crossed paths again. We have a few days of
polite existence, then we snap at each other. We have phenomenal sex, then we give cold shoulders. We focus
on the present but then get mired in the past.
Up and down. Up and down.
It's been two days since I saw Hawke in the workout room. True to his word, he came and visited my dad
yesterday, but did so early in the morning before I got to the hospital. When my dad told me I had just missed
him when I walked in, I was equal parts happy and dismayed. This twisted my gut further, and didn't lessen in
the slightest as we watched him play a fantastic game last night. He's been a tremendous addition to this team,

and you can tell he's slotted in as seamlessly as a round peg fits in a customized hole. The Cold Fury
slaughtered the Florida Spartans 5-1 and Hawke got a shorthanded goal after poking away a poor pass attempt
on a Spartan power play. My heart zinged with adrenaline and joy over the play, even as my heart was dark
from the way we had left things on Wednesday in the workout room.
And I hadn't gotten Dad settled in his recliner this morning with the remote control in his hand for more than
thirty minutes when Hawke called to check on him. I was gathering my phone, purse, and keys, getting ready
to head out the door to make a quick grocery run, when

the phone rang and Dad answered it. His voice was so damned buoyant and joyful when he said, "Hawke, my
boy. Great to hear from you."
Years have passed with bitter and bruised feelings in between, but my dad seems to have cast it all aside. He's
accepted Hawke back into his life as if they'd never lost touch. I'd like to do the same too, but that just hasn't
been achieved as of yet.
I wonder if it ever will be.
While my dad chattered away on the phone with Hawke—talking mostly about the game last night—I loitered
around, eavesdropping. My dad recognized this as he shot a glance over at me standing near the door, then
followed it up with a knowing smirk. I rolled my eyes, glared at him, and then stomped out of the room.
I close the dishwasher door, the remnants of our roasted pork loin and garlic broccoli just a vague aroma left in
the air. After giving my hands a quick wash, I grab my cell phone from the kitchen table and head back to my
bedroom to call Avery. She and I text each other pretty much every day, but we do try to touch base by phone
at least once a week.
When the home screen illuminates, I see a waiting text. A quick tap of my finger on the icon and I see it's from
Todd.
Just checking in to see how you're doing. How's Dave?
Dear, sweet Todd.
We've talked by phone once since we parted ways, and he's sent me a couple of texts. Despite the way I broke
things off with him, he's still kept in touch with me. He said, "I'm still your friend, Vale."
And I suppose that's true, but I can tell he's harboring hope we'll somehow make this work. While I don't have
any romantic interest in him now that I've broken ties, I don't hate him. I don't dislike him. On the contrary, I
still very much like and admire the man I know him to be. While I never really thought being friends with an
ex is possible, it seems that Todd is making a valiant attempt to disprove me, but again, I think he has an
ulterior motive, so I need to be careful with him. I don't want to give him false hope.

I shoot a quick text back. We're both good. Home from hospital and all settled in. How are
you?
I don't wait for Todd to respond. It's still working hours for a dentist and he normally doesn't leave his clinic
until after six p.m. I'm sure he's armpit deep in cavities at this moment.
Instead, I dial Avery and she picks up on the third ring. "Your damn mutt is getting on my last nerve. She's just
eaten the third pair of Thomas's socks this week. She's a menace, I tell
you."
"That's all on you, sweetie," I tell her with a laugh. "If you'd put the socks in the laundry basket when you took
them off his little feet, Piper wouldn't be inclined to eat them."
"Yeah, yeah," she mutters. "I hear you."
"How is my girl doing?" I ask, my chest constricting at the thought of Piper nearly fifteen hundred miles away.
I sit on the edge of my bed and reach out to finger a framed picture of me and Piper on the bedside table. Her
chocolate-brown face with a slightly pink nose, tongue lolling out the side of her face. We both look so happy
in this photo and it seems so long ago.

A picture of me and Todd had been next to it, but I put that in the drawer the day after we broke up. I couldn't
stand to look at his face, knowing that I hurt him.
"She misses you," Avery says in a sympathetic voice. "So do I for that matter."
"I miss you too and I can't thank you enough for watching her for me until I can get back on my feet."
We spend a few minutes filling each other in on our respective lives over the past few days. I tell her more
details about Dad's hospitalization.
She tells me that Thomas has learned to cross his eyes and now does it for every photo that's ever taken.
I tell her a funny story about one of my Xtreme Fit clients who always smells like cumin, a not altogether
unpleasant aroma, just not one you like smelling on a person.
She tells me that Rob, her husband, started playing on a rec hockey league this week and already broke his
nose.
I tell her about Hawke.
Well, I more or less blurt it out in an unrestrained bark of admission. "I slept with Hawke two days ago."
Avery knows that Hawke and I have crossed paths. I'd told her all about the first time we talked and how
awkward it was. I'd told her about his olive branch and that we settled into a friendly routine. I'd told her about
Hawke molesting me in his bathroom—but omitted how much I enjoyed it—and that he outed us to Todd. She
knows this sort of precipitated Todd's proposal, which in turn precipitated my ending the relationship with
him.
But she never in a million years thought we'd have sex, and this is confirmed when she screeches, "You did
what?"
"I slept with Hawke," I practically whine. "It was when Dad got put into the hospital and I was exhausted and
vulnerable and I needed some comfort, familiarity."
"You needed an orgasm," Avery says emphatically. "Right? That's all it was, I bet."
I'm silent.

And the silence is damning.
"Tell me that's all it was," Avery demands.
"Well, to me it was—"
She rolls right over me. "That son of a bitch doesn't deserve more than that from you, Vale. You know I was
never his biggest fan, but after he wouldn't return your calls and email...well, he just can't have more of you
than some hot hookup sex. Don't give him more than that."
Her last statement is a plea.
She's begging me not to put myself in a position where I can get hurt again, so I quickly reassure her. "Don't
worry, Av. It was definitely only a hookup for Hawke; he's apparently still holding a grudge—"
"Why?" Avery demands. "He has no right."
"Regardless," I say gently. "It was just a one-time thing. We've both moved past it." "Are you sure?"
"Yes."

No, I'm not past it.
"Because he'll hurt you again if you let him in," Avery points out. "And besides..! bet the sex wasn't even as
good as you remembered it, right?"
"Totally awful," I tell her.
Best. Sex. Ever.
"Hawke is selfish," she adds. "Remember that. He thinks about no one but himself." "Selfish as they come," I
murmur.
Except...he's given his time freely to my dad and me, being a rock-solid means of support.
"Listen, honey," Avery says briskly. "Rob just came home from work and I need to get dinner going."
"Okay," I say as I stand from the bed and arch my back. "I'm going to hop in the shower and hit the bed early.
I've got to train a client tomorrow, then the Cold Fury have an evening game so I'll have to be at the arena by
three

P

.

M

."

"Love you," Avery says. "Talk in a few days?"
"Yup. Your turn to call."
"Got it, toots. Later."
"Later," I say quietly, and disconnect the call. I rub the end of the cellphone over my lower lip thoughtfully.
Avery gave some good advice. Trying to rekindle anything with Hawke would not be a smart move. I'm here
temporarily. As soon as my dad's better, he's going home to Sydney and I'm going...well, I don't know where
I'm going, but I'm probably not going to stay here long term. Besides, no matter how combustible we may still
be in the sex department, that alone isn't reason enough to be with someone. And it's been abundantly clear,
past the sex and maybe a timid fondness for an old friend, we don't have much else binding us together.
I take an extralong shower, relishing the actual time I have to dawdle. I have to say, the one good thing about
Dad being in the hospital and me taking a few days off from work, I've totally caught up on my sleep. After
blow-drying my hair, I put on a pair of old Penn State sweatpants and a white tank top. While I'd normally go

braless in this "pre-sleep" getup, and would just shed the sweatpants prior to climbing into bed, I decide to go
watch some TV with my dad and hang out. As such, the bra goes on under the tank top, because as much as I
love my dad and we make pretty good roommates, there are just certain clothing requirements that have to be
maintained. I wear a bra at all times in his presence and he promises to never come out of his room in just his
boxer shorts.
Putting my hair up in a loose ponytail, I decide I'll do my nails while I hang with my dad and grab some
Perfectly Pearly Pink nail polish from the cabinet underneath the sink. He'll probably want to watch sports,
which is fine by me. I'm just relishing every day I have with him, even if it's spent doing something as
mundane as painting my nails and watching TV.
The minute I open the bathroom door, I hear a voice.deeper and more rumbling than my dad's. It takes me no
more than a millisecond to recognize it as Hawke's. With one foot across the threshold of the bathroom and
one foot still inside, I freeze.a momentary lapse in motion so I can contemplate what to do.
I can jet into my bedroom and let them visit. Perfectly Pearly Pink will go on just as well in

either place.
Or I can go out there, because curiosity has the better of me and my blood is already racing at the prospect of
seeing Hawke.
I wince, duck my head in shame even though no one can see, and take a step into the hallway. Despite
everything I just promised Avery, and despite all the ways in which our history has fucked both of us up, I can't
help but want to see him.
But I'll play it cool.
Act surprised to see him.
Sit on the opposite end of the couch from him and pretend indifference as I paint my nails.
I'll reinforce to him that all we'll ever share is a mutual love of my father and a working arrangement. Anything
past that is just.well, in the past.

Chapter 172
Hawke
I hear the bathroom door open behind me and can't help the tension in my shoulders. This is either a smart
move or a dumbass move on my part, but I can't leave things as they are with Vale. The last two days it's been
gnawing at my insides...an unrealized epiphany that keeps my head swimming. I purposely visited Dave at the
hospital early yesterday morning, hoping to avoid a run-in with Vale. It was cowardly, but until I could
process what was really happening inside my gut, I needed to stay away from her, and besides, I had a game to
concentrate on.
But when I woke up this morning, still a little high off the win last night with a shorthanded goal compliments
of yours truly, a clarity that was more crystal than a Waterford vase seemed to permeate my entire being. I
knew what needed to be done where Vale was concerned.
I didn't dwell on the implications, I didn't hesitate in my actions. In fact, I called Dave once he was home from
the hospital and told him what my plan was. Well.I told him part of what my plan was. The other part a father
doesn't need to know about his daughter.
Vale hesitates a moment, and I know this even with my back turned to her because the hallway has loose
floorboards under the carpet that squeak when you walk on them. I remember this from the other morning
when I was making my way out of her apartment, chased by demons of the past and the uncertainty of my
present. I suspect her hesitation is merely the result of being mired in as much awkward confusion as I've been.
Finally, I hear a squeak, and then another, and I know Vale has decided to come into the living room. My
shoulders remain tense as I prepare to jump my first hurdle.
Getting her out of this apartment.
My head turns to look at her over the back of the couch, finding her eyes pinned on me. Christ, she looks sexy
as fuck in a tight tank top and sweatpants that fit her just a little too good, despite the fact they're rattier than all
get out.

"You might want to change," I tell her as I give her body a quick rake before standing from the couch.
She blinks at me in surprise, coming to a dead stop just to the side of her dad's recliner. He's got it collapsed
into a sitting position, his back ramrod straight. He's prepared for a fight if one should occur.
"Change for what?" Vale looks between her dad and me with befuddlement.
"Hawke's taking you out," Dave pipes in with a firm voice. Almost a command.
"Out where?" she demands.

"To a movie," I smoothly lie to her. "Your dad and I think you need to get out of this apartment and do
something fun. All you do is work."
Vale's eyes narrow at me, then slide over to her dad without widening a millimeter. "You both decided I need
some fun?"
"Something like that," Dave says with a smirk, then gives her a wink.
Vale's gaze travels back to me, and her eyebrows raise in question. "And you're the person that's going to give
it to me, I suppose?"
Oh, baby...you have no idea, I think to myself. Because, yeah...sure, I want to talk to Vale. I want to put all the
cards on the table, get the truth of why she ditched me all those years ago, and I want to come to peace with
that.
But I want to fuck her again, and that's the part I most certainly didn't tell Dave about. I'm quite certain I can
get that to happen, and that's without any degree of ego talking. Vale and I are just magnetized to each other,
particularly when it comes to sex. She's cut ties with the toad, she's already given herself to me once, and it's
damn well going to happen again.
Tonight as a matter of fact.
I know this because I decided that no matter what Vale says to me tonight, no matter what her reasons are for
crushing my heart, I've decided I'm going to accept it and let it go. With that nastiness out of the way, then I'm
going to fuck her again.
And again, if I'm lucky.
This was my epiphany. A cleansing of our history and a monstrous orgasm deep inside the one woman who
once used to rock my world.
But she just thinks we're going to a movie and I'm okay with that little lie for right now.
"Come on, Vale. Shake a leg. Go put some clothes on and let's see a movie. You can relax, let your mind
escape," I say with what I hope is sincere and genuine interest in her well-being.

Vale chews on her lower lip in consideration of the offer. She looks back down at her dad, who immediately
raises up a defensive hand and growls, "Don't you dare even suggest that you can't leave me alone for a few
hours. I'm fine and I want you to go."
She capitulates way easier than I thought she would, which fills me with elation. While she may be as
confused as I am as to the weirdness of our current relationship, she definitely wants to spend more time with
me.
Or at the least, isn't averse to the idea.
It only takes ten minutes for Vale to change and for us to hit the road. She assures her dad she'll be back well
before midnight, but I know that's not fucking happening if I have my way. She'll be in my bed all night and I
can bring her home in the morning. I'll text Dave later to let him know.
We manage to fill the awkward void with small talk about the game last night. It's engaging enough that Vale
pays no attention when I leave the beltline, nor does she seem to pay any attention when we drive farther north,
away from Raleigh. It's only when I put on my turn signal in preparation to pull into my neighborhood does
she sort of jolt in her seat.
"Where are we?" she asks hesitantly.
"My subdivision."

"You said we were going to a movie." Her voice is guarded, her posture stiff and unsure.
"We can watch a movie at my house. It will be more comfortable," I say with a shrug of my shoulders.
As I navigate my way through the dark roads lit periodically with streetlamps or the glow from landscape
lighting, Vale crosses her arms over her chest in a defensive move. She almost sniffs with suspicion. "If you
hadn't just come to my apartment to get me and let my dad know I was with you, I'd think maybe you were
bringing me to your house to murder me or something."
"Why would you say that?" I ask her.
"Because you lied to me to get me out of the house. You inferred we were going out to a movie."
"Okay," I say as I pull into my driveway. I hit the garage door opener and pull my car inside. After putting it in
park, I turn to her. "So I lied. I wanted some time alone for us to talk."
"Talk? About what?" she asks, but I can tell she knows damn well what I want to talk about.
I don't answer but just stare at her through the gloom of the dark garage lit only by the electronics from my
stereo system. I continue to stare at her until she looks a bit uncomfortable, and finally she starts shaking her
head.
"No," she says emphatically. "I'm not talking about that."
"About what?" I say innocently.
"You know what," she grits out.
"Fine," I say in exaggerated concession as I open the car door. The overhead lamp floods the interior with light
and I see her skeptical look. "Let's go inside and just watch a movie. I'm sure we can find something good on
pay-per-view."
I don't look back at her but walk around the car and over to the door that leads to the mudroom just off the
kitchen. I hear the car door open and close again, indicating she's following me in. I unlock the door, step
through, and then hold it open for Vale to come in. She walks up the two steps that lead into the mudroom,

looking around with interest. The glow of the kitchen lights leads her that way. I close the door, turn, and just
as she enters the kitchen almost apprehensively, I take two long strides and scoop her up in my arms.
Vale lets out a startled cry while her arms automatically go around my neck. I'm not stupid enough to think that
means she's comfortable with this exact situation. Her arms are looped for leverage but her body is stiff as a
board.
"What are you doing?" she hisses as I hit the staircase and bound up them two at a time, her weight absolutely
not slowing me down in the slightest.
"I lied again," I tell her without an ounce of remorse. My bedroom door is open, the bedside lamp on so I need
to do nothing but walk up to the bed and drop her on the mattress. While I still have boxes lined up against the
wall that hold most of my winter clothing, I have at least put linens on the bed. "We're going to talk."
Vale immediately pushes up and crab walks to the edge of the bed, intent on scrambling off. "No we're not,"
she seethes. "I don't appreciate being manhandled or forced to do anything, much less talk to a conceited
gorilla like you."

I merely bend, slip my hands under her armpits and give her a little lift off the mattress. I throw her back to the
middle where she bounces once and before coming to a solid rest, I move my body over hers to pin her in
place.
A snarl of outrage bubbles up in her throat, but before it can bust free, I kiss her. I kiss her to shut her up. I kiss
her to keep her preoccupied. I kiss her because I'm dying to kiss her again, and it just seemed the right thing to
do at the time.
While my intent was to talk first, then fuck second, I'm getting that a change of order is warranted. This is
made abundantly clear by the fact that the minute my lips touch Vale's, her arms go around my neck and the
snarl of outrage makes an appearance as a low hum of approval in her throat.
Fucking perfect. She may not want to talk, but Vale wants me.
Just as I want her still.
I lower my body onto hers, reach up, and pull her hands from my neck. Raising her arms, I pin her wrists to the
mattress and kiss her deeply. She responds, all open mouth and soft lips. Her tongue dances.no, duels with
mine. With her beneath my body, hands pinned helplessly, the only thing she has left to fight me with is her
tongue, and it feels damned good, those attempts.
It doesn't take long...never did...for our breathing to become heavy.
For Vale to start squirming underneath me.
For my dick to become achingly hard.
I briefly consider going for the talk first. I could straddle her, keep her wrists pinned, and force her to talk. But
the lance of frustrated pain right through my balls tells me that's a bad idea. I need to fuck her. I think she needs
it too. Besides, a good orgasm will loosen both of us up so we can finally clear the air between us.
In fact, I know a fantastic way to loosen Vale up. Pushing up, I release her wrists and straddle the tops of her
thighs. She raises her head and looks at me with lust-blurred eyes. I use the few moments I know that she'll be
dizzy from our foreplay to move as quickly as I can. I undo her jeans, scramble backward, and pull the denim

material with silky panties underneath right down her legs to her ankles. The flash of red and green from the
roses on her inner left thigh offends me but I don't pay it any attention. It's not my end goal.
From the foot of the bed, I pull off the dainty black ballet flats she had on before stripping the jeans and
underwear right from her body. I can see comprehension starting to dawn on her face, and to avert a flight
response, I take her by the ankles. Yanking her legs apart, exposing that sweetest and most delectable part of
Vale's body, I take a moment to stare at my prize. The haze of red and green roses seems to throb in my
peripheral vision, but I don't let it distract me.
In fact, I slide my gaze up her body, the top half of Vale completely covered with a plain, navy blue T-shirt,
and meet her eyes head on. Those verdant orbs spark with lust, anger, fear, and challenge.
"We're talking after this," I warn her, just in case she thinks I'll get sidetracked from my ultimate goal.
She gives a grunt of denial and now all I see is challenge left on her face.

I give her a return evil grin and crawl onto the bed between those gorgeous legs. Flopping down, face hovering
right over her pussy, I use my arms to drape her legs over my shoulders, that offensive tattoo laying inches
from my right ear. I push that thought away, spread her apart, and run my tongue up her center.
"Hawke," Vale cries out loudly as her hands fly to my head. Her fingers sink into my hair, grasp hard, and then
hold me in place.
She's all in. So am I.
I lower my mouth to her again and I go to town. I eat her out as if my life depended on it, intent on giving her
a climax so dizzying she won't think twice about me flipping her over and fucking her from behind.
Fuck, she tastes good. She squirms underneath me, punching her hips up, demanding more. She makes
mewling sounds, pulls so hard on my hair I'm pretty sure it's close to ripping out, and calls my name
softly.imploring me to finish her off.
When I stab my tongue in deep, her legs fall off my shoulders and her knees spread wide in complete and utter
surrender. That vividly monstrous tattoo flashes again in my periphery and I can't fucking help myself.
I raise my face up from her, go to an elbow, and wipe my mouth off. Vale's hands release me and her head
immediately pops up to look down at me with pleading question. She was close to coming; I could tell because
her body is still the same. I know exactly what flick of the tongue would set her off too, but that's forgotten
momentarily.
My eyes drop down and to the right. For the first time since last weekend in my bathroom, I take a look at the
blanket of roses that obliterated me from Vale's body. Deep red petals of blood with thick layers of vines and
leaves; sharp thorns sticking out, all of which is woven through a pale white lattice that runs up her inner thigh.
I literally can't stomach it, so I look back up at her. My voice is raw and tinged with anger.
"I hate that fucking tattoo."
Vale's eyes go soft with understanding and her lips curve up in an empathetic smile. She reaches a hand out
and strokes my jaw. Then she stuns me by the confidence in her voice when she says, "Look at it again."

I blink at her, trying to understand the message she might be trying to impart.
Does she want me to man up? Own the pain?
"Look at it, Hawke," she murmurs. "Look at it closely."
Her eyes aren't challenging me anymore, but are full of encouragement. I doubt the genuine nature of her gaze,
but still my head turns to look back at the tattoo.
Blood-red petals, dark green vines and leaves. White lattice.
I look closer.
The roses are ordinary but done with good detail. They are of varying sizes and shapes, some fully bloomed,
while others are just tight buds. The leaves are all original in design, some even bending and overlapping
others. The lattice is pale white rungs—five in all—which are interesting, because you don't see white ink used
often. But they are set off nicely with the layer of roses and leaves thickly woven in between them providing
contrast.
In fact, if memory serves, the rungs are spaced apart almost directly over the place where

my name resides under this fresh layer of ink. I bend in closer, place my fingertip on her skin, and trace the
space between the first and second rungs.
And that's when I see it.
The letter H.
I peer closer, narrowing my eyes. I stare hard at the greenery, let my vision go lax, and focus.
And almost like it's emerging from a forest of craftily inked camouflage, my name starts to appear.
H-A-W-K-E.
All five letters, one in the space between each rung, still there but completely surrounded by leaves and roses
so it's almost unreadable.
She didn't cover my name.
My gaze slams back to hers.

Chapter 183
Vale
Unmitigated relief shines in Hawke's eyes and they glow bluer than I think I've ever seen them. I expect a
tender sentiment, maybe a statement of surprise, but he shocks the hell out of me when he growls, "Fuck me,"
and surges up my body. He lifts my left leg, clasping his hand firmly behind my knee. He glances at the tattoo
again, mutters "Fuck me" again, and then turns that intensity straight to me.
"Get my jeans undone," he says in a guttural voice rippling with urgency.
I don't think to question. My hands pop the button with ease, slide the zipper with practiced efficiency. I push
the denim easily off his hips with no constraining underwear beneath. My name flashes almost as if it's drawn
in neon ink, cursively written over his right hip bone. I wonder what it says about this man—who I hurt so
badly that he wouldn't give me the courtesy of talking to me again—that he kept that tattoo visible. Why not
eradicate it? Why not cover it? Why leave it there for other women to see?
I banish those thoughts because there's no room in my head for them at this moment. I take his erection in
hand, feeling its steely warmth pulsing with need.
Need to be inside of me. I know this is what Hawke wants, and God help me, I want it too. I want it more than
anything, consequences be damned, and knowing full well that the moment of truth lays just on the other side
of an orgasm.
I rub the tip of him up against me. He groans when he feels my wetness.
I position him just so and—
Slam.
All the way in, to the root. My back arches off the bed and I cry out with a mix of pleasure and pain.
"Fuck me," he whispers for a third time as he lowers his forehead to rest against mine. "You didn't cover my
name."
"I couldn't," I whisper back to him, my hands coming tentatively to his shoulders.

He needed to hear that. Not only did he need to see it, but he needed to hear the truth of my limits. That I
couldn't get rid of something that held such meaning. While I'm sure this provided much confusion to his
mind, because let's face it—I cut him loose but kept his name on my skin—he didn't let that stop him from
fucking me swiftly and with purpose.
Hawke pounds my body, eerily reminiscent of the way in which he fucked me when I first got that tattoo. Raw
power, domination, and unadulterated emotion flowing from hips to cock to deep within me. For the second
time, we have sex without protection. Like we've done oh so many times in the past, our orgasms slam into us
with a brutal honesty attesting to the

affinity we have for each other, completely shattering every last bit of resistance within us.
If I expected Hawke to let his blood cool and his ardor to soften, I would have been mistaken. He places
elbows to mattress and grinds his pelvis against me. He looks at me soberly. "Tell me the truth. I want to know
why you did it."
My face tilts to the side, my eyes drop down to the mattress as I try to collect my thoughts. But Hawke is
having none of that. As swift as a snake striking, his hand grabs my jaw and swings my face so I'm forced to
look at him.
"Eyes on me, Vale," he commands. "And tell me all of it."
I know it's time for us to put all the cards on the table, but I'm still irritated with the lack of respect he's giving
me. I intend to tell him and I don't need to be forced.
My hands come to his chest and I give a mighty heave. I try to make my words calm but they still come out
gritted and angry. "I'll tell you what you want to know but get off me. Give me some space."
Hawke looks slightly chastened but doesn't make a move. So I push harder against his chest and reiterate. "Get
off. Let me sit up."
With a frustrated sad sigh, Hawke pushes off, slides his half-hard dick out of me, and drops to the side of the
bed on his back. Digging his feet into the mattress, he lifts his hips and pulls his jeans up, tugging the zipper
into place but not bothering with the button. While I scramble up to sit cross-legged, he merely rolls to his side,
head cushioned in the palm of his hand with his elbow on the mattress. I self-consciously pull the sheet up over
my lap now that the glow of lust and intimacy is gone, particularly now that Hawke is fully dressed. Hawke
reaches out and pulls it off me, murmuring, "Don't. Nothing between us right now."
My cheeks flame a little, but I don't fight him on this. The sooner we have this conversation, the sooner the
fallout can occur. I know I've been putting this off, but it can't be hidden any longer. I'm tired of carrying the
burden of what I did to him, and while I have no clue where he and I stand in the long term, I know that nothing
good will ever happen to us if we continue to let this fester.

Turning to face him, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. His face tilts, eyes pinned to mine with naked
expectation to finally hear the truth.
"That night of the party," I say quietly, refusing to drop my gaze from his. "I wasn't feeling
well."
"Period cramps," he supplies, letting me know exactly what he remembered from that night.
"Not period cramps," I tell him bluntly. This surprises Hawke and he pushes up, tense and alert. His hand now
presses into the mattress, supporting his weight. His gaze is now looking at me with trepidation but still a need
to know. "I was pregnant. Six weeks. And I miscarried that night. It started not long after you left with
everyone to get more beer."
I wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't what I got.
Hawke lets out a pained moan and rolls off the bed away from me. His eyes are filled with grief and regret. He
brings his hands to the sides of his head, grasps his hair, and pulls on it. He starts pacing up and down beside
his bed, eyes to me, then dropping to the floor.
Back to me again as he halts, this time pleading for me to tell him it was a lie. I just shake

my head and drop my own gaze to the sheet resting near my crossed knees. I now pull it up again over my lap,
feeling completely uncomfortable in my nakedness.
The mattress dips and my head shoots up as Hawke now crawls toward me. His eyes bore into mine as he
kneels beside me. With his hands to my shoulders, he pulls me up and closer to him so I raise to my knees.
With his nose almost brushing mine, he asks ever so gently, "A baby. We had a baby?"
Tears brim and then fall unabashedly from my eyes. Hawke blinks furiously to make his own tears go away. I
nod my head, confirming the worst news and feel his fingers dig into my shoulders.
"Did you know?" he asks, voice raw like his throat had been scraped with sandpaper.
I shake my head. "No. I mean...when I started cramping, I just assumed it was my period. I was pissed you
wouldn't leave with me, so Avery and I left after you went on the beer run. I started really hurting in her car
and that's when I started bleeding. She took me to the hospital."
"Goddamn it, Vale," he shouts, and gives me a little shake. Eyes now blazing in fury and pain. "Why didn't you
call me?"
His voice is laced with so much condemnation it brings back all of the anger I was feeling toward him that
night. I wrench away from his grasp, roll to my side and right out of the bed. He doesn't make a move for me
but watches me like a hawk—ironic—as I move to the end and pull my underwear free from the tangle of my
jeans lying on the floor. Since Hawke never bothered with my top, I instantly feel more protected the minute I
slip them on. I also feel incredibly connected to him in this moment, as I feel his semen seeping out of me and
soaking my panties.
The same semen that had knocked me up seven years ago.
"Why didn't you call me?" he asks again, teeth clenched in anger.
Throwing my hands out to the side, I shout, "I was pissed, okay? It was more important for you to stay with
your buds that night than be with me when I wasn't feeling well." "You said it was your period," he defends.

"Well, it wasn't my fucking period," I snarl, feeling somewhat vindicated when he at least looks sad again over
the bitter reminder. Immediately, my temper cools because I know how painful this is for him to be hearing he
had lost a baby. So I try to explain to him. "I didn't know what was going on at first. I had no clue I was
pregnant."
"Was your period late?" he butts in, demanding the details.
"I guess," I say lamely.
"You guess?" he sneers. "Don't you keep track of that shit?"
"Yes," I yell at him. "I guess it just didn't register to me that I was a little late."
"Didn't register?" he says incredulously. "How can that not register? You get it once a month; hell, you timed
your fucking mood swings practically down to the minute."
His condemnation of me has my hackles rising, and I yell right back at him with derision. "Well, shit, Hawke,
you were fucking me every day, period or no period. Why didn't you keep track of it? You had the same data I
did."
Hawke drops his ass to the mattress, swings his legs to the floor, and turns his back on me.

Resting his elbows on his knees, his head bows low for just a moment. I watch as his muscular back expands
with a deep breath and comes out as a misery-filled sigh. He pushes up from the bed, shoulders hunched and
with the tired posture of a ninety-year-old man.
When he turns to me, his voice is broken, barely audible. "You should have called me from the hospital."
I offer a sharp nod of agreement. "I know. As I sit here and look back on it all, I know I should have."
"And because you were pissed at me," he accuses, "you cut me out of knowing. You prevented me from
sharing in that with you, and giving you comfort. You took away my right to be there with you, all because you
were mad at me that night."
"You chose your buddies over me," I point out, defending my right to have felt abandoned.
"I chose them over your period cramps, Vale. It was my last night in Sydney. I thought you'd understand that."
"I didn't," I tell him softly...oh, so tiredly. "I didn't understand. All I knew was that I was in a hospital bed with
bloody clots coming out of me with every wave of pain, and it was more important for you to party on your last
night in Sydney. It was more important to be with your friends than with the girl you claimed to love."
"I would have come if you called," he reminds me again, and this I know is true. The only reason I didn't call
was because I was pissed. And even in that moment, as I lay there with Avery holding my hand and cursing
Hawke, I knew deep in my gut that he'd feel terrible about all of this. That the next day, he'd beg my
forgiveness, take me in his arms, and soothe away the hurt. He'd share in my grief and make me feel cherished
again. I just knew all of that would happen eventually, so it was easy to hold on to my immature anger and not
call him from the hospital.
But then something else happened altogether.
Hawke is looking at the opposite wall vacantly, his hands shoved down deep in his pockets. The fight has gone
out of him, but he wanted the whole truth, so I'm going to give it to him.
"I didn't break up with you because of that," I tell him.

His head jerks my way, his eyes widening with confusion and curiosity. Pulling his hands out of his pockets,
he steps around the corner of the bed that separates us and comes to stand
before me. "Why, then?"
Taking a step closer to Hawke, I reach out and put my hand on his chest. Right over the middle of his sternum,
where I feel his heart beating steady and true. I can almost imagine each beat sucking in knowledge and truth,
pumping out pain and grief. "Because you and I were bad for each other."
"What?" he says, stepping back in surprise. I drop my hand, grab his, and pull it up. I curl both my hands
around his and pull it into my own chest, holding it over my heart.
"Something else happened in the hospital," I begin slowly, hoping I can paint a clear picture of the tailspin I
was thrown into. "When the doctor came in to talk to me, she wasn't very sympathetic to my plight. She
smelled the beer on my breath, looked at my tattoos and piercings, wrinkled her nose in disdain. You know
how that goes sometimes."
Hawke doesn't nod in agreement with me, but I know he does agree. We often talked about

people and first impressions. Hell, I know I made an impression on him the first time he saw me. He loved my
wildness and piercings; it's what attracted him, but we also knew it repelled others.
"The doctor told me something that hit me deeply. In hindsight, I think it was wrong of her to do it, but I didn't
know. Not at twenty."
Hawke's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, but his voice is gruff with uneasiness.
"What did she do?"
I squeeze his hand still locked between both of mine and level my gaze at him. I tell him as simply as I can, and
try to keep the emotion out of my voice. "She told me it was probably my fault I had miscarried. Went on to list
the hazards of drinking and drugs and what they can do to a fetus that early on in a pregnancy. Didn't matter to
her that I hadn't done drugs, and she never really even asked me my history with alcohol. She just assumed I
was a party girl and was pretty clear that, although you could never know for certain, that's probably what
caused the miscarriage."
"That fucking cunt," Hawke growls, jerking his hand out of my hold. His arms immediately circle around my
shoulders and he slams me into him. He hugs me tight, protectively, and growls again. "I should track her
down and—"
"She was right," I say calmly, cutting through his anger with the one thing I believe to be true about that night.
Hawke pulls his upper body back, loosening his hold on me slightly. He looks down at me, shaking his head in
denial, eyes filled with disavowal. "No."
"Yes," I say firmly, and pull back. His arms drop and he stares at me helplessly.
"It didn't register with me that my period was late. I never thought twice about the way we partied. I assumed
nothing bad would ever come of it, and I most certainly didn't think I could get pregnant while I was on the
pill. I never gave two thoughts about the consequences of my actions because I was swallowed up by you. You
commanded all my attention. You consumed me. Everything was about you, and as long as I had you, I didn't
care about anything else. And don't pretend it wasn't the same on your end. As long as you had me, nothing

else mattered. We were young and stupid and in no way ready to really grasp the concept of love and
commitment. I lay in a hospital emergency room bleeding our child out because I never once thought our
actions could ever cause us pain. I was stupid, immature, and I knew—"
My voice cracks, my shoulders slump. Hawke is starting to see that this goes much deeper than just being
pissed at him for not leaving the party with me.
"I just knew," I continue, embarrassed at the way my voice quavers with such heavy emotion. After seven
years, the blame and guilt I carried still weighs so heavy on me. "I knew that what happened that night was my
fault because I couldn't see past you. Nothing else mattered to me. At age twenty, we had no worries. You
were a hockey god and my lover. I was your goddess and I walked on water as far as you were concerned. I
understand now how the young heart and mind fail to see reality and prefer to live inside a false sense of
security all in the name of true love. If I had been clued in just a little.had I bothered to look away from your
bright, shining star for just a moment, maybe I would have paid more attention to the fact my period was late.
Maybe I would have taken a pregnancy test, and maybe I would have

quit drinking. I wouldn't have gone to parties where there was cigarette and pot smoke hanging all around.
Maybe I would have showed the maturity and wisdom that was necessary to prevent the death of our child—"
"Fuck," Hawke groans, that one word laced with such pain, his face is pale and his lips colorless. He grabs me
again, pulls me in tight to him. "Not your fault, Vale. Not your fault."
He squeezes me tight, and my arms come around his waist, finally accepting the comfort and security he could
have given me all those years ago. I don't believe him at all when he tells me it's not my fault, but that part of
me that always loved him revels in his loyalty to me.
"Not your fault," he continues to murmur, rocking me back and forth in his arms. "Not your fault."
Not your fault, not your fault, not your fault.
"I'm so fucking sorry," Hawke murmurs with his lips against my hair, then pulls back to look down at me. His
voice crackles with emotion. Tears fill his eyes, then slip and fall down his cheeks. "I should have gone with
you. You were more important to me than my buddies, but I took it all for granted. I should have been with
you, and I would have been right there when that whack-job doctor dared to make you feel responsible. I
should have held your hand, and hugged you and kissed away your tears. I should have assured you that we'd
have other chances for babies and that there were a million reasons you could have miscarried."
I want to open my mouth and denounce everything he's saying. I can't stand the pain and grief he's enduring
right now. I can't stand that I took away his opportunity to be there for me and to share in this as my lover and
partner. More guilt presses down on me, and it's never been more clear to me than in this moment that I greatly
wronged Hawke all those years ago.

Chapter 194
Hawke
I had a baby with Vale. Vale and I created a life. Tiny. Perfect. Not so perfect. Fleeting.
Vale clings on to me tightly, her face now pressed back into my chest. I whisper words of apology and
absolution. I try to reiterate to her over and over again that the miscarriage wasn't her fault. Now is not the
time, but when it's right, I'll ultimately need to convince her that it wasn't "our" fault either. She seems to want
to put some of the blame on our relationship as a whole, arguing that our utter devotion to and consumption of
each other led us to be ignorant of life.
I don't agree with this.
Not at all.
She finally quiets. My words dry up, but I continue to hold her, one hand trailing up and down her back in
soothing strokes. Been so long since I've held her like this, and I never thought I'd live to see the day it would
happen again. In many ways, this feels like it did years ago. So right, so comfortable. In other ways, it feels
awkward, because Vale and I are completely different people than we were then. I wonder, had this one
horrific event not occurred, would we have grown together over the years, or apart?
I'd like to think together, because despite the fact we were young and probably clueless as to what real
commitment was like, there was something we had that I've never found again, and I'm pretty sure Vale hasn't
either.
And that was a tethering of our souls.
I know it sounds hokey, but I felt it. Down in my gut, straight through my core. An intense connection with
Vale that I'm not even sure I felt with my parents, as much as I love them.
Sadly, I don't feel it now, not the way I did before. I feel a fluttering, or perhaps it's a reawakening, and it
makes me wonder where we go from here. At least for the long term.
For the immediate future—as in right now—I know exactly where we're going.

Releasing her from my embrace, I stoop to grab her hand and turn to lead her toward the bathroom. "Come on.
Let's take a hot bath together. I don't know about you, but I feel like I've been run over by a Mack truck."
Vale halts, pulls her hand against mine. Not enough to dislodge it, but enough to make me turn toward her. "I
can't. I have to get back home to my dad."

"Yeah, not going to happen," I say, and turn toward the bathroom again.
This time she jerks her hand from mine. I round on her, expecting a furious tirade over my high-handed ways,
but damn..! was always like that with Vale. She should remember that, and as much as she likes to bitch about
it, I also know she loved it.
Instead, she chews on her lower lip, absolute indecision causing her brow to furrow deep. "I think it's best if I
just get home. I'm worried about Dad—"
"Cut the shit, Vale," I tell her with a censuring look but an affable smile. "No more secrets. No more lies. It's
all out on the table now, which means now we deal with it."
"Deal with it how?" she asks with frustration. "You've had seven years of bitterness toward me. Now you've
got grief and sadness. I've got a shit ton of guilt on my shoulders and we haven't even—"
She stops cold, eyes dropping to the floor.
"Haven't even what?" I ask her softly as I step up to her. The knuckle on my index finger goes under her chin,
lifting her face. She looks at me with a swift smile and shakes her head.
"Nothing," she says in an accommodating smile. "It's all out on the table. I'm just...not sure how we process
this. What we do."
"What we do?" I ask her with mock sarcasm, and so she knows I'm teasing I give her an impish smile. "I'll tell
you what we do. We go get in the bathtub and we relax a bit. But because you'll be naked, and in my arms, I'm
going to get horny again, and so we'll fuck in the tub. Preferably with you riding me."
Vale cocks a gorgeously arched eyebrow at me and folds her arms over her chest. "So sex will solve all our
problems?"
"It damn well won't make them worse," I say with a grin.
She rolls her eyes at me, and to my dismay, turns around to grab her jeans off the floor. I'm lunging at her
before she can even think to put one foot in them. I grab them from her, toss them across the room, and spin her
in my arms. I let my hands frame her face and I bend down to brush my nose against hers. "Listen, I understand

now why you did what you did. I hate we lost those years. Hate you've been under this guilt. I don't know
exactly where we go from here, but I do know where we don't go. And that's backward. We don't go back to
the anger. We don't go back to the grief. And we sure as shit don't go back to just being friends."
Her eyes are filled with indecision, and I see an intense worry lurking deep within. I can almost imagine cogs
and wheels rotating in that brain of hers, trying to figure out some way to accept what I'm saying, but perhaps
too mired in the thickness of her wounded conscience to see what's standing just a few feet in front of her.
"Vale," I say softly to get her attention. To make sure there is no doubt about what I'm getting ready to say. "I
understand why you did that to me.cutting me loose. For not letting me be there for you. I get it..! really do. It's
done and we can stop playing the blame game,
okay?"
"So we just start over?" she asks hesitantly.
My mouth splits wide into a smile of dazzling magnitude. I step back from her, dropping my hands from her
face. Coughing slightly to clear my throat, I extend my arm, palm sideways, and say, "Hi. My name is Hawke.
Nice to meet you."

Vale purses her lips, letting me know she thinks I'm a dork, but I can see the humor in her gaze. She takes my
hand, gives me a firm handshake. "I'm Vale. It's nice to meet you too."
We release our grip on each other, but rather than do without touching her, my hand comes up to slide my
fingers into the hair at her temple. In deep, curving around the back of her head. I bend down, put my lips in a
low hover over hers. "I know we just met and all, but is there any way I can talk you into taking a bath with
me?"
She giggles, a sound I haven't heard in years. It brings elation to my heart that I'm not sure I ever recall feeling.
Slapping a playful hand on my chest, she says, "That's kind of forward, don't you think?"
"I thought 'forward' was the point," I say, just before touching my mouth to hers. I give her the softest of kisses,
more of a reclaiming.
"Okay," she says softly, her warm lips still resting against mine. "Forward."
"Lean forward a little," I groan as my hands grip Vale by the hips. I'm lying in the tub, she's straddling me.
Riding me, actually. Cock deep inside and it feels fucking fantastic. Vale obeys me, hands on my shoulders,
and she leans forward.
Perfect. My mouth closes around one sweet nipple and I suck on it as she presses her knees into the bottom of
the porcelain tub so she can stroke up and down on my cock. I'm so fucking close to blowing, but I want her to
come again. I got her off once with my hands, and that came on the heels of the water starting to cool and
relaxation time being over. After she came spectacularly, back arching away from me as she sat between my
legs and pressing harder against my hand, she immediately turned and climbed on top of my aching dick and
has been bouncing up and down ever since. Her movements alone have caused more than half the water to
slosh out onto the floor.
It's wild, passionate, and unrestrained. No holding back. All in.
The way we always were.

"Need you to come, Vale," I say, letting her nipple go as I slide one hand from her hip to between her legs. I
press my index and middle fingers against her clit and make short circles around the plump bud. Vale's head
drops back but she moves faster on me, which drives my impending orgasm closer to the surface. My mind
wants her to slow down a little so I don't leave without her, but my cock wants that amazing explosion it knows
is going to come from deep within my balls. My hips involuntarily punch upward into her as she slams down
on me hard.
"Christ," I mutter, my fingers losing traction on her clit for a moment.
Vale pays me no heed, bouncing harder, tits jiggling in my face. I sit up in the tub, hands going under her ass,
and I help her along. Pull her up my cock, slam her down on it.
"Yes," she cries out, eyes squeezed shut in rapture.
So I do it again.
The minute our flesh cracks like thunder from the impact because there's almost no water left to cushion the
blow, Vale lets out a low keening sound of pleasurable release. My hands

go back to her hips and I grind her down on me, feeling my balls shrink, knot tight for a moment, then liquid
release blows out of me hot and deep into her body. My face falls to her chest, her arms circle around me
holding me tight.
We shudder and quake together, not swamped in bitter memories of the past but cataloging this one as the first
in a new future together.
Whatever that may be.
"Wow," Vale mutters in a voice laced with mellow bliss.
"Yeah, wow," I concur, wrapping my arms around her lower back. I sit up straighter in the tub, and squeeze
her entire body to mine. "That was fucking fantastic."
"It really was," she agrees, and although I can't see her face because mine is now burrowed into her throat, I
can hear the smile in her voice.
We quiet for a few moments. I can feel my dick deflating and yet I don't want it to leave the cocoon of warmth
where it's nestled. There were countless times in the past after I'd fucked Vale that I wished I could just stay
inside of her forever. It was my favorite place to be. It's where I felt whole.
Vale gingerly pulls back from me and groans. "Damn.my thighs are going to be sore after that workout."
"Rode me like a champ," I say with a laugh, my hands coming to her thighs to give her a light massage. My
eyes cut down to the rose tattoo, only a portion of which I can see since her inner thigh is almost flush with my
outer. I drop down my right hand that's rubbing the top of her left thigh and graze my fingers over the edge of
the roses. "This made it easier for me,"
I tell her.
"What's that?" Her head cocks to the side in interest.
"To believe the real reason you broke it off. For so long I just believed you were done with me. But you
weren't, were you?"

Something crosses Vale's face then, so fleeting I almost think I imagine it. But I don't. I recognize what it is
and immediately press her. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No," she says immediately, and her voice is soothing.laced with comfort and care. "No, all that needed to be
said has been said tonight."
I stare at her, not sure whether to believe what she's saying. Her eyes are clear, boring into mine with surety.
"It's simple, Hawke," she says quietly as her hands come to rest on my shoulders. "I made a bad decision. I hurt
you because of it and you went a lot of years not knowing why I did the stupid things I did. I'm so sorry I
caused you that pain, and I'm even sorrier that you endured more pain tonight learning the truth. It's in the past.
You said we look forward, not back."
Her words sound right. It really is pretty fucking simple.
So I smile at her and nod in agreement. "Forward."
"Forward," she agrees with a return smile. Then she pushes on my shoulders and attempts to stand. She makes
it just high enough my cock slips out of her but not high enough that my hands at her hips halt her progress.
"Where you going?" I ask.
"I really do need to get home. I'm worried about Dad."

"Remember when I said that wasn't going to happen?" I ask her. She nods.
"Well, it's not going to happen," I tell her again.
"But—"
"You're staying here tonight. I'm not done with you by a long shot. Your dad is fine and we'll call him to check
in, but you're staying all night, in my bed. Got it?"
"But—"
"Got it?" I repeat firmly.
"You're such a control freak," she grumbles, but I can hear the capitulation in her voice. She's not done with
me tonight either. Not by a long shot.
I lean toward her, a kiss being warranted at this point to seal the deal, when my doorbell rings. Vale jerks in my
arms in surprise and then laughs.
"Son of a bitch," I grumble, holding still for a moment and wishing my visitor to go the fuck away.
The bell rings again.
Vale pushes up off of me, standing gingerly on the slick porcelain. She steps carefully out of the tub, cognizant
of the standing water that I'll need a mop to clean up, and grabs a towel. This, of course, brings me eye level
with her pussy, which I know is filled with my release from just a few minutes ago, and the thought of that gets
my dick to harden again. I have to wonder the basic and primal reasoning behind that. Is it because I've gotten
her pregnant before? There's no doubt that although we were young, had we known she was pregnant, and had
the baby survived, it would have been one well-loved child.
"You get the door," Vale says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "I'm going to call Dad and let him know I'm
staying the night."
Placing my hands on the edge of the tub, I pull myself up and out of what little water remains. I manage to pull
the stopper so it starts to drain and step out.
The doorbell rings again.

I lean forward and give Vale a quick kiss on her head. I then snatch the towel out of her hand with a grin. "Be
right back."
"Hey," she complains, but I'm already wrapping it around my waist and walking carefully across the slick tile
floor. The minute my feet hit the carpet of my bedroom, allowing them to dry, I pick up the pace as the
doorbell rings again.
I jog down the stairs, retightening the towel around my waist. Whoever the fuck this is better get ready to get
gone soon, as I've got a sudden urge to let Vale ride my face for a bit tonight. After all, she did so well riding
my cock.
I hit the bottom of the stairs, cut through the living room, and reach the entryway to the front door. I don't even
bother with the peephole, not worried about someone trying to fight their way in on me. I'm high on all kinds
of things right now...mainly Vale, the truth, and great make-up sex. What's to worry past that?
I turn the dead bolt and pull the door open, only about a foot so I can hide most of my half

naked body behind the large wooden frame. Peeking my head around, my eyes flare in surprise to see Michelle
standing there.
"Hey, stud," she says with a mischievous smile. Shocked, I pull the door open all the way, my mind absolutely
frozen in a spastic state of disbelief and awkwardness.
Michelle reaches a hand forward and playfully pulls at the edge of my towel sitting against my hips. Her voice
is husky, filled with seduction. "And look at you.absolutely ready for me. Guess this wasn't such a surprise
after all."
It's at this moment—this goddamn inopportune moment—that I hear Vale's feet practically skipping down the
stairs. "I'm starving, Hawke. I'm raiding your fridge, okay?"
I bow my head, utter a curse—or two—and then try to figure out what the fuck to do with this new fiasco.

Chapter 205
Vale
I'm not sure why I feel so buoyant all of a sudden.
Wait...yes I do know. It's amazing the metaphorical weight that can be lifted off your shoulders when you
unburden a secret. Telling Hawke about the miscarriage and, more important, how bad that doctor made me
feel about it, and even more important than that, how that drove my decisions.well, it was practically cathartic.
Hawke reacted exactly as I expected him to. The initial swell of grief for a life lost. Then the outburst of anger
for not calling him. For not allowing him to be my man in all respects.
The horror over the doctor pinning the concept of fault on my young shoulders and his anger on my behalf that
I bore that alone.
The revisited pain from my unilateral decision to cut him from my life because in a matter of just a few hours,
I had gone from believing Hawke was the best thing for me to believing he was the worst.
Then he reacted in the way that defines the true essence of the man known as Hawke Therrien.
He comforted me.
Held me.
Told me none of this was my fault.
He accepted my reasoning, no matter how faulty it may have been at the tender age of twenty. He told me he
understood and it was forgiven. I watched him cry tears for a baby that was never meant to be for us, the man
wallowing in his own pool of grief, and yet he was most concerned about making sure I was okay.
Hawke told me he wanted to move forward, whatever that may mean.
He absolved me and was ready for us to give this another shot. The minute he gave me that cheesy grin, stuck
his hand out for me to shake, and said, "Hi. My name is Hawke. Nice to meet you," I made the immediate and
absolute decision that I wasn't going to bring any more hurt down upon either of us. I decided in that moment
that I was letting all of my hurt go, just the way he was.

That meant I was not going to throw in his face and start an argument about his own abandonment of me after
I reached out to him via phone and email. I couldn't do that to him, not after I just dropped on his shoulders a
baby created of love never meant to be and watched him reel from the misery of unfairness that he was just
learning about. I just didn't have it in me to dredge up more crap that only served to rake against us like barbed
wire.
He said it was time to go forward, and thus I jumped on that progressive train.

I decided it was time to leave the past behind me.
Knowing Hawke the way I do, I was well aware that it wouldn't do any good to put my clothes on. He said he
wasn't done with me, and that meant we'd remain naked until the next morning. So I grabbed another towel out
of a small pantry closet that sat to the left of his vanity and wrapped it around me, securing the end into the top
just between my breasts.
Dying of thirst and a little hungry, I headed down the stairs toward his kitchen, intent on finding something to
alleviate both needs. Three steps from the bottom, I call out, "I'm starving, Hawke. I'm raiding your fridge,
okay?"
He doesn't answer me, and as I reach the bottom landing, my body turns left to the living room rather than right
toward the kitchen. Just as I round the wall separating the staircase from the living room, where the entryway
sits on the other side, I'm struck stupid by Hawke standing there in his towel, with another woman.
With her fingers in the edge of the towel.
And a sexy look on her face.
And Hawke making no move to dislodge said fingers or wipe said look off her face.
Tall, lithe, silky auburn hair, and creamy smooth skin. She's gorgeous and she's staring at Hawke and he's
staring at her, and I just hate her. And I'm not feeling too kindly toward him either.
We all have bodily reactions that come at embarrassing times. We don't want these things to happen, but our
bodies betray us. It could be the often amusing but sometimes awkward situation of a gurgling belch after
drinking something fizzy to the completely dreaded sound of flatulence from an upset tummy. Hawke and I've
seen pretty much everything there is with each other, but I guarantee you he has never heard the sound that
involuntarily rises out of me.
Like a screaming eagle. Or maybe a banshee. Definitely something full of outrage and hurt, I make a
screeching sound that I had no idea existed. Hawke turns to me with a shocked look on his face. The woman's
hand drops away from his waist and her jaw hangs wide open to see me standing there.

"Move forward my ass," I screech again, and it's so loud and abrasive my own teeth hurt from it. I spin away
and head for the stairs, intent on dressing and getting the hell out of here.
But Hawke's words stop me dead cold. "Don't move another step, Vale, or so help me God, I will chase you
down."
Indecision rules, and even though I cast a glance back over my shoulder, I take a half a step toward the
staircase. Hawke's eyes narrow at me and he warns, "Go ahead, Vale. Make a break for it, but I will catch you,
and you'll end up right back down here, so you might as well just stay put."
"You've got a lot of nerve—" I start to hiss at him, but he catches me off guard.
Scratching his hand through his hair and shooting me a sheepish look, he says, "Vale. This is Michelle. We
sort of see each other casually when our schedules allow."
He's introducing me to her?
He's fucking introducing me to his piece of tail he keeps on the side?
"And what?" I ask with a sneer, my eyes never leaving his. "You thought you'd have both of

us tonight?"
Hawke ignores me and turns to Michelle. He gives her an apologetic look, which causes my rage to go nuclear.
"Michelle. This is Vale."
He says this while pointing toward me, almost as an afterthought.
"Hi," Michelle says with a conciliatory smile, giving me an awkward wave from the other side of Hawke. I
want to gouge her eyes out, but she'll have to stand in line; I'd like to get a crack at Hawke's first.
Then Michelle spins toward Hawke, her eyes going wide. "Wait a minute...did you say Vale? As in the Vale?"
Her voice is awestruck, as if she's witnessing a miracle. Hawke nods with a slight smile. She knows about me?
I mean...how?
No way Hawke would ever tell another woman about what we had, and more important, how I destroyed it.
His ego would never let him share that.
"Well, this was terrible timing," Michelle says with a short laugh, and Hawke actually chuckles.
I'm back to wanting to gouge their eyes out.
"What are you doing here?" Hawke asks with his head tilted.
"Just thought I'd surprise you. You said last week you were up for some company and I got a few days off."
"Come on in," Hawke says as he pulls the door open even farther and motions for Michelle to cross his
threshold.
This is the last straw for me. No way in hell is he going to have me, tell me he wants to move forward, and have
a piece on the side to fill in the gaps. And I'm most certainly not going to stand here and watch this happen.
As I spin for the stairs, I immediately start believing in my heart that Hawke is doing this to punish me. While
he says things are forgiven and that we only have the future ahead, that can't be true based on the way he just
invited her in. How she felt comfortable enough to come here and surprise him.
I make it halfway up the stairs when I hear Hawke say something like, "Just have a seat. I'll be back down."

I hasten my pace, bounding up the stairs quicker, hearing Hawke come after me. I jet down the hallway, make
it through his bedroom door, and turn to slam it in his face, hopefully with engagement of the lock to keep him
out.
Except the minute I start shutting the door, he's there with his shoulder pushing it in on me. I give up on the
thought of keeping him out while I gather my clothes and my dignity, and immediately turn toward the
bathroom to get my underwear, bra, and T-shirt that were discarded there.
Said intention is completely foiled with his arm around my waist, one large stride to the bed, and a toss of my
body onto it unceremoniously. The towel comes loose and I squawk again in outrage as I grab the ends and try
to pull them over me for some modesty.
Hawke doesn't care. He's not looking at my body or my feeble attempts to get the towel

wrapped back around me, instead advancing my way. In just moments, his big body is over mine, straddling
me where he sits his full weight down on my pelvis, effectively pinning me to the mattress. Both his powerful
thighs rest alongside my ribs and the towel around his waist opens up over his left thigh, threatening to reveal
more to me.
Ordinarily, this would be a mouthwatering temptation. Now I want to nut punch him, so he'd be wise to keep
the towel as is.
"What in the hell is your problem?" he asks me incredulously. "Isn't it kind of obvious?" I level a death glare at
him.
"All evidence to the contrary, it's actually not obvious to me," he says with what sounds like honest confusion.
"Well, let's see...maybe that another woman showed up at your house with the intention of having sex with you
while I was still here," I grit out with fury.
Hawke shakes his head as if what I said saddens him. He looks at me with almost pitying eyes. "Poor Vale," he
practically coos at me, and it's not done in a comforting manner. He's fucking mocking me.
I buck up, trying to dislodge his body and push at his legs with my hands. He doesn't budge an inch. "I don't get
why you're so mad."
"Because there's a woman down in your living room that wants to have sex with you," I snarl at him.
"I don't want to have sex with her, though," he says simply.
I wasn't expecting this and it actually takes a little bit of the wind out of my sails. But it doesn't remove the
anger I'm feeling. The fall from joyous elation as I came down those stairs just a few moments ago to utter
disappointment stings badly.
"And I didn't invite her here tonight," Hawke adds.
"She said you talked about it last week," I point out triumphantly.
"That's right," he admits without reservation. "Before you and I ever got intimate with each
other."

My anger suddenly deflates out of me. I suspect this is not only because with just a few simple explanations
from Hawke I'm feeling a little off base in my assumptions, but probably more due to the fact that tonight has
just been exhausting all around. Fighting with Hawke. Revealing truths to Hawke. Watching Hawke get angry
in one breath and grieving in another. Having him fuck me...twice, and then finding another woman in his
house. It's really probably more than one person should have to endure in one night.
"You know, Vale," Hawke says, and his tone is censuring as he looks down at me. "You sort of did the same
thing just now that you did all those years ago."
I gasp in shock. "Pardon me?"
"You just thought you had it all figured out. Let your emotions rule your actions. You were on your way up
here without a real clue as to what was going on, going to get your clothes and cut me out again."
"No," I deny that adamantly. "I was not going to cut you out again."
"Looked that way to me," he counters.

"Looked to me like you manhandled me on your bed and sat on me so I couldn't cut you out again," I tell him
petulantly.
"You should have just asked what was going on down there. I introduced you to her for God's sake; shouldn't
that have been a clue that I felt comfortable enough with the two of you in the same room?"
"That was totally awkward," I argue.
"Well, fuck yeah it was," he says in exasperation. "But had you given me a few minutes, I could have
explained it all without you childishly stomping away."
And, he almost had me. Had me feeling small and on the verge of levying the world's biggest and most
shamefaced apology, when he had to go and call me childish.
So as not to deny him what he truly thinks about me, my hand shoots out, pinches his inner thigh where I take
a hunk of skin and hair, and twist it viciously. Hawke yelps and flies off of me, his hand going to down to rub
at the injury I just inflicted.
This gives me the room I need to fly up off the bed, but if he thinks I'm running again, he has another thing
coming. Instead, towel forgotten and laying on the mattress, I crawl back onto the bed, right up to him, and
raise up on my knees. I poke him hard in the chest and annunciate clearly, "I was not acting childishly. How
about giving me a little empathy for what I just walked in on. You and I had just mended fences not half an
hour before. You and I had just shared the greatest of intimacies not five minutes before. And I walk in to find
her hand in the waistband of your towel? Did you honestly expect me—or any sane woman for that matter—to
act with anything less than outrage?"
Hawke is now the one who is taken aback. He blinks at me in surprise while red creeps into his face as he
realizes the truth of my words. We stare at each other, my gaze now harsh and condemning, his on the
defensive with embarrassment.
I wait for him to mutter an apology, but instead he shakes his head. His lips curve upward slightly and his eyes
twinkle. "Goddamn, but we make quite a couple, don't you think?"

Now I blink at him for just one second of disbelief, and before I can help myself, I start laughing. Hawke joins
me, our mirth coming from deep in our bellies as our arms go around each other. He pulls me in tight, still
chuckling, and kisses me on my shoulder. When he pulls back, we look at each other with sparkling eyes and
wonder over what we've found here with each other again. It's old, for sure, but most of it's new and like
walking on a craggy precipice waiting for the land to just slide out from under you. So much still to learn about
each other.
Hawke picks me up, rolls from the bed, and stands me on my feet. "Come on...get dressed and let me go down
and officially introduce you to Michelle. You'll like her."
I snort and he laughs again.
"Seriously, you'll like her. She's cool and she's got absolutely no designs on me in a committed way. We need
to figure a way to get her to a hotel for the night and back to the airport tomorrow."
This mollifies me greatly, and I think to ask, "How did she know about me?"
"The tattoo of your name...on my hip. She knew you were important to my history."
"You told her about us?" I ask incredulously.

Hawke shakes his head. "When she asked about who Vale was, I told her it wasn't any of her business. That's
how she knew you were important to me."

Chapter 216
Hawke
There never was a time in my life that I considered a reconciliation with Vale was possible. She so thoroughly
crushed my young, naive heart when she told me she didn't love me anymore I had no choice but to believe
her.
Without love, there was no hope.
Without love, came anger.
Without love—Vale's in particular—I decided to concentrate on my career first and foremost. Some would
call me callous, and that may be true, but I put her out of my mind. Not once did I consider trying to reason
with her. It never crossed my mind to try to change her mind. I accepted what she told me, and I'm thinking
that all has to do with stubborn pride, and I left her behind.
It wasn't intentional on my part, at least I don't think, to stay away from committed relationships. It was sort of
a natural progression. At first, I was caught up in the excitement and fame of playing with the Titans. Women
threw themselves at me and I was swimming in so much diverse pussy it almost seemed sacrilege for me to
commit to just one. With the obligations of playing professional hockey, it's not easy to form relationships, so
I didn't try. I'll go one further. It's not easy to keep relationships either. Case in point—Oliver. I let that
friendship go because I didn't have the time to make it work. It actually makes me wonder if I would have done
the same to Vale.
Regardless of the way things worked out over time, it wasn't until last week when she told me the truth about
why she did what she did that I considered that Vale could be a mainstay in my life again. I have no clue where
this is going, and I'm too hesitant and skittish to believe that it could ever go back to what we used to have. I
wasn't lying to Vale when I told her that I get why she did what she did. If I was in her shoes, feeling
abandoned by me, having experienced a tremendous physical and emotional loss, and then was told my
lifestyle is what caused it, I could see making a drastic decision to cut me out.

I totally get it. I totally forgive it.
But it's definitely not something to forget. Vale has always been ruled by emotion; it's one of the reasons I
think her star shines so provocatively bright. It's what attracted me to her, because she was full of
no-holds-barred passion. But that is also dangerous. It causes impulsive decisions at times, and those decisions
can cause unforgettable pain.
But now is not the time to brood on such inequities of life. I've got more important things to worry about at this
very moment.
"I'll see your fifteen cents, and raise you a quarter," I say with a challenging stare leveled at Vale over the top
of my cards. She raises her lovely eyebrows at me, purses her lips as if she's

shocked by my confident stance, and hums low in her throat as if in grave consideration. She's so goddamn
sexy right now I want swipe the small piles of nickels, dimes, and quarters off the table along with the cards,
two cans of beer, and a bottled water, lay her up there with legs spread wide, and devour her.
Nice thought and all, except I think it would be awkward with Max and Garrett in the room.
We're on a road trip, having won the first regular season away game against the Toronto Blazers. Bruce Duvall
has had Goose and Vale alternate away games with him, and I have to say I'm looking forward to when this
poker game is over and I can have some alone time with her. While we get to see each other almost every day
between either her duties with the Cold Fury, or the fact I've been fucking her almost every night for the past
week since our "reconciliation," she's usually jetting out of my bed and heading home, not wanting to spend
too much time away from Dave. It's not that he can't stay alone, but she just doesn't want him to be alone. I
suggested letting me stay at her apartment, in her bed, but that wigged her out. I didn't quite get that either,
because Dave's no idiot. He knows I'm back in his daughter's life, and he's wise enough to know we're having
sex. It makes me wonder what hesitations Vale has about our new relationship.
Still, I don't push it, because the bonds we've reestablished are tentative and neither one of us wants to go
charging into what could still be turbulent waters between us.
A lot of the single guys went out after the game, and I was on my way out too for some celebratory beers, but
Vale didn't want to go. As she had told me before, it just wasn't her scene anymore, and more than that, she was
exhausted. She's still valiantly working two jobs and wanted to get to sleep early. She encouraged me to go out
with the guys, assuring me she didn't mind.
And she didn't. I could tell.
But when I weighed the joy of partying with my teammates over a win, and spending some quiet time with
Vale, the choice was sort of easy for me. I told my mates to have a great time and that was that.
Except Garrett and Max didn't feel like going out, and Max suggested playing some poker and ordering in
pizza and beer. And thus here we sit in Max's hotel room. The round table that normally seats two is pulled up

to the end of the king-size bed. Garrett and Max have the two chairs opposite of where Vale and I sit beside
each other, our knees barely touching.
"All right," Vale says after considering her cards and raising those sparkling eyes to me. She throws a quarter
into the pile and says, "Call."
Garrett and Max had already folded during the last round of betting, having realized what a deceptively good
player Vale is. Dave is a good poker player and he taught his daughter when she was very young. They used to
play for Monopoly money, but she's since graduated to the real stuff. Although with her poor bank account
these days, we put a quarter cap on the betting.
Max leans to the left and takes a peek at Vale's cards in her hand. His eyebrows shoot high, and that leads me
to believe she's got something really good.
Or Max could be playing on Team Vale and trying to bluff me as well.
"You might as well fold," Max says with a devious grin as he settles back in his chair and picks up his beer.
Garrett shakes his head and chuckles.

Max and Garrett know about me and Vale. Hell, the whole team knows now.
Not that I got up and made an announcement or anything, but I had told Max pretty much our entire history
over beers that day we went out. I didn't spill my guts right away, and I half expected he had a crush on her, but
by the end of the first beer, I realized we had a lot of stuff in common with each other, one of which wasn't an
attraction to the new athletic trainer.
Both of us are the oldest siblings in our families and thus know the burden of the toughest kind of love. We're
both extremely close to our parents and siblings, and Max is Canadian as well, although he's from Quebec.
He's bilingual but has only a faint trace of the French-Canadian accent that denotes his heritage. After talking
about family and hockey for a while, he mentioned Vale, and next thing I knew, I was spilling the gist of the
story to him. I didn't paint details of the breakup nor what it did to me, but it was enough to know we had a
history that had ended on the ugly side of things.
By the time Max and I had finished three beers, I came away with some new clarity to things.
First, I needed the truth from Vale as to what happened that night. Max pointed out that we'd never move
forward or have a peaceful friendship without me knowing. That's what prompted me to go to her apartment a
week ago and pull her out with the guise of taking her to a movie.
Thanks, Max.
The second thing I learned from Max was that my struggle to balance career and relationships is not atypical.
Max had a high school sweetheart he lost to the distance and rigors of becoming a professional athlete. He as
much as admitted that he didn't put her first, and didn't really even realize her feelings for him had died
because of it. It made me feel slightly better about losing touch with Oliver and gave me the final push I
needed to reach out to him.
While the call was awkward for all of about thirty seconds, it was clear that Oliver couldn't have been happier
for me and my accomplishments, or any more understanding about losing touch. I apologized. He accepted.
Since then we've talked one more time and have made "loose" plans to get together.

So with my life seemingly back on track, and old relationships reopened and currently being explored, as well
as a mutual decision by Vale and myself to move forward—whatever that means—there was no sense in
hiding any of this from the team. Besides, the first time I walked naked through the locker room with Vale's
name on my hip sort of told the story. I admitted to one of my teammates it was indeed Vale the AT who had
residence on my pelvis, and by day's end, the story had spread like wildfire. I even got an email from Gray
telling me she was glad I had reconnected with her.
Something I'd like to do again, very literally, very soon.
"How about an additional bet?" I ask Vale, waggling my eyebrows at her.
"Oh, yeah?" she asks impishly as she turns her cards facedown on the table. "Like what?"
"If I win, we say good night to these two boneheads, you come back to my room with me, and I get to tie you
up." I say all of this in a low voice with a direct stare of challenge to Vale. Max and Garrett are all but
forgotten, until I hear Garrett cough and mutter, "Awkward."
Vale neither blushes nor looks offended by my suggestion. While she may not be a party

girl like the old days, she isn't afraid of her sexuality either. In fact, her eyebrows raise in interest as she stares
back at me.
I can tell Max and Garrett are forgotten to her as well.
"What if I win?" she asks while rubbing her index finger seductively along the edge of her cards fanned out on
the wooden table.
"You get to take me back to my room and tie me up, have your way with me," I tell her simply.
And I hope she fucking wins.
Please, please, please let her have the winning hand, because the thought of Vale having unrestricted access to
do whatever comes into that dirty little brain of hers is completely fine by me.
"Deal," she says, and with a flourishing flick of her wrist, she turns the cards over one by one. Three kings, two
eights. A full house.
Standing up from the table, I throw my cards facedown and grab Vale's hand, urging her to stand up too.
"Got me," I tell her with a wink. "You win. Now let's go so you can tie me up."
Garrett barks out a laugh and grabs my cards to see what I had. I glare at him, silently explaining I will rain
retribution down on him if he exposes me.
Max clearly doesn't see my quiet command as he grabs the cards from Garrett's hand before I can even pull
Vale free of the table and places them face up. "Four of a kind," Max says with a low whistle. "Look at them
ladies."
"Asshole," I mutter as I look down at the four queens staring up at me, which clearly beat Vale's hand.
When I look back at her, she's staring at me in sympathetic amusement. She squeezes my hand and then makes
my night. "I'll give that one to you, so let's get going. I hope you brought more than one dress tie for this road
trip."

I suppress a groan and try not to laugh over Max and Garrett standing there agog over Vale's words. That was
just a tiny peek at the woman I used to know, completely unafraid to say how it is. She may have tamed her
partying ways, but not her penchant for honest and open talk.
"We're out of here," I tell Max and Garrett as I move past the table, tighten my hold on Vale's hand, and pull
her toward the door. Luckily my room is just three down from Max's, and within just a few minutes I'm
expecting Vale's hands and mouth to be all over me.
Today has been a perfect day.

Chapter 224
Vale
This is nice.
Lying on my couch with Hawke, his long body stretched down the length of it with my backside snuggled into
his front. We're watching Nightmare on Elm Street with all the lights off, and while I'm normally a weenie
about scary movies, I don't feel an ounce of anxiety as I look warily at Freddy's long arms and knifelike
fingers. I suppose having a big, bad hockey player behind me eases the fear. Dad went to bed about an hour
ago and we're content to just lie here like this, his hand resting on my hip in a loose embrace.
Hawke leans forward, which pushes me slightly to the edge of the couch, reaches an arm over me, and dives
his hand into the bowl of candy on the coffee table. "Want another?"
"No," I groan. "I'm on sugar overload."
"Well you shouldn't have bought thirty pounds of mini Snickers."
"I didn't know how many trick-or-treaters we'd get in this apartment complex," I point out about my tactical
decision. "I didn't want to be caught short and have to hand out protein bars. Plus, bonus, we get the leftovers."
Hawke chuckles and awkwardly unwraps the Snickers. Awkward because my head is resting on his left bicep,
which is tucked under me. He brings the Snickers to just in front of my face, where he manages to unwrap it.
He holds the naked little candy bar in front of my mouth and teases, "Want a bite?"
I shake my head.
He waves it under my nose and the chocolate aroma changes my mind. "Okay, a little bite."
He feeds it to me, letting me take half of the tiny bar, and puts the rest in his mouth. We chew silently,
watching the movie.
I was kind of surprised that Hawke wanted to come hang here for Halloween. I mean, he lives in a gorgeous
neighborhood and would probably have a ton of visitors. I didn't think he'd be into it, but it was his suggestion
we hand out treats from my apartment. I wasn't quite sure why he suggested this, but in hindsight, I think it's

because he knew his presence would mean more to the socioeconomic level of people that live in my complex
versus his neighborhood. While not every person to ring the doorbell was a hockey fan, more were than not. It
was hilarious to see some of the kids freak out when they saw him, and more than one parent did the same.
Hawke got really into it, although he didn't have a costume. He did, however, have a huge sombrero he wore
on his head and where he put some of the candy. He'd bend down and let the little kids take the candy from his
hat. Dad and I just sat back and watched, highly entertained over how much he was enjoying this.

I was more than highly entertained, though. My heart purely throbbed with adoration of what he was doing,
dredging up a ton of emotion within me. This is not new or odd, because I've been in a constantly swirling pool
of emotion since Hawke came back into my life.
Forty-two days ago, I saw him in the team meeting room on the first day of training camp. My heart ached all
over again for everything lost.
Twenty-eight days ago I broke up with Todd. My heart ached for that too, but it also thumped in acute
awareness of Hawke and what it meant that he was back in my life.
Twenty-five days ago, my dad had a seizure and Hawke was there to support me. I felt part of my heart
succumb to him right then and there, while the other part remained reserved and cautious. We still had too
many secrets between us.
Twenty-one days ago, he made love to me and I told him the truth of why I had cut him out of my life. I
watched him weep for a loss that was new and raw while I had had years to cope. I received his understanding
and forgiveness. He let go of his hurt, and I decided to let go of mine. At that time, my heart threw caution to
the wind and became enslaved to him once more. In just three short weeks, it belonged to the only man who
should have it. This was despite Michelle surprising us that night, which is something we ultimately ended up
laughing about, and Hawke was right...she was cool. But it was also made clear to her that he had no more
place in her life. I was back and intending to stay.
"Let me stay," Hawke whispers in my ear as his hand moves from my hip to my belly.
What? Huh?
His hand snakes under my T-shirt, skims his fingers in such a way over my skin that a wake of prickly bumps
remains behind. Sliding farther upward, his hand reaches for and cups my breast, squeezing gently. His lips
brush my ear, and he asks again, "Please, Vale. Let me stay the night."
I shake my head in denial, because it would be just too weird him sleeping here with my father across the hall.
And if we were just sleeping, fine, he can stay. But I know Hawke. I know me. We wouldn't be just sleeping.

We'd be all over and up in each other, and that gets noisy. We're a noisy couple. Always have been. I'd die if
my dad heard that.
"Come on, baby," he implores, his hand now moving south. He bypasses the waistband of my jeans, ignores
the button and zipper, and goes straight in between my legs, grinding his palm against me.
"Oh, God," I whisper out on a long exhale of breath.
He chuckles, bites my earlobe, and grinds again. "See...you want me to stay. You want this." Oh, holy hell did
I want it!
But my hand went to his, grabbed his wrist, and halted his actions. "I do want it, but not here. My dad will hear
us."
"We can be quiet," he cajoles, but keeps his hand still.
"There's no way we can be quiet," I tell him firmly. "You know that. You know it gets loud. I can't help but
scream when you make me come."
My words pour out quickly and with a near-panicked tinge at the thought of my dad listening to us. I mean,
realistically, I'm an adult and I can certainly have sex with Hawke without an ounce of shame, but e

www...just

no. I can't do it with my dad in the apartment.

"We can go to your house," I say as I'm struck with sudden brilliance, because I do want him badly.
Hawke's hand pulls away from between my legs, his arm comes around my stomach, and he squeezes me in a
hug. "No. It's getting late and we're not driving all the way to my house just to fuck, and then turn around and
have you come back home."
"But—" I argue, because I really, really want him. Hawke has to know that my reluctance is due solely to the
proximity of my dad and not because I don't want it. I'm pretty sure I'll always want it where he's concerned.
"No buts," he says, and then squeezes me again. "And I think we can go one night without having sex."
"No! No we can't," I argue, and that starts us both laughing softly so as not to wake up my father.
For a moment, we lay like that. Spooning.
Hugging.
Laughing.
And everything is perfect in my world.
I can't believe how strong my feelings have become over the last few weeks. While my heart decided to give
up its freedom that night we first made love, the feelings have only grown stronger over the last few weeks.
Our days are filled with a sweet normalcy. We see each other at work. We joke. We text each other. He asks
how my day is going, and he worries over how hard I work. I praise his game play, take joy in his reconnection
to old friends like Oliver, and continually admire the man he has become.
I'm falling in love all over again, and it's just beautiful to me.
"So," Hawke drawls out, a means to introduce another idea to me. "If we just slept together, no sex, no
hanky-panky, no nothing to cause you to scream out..! can stay the night?"
And I didn't think my heart could get any more gooey where he's concerned, but it literally flops over and
melts at the fact he wants to just sleep with me tonight.
"Yeah, you can stay the night," I whisper, my voice clogged with embarrassing emotion, so I cough to clear it.

"Awesome," he says in a surfer dude's exaggerated accent. "And for the record, I can control myself, unlike
you, and be quiet during any type of.um.sexual ministrations you might want to perform on me."
"Is that right?" I ask with a laugh.
I flip over on the couch so I'm facing him, and drape my left arm over his waist. I have to tilt my head back a
little to meet his gaze, and his smile is bright and his eyes sparking with amusement.
"This is cool," I say carefully, not wanting to get too sappy with him, but wanting to push around the edges to
see if I can glean anything about the state of his own attitude toward me. While we have spent the last few
weeks reconnecting and falling into some patterns as a couple, we've also diligently stayed away from the
topic of our feelings. I try to remember back to the first time Hawke and I said the L-word to each other, and I
remember vividly that

I said it first. We were on a free period from school, it was a crisp fall day, and we were sitting under a large
elm tree on campus. We were both studying for a calculus test. He was sitting cross-legged on a blanket, and I
was on my stomach, my book opened up before me. He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind my
ear—the side that wasn't shaved—and said, "You are the most beautiful girl in the world."
I never thought twice and just blurted it out. "I love you."
He grinned and said it right back to me, no hesitation whatsoever.
It almost makes me want to say it again, but I hold my tongue. At this point, I'm too afraid of rejection and just
as fearful that perhaps this is all moving a little too fast.
"This is totally cool," he agrees. "Just hanging with my girl, watching a scary movie, and eating myself sick on
Snickers."
I like that.
My girl.
"What did Max end up doing tonight?" I ask as I snuggle into him, tucking my head up under his chin. His
arms wrap tighter around me. We had invited Max to hang with us but he declined. We've actually been doing
a lot with him lately. He and Hawke have become pretty close buds and he's taken to working out with me and
Max during our conditioning sessions. Max is killing it in the net so far this season, but he seems driven to be
become better and better. I think the memory of missing last season due to an injury and then Ryker filling in
and taking top spot is what's fueling him.
Hawke gives a slight shrug to his shoulders. "No clue. Said he had plans, though."
"Plans?" I say with surprise. Max is even more of a homebody than I am. As far as I know, the man trains,
plays hockey, eats, and sleeps. That's it. "Do you think he has a date?"
"Babe," Hawke says with a dramatic drawl. "I'm a dude. He's a dude. We don't talk about stuff like that."
"Yes, you do," I argue as I tip my head back and tilt my face to once again look up at him because I know guys
most certainly talk about stuff like that. They have to.

"Rest assured," he says blandly. "We don't. But even if we did, I wouldn't tell you. That would be a violation of
the bro code."
Hmmm. That I don't like. Seven years ago, when Hawke and I were together, there were no secrets between us.
Well, at least not until that night. No bro code would stand in the way of him telling me something. His trust in
me was absolute, and he would have shared any and all tidbits. He would have done so knowing I would keep
secrets locked and secure.
The mere fact he's throwing the bro code at me now tells me that no matter how great I think things are
currently, there are still trust issues to mend. But now is not the time, so I change subjects.
I push up and out of Hawke's embrace, murmuring, "Roll on your back."
He cocks an eyebrow at me as he does as requested, and let me just tell you.this man has the perfect set of
eyebrows over those piercing eyes. They can roll and arch in such a way to convey high intensity or the
thickest amount of skepticism. Either way, it never prevents the brilliancy of his blue irises from lasering at
me.
Now that arch is merely in interest with a sensual tilt to his lips.

I let him down quickly. "Get that look off your face. We're just talking."
Throwing a leg over his hips, I straddle his lap so I can look down at him. His hands come up to rest on my
thighs and he grins at me sexily, and for the briefest of moments, I think about giving in on my "no sex in the
apartment while Dad is in residence" rule. But then Hawke pulls his hands back and tucks them behind his
head, shooting me a wink. "What's
up?"
"Dad's been doing really well," I segue into something that has been weighing on my mind.
"It's been great," Hawke says, his eyes softening at me. "I think it's all going to be okay."
Now, that I'm not so sure of. We won't know until the next MRI, which is week after next. That will be the one
where they expect to see some shrinkage of the tumor, at least according to how prior cases have gone. It will
be miraculous if that occurs, so I'm trying not to hinge all of my hopes on it. Still, I can't help needing some
feedback on my worries. "The next MRI
"Will show shrinkage," Hawke butts in confidently.
I give him a smile of appreciation for his positivity and nod. "Yeah...I'm hoping beyond hope for that."
"Then why does your voice sound all doom and gloom?" he asks, his hands now coming out from under his
head and taking my hands. He laces his fingers with mine, lifts one hand to his mouth, and kisses the inside of
my wrist.
Shaking my head in quick denial, I tell him, "I'm not doom and gloom. It's just...if the tumor is shrinking and
Dad is otherwise doing okay, then he won't have another MRI after that for another three months. He wants to
go back to Sydney, and my lease will be up here, as we only signed a six-month lease. It's just..."
"You're trying to figure out what to do?" he guesses accurately.
"I think I should go to Sydney with him, but."
My voice trails off.
But what?

But I don't want to leave you, Hawke. But I don't want to quit my job midseason. But I'm not ready to lose
what's been regained.
".But," I continue as I let my gaze drop, "it brings about a whole set of new complications. I'd need to get a job,
and move again. Any new job would have to be flexible so I could travel back to Duke with Dad if necessary.
And what if he takes a turn for the worse? And we've given up our home here?"
"No one said you have to go back to Sydney with him," Hawke says in a gently firm voice. "If your dad is
doing good and doesn't need care—which let's face it, Vale, he really doesn't at this point—then let him go
back home and you stay here with the Cold Fury."
My head pops up, wanting to believe the measure of confidence in his suggestion. Would Dad be okay on his
own back in Sydney? I mean, right now, there isn't anything he really needs help with. Sure, I cook for him,
but that's so we don't starve. Dad was never the best cook. Otherwise, the infection he had three weeks ago
notwithstanding, his physical health is actually pretty good. He's even out walking a few miles each day.

"Stay here?" I ask, just to clarify what Hawke is saying. Or maybe, rather, I'm hoping to glean if there is any
vested interest on his part.
"Why not?" he throws back with a smile. "You like this job, right? Like the area?"
I nod, because it's all true.
"You like me, right?" he adds with a slick grin, and his hands drop mine so they can go back to my legs. His
palms are warm against the denim of my jeans as he squeezes my thighs.
With an exaggerated eye roll, I lean over and give him a quick kiss before sitting back up straight. "I guess I
kind of like you."
"Oh, you like me a lot," Hawke says knowingly as he sits up. His arms go around my waist and he leans
forward, kissing my neck.
I more than like you, I think to myself. I love you. In fact, I'm pretty sure I never stopped loving you.
But those are all sentiments that never get spoken.

Chapter 235
Hawke
Jesus, Vale looks amazing.
Her hair curled and flowing down past her shoulders. Smoky eye makeup. Lips slick with something pink that
I know tastes like peaches because I snuck in a quick kiss not too long
ago.
Speaking of lips.
Those same lips were wrapped around my cock five nights ago and I haven't been able to get that image out of
my head. It was a rare time that she stayed all night at my house, but since I had an extended road game coming
up, it didn't take much to convince her. Because I knew it would be a long four days before I'd see her again, I
fucked her long and slow, prolonging the experience by pulling out anytime I got close. That meant she'd
come twice before I decided to give into the raging lust that was actually making my balls hurt. I blew so hard
I thought I might have broken my dick, and she came gloriously a third time.
I fell asleep that night with my body wrapped tight around hers, eventually settling into the usual spooning
position we adopted all those years ago.
I was awakened the next morning with her mouth on me. The first thing that brought me out of slumber was an
electrified jolt of lust that seemed to seize my entire body. My eyes sprang open to find Vale kneeling beside
me, one hand laying gently on my stomach, the other wrapped around the base of my cock while she laved her
tongue around the head.
Let me be the first to tell you that Vale always gave good head. She was adventurous and oral sex had always
played a big part of our sex life. We were both satisfied at times to not even fuck but to slake our lust with
merely our faces between each other's legs. Even though it's been a little over a month since we started having
sex, and even though I've eaten her out a lot, her lips have been absent from my cock.

Not that she hasn't wanted to. It's just that I've usually been so crazy to get her off and then get inside of her that
I haven't given her an opportunity. I'm not sure the why of it, but sometimes I feel like time is borrowed with
Vale and me, and I can't seem to slow down with her.
So she took matters into her own hand and gave me the best fucking blow job of my life that morning five
nights ago as a way, I'm sure, to torture me over my extended road game. I jacked off a few nights to that
memory.
It would have been easy for me to find a hookup while out on the road. All the single guys do it, and hell, even
some of the married guys that are douches do it. But I was content to consider myself in a monogamous
relationship with Vale again, even though we haven't necessarily uttered that exact commitment to each other.
It's just that I know it to be true

and thus was completely content to get myself off rather than find a meaningless fuck.
"Dude.do you think you could take your eyes off Vale for like maybe thirty seconds or so? We have some
catching up to do," Oliver says with a punch to my shoulder.
I turn to face him with a sheepish grin. "Sorry."
He chuckles before turning his head to the bartender. With a lift of his hand, he holds up two fingers indicating
we want another round. Christ.this one is going to make me officially drunk, but what the hell. I'm celebrating
the renewal of my friendship with Oliver tonight so it's allowed.
At least I think it's allowed. It's not like I talked about this with Vale, and I'm not sure I have to. I mean, when
we were together before, it was just a given.
We go out.
We party.
We get drunk.
Surely it's the same now, right?
I flew in yesterday evening from Tampa and hightailed it to my house, where Vale said she'd be waiting for
me. All thoughts of attacking her, possibly dropping her to the floor right in the entryway and fucking her from
behind, simply vanished when I walked in and saw her sitting at my kitchen island with a shit-eating grin. My
eyes immediately went to her left, where I saw Oliver sitting with a matching shit-eating grin. I didn't think
Vale could have surprised me more than by having Oliver come in, but then I was proven wrong as his twin,
Avery, walked into the kitchen.
"Surprise," she said with more of a malevolent smile, and it told me all I needed to know. Avery still didn't like
me, and I had to say, the feeling was still mutual on my part.
Regardless, we all stayed up late last night drinking and catching up. Well, actually, Oliver and I tied one on,
sitting on my back deck in the cool November air pounding beers, while Avery and Vale sat in the living room
curled up on the sofa and sipping at glasses of wine. Turns out, Vale had only that one glass of wine, which

was fortuitous for me because I have a vague recollection of her helping my drunk ass into bed. I woke up this
morning to find her gone but a handwritten note on the bedside table.
Hope you had fun last night. Take these and drink lots of water. Hope you're not too hungover.:)
I was indeed hungover, but the Excedrin she left me and two bottles of water set me straight. I even kicked
some ass in the team practice that was held midmorning, then I took Oliver golfing in the afternoon. It seemed
a given we'd all go out tonight to continue the celebration of Oliver and Avery's visit, and thus the reason we're
at The Fox and Hound in North Hills pounding more beers. Well, Oliver and I are pounding beers. Vale and
Avery are again sipping at some wine.
While Avery was just as much a party girl as Vale, she seems to have either calmed down or isn't drinking
much in deference to Vale's current lightweight status. They're now sitting at the small round table that we had
taken when we first arrived. We ate dinner with a few drinks, had dessert with another drink, and then decided
to have more drinks on top of that. Well, Oliver sort of decided by proclaiming our waitress was too slow and
pulling me from the table up to the bar to order some more beers. Turns out, Oliver is really in a drinking

mood because he ordered shots too.
I wondered briefly if Vale would be bothered by this. While I'm not the party animal I was in my early
twenties, I can drink with the best of them still, and Oliver visiting was the only reason I needed to jump full in
to the celebration. And while Vale has made it clear on more than one occasion that she doesn't party anymore,
she seems content to sit there and have "girl time" with Avery. At least the few times I was staring at her and
she looked over to me, she gave me a cheerful yet knowing smile that seemed to indicate she was okay with
me blowing it out with Oliver tonight.
This is good, because no matter how drunk I get, I won't ever forget it was a night of partying that led me to
make the choice I did seven years ago not to leave with Vale when she wasn't feeling well. It was a bad choice
that led to a series of events that broke us apart. I don't want to make that mistake again.
While I'm still not quite sure what exactly this is with Vale, I know enough to know I'm not ready to give it up.
I know enough to know I care about her greatly and that I'm beyond happy that we've reconnected. I know
enough to know that what we have is enough right now and I don't want to fuck it up.
"Another shot?" Oliver asks, his voice now slightly slurred.
"Sure," I say, risking another punch by glancing over at Vale. "I need to take a leak, though. Be right back."
I really don't need to piss, but it just so happens that if I head to the bathroom, I'll pass right by Vale sitting at
our table. She looks to be in need of something.
I swear I hear Oliver mutter, "Pussy whipped," as I get up and walk toward Vale. She's leaning forward,
elbows resting on the table and hands clasped as she listens thoughtfully to whatever Avery is yammering
about. When I'm no more than a few feet away, her gaze catches the motion and swivels my way. Her lips curl
up in a welcoming smile, and yeah.that right there. That's what she needs.
Leaning down, I give her a kiss. No tongue, but not a quick brush either. Her lips part slightly and she accepts
what I give her with a soft sigh. Pulling back, I give her a charming smile and ask, "You need anything?"

Vale shakes her head, eyes staring at me with amusement. She then cuts a glance over to Avery. "You want
another glass of wine?"
Avery declines so I lean back over Vale and press my lips to her head. I get another soft sigh from her before
winking at Avery and heading to the bathroom, leaving behind I'm sure something snarky that Avery will say
about me. Not worried though. Avery didn't like me seven years ago and never came between me and Vale, so
I'm pretty confident she won't now. Except...well, maybe she could. I mean, Vale and I don't have the same
closeness we did back then. The same level of trust and commitment.
Shaking my head, I put that out of my mind and head into the bathroom, where I decide to go ahead and piss,
because "when in Rome." After washing and drying my hands, I give a quick swipe of my fingers through my
long hair and swivel my head back and forth, eyeballing my beard. I wonder if I should shave it off? It's kind of
a pain in the ass to keep trimmed, but Vale seems to like it despite the fact it leaves red marks on her thighs.
Chuckling over the thought and high on life and alcohol, I exit the bathroom, only to come

up short with Avery standing there. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she pins a baleful stare at me.
"What's up?" I ask as my eyes cut over to our table. Vale is gone and Oliver is now sitting there. For a brief
moment, my head spins as I consider that Vale has left the bar and a tiny flash of panic seizes me.
"Vale's in the bathroom," Avery says blandly.
Immediately, my heart rate settles and I chastise myself for even letting something like that bother me. "Well,
okay then," I say as I start to move past Avery.
"I'm glad you two broke up," she says quietly, but it's loud enough I hear it over the din of chattering voices in
the pub area.
I halt midstep, turn to look at her with astonishment. "Excuse me?"
"I'm glad Vale cut you loose before," she says simply.
My hackles immediately stand to attention. While I know Avery wasn't fond of me then, nor apparently now,
I always thought she had Vale's best interest at heart. I feel like I was in Vale's best interest, despite a bad
mistake I made. I thought Avery knew that too, but apparently I'm wrong.
"That's kind of a bitchy thing to say, Av," I say with anger tinged in my voice. "Especially since that's old
history."
"Exactly," she says, inclining her head to the side as if to emphasize her point. "So don't fuck this up again.
Now is your time."
I blink.once, twice.stupidly a third time. "Now is my time?"
"Yeah," she says with a minor eye roll as she unfurls her arms and steps into me. She pokes a bony finger into
the middle of my chest. "You and Vale weren't right back then. It's easy in hindsight to see it. Too
immature.impetuous. Too focused on each other to the detriment of all else. It wasn't your time then."
"But it is now?" I ask skeptically, because she almost seems to be.rooting for us?
"Yes, it is now."

We stare at each other a moment and I shake my head, not sure I really understand what she's trying to say.
Clearly, my confusion reigns supreme across my face, because she elucidates.
"It's like this, Hawke. You had your career set. You were a great hockey player and you were going places.
The only place Vale was going was for a ride in your hip pocket. She had no direction, motivation, or
ambition. Look at what she's become now and tell me that would have happened if you two had stayed
together."
My mind spins. Surely she would have gone to school, even if she followed me through the
NHL, right?
"Vale's heart was broken when you two split, but she grew up. She grew up fast and she was focused. She
became a new woman, and I'm thinking you like those changes, if the way you look at her is any indication.
You may not see it, and she may never admit it, but the way in which your relationship failed was the best
thing to ever happen to the two of you."
That simply can't be true. What we had was good and solid, right?
Or do the facts speak for themselves and whisper a truth I haven't considered before? That

perhaps neither one of us had the maturity to appreciate the other. What we had wasn't really the one, great true
love we thought it to be.
That's another thought I quickly push out of my head. I don't let it take up residence because if I lend any
validity to this claim, it means I need to let her betrayal go completely. I need to chalk it up to the wisdom of
the Fates and be happy with the ways in which we've grown.
And this is something I don't know that I can do.
While I love being around Vale, and I appreciate more than anything having her back in my life, there's still a
small part of me that remains firmly protected, with the assumption that she'll bail on me again. Hell, she's
talking about going back to Sydney with her dad. It's like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
For her to abandon what we have again.

Chapter 244
Vale
We're cruising down I-540, listening to Smashing Pumpkins. It's a cool November evening, the stars are
hanging low with a bright, full moon, and endorphins composed of pleasure, happiness, and excitement race
through me.
Balling my hands into tiny fists, I lean forward and hammer them on the dashboard, my voice squeaking with
near-jubilant hysteria. "The tumor shrank!"
"The tumor shrank," Hawke confirms with a laugh and a fist punch to the air in victory.
My dad's MRI was this morning, and while normally it would take a few days to get the results, Dave
Campbell does enjoy rock star status at Duke. Dr. Furhman sat in the control room with the two radiologists
and three other oncologists who waited breathlessly while sections of my dad's brain were photographed. By
the time the table was sliding out of the big, round drum that made up the amazing science of magnetic
resonance imaging, Dr. Furhman was waiting there with a grin a mile wide.
Ten percent shrinkage.
Beyond miraculous.
The virus had done its job and now my dad's body was fighting—and apparently winning— against the
glioblastoma.
I had taken the day off to go with my dad, and after we hugged and jumped around the room with his hospital
gown flapping, I immediately texted Hawke. He was at the arena, getting in a light workout as the Cold Fury
was playing an evening game against the Dallas Mustangs. He had made me promise to let him know as soon
as I heard something.
We have shrinkage, I had quickly sent to him.
His response was immediate, indicating he had been hovering, just waiting for my message. Never a good
word to use with a man except in these circumstances. YES!!!!

I laughed, my hands still shaking with the disbelief of this good news, and started to text him back when my
phone rang. A picture of Hawke and me came up on my screen. It was taken just last week at The Fox and
Hound by Avery. I had been sitting on Hawke's lap while we all sat around, had drinks, and reconnected with
one another. His bearded cheek pressed to mine, our arms wrapped around each other. Happy, happy smiles on
our faces.
I answered with barely contained glee. "Shrinkage!"
"Amazing," he said.
He asked for details.
I told him what I knew.
He asked to talk to my dad, so I shoved the phone into the curtain of the tiny room where

dad was getting dressed and listened to the one-sided conversation he had with Hawke. It made my heart about
burst.
When I got back on the phone with him, his message was simple. "Be waiting for me in the players' parking lot
tonight after the game. And dress warm."
So I did. After my dad and I went out for a celebratory early meal, we went back to our apartment and watched
the game on TV. I even let my dad have a beer—he deserved it—and we cheered and yelled for the Cold Fury.
I cheered especially hard for Hawke, especially when he got into a fight with a Mustang defenseman who
thought he could try to trip the great and powerful Hawke Therrien. The minute the gloves dropped, I was
screaming at Hawke through the TV to kick his ass. He did and it was well worth the five-minute major he got.
Watching that man is glorious. I have such pride in what he does, how far he's come. He looked amazing on
the ice, and looked even better when he walked across the lot toward me as I waited outside my car. He merely
crooked a finger when he was halfway and I went to meet him. His hand went behind my head, his mouth to
mine, and he kissed me hello.
"Great game," I whispered as he pulled back.
"Fuck that," he said with a smile. "Today we celebrate the shrinkage."
So we got in his car after he threw his gear bag in the trunk. I saw a small cooler in there and raised an eyebrow
in question, but he merely said, "It's a surprise." So I waited.
Hawke intrigues me by taking the Aviation Parkway exit toward the airport. It's late and there's little traffic.
His right hand comes off the steering wheel and he places it over mine resting in my lap. Giving it a squeeze,
he asks, "Dying of curiosity?"
"A little," I say primly, but I'm truly puzzled.
"You hate surprises," he says.
"No I don't," I tell him quickly. "I used to hate surprises, but now I find they appeal to me." "Liar," he says in
a low rumbling voice that makes my blood hum.

As the airport looms up ahead in the distance, the terminals glowing and the traffic control tower blinking its
steady red lights, Hawke turns on his turn signal. To the left and right of the parkway sit large man-made
ponds surrounded by green hills and tall, willowy pine trees. He slows and turns onto a dirt road that I had
never noticed before, not that I've been this way much. Just the handful of times I've traveled with the team by
plane.
He never says a word and neither do I as we bounce along for about two hundred yards, around a bend that
shields us from the road, and come out into a small clearing by the water. Low-growing azaleas, holly, and
camellia bushes surround a small grassy area by the water's edge, the glow from the airport reflected therein.
"This is beautiful," I whisper as Hawke brings his car to a halt, puts it in park, and kills the engine. With the
headlights extinguished, the darkness engulfs us and I feel truly secluded.
Hawke gets out of the car and I follow. I watch as he pulls the cooler from the trunk along with two blankets.
It's crisp outside, maybe hovering in the midfifties, but not something that would require a coat. A Nova
Scotian wouldn't dare think of wearing a coat in this mild weather, so I'm good with my jeans and sweater.
"A picnic?" I ask curiously as Hawke spreads one blanket on the grass and kneels on it. He

tosses the other down and opens the cooler.
"Sort of," he says with a grin as he pulls out a bottle of champagne. "Well, just the alcohol, but I figured
toasting Dave's success was in order tonight. Don't you think?" "Totally agree," I say as I drop to my knees on
the blanket beside him.
He removes the foil and wire and pops the cork flawlessly. Very suave and something he wouldn't have done
seven years ago. Back then it was popping the top of a beer can. I giggle as I think of the difference in this man
and I appreciate it even more.
We toast my dad with plastic cups, sip at the champagne, and sit back on the blanket as we watch planes fly
low overhead and then land with a roar. When I finish my bubbly, I set the empty cup on the blanket and lay
back, tucking my hands behind my head. As I gaze up at the clear moon, I say, "Remember what we used to
say about the moon?"
Hawke drains his cup and tosses it aside. He lays down on his side, propping up on his elbow and resting his
head in the palm of his hand. He smiles down at me and says, "Our lunar connection."
I nod with a grin. "When you were traveling with the Oilers and I was missing you, you'd call me at night and
tell me, 'Vale...look at the moon right now. It's the same one I'm looking at. We are together.' "
I'm surprised the words actually come out a little choked up over the sweet memory, and perhaps it's just the
emotion of this spectacular day, but I'm a little embarrassed when I slide my eyes from the moon to him. The
shadows obscure most of his face, but I can see some of that emotion sparkling back at me.
He leans down and kisses me gently. When he pulls back, he says, "I was quite the romantic back then, huh?"
"Oh, yeah," I say with a giggle. "You totally got all my girly parts tingly with your words."
Hawke gives a husky laugh and bends over to kiss me again. It's deep and possessive, full of passion and
desire. He moves straight past romantic and right into erotic territory with just a few skillful swipes of his
tongue against mine. I can't help the moan that pops out, but then again, I never could.

This fuels him on and makes him bolder. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then my jaw. "I seem to
remember you and I having a certain fondness for fucking in the great outdoors."
"Yes we did," I whisper as his lips go to my neck, my one great weakness to his powers of persuasion.
"Feeling adventurous?" he asks before scraping his teeth along my skin.
"Always with you," I tell him with naked honesty. "Always."
"That's my girl," he murmurs, and then his hands are everywhere.
First a firm grip to my jaw to hold me steady, followed by another deep kiss.
His body moves over me, nudging my legs apart. He settles on top, presses his hardness to me, and grinds
while never taking his mouth from mine. The next few moments are defined by one very long kiss that has no
breath in between but fractures into jolts of lust as his hands start to roam. Up my shirt, under my bra,
squeezing and pinching.
My hands have no choice but to reciprocate. I stroke the long, hard lines of his back. Slip

my fingers into the waistband of his jeans and dig them down into his ass. His breath fans out harshly as I
rotate my hips under him, both of us wordlessly egging the other on.
Our touches become aggressive, almost frantic. Shoes get kicked off, buttons get popped, and clothes start to
be shed. The crisp air is a welcome relief to my heated and sensitive skin, and when Hawke's hand goes in
between my legs, I arch up into him hard. With his fingers inside of me and his teeth to one of my nipples, my
first orgasm crashes into me hard. My hands tear at his long hair, then press down on his head to hold him to
my breast while my body shudders.
"So sexy," he murmurs as he pushes up, both his hands coming to rest near my hips. He looks down at me and
says, "Raise your legs, baby. Spread them wide for me."
I obey and reach my hand down to circle around his long, thick erection. I rub my thumb over the tip, feel the
wet, and guide him to me. With a loud huff of breath, Hawke pushes inside and I melt around him so we
become one.
Slowly he moves in and out of me. One hand grips on to mine with fingers interlaced. His lips rest against
mine, lightly brushing back and forth while his cock moves deeper and deeper.
"Feel good?" he asks, and it's a stupid question. As if my moans and grunts aren't enough of an answer, but he
wants to hear it. He wants the validation.
"Feels better than anything I've ever felt before." That's the God's honest truth. Right now, in this moment,
something is different between us. Maybe it's the tension of my dad's illness being released, or that we've
finally been able to move past the bitterness, but all of a sudden this feels new and monumental to me.
Hawke likes my answer, pumps hard into me a few more times, and then surprises me by rolling. His hands
expertly grip my hips, slinging me on top and never losing a fraction of an inch within me. It takes me no more
than a second to get my bearings before I start to ride him.

I'm not sure if my eyes are adjusting to the dark or I'm just seeing things clearer, but Hawke's gaze upon me is
intense with emotion. He bites his lower lip, his hands on my hips urging me to go faster and harder on him. He
groans and grunts with every downward push, racing along with me on this highway of sizzling sex and lust.
"I'm going to come again," I gasp as he hits me extra deep and I feel the telltale prickles in my lower back and
between my legs.
Hawke likes that proclamation too, because he knifes upward into a sitting position, his long legs stretched
out. He wraps my legs around his back, places his strong hands under my ass, and presses his chest into mine.
Then with the strength of his upper arms, he propels me along, bouncing me up and down on his shaft until I'm
starting to mewl like a kitten in need.
"Come on, Vale," he urges me. "Want you to come all around me. Let me feel it. Let my cock feel it. Give it to
me."
With every word he utters, my orgasm pulses...breaks free.
"Fuck, I've missed this so goddamn much," Hawke groans, and with those words, just from the mere emotion
and gravity of what they mean to me, I scream out my release. He pulls me up by my hips one last time, slams
me back downward as his hips punch up, and goes deeper into me than he ever has before.

He goes straight to my soul as he starts to come inside of me.
His face drops to my shoulder and he moans, "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck that's good. So fucking good."
He pulses and shivers in my arms. My body shudders with overwhelming physical and emotional release. My
heart splits wide open, right down the middle, and I'm flooded with such passionate feeling for this man that I
do the only thing that can possibly be done in this moment.
I brush my lips against his temple and whisper, "I love you, Hawke."
Letting out a long exhale of relief that I've said what's been in my heart for probably forever, I pull back and
look at him with a soft smile. I expect the words to come back to me at any moment. I expect his mouth to
curve up gently and with appreciation for my honesty in helping to move us back to that special place we once
inhabited.
Instead, his head sort of jerks back in surprise and his brow furrows into a pained wince of an expression. He
opens his mouth to say something, and when nothing comes out, my stomach drops in keen disappointment.
Hawke drops his gaze, down and to the left, staring aimlessly at the blanket and discarded paper cups.
While his hands are still resting softly on my hips and he's still hard within me and buried deep, I feel exquisite
emptiness make a hollow cavern out of my chest.
"But you don't feel the same," I hazard a whispered guess.
His eyes snap up to mine and his gaze is sympathetic. He even leans forward and gives me a soft kiss before
saying, "I'm sorry..! feel something. I'm just not sure it's love, Vale."

Chapter 253
Hawke
"You seriously can't be leaving," I say as I watch her helplessly put another suitcase into the trunk of her car.
"It's for the best," she says quietly, refusing to look me in the eye. She stuffs a duffel bag into an empty nook
beside the suitcases. I want to rip them out and toss them to the ground, slam the trunk, and demand she stay.
"So everything that we've been building back up...that's not worth staying for," I growl at her, my frustration
starting to overtake my emotions.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and places the last bag in place. When she shuts the trunk, she turns to look at me
with sad eyes but a clear conscience. "But it's for the best."
I don't beg. I will not beg. But I come close when I ask, "Is there anything I can do to get you to stay?"
If I thought her eyes were sad before, they go positively morose. She looks as if her entire world just got
plunged into darkness. And she tells me the one thing I cannot give her. "You can tell me you love me."
I jerk awake, the strains of "Let It Be" by the Beatles ironically filtering from my earbuds to my consciousness.
I rub my eyes, pull the minispeakers from my ears, and look to my right. Max sits in the plane seat next to me,
staring at me with a knowing look in his eyes. "Bad dream?"
"Something like that," I mumble.
"You okay?"
"Sure," I say as I wind the cord of the earbuds around my iPhone and stuff it in the seat pocket in front of me.
But I'm anything but fine.
Things are fucked up.
Fucked up so bad I feel absolutely helpless and without any clear direction on how to make it better.
I haven't seen Vale in four days. Since that awful fucking night out by the airport when I had the best orgasm
of my entire freaking life, and then proceeded to lose the girl. I'm not sure that's how things are supposed to
happen.

I'm not kidding.
Best. Fucking. Orgasm. Ever.
So powerful it sucked everything out of me and left me momentarily desolate of feeling. I

was confused by the force of the response to Vale and the way in which we were fucking. The exquisite
sensitivity to her; the solid connection of our bodies and even something more than
that.
She told me she loved me, and based on how perfect those moments were right before those words tumbled
forth, I should have been throwing a dance party on cloud nine. Instead, those words pierced through me like a
molten poker straight from the fireplace, filling me with the burning pain of betrayal. It wasn't something that
lasted long, but a finite stab of anger pulsed within me toward Vale. That she could dare go back to that
revered place we both shared once long ago. I wasn't the same. She wasn't the same. What we had was
different now, and in a moment of absolute shocked confusion over what she was saying, I refused to let
myself believe that love was even possible.
And I told her such.
Things clearly eroded from there. There was a mad scramble by Vale off of my lap where she awkwardly
pulled her clothes on while I tried to make things better with a multitude of idiotic statements.
I'm sorry. We have something here. Let's talk about this.
I care for you, Vale. Surely you can see that.
Wait a minute...take a deep breath and let's figure this out.
These lame attempts to spark a conversation fell flat. She refused to look at me as she got dressed, and when
she was fully clothed and I was still bare-ass naked, she said in a soft voice, "I'd like to go home now."
I sighed and rolled over, pulling my clothes on slowly. I felt that with every article I put back on, I was heading
faster toward the demise of what we had become so far and I didn't know how to fix it. The only thing I could
think to do was smack myself on the forehead and blurt out, "Silly me . I was confused. I do, in fact, love you
too."
But I couldn't do that. It simply wasn't true, and the only explanation I had for this innate feeling of not being
able to reciprocate was because I didn't trust Vale not to hurt me again. So I, in turn, hurt her.

Yeah, I'm pretty much a douche.
After an awkwardly silent start to the journey back to her apartment, we were able to get a modicum of
conversation going. She's actually the one that started it.
I jerked when she said in such a confused voice, "I don't understand. I thought I had it figured out."
I seized the opportunity to try to get this turned around in a positive manner. Like a moron, I said, "Look..!'m
sure you were just caught up in the moment. It's easy to do that during sex. We have feelings for each other,
and sometimes they can seem multiplied when you're in the
middle of—"
"No," she cut in on me quietly. "I'm not mistaken in how I feel. I do love you. I'm just confused on about why
you don't love me back."
That shut me the fuck up, for all of about two minutes. Then as carefully as I could, with all hope still surging
that I could still salvage this with her, I said, "I can't explain it, but something inside of me just rebelled against
it, Vale. I'm just not ready to say it back."

"Why?" she pressed me, her voice sounding determined to uncover the truth as to why she was so far off the
mark.
I sighed, turned the radio completely off, and said, "Honestly..! think I don't trust you not to hurt me again. I
think the betrayal of what you did.the way you cut me loose before.I apparently just can't let it go."
I felt it before I saw it. Almost as if the temperature in the car dropped a few degrees, then I imperceptibly saw
her body tighten through my peripheral vision. I turned my head to look at her and was shocked by the flash of
anger I saw in her eyes. I expected to see contrition, but she was pissed.
"You can't let it go?" she asked incredulously.
"Apparently not," I said, with my own anger building. I felt I still deserved to be offended. I thought I still had
the right to be wary.
"You are a fucking hypocrite," she spat at me.
My head jerked to look at her again, but she turned away from me to stare out the window. She never said
another word. The minute I pulled into the players' parking lot to bring her back to her car, she jetted out faster
than lightning. I should have gone after her, but I didn't have the energy. I figured I'd give her time to cool off,
and we'd hopefully be able to talk about it more the next day. We had a road trip and I planned on sitting next
to her on the plane and we'd figure it all out. I had hoped, given time, she'd be cool with us continuing. Taking
things slowly. Giving my feelings time to develop and catch up to hers.
Yup. I'm a moron.
A moron for even thinking that I could exist in a relationship based on inequitable feelings. Totally a dumbass
for thinking that Vale was hurt less than I gave her credit for.
She didn't show up at the airport the next day for our road trip and panic surged within me. I grabbed Goose,
pulled him aside before we boarded, and demanded to know where Vale was. It was her turn to go on the road.
He just shrugged and said, "She wasn't feeling well. Called me last night and asked me to take this trip."

Okay, she's hurt and now pissed. I get it. I expected her to keep silent and ignore me for four days, so I was
beyond shocked when I called her that night from the hotel in Los Angeles and she picked up on the second
ring.
"Hey," she said softly.
My mind blanked at first, so sure that she'd ignore me. But I rallied and asked the thing that really had me
worried, because no matter my torn and twisted feelings, I never want to hurt Vale. I know what it feels like
and I don't want her to feel that way. So I asked, "Are you
okay?"
I heard her blow out a breath, and with a tired voice she said, "Yeah. I'm good. Just needed a little away time to
get my head together."
"I'm sorry," I told her sincerely. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," she said, and I could even hear an accepting smile in her voice. "But I get it. I can't judge your
feelings, just as I know you can't judge mine."
"I don't want this to end, Vale. Can we talk about this?"
"Sure," she said, and I felt a wealth of relief in that one simple word. "When you get back."

I hung up and felt more grounded. She said we could talk and that was good, right? Except she never said it
back to me that she didn't want it to end either. That could have been an oversight, but it could also have been
a roundabout way of her saying it's not going to work. This, of course, left me dazed and confused for the next
four days. I didn't try to call her again and she never called me. I'm ashamed to say this hurt, but I'm not sure
why. I'm sure she was equally as hurt.
So I played like shit in our back-to-back games against the LA Demons and the Dragons. I made stupid
penalties and got in a pissing match with Zack that was totally my fault and not his. I was grumpy and irritable,
and the only one that seemed to call me on my shit was Max when he told me last night at dinner to get my
head out of my ass. He said my attitude was "hurting the team" and I knew that to be true.
But in about fifteen minutes, the plane is going to be landing in Raleigh and I'm going to head to her apartment.
I had texted her before we boarded, asked if I could come over to talk, and she responded with just one word.
"Okay."
When I pull into her apartment complex, I almost expect to see her packing her car up, as if my dream on the
plane was prophecy. Instead, I see her waiting at the top of the staircase, sitting pensively, staring down at me.
I get out of my car, pocket the keys, and walk up the
flight.
"Hey," I say, and I'm relieved when she gives me a smile of welcome.
"Hey." Her voice is hesitant...nervous.
"Dave inside?" I ask, nodding toward her apartment door.
"He fell asleep in his recliner so I thought we could talk out here."
I nod and take a seat next to her, bumping the side of my leg against hers. I feel out of sorts, and push for that
little touch, hoping it grounds me. I don't know what to say to make this better, but I need to make it better. I'm
not ready for this to be over.

Vale surprises me by leaning toward me and resting her head on my shoulder. Her hand slips in between us
and finds mine where she grasps it. Clearing her throat, she says, "I'm sorry."
"Me too," I say quickly, because I am. So fucking sorry that I hurt her and couldn't give her what she needs.
But maybe...one day.
"I ruined what was a perfectly great night," she says apologetically. "Let my tongue and tripped-up feelings
mess things up."
This does not sit well with me. Which is odd, because for the last four days, I've wanted nothing more than
Vale to come to the same conclusion that I did that this was moving too fast. And now that she seems to be
saying that, I should be feeling immeasurable relief. Instead it makes me slightly nauseated.
That she's apologizing for her feelings.
"Vale," I say, intent on trying to ease her conscience without devaluing what was in her heart.
"I'm leaving," she says, and pulls her head up from my shoulder.

My head snaps to the right, my eyes lasering onto hers. She holds my gaze, doesn't look away in cowardice or
shame for her proclamation. She's owning this decision, and I have to wonder how she came to this.
"Leaving where?"
"I've been offered a job back at Ohio State...as an assistant athletic trainer for the women's lacrosse team.
Tryouts are in January."
My head spins, and while my inclination is to squeeze her hand in denial, I'm further thrown off balance when
she pulls her hand away. She turns on the concrete step to look directly at me. "I've already talked to Gray
Brannon. She said I can continue on until the end of the year or leave now. Dad wants to move back to Sydney,
so I'm going to help him get settled back there and then head to Columbus."
"Wait," I say, coming out of my stupor to ask with incredulity, "Just wait a minute. Is this because I couldn't
say the words back to you?"
I expect her to deny it and give me the runaround, but Vale gives me blunt honesty. "Yes. That's the exact
reason. While I'm sorry that things went down the way they did the other night, I'll never apologize for my
feelings. I do love you, Hawke, and you cannot know how painful it is knowing you don't feel the same."
"Actually, I do know how bad that feels," I say bitterly, hoping to hurt her just a tiny bit the way she's hurting
me now. "Seem to remember you doing the same to me."
Anger and hurt war within her eyes. "So I guess that makes us even, right?"
"Not the same, Vale," I say tiredly as I stand up from the concrete step and brush my jeans off. "Back then, you
cut me out of your life without any explanation. You let me go and never thought twice about me after that. I'm
quite sure this makes me sound like a pussy, but it's a bit hard to get over something like that. I'd have hoped
you'd give me a little time to grow back into this, but you want everything right now."
"I can't deny my feelings," she says as her eyes drop down to her hands, where she fiddles with her bracelet.
"And I can't conjure up feelings that may not exist," I throw back at her. Total ass comment, but I'm feeling
cornered and confused.

Vale presses her lips together in dismay as sorrow filters her gaze. She nods at me in agreement. "I know. And
that's exactly why I'm leaving. I can't stay here and continue on with a man I love down to my soul...always
have...and continue to be hurt by the fact that it's not a two-way street. I thought you had left all of that behind
us. I know I have."
"Well, yeah," I say sarcastically. "It was a little easier for you to leave it behind. You weren't the one swinging
in the wind."
Vale opens her mouth and I know that whatever she's going to say is going to have a remarkable impact on me.
I can see it in her eyes, almost as if she's decided to lay all the cards on the table and I have the uneasy
sensation that she's holding a royal flush. I brace for it, ready to have her throw me for some type of loop that
will either cement our demise or possibly shake us back to some reasonable reality.
Instead, her mouth closes and resignation sets into the firm line of her jaw. She stands up, leans forward, and
places her hands on my chest. She kisses my cheek. "Goodbye, Hawke."

I'm a proud man, yet still I'll admit that those words almost cause my knees to buckle. Something deep within
my chest rumbles and a searing need to scream at her to stay wells up inside of me. But because I'm a proud
man, I swallow against it hard and push it down. I am unwilling to see past my wall of hurt and betrayal and try
to see the truth of what she may have just said a moment ago to change the direction in which we were headed.
Which is a lonely street of heartbreak and abandonment yet again.
Except at this moment, I'm just not sure who is abandoning whom.

Chapter 264
Vale
The knock on my bedroom door startles me. I had been so deep into Dean Koontz's latest thriller that icy
shivers race up my spine from the jolt of the noise. But my dad opens the door and grins in at me, and I realize
it's not a paranormal psycho maniac coming to get me. Piper lifts her head from my lap and thumps her tail in
greeting.
"Hey, honey," my dad says, his cheeks rosy from the cold outside. "Want to come see the
tree?"
I dog-ear the page, close the book, and set it aside. My hand goes to Piper's head and scratches at her lazily.
Best thing since returning to Sydney was taking possession of my pup back from Avery. "I can't believe you
got a Christmas tree already."
We normally put our tree up on Christmas Eve and that's still ten days away.
Dad chuckles. "I feel like celebrating early this year."
Pushing Piper gently off of me, I swing my legs off my bed. Piper lays her head back down and closes her
eyes. "Oh, yeah," I tease as I walk toward him. "What could you possibly have to celebrate?"
Dad's arm comes out

i

loops around my neck, and he pulls me in for a hug. His lips press against my head and

he releases me. "Oh, let's see. My tumor is shrinking, I'm back home, and my daughter and her mutt are here
with me. Life is just damn good."
Laughing, I loop my arm with his and we step into the short hallway that leads to the living room. "Yup, life is
damn good."
Sort of.
I mean, my heart is still broken, but honestly, if I could have only one wish in the world, it would be for my dad
to beat his cancer. I'd gladly sacrifice an eternal and lasting love for my dad's life. Just sucks I can't have it all.

When we step into the living room I eyeball the massive balsam fir with an amazing scent drifting off the flat,
needlelike, and quite prickly leaves. "Geez, Dad...we're going to need to remove some of the furniture to fit
that thing in here," I chastise him as I notice the top of the tree is actually bent over against the ceiling. "And
buy more lights and ornaments, I
think."
"I'm actually going to head out in a bit and do just that," he says with a quick pinch to my cheek. "Up for
decorating it later?"
"Well, sure. I mean, no sense in having a naked tree in the house."
My dad chuckles and walks into the kitchen that sits adjacent. It's small with a tiny butcher-block island that
still bears wear and tear from all of the baking and cooking my

mom used to do before she died. It takes up too much space, but neither one of us can bear to part with it. I lean
against the counter and watch as dad pulls out a pork roast he had thawing in the fridge.
"I suppose you expect me to cook that," I say with a pointed look.
"Nope," he says proudly. "I'm going to cook dinner tonight, and even thought about making cookies too, for
dessert."
I arch an eyebrow at him. "Who are you and what have you done with my father?"
"Laugh all you want, missy, but truth is I'm bored out of my mind. If cooking keeps me occupied, you should
be grateful."
"I'm worried about food poisoning," I say dryly as I open the fridge back up and pull out a bottle of water.
"Smart-ass," he retorts affectionately. "But I have a nefarious plan. I need to fatten you up before you take off
to Columbus. You're not eating enough as it is."
I ignore that remark and twist the cap to take a sip, idly sliding my wool-sock-covered foot over the worn
linoleum. "Are you sure you don't want to come with me? I'm sure I can get a larger apartment than the one I
have reserved."
"Nope," he says surely and without hesitation. "This is my home and I'm staying. Sure you don't want to try to
find a job here and stay with me instead?"
"Nope," I say, without as much surety but no less hesitation. "I like the Buckeye organization. It's a good move
for me."
"You could apply for work with the Oilers," he suggests. "I'm sure Benny would take you
on."
Benny is the general manager of the Oilers and a longtime friend of my dad's. That could be an option, except
for the fact I'd rather any potential job go to my father. If his next MRI shows continued remission, I know
without a doubt my dad will want to go back to work. I've tried to broach that subject with him, but he shut me
down claiming, "I don't want to jinx my recovery. It's something I'll consider after the next MRI."

Luckily, we don't have to worry about finances for the immediate future. When I took Gray Brannon up on her
offer to release me immediately from the Cold Fury, I was beyond surprised when I was given a severance
check for ten thousand dollars. It was completely out of place and wholly inappropriate. I didn't deserve it, but
I knew that it came down from Brian Brannon himself, who wanted to make sure my dad would not have any
financial worries. His house payment and expenses would be more than covered when I deposited that amount
in his bank account after a knock-down-drag-out fight with him about it. While I know I should have denied
the gift, my need to make sure my dad was taken care of prevailed and I accepted the charity.
Besides, I wanted a clean, fresh start when I returned to Columbus. I'm more than feeling a burning need to
start my life over again, because it's really the only way I can leave the heartbreak behind.
"Are you going to contact Todd when you return to Columbus?" my dad asks just as I'm taking another sip of
water, and his question shocks me so much I immediately choke. After several hacking coughs and one slap to
my back by my dad's meaty hand, I get myself under control.

"Why would you even ask that?" I ask on a gasp.
"I worry about you," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Todd would take care of you."
"I can take care of myself," I say firmly, still befuddled over this. My dad wasn't the biggest fan of Todd's. He
was also just as heartbroken over the fact that Hawke and I didn't work out a second time, so I know he really
doesn't want me with someone like Todd.
"I know you can, honey. I just want you to be happy, fall in love. I want grandbabies too."
A feeling of utter loneliness sweeps through me. I had been feeling all kinds of blue the last few weeks since I
returned home and left Hawke behind, but a renewed sense of loss engulfs me as my dad painfully reminds me
that none of those things—love, happiness, children—can exist for me without the one man that I want.
The one man that refused to let go of our dark past and embrace the potential of our future.
Fuck, he makes me angry as much as he depresses me. The man I love is still an asshole who wants to
conveniently lay all the blame for our relationship's demise on my doorstep. I have never brought up the fact
that he's the one that ultimately turned his back when he wouldn't respond to my calls or email. I should have
thrown that in his face. I should have done it just to see the chagrin and shame that would have mollified me
somewhat the last few days.
That's what I should have done, but honestly, it wouldn't have made me feel better. Just made Hawke feel
shittier, so I let it go.
Again.
"Have you heard from him?" my dad asks quietly as he pulls a baking pan from the bottom cupboard.
My head jerks up in surprise. My dad and I haven't really talked about Hawke since we returned. I didn't hide
the truth of what happened. I told him I laid my heart out there, but Hawke just wasn't in the same place that I
was. I don't think my father necessarily agreed with the way I just gave up, but he understood how badly I was
hurt and thus supported my decision to leave the Cold Fury.
"Well, have you?" he presses.

My face drops back down to the floor so I have time to blink away the threatening tears. "Nope. Not a word."
"Maybe you should reach out to him," he suggests gently. "I mean...you two didn't really talk much about it.
You sort of made a unilateral decision to leave."
"It was the right decision," I protest angrily. "I can't be with someone I love who doesn't love me back."
My dad's lips press into a sympathetic smile. His eyes are sad for his daughter. "Yeah, I know. I just
thought.well, I just thought you two were it for each other, you know?"
"Yeah, I know," I agree as I walk up to my dad. I place my hands on his shoulders and look him dead in the
eye. "But I'll be okay. Given time, it will all be fine." "Yoo-hoo," I hear called out from the front of the house
as the front door opens.
"Back here, Avery," I call back. I can hear Piper jump from my bed, her nails clicking on the hardwood and
then a distinctive oomph as I imagine Piper just jumped on Avery.
"Damn beast of a dog," Avery says affectionately, and then she's walking into the kitchen

with Piper hot on her tail. While I don't question Piper's loyalty to me, there's no doubt she loves the woman
who fed and cared for her the past few months.
"Hello, hello," Avery says as she pulls her coat and hat off, throwing them on the butcher-block island. Her
gloves follow, then she's giving me a quick hug before moving on to my dad. With her arms wrapped around
him, she says, "How are you, my big teddy bear?"
Dad laughs, squeezes her back, and says, "Got a Christmas tree."
"So I saw," Avery says before shooting a wink at me. "It's so big you could build a tree house in it."
"We're having pork roast tonight if you want to come eat with us and help decorate," my dad offers.
"I can't," Avery says. "My parents invited us over for dinner tonight. Oliver and Nina too. My mom said she
had a surprise for us, so you know I'm not about to pass that up."
"She probably just wants to give you her old china set or something," I remark dryly. Avery's mom and dad
have decided to retire down to Florida after Christmas and they are unloading all of their personal effects on
the kids.
"I'll take it," Avery says as she opens the refrigerator and roots around, coming out with a Diet Coke. "Rob and
I only got enough of our china pattern as wedding presents to feed one and a half of us."
"Maybe I'll buy you a piece of china then for Christmas," my dad muses as he unwraps the pork roast.
"Don't you dare," Avery says aghast. "I much prefer jewelry." I roll my eyes and dad laughs. "Duly noted, Av."
My dad opens the oven door and goes to put the roast in. I don't say a word, but Avery doesn't hold her tongue.
"Dave...you know you have to preheat the oven first, right?"
My dad straightens and looks at her with confusion. "I was just going to turn it on now."
Avery clucks her tongue, steps forward, and removes the pan from his hands. "Dear, dear Dave...you poor
noncooking fool. And you can't just put that in without seasoning. Let me show you how to do it."
"And with that," I say, taking my cue to make myself scarce, "I'm going to take Piper for a
walk."

They both ignore me, Avery already reaching into the spice rack and giving a lecture to Dave on the proper
way to prepare a roast.

Chapter 272
Hawke
"Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes," Oliver's mom, Carly, calls out from the kitchen. "We'll eat as
soon as Avery, Rob, and Thomas get here."
The smell of Carly's poutine râpée tantalizes me and my stomach rumbles. It alone makes this hasty
spur-of-the-moment trip to visit well worth the hassle.
"Come on, man," Oliver says as he gets up from the couch where we were both sipping on beers. His dad
doesn't spare us a glance, preferring to watch TV stretched back in his recliner. Oliver's wife, Nina, who is
very lovely and also a handful, is helping Carly in the kitchen. "I need a smoke."
I follow Oliver out the front door, both of us grabbing our coats from the rack in the entryway. We step out
onto the stoop lit by a single yellow bulb and he lights up.
"Nasty habit, dude," I say as I flick my eyes to the cigarette.
"Yeah, so is scratching my balls, but you don't see me giving that up anytime soon, do you?" he says, and then
proceeds to show me just such a move.
I laugh and shake my head, leaning back against the iron porch rail that trails down the steps. "What Nina sees
in you is beyond me."
"It's true love," is all Oliver says as he takes another drag. Then he gives me a grin. "Dude... I can't believe you
just showed up."
"I had some time," I say with a shrug. "And a visit with your parents is long overdue."
I really shouldn't have taken the time to come here. The Cold Fury just finished an afternoon game in Ottawa
and we play Montreal day after next. That gave me a very small window of opportunity to hop a regional jet
here so I could visit my old stomping grounds.
And perhaps a chance meeting with Vale?

Oh, who am I fucking kidding? As much as I want to visit with Oliver and the gang, I'd be lying if I said I
wasn't pulled here by Vale. I can barely seem to go two minutes without thinking about her. Obsessing about
her.
Missing her.
So fucking much it almost makes me sick to my stomach.
Oliver nods and takes another drag, looking out over the yard. I hesitate a moment, then finally take a deep
breath. Scratching my hand through my hair, I ask, "How is she?"
His head snaps my way and his eyebrows raise up in surprise. "Who? Vale?"
"Well who else?" I snap at him. "Of course Vale."
Oliver gives me an appraising smile, takes another drag, and exhales slowly. "I haven't seen

her much. Avery sees her almost every day."
"And?" I prompt.
"And what?" he plays stupid, and I think he's enjoying this. "How is she doing?" I grit out.
"Oh," Oliver says with mock sudden awareness. "You mean, is she dying of a broken heart? Or maybe you
want to know if she's dating someone? I heard Jeff Conklin over at the hardware store was going to ask her out.
He seemed a bit hesitant at first, but I told him to go for it. Vale's as single as they come, right?"
Jeff Conklin? You got to be fucking kidding me. That douche is nowhere good enough for the likes of Vale.
We played hockey together for the Oilers but he was a hack. Got cut after the second year and stayed behind in
Sydney trying to capitalize on his brief fame and glory with the team. Oliver told me he's been married and
divorced twice since then.
"She'll say no," I say confidently, hoping beyond hope she'd say no to someone like him.
To anyone, really.
The thought of her with someone else.
Oliver shrugs his shoulders, takes another drag of his cigarette. His lips turn upward in an evil grin. "You're
probably right. I mean, isn't her ex in Columbus? She'll probably go back to
him."
The snarl that comes out of my mouth surprises me as much as the fact that my hands involuntarily tighten into
firsts, feeling an uncanny need to punch Oliver. I know what he's doing...trying to goad me into something, but
I'm just not sure what.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" I hear from behind me, and turn around to see Avery walking toward us,
holding hands with an adorable little boy that is clearly her son, Thomas. A tall man with a buzzed haircut
follows behind.

"Well, hello, Avery," I greet her mildly, no surprise over her snotty tone. I shoot a quick smile to the little boy,
who looks up at me with wide eyes. I squat down so I'm not towering over him as he stares up at me from the
bottom porch step. "And who are you?"
He flashes me a grin and says, "I'm Thomas. Who are you?"
"He's no one," Avery says as she walks up the steps with his hand still firmly gripped in hers. He stares at me
as they brush past, Avery refusing to look at me. I stand back up, watching as Avery opens the storm door.
"That's rude, Av," Oliver chides as he flicks the cherry off the end of his cigarette into the surrounding
darkness.
Avery's husband walks up the steps, sticks his hand out to me. "I'm Rob. Nice to meet you."
"Hawke," I say as I shake his hand. He doesn't seem to hold any animosity toward me.
He nods, gives me a sympathetic smile, and moves past me to follow Avery into the house. The door shuts
quietly behind them.
"Well, that could have been worse," I say as I lean back against the iron railing. When Carly said she was
having everyone over for dinner, I figured Avery would be baring her teeth at me. I'm quite sure Vale filled her
in on everything that went down between us, and I know based upon my last conversation with her at The Fox
and Hound that she's got to be feeling some major disappointment in me.

The front door flies open again, and then Avery is barreling back outside. Oliver steps hastily back to avoid
getting hit by the storm door.
"It's about to get worse," he mutters.
Avery walks right up to me and I stand up straighter, preparing myself for her rage. Better get it over with so
we can move past this.
"You're such an asshole," she hisses at me. "A complete and utter fucking asshole."
"Avery," Oliver says in warning, but she spins on him.
"Shut it, Oliver. He needs to hear this."
I try for nonchalant indifference, because I know it will piss her off even more. I cross my arms over my chest,
arch a skeptical eyebrow, and practically croon at her. "Tell me, Avery. just how do you figure me to be an
asshole?"
I know the answer to this, of course, but I'm feeling the need to do battle. The truth is, I've been feeling guilty
about the way things went down. I have this undeniable feeling that I've missed something important. That
maybe my feelings were misguided, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why. Perhaps she can give me
some clarity through a good old-fashioned fight, because about the only thing I know for sure is that I miss
Vale so fucking much and I don't see how to fix this.
Avery takes a deep breath, a concerted effort on her part to stay rational in the face of her anger. She lets it out
in a quick huff and says, "Because you hold a double standard. Because you won't accept responsibility for
your own failures. Because you want to blame Vale for your relationship ending all those years ago when it's
just as much your fault."
I give a short bark of amused laughter. "That won't work on me, Avery. Vale and I cleared the air about that
night. She told me what happened with the miscarriage. I was wrong for not leaving that party with her, but she
was wrong in not giving me the opportunity to make it right. She didn't call me and just cut me out without a
word of explanation. So forgive me if I can't quite let that go at this point. It's not something that's easy to

forget and frankly, that's on Vale's shoulders. She should have given me time; we were working on things, but
she didn't want to give me the time to catch up to her. She was able to let it go a lot easier than I was."
"Not only are you an asshole but you're a moron as well," she sneers.
"I'm not an asshole," I grit out. "I was truthful with Vale. I told her my feelings as they were, no sugar coating.
That's not being an asshole. That's being honest."
Avery gives an amused, condescending laugh. "How about turning that honest spotlight on yourself for a
minute, Hawke. Have you ever once considered that none of this shit would have ever happened had you just
returned her calls. Or her fucking email, for God's sake. She may have made a terrible mistake in breaking up
with you, but she tried to rectify it, and you're the one that turned your back on her at that point. It was so
fucking childish for you to do that, I don't even see why Vale could just so easily forgive you for it and let it go
herself. She's definitely the bigger person."
Somewhere around the statement when Avery said, "She tried to rectify it," my blood literally froze in my
veins and the back of my neck prickled with unease. A tight ball of anxiety lodged deep within my chest,
making it difficult to breathe.
"What do you mean," I say, enunciating my words slowly to try to control the shaking of

my voice, "she tried to rectify it?"
Avery rolls her eyes at me. "Please...don't play stupid. I'm talking about her calls to you after you left and the
way you ignored her. Refused to call her back."
"And an email?" I ask, my throat so dry and gritty feeling.
"Of course an email," Avery huffs out. "But after you didn't respond, she gave up." "I didn't get any
voicemails," I assert confidently.
"Liar," she hisses at me. "I suppose you'll deny her email too. She reached out to you and you turned your back
on her."
I drop my arms away from my chest and stand up even straighter, towering over Avery. I lean down, and with
rage filling me, I growl at her, "I didn't get any fucking voicemails, and as far as an email."
My mind races back to that time. Seven years was forever ago, but I'm not surprised I didn't see an email. I
wasn't a big email communicator, and as soon as I got to Pittsburgh, I was given an email with the
organization. I handed that out to my family to use and that was that. I was lucky if I checked it once a week
and my old email was left in the dust.
I could log on to it now. I'm sure it still exists, but I don't even fucking remember what the password is. Would
there be an email from Vale spilling her guts to me from long ago? Would she tell me she lied about not loving
me? Would she want me back?
The idea of it is almost too horrible to bear, because that means there was so much time fucking wasted. So
much misery that could have been avoided, and oh, fuck.my refusal to give in to my renewed feelings for her.
All borne of my inner demon-child who was still bitter and angry, and perhaps wanted to punish Vale.
Turning my back on Avery, I scrub both hands through my hair, trying to think. How did I not get her
voicemails? My mind races, trying to remember what was going on in my life those first few weeks after I got
to Pittsburgh. I started training camp, moved into an apartment. Went out partying with my new teammates,
fucked around and tried to purge Vale from my mind.

And then it hit me as clear as day. I had lost my phone on one of those early nights living the high life in my
new city. Had gone out, got drunk, fucked some chick, and ended up staying all night at her apartment. I snuck
out the next morning and it wasn't until about midday that I realized I didn't have my phone. I assumed I left it
at her place and didn't want to go back for it. So I went out with my new money burning a hole in my bank
account and bought the newest and most high-speed smartphone out there. I got a new number, proud of my
new Pittsburgh area code, and I only gave it out to my teammates and family.
"Son of a fucking bitch," I groan out as I look up toward the sky, clasping my hands on top of my head. My
lungs constrict and I feel on the verge of hyperventilating.
"Are you seriously trying to act like you didn't know?" Avery asks skeptically, but I can hear the heat has gone
of out of her voice.
I don't turn back to look at her, but continue staring up at the sky. It's dark and cloud covered, not even the
moon visible. It makes the gulf between me and Vale seem very bleak at this point.
"I lost my phone not long after I got to Pittsburgh," I say quietly. "I got a new one. New

number." "But her email," she presses.
"Never saw it. Got a new email too," I say, the urge to bend over and vomit now hitting me hard. "Got a whole
new fucking life and never looked back."
"Oh," Avery says quietly, and I can clearly hear the pity in her voice right now.
"That sucks, dude," Oliver says.
Yeah, this fucking sucks, and my knees almost buckle as I realize that Vale had already forgiven me for that.
She let that go and didn't hold it against me. She was honestly trying to make a new and fresh start with me.
She gave in to feelings and emotion, and she let herself love me again without an ounce of regret or fear, even
thinking I had ignored her attempts.
She's completely the bigger person of the two of us. That's one thing Avery got right.
Spinning around, I look at Avery, daring her to lie to me. "Where is she?"
She blinks at me in surprise but immediately says, "At Dave's house. They're decorating their Christmas tree."
I spin back around and trot down the steps, reaching into my pocket for the key to the rental car I got at the
airport. Calling over my shoulder, I say, "Tell your mom I'm sorry but I can't stay for dinner."
I hear Oliver's laugh, hearty and pleased, and then I leave that all behind.
I've got some major groveling to do if I'm going to get my girl back.

Chapter 281
Vale
"I can't believe how good these cookies are," I say as I take another one from the plate sitting on the coffee
table. Just one more, I promise myself.
"Makes up for the completely dried-out pork roast, right?" my dad says with a chuckle as he carefully places a
metallic green glass ball on the tree.
"It wasn't that bad," I say kindly, but oh, wow...it was bad. No wonder I'm eating my fifth cookie of the night.
"Baking is apparently my forte," he muses, choosing to accept my kind sentiment about what was possibly the
world's worst roast.
"You be in charge of baking, I'll take back cooking duties."
"Deal," he agrees, and reaches into the box for another ornament. As he places a hook through the small wire
loop, his voice takes on a bit of a dreamy cast. "I know you probably can't remember, but decorating the tree is
one of my best memories of your mom. She loved this stuff so much."
I smile sadly, because my memories of her are so faded. It just seems like it was always dad and me together,
my memories of her coming at the hands of dad's sentimental recollections. But I know their love was true. He
never sought anyone else after she was gone, preferring not to fight a losing battle in the quest to find that
perfect love again.
And boy, do I understand that sad thought. I know I might be shortsighted at the moment, but I can't imagine
finding anyone else like Hawke. I think he was the perfect one for me. Well, at least I thought that until I
realized his power of forgiveness just isn't that strong, and unfortunately, that's a deal breaker.
I chew on my cookie and pick up an ornament from the box. It's silver with frosted snowflake patterns, and
twinkles at me merrily from the white lights that are glowing brightly on the tree. I try desperately to call forth
some Christmas spirit, try to remember how I used to love this time of the year and would just be warm and
gooey inside from the peace that seems to permeate the air.

Unfortunately, I feel cold and hollow inside, and I know that I'm only going through the motions to appease
my father. But that's okay. Like he said, we have a lot to be celebrating this year. And hopefully we'll have the
year after, and the year after that. I need to be happy with those unique and special gifts.
A knock on the door has both Dad and me turning that way. He arches an eyebrow at me and I shrug my
shoulders. Piper gets up from her place in front of the fireplace and trots down the hall, her tail wagging
eagerly at the prospect of company.

"Probably Avery," I muse as I place the silver ball on the tree and brush the remaining cookie crumbs from my
hands onto my jeans. "She probably just wants our cookies."
"I'll go put the rest on a plate and start a kettle for some tea," my dad says as he turns to the kitchen.
I saunter down the hallway, grinning as Piper's tail starts wagging even harder as I get closer. I give her a quick
scratch on the butt and grab the door handle, twisting the knob and pulling it open.
And there stands what I think may be a mirage. Tall, piercing blue eyes, trimmed beard set over a gorgeously
fantastic face.
Hawke.
I blink and my mouth parts, a soft gasp of surprise whispering out.
"Hey," he says quietly, his eyebrows furrowed in what looks to be pain.
"What are you doing here?" I blurt out as Piper steps onto the porch. She shoves her muzzle into his crotch, tail
wagging a hundred miles an hour. Hawke bends to gently push her head back and scratches it absently while
his eyes never move from mine.
"We had games in Ottawa and Montreal. I made a quick jump over here to visit Oliver and his parents."
"Oh," I say, but not really understanding why that puts him on my front porch. I shove my hands in my pocket
and drop my gaze, not a clue as to what to say.
My heart is beating fast, his proximity to me disconcerting. My brain whirls with possibility but refuses to
believe even for a moment that he's here to tell me he's made a mistake. I know Hawke...once you shut the
door on him, he doesn't knock back on it.
"Can I come in?" he asks, and my head snaps up.
"What?" I immediately ask, and then realize that's stupid. I back up and make room for him to pass. "Yes,
sorry...of course, come in."
Hawke steps past me and I catch a whiff of subtle, spicy cologne and fresh cold air he drags in with him. I close
the door and turn to find him walking into the living room, Piper trotting alongside full of puppy curiosity.

"Hawke?" my dad asks in surprise as he returns from the kitchen and sees him.
"Hey, Dave," Hawke says hesitantly, and I know he's wondering how my father feels about him...the man that
broke his daughter's heart a second time.
My dad just stares, seemingly at a loss for words. I walk slowly into the living room, my hands tucked into my
pockets again to hide the fact they're slightly shaking.
"Those cookies look great," Hawke says as he nods toward the plate in my dad's hands.
"Want one?" my dad says, and then shoots a questioning glance my way. I just shrug my shoulders and hold on
to my silence.
"Actually," Hawke says as he turns to me, his gaze wary and needful all at the same time. "I
need to talk to Vale."
"Okay," my dad says a little more exuberantly than needed. He sets the plate of cookies down on the table. "I
think I'll just head down to the pub for a beer with the boys. Give you two some privacy."

I don't say a word. Not even a friendly reminder to my dad that he can only have one beer. I just watch as he
grabs his coat from the rack in the living room corner and shrugs it on. He steps up to me, kisses me on the
cheek, and whispers, "Don't be too tough on him. That boy is here to apologize."
I blink in surprise but give him a soft smile of understanding. I'd like to say I'm angry at Hawke, and maybe I
am just a little, but I have no desire to rail against him. I just don't have it in me to compound the pain either
one of us is feeling. Besides, Hawke carries enough of that for both of us.
Once my dad is gone, Hawke glances at the tree. "It's nice."
"Yeah," I agree quietly. "Dad wanted to get it up early.celebrate, you know?"
Hawke nods and strokes his beard, cutting his eyes back over to me. "I saw Avery a bit ago."
"Did she slap you?" I can't help but asking, because that would be so Avery.
"Sort of," he says, and I cock my head in curiosity, but he doesn't make me wait for it. "She told me you tried
to call me after we broke up. Sent an email. Felt like a slap."
My jaw drops open and I narrow my eyes at him. "You sound like it was a revelation to
you."
"It was," he agrees somberly. "And it had the force of a punch now that I think about it."
"You didn't know?" I ask incredulously. It's not that I don't believe him, it's just that this now starts to make
complete sense.
"I didn't. Not until about fifteen minutes ago."
"I don't understand...how?"
"I had lost my phone; got a new one with a new number. I never checked my email. That shouldn't surprise
you. Got a new email, which I never checked either, but that's moot...you didn't have it so you couldn't have
reached out that way."
Hawke never knew I tried to make things right?

More important, Hawke wasn't purposely ignoring me. He wasn't trying to hurt me back. He was just.ignorant
of it all.
"No wonder you couldn't let it go," I muse in wonder as I look down at the carpet. Looking at him hurts a little
too much. "I mean..! knew I'd hurt you badly, but now I get it. You really did think I cut you out completely.
Shut the door and never looked back."
"That's what I thought," he agrees, and takes a step toward me. His legs come into view and then I feel his
hands on my shoulders.
"Vale," he says softly, and I tilt my face up. "I didn't know, but trust me...had I known, I would never have
ignored you. Granted, I probably wouldn't have seen the email, but had I got those voice messages.please
believe me, I would have called back."
"I believe you," I say automatically, but take a step back from him. His hands drop and he winces as if the
distance hurts. "But if you're here to tell me that changes things—" "It changes everything," he whispers.
"No," I say with a shake of my head and a surge of anger. "It only reinforces that my love survived hurt and
betrayal but yours wasn't strong enough." "It may not have been strong enough," he says with determination,
and his hands come

back up to my shoulders. He grips me gently, pulling me a little closer. "It may have been buried...even
shrouded so I couldn't see it, but it was there." "No," I say in denial, refusing to believe that it could be so.
"Yes," he says harshly, digging his fingers in reflexively. "I was ignorant, stupid, whatever. But don't tell me
that it's not love. Don't you dare try to tell me what I feel right now. You have no right."
"No right?" I ask incredulously, my hands coming up to slap his chest. I start to push him backward then my
fingers curl into his shirt. I pull and give a shake. "I have no right to doubt you and your feelings? You...the
man who thinks it's good enough to fuck me and take everything I had to give, but couldn't even recognize
what was standing right in front of him."
"You have no right," he says as his hands drop to circle around my wrists, holding me pinned there, "because
you are the woman who forgives above all else. Even when you thought I had received those messages.when
you thought I had just cut you off without a backward glance, you forgave me and you opened yourself up to
me again. I refuse to believe you won't do it a third time. You still love me, Vale. I know you do. And I love
you. So much it physically hurts when I think that I may have fucked this up for good. I am begging you not to
close that door again. To give us another chance."
Tears pool in my eyes, something that would ordinarily embarrass me, but I blink without hesitation and let
them break free. They make warm trails down my cheek that immediately chill in the air. "I'm scared," I say in
a small voice. "I laid myself out there, opened myself up, and when you didn't give it back, you can't begin to
imagine how badly that hurt."
"You're wrong," Hawke says as his arms wrap around my upper back. He contracts, pulling me all the way in
so my cheek turns to rest against his chest. "I do know how it feels. I'm not playing the blame game, but just
reminding you...you told me once you didn't love me, and I remember that feeling so sharply, it feels just like
yesterday. So I k n o w . I know how bad it feels, but I'm also here to tell you, we both have the power to make
that go away for good."

"How?" I ask, still wanting to rebel against this notion because it's so terrifying, but finding myself snuggling
into his embrace. "How do we have the power?"
"Do you really love me?" he asks gently, one hand stroking my back.
I nod into his chest. "Yes."
"Do you believe I love you? Do you accept it?"
"I don't—"
He doesn't let me finish my doubtful thoughts. He pulls back, frames my face with his hands. His thumbs dry
the tears from my cheeks and he leans in to whisper a gentle kiss across my lips. My eyes close in a silent sigh,
and when I open them back up, he's staring at me intently.
"Vale," he says with quiet resolve. "I've always loved you. Even when I thought I hated you, I always loved
you. It's why I was never in another relationship. It's why I couldn't leave you alone when you came back into
my life. I may have been too stubborn to give a name to it, foolishly hiding behind a mask of anger, but you
have to know, thinking back over the last few months...everything we've shared, and talked about, every time
we've made love, or just held each other. Every joke and smile and every fucking moment of amazing silence
between us. You have to k n o w . yo u have to admit, that was my love for you. Think about it. Search

deep. Tell me you know it." Tell me you know it, he pleads desperately. And I r e a l i ze . I do know it.
I knew it with utter clarity that night by the airport where he brought me out to toast my dad's amazing miracle,
and when he made love to me wrapped in cool November air...
I felt it. It wasn't in anything he said. He didn't give me promises or sweet words of encouragement. I just...felt
it. It's why I was so compelled to tell him that I loved him. I was sure of our feelings for each other, so much so
that I took the risk of getting hurt. I put myself out there, and yes, he did hurt me because he couldn't say it
back right then, still too burdened down with the ambiguity of our stupid past, but definitely.I knew it just as
sure as I know the air I breathe is a necessity.
"You loved me," I say in revelation. "You just wouldn't believe it yourself."
"Yes," he groans in relief. "I was scared."
"Hurt," I add.
"Stupid," he says with a smile and I smile back. "A little slow on the uptake," I offer kindly instead.
He laughs, bends to kiss me again before agreeing. "A little slow, but I'm caught up now."
My hands come up, clasp onto his wrists. I stare into the blue depths of his eyes, filled with love, happiness,
and the relief that comes with knowing all is right in my world.
"So where do we go from here?" I ask him.
"Anywhere we want to," he tells me, and this I believe as well.

Epilogue
Hawke
Brian Brannon's house is a monstrosity. Which is good, because you need a place built like a palace to hold all
the members of the Cold Fury organization for a Christmas party. It's his traditional party held every year on
Christmas Eve, as long as the Cold Fury isn't out of town on a road trip. This year, we're here and ready to
celebrate the holiday as teammates and friends.
There's a commotion over near the bar that's tended by two people, dressed in crisp white shirts and red and
green plaid bow ties. They'll mix any cocktail you can imagine and the liquor is flowing freely. As is the army
of taxis waiting outside to act as designated drivers, all paid for, of course, by Mr. Brannon himself.
I see a large crowd of teammates and their respective partners engulfing Garrett and Olivia. It takes me all of
two seconds to see by the wide smile on her face, the even wider smile on Garrett's and the way she holds her
left hand out for inspection to all who will look, that an engagement has happened.
Nice.
Very nice.
I'd like to see the same happen in my life, but I have to wonder if it will occur. So far, Vale has been cagey and
secretive as to her immediate future plans, but I'm committed to working on her. It is, after all, true love.
I walk over to the crowd, push my way in, and clap Garrett on the back. "Looks like congratulations are in
order, man."
"She said yes," he says, completely drunk on love and excitement.
Olivia presents her left hand. "Behold the power of love."
I take her hand, pull the ring up for inspection, and say dryly, "I would have thought he'd get you a bigger
rock."
Olivia snorts and pulls her hand away, putting it up in front of her face to examine it closely. "It's the most
beautiful ring ever."

"It's three fucking carats," Garrett grumbles, and I laugh, clapping him on the shoulder again.
"You did good," I praise him. "She's a lucky girl."
"I'm the lucky one," he says as his arm goes around her, pulling her in. She rests that left hand on his stomach,
the ring glinting and sparkling prettily.
"Is Vale coming?" Olivia asks.
I shake my head and try not to sound like a baby. "She's flying in tomorrow. Wanted to

spend Christmas eve with her dad." "How long will she stay?" Garrett asks.
"A week, and then she has to start her new job," I say, even as I fight against the downward pull of my lips in
dismay. It's still a sore spot that she insisted on heading to Columbus. She said she had to go where the
opportunity was, and right now, she needed a job. Didn't matter that I offered to support her. Told her she
could move in with me and that I'd take care of her.
She just rolled her eyes at me as if that was the most stupid suggestion in the world, but then mollified me
somewhat when she said, "Just until their season ends, then I'll try to find something in the Raleigh area."
Which was a good bet that she would. With three major NCAA universities, all abounding with excellent
collegiate athletic programs, she was bound to find something good. It's just..! want her fucking here, now. It's
funny, once I opened myself up and received the powerful gift of her love, I've found myself swimming in
misery with this long-distance shit. Can't fucking stand it.
A clinking on a glass gets our attention and I turn to see Brian Brannon standing at the head of the large, open
living room with vaulted ceiling. He gives a few more raps on the crystal glass of champagne with his Stanley
Cup commemorative ring, and it makes me want one of those suckers on my finger badly. I think we've got a
great shot this year.
"If I can have everyone's attention," he says loudly, and the last of the chatter dies down. Waiters circulate with
trays of champagne, and I take one along with Garrett and Olivia.
Once everyone has a glass in hand, he says, "I just want to thank everyone for coming. Fellowship and
camaraderie are important in this organization, and this time of the year is most excellent to celebrate those
friendships. I understand we have some good news tonight...looks like our own Garrett and Olivia have gotten
engaged. Let's wish the happy couple well."
Everyone cheers, hoots, and hollers. Olivia blushes prettily and Garrett puffs his chest out.

When the well wishes die down, Brian continues. "We have some more exciting news," he says as he turns to
look at his daughter, Gray, standing beside him. She stands next to her husband, Ryker, who has his arm
wrapped around her waist.
"Gray and Ryker have generously given me permission to make an absolute fool of myself tonight, so without
further a d o . "
And here, Brian turns to his daughter and places a hand on her stomach. His voice is completely choked up
when he says, "It appears these two are going to make all my dreams come true and give me a grandchild. The
baby is due in May."
Gasps of surprise and delight tumble forth from many a mouth. People call out congratulations and raise their
champagne glasses, as Brian kisses Gray on the cheek. She is beaming brighter than I think she smiled this
past summer when the Cold Fury hoisted the Cup. My eyes catch Ryker's and I raise my glass, giving him a
meaningful nod of happiness for the dude.
And even though I couldn't be more happy for Garrett, Olivia, Ryker, and Gray, it makes it painfully obvious
how lacking my own love life is right at this moment. My girlfriend.my l o v e r .th e woman who I love more
than life itself and who should be with me at this moment, is sitting fifteen hundred miles away in Sydney. I
feel like a whiny brat, so I take a

deep sip of champagne and figure I'll get drunk tonight because tomorrow it will be all better. I'll be wrapped
up in some Vale Campbell, and that will be bliss. We haven't seen each other since I left Sydney ten days ago,
and the first thing I'm going to do when I get her alone is strip her naked, take my mouth and—
More clinking on the crystal glass and Brian Brannon is getting everyone's attention again. The chatter dies
once more and everyone stares at him with happy smiles fueled by Veuve Clicquot bubbles.
"We have one more announcement, then we can get busy with some serious Christmas cheer and celebration,"
Brian says. "Like I said before, we're a family. I cherish each and every person in this room, and there isn't
much I wouldn't do for the lot of you hacks."
Everyone laughs. Brian beams back at the crowd.
"So, it's with absolute pleasure that I get to spring another surprise on you. I'd like everyone to welcome back
to the team Vale C a mp b el l . "
Brian goes on to say something else, about her accepting a new job offer with the team, yada, yada, yada, but
my head is turning left and right, trying to find her. He did say Vale Campbell, right?
My heart feels like it's about to jump out of my chest as I realize people are staring at me as I vainly scan the
crowded room.
But then a small tap comes to my shoulder from behind me, and I whip around in a frenzy of excited
expectation.
And there she is.
Gorgeously beautiful, a mischievous smile on her face. I vaguely notice her dad standing behind her.
"Hey, lover," she says as she cocks her head at me. A few people clap me on my back, voices raise in
congratulations, and then the din sort of melts away as I'm staring at her in disbelief.
"You're coming back to work for the Cold Fury?" I ask, still stunned to see her standing here before me.
She steps toward me, places her hands at my hips. Smiling up at me with sparkling eyes, she chuckles. "Gray
Brannon presented me with an offer I couldn't refuse."

"A big raise?" I guess.
She shakes her head. "Nope. Same salary, but merely the opportunity to be with you."
"Sounds like a good deal," I admit with a smirk as my arms wrap around her. I pull her in, squeeze the breath
out of her, and then just hold her tight. My eyes slide over her head to see Dave smiling at us, and then turn
toward Brian, who hands him a glass of champagne.
"When did you decide this?" I ask her, my heart now starting a steady beat of jubilation.
"A few days ago. Figured I'd surprise you."
"You're rotten," I chastise. "You could have been here this entire time."
"And ruin this surprise?" she asks as she pulls back and looks at me with mock offense.
Sliding one hand to the back of her neck, I reel her in for a kiss. It's instantly deep and slightly arousing, and I
want to grab a cab right this minute and hightail it back to my house. My Christmas dreams will come fully
true once I can sink down deep inside of her. It's been forever since we've made love, that one night in Sydney
ten days ago having been spent

chastely holding her all night in her bed, b e c au s e . we ll , no sex with Dave in the house. "I'm moving in with
you," she says abruptly the minute my lips pull free from hers. Well, duh...of course she's moving in with me. I
give her a gracious smile. "And I'll take up all of your closet space, just so you know," she adds. Sounds
fucking fantastic to me.
"And I'll probably bitch at you to keep your dirty clothes off the floor. Just in case you were wondering, that
hasn't changed about me."
I laugh, give her another quick kiss, and say, "Well, just as long as you know I haven't changed either. I still
throw my clothes on the floor."
"We're a match made in heaven," she quips.
"So much so that if you're going to move in with me, take up my closet space, and bitch at me like a nagging
wife, we might as well go ahead and get married."
She blinks at me in surprise, the playful smile sliding off her face. "Is that a proposal?"
"Not a very good one I'm thinking," I say as I realize that was probably about as unromantic as you could be.
"Perhaps I should have said—"
"I accept," she says quickly, beaming a new, refreshed, and bigger smile at me.
"You do?" I ask, stunned.
"Well, yeah," she says as her hands come to my face. She strokes my beard and gives me a tiny pat. "I mean,
how could I say n o . wh en it gives me full permission to be the nagging
wife?"
And it hits me all of a sudden.
She said yes.
She's going to marry me.
Be mine forever.
And ever.

My hands shoot to her face, and I pull her in quickly for a hard kiss. I'm sealing the deal. She's laughing when
I release her but I pay no mind. I call out over the noise of the crowd, and finally put my fingers in my mouth
to whistle sharply. The room goes silent, and when I have everyone's attention, I call out with the biggest
fucking grin on my face, "Hey everyone... I've got an announcement to make."

To Sue, Gina, Matt, Erika, and Ashleigh...my Random House Loveswept team. Never could I
do this without you.

B

Y

S

AWYER

B

ENNETT

Cold Fury Hockey Series Alex Garrett Zack Ryker Hawke Max (coming soon)

Sugar Bowl
Sugar Daddy (coming soon)

The Off Series
OffSides Off Limits Off the Record Off Course Off Chance
Off Season Off Duty

The Last Call Series
On the Rocks Make It a Double Sugar on the Edge
With a Twist Shaken Not Stirred

The Legal Affairs Series Objection Stipulation Violation
Mitigation Reparation
Affirmation Confessions of a Litigation God

The Forever Land Chronicles Forever Young

Stand-Alone Titles If I Return Uncivilized

PHOTO: MARIE KILLEN
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author S

AWYER

B

ENNETT

is a snarky southern woman and

reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all the stories that were floating in her head.
Her husband works for a Fortune 100 company that lets him fly all over the world while she stays at home with
their daughter and three big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Bennett would like to report that she doesn't have
many weaknesses, but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate.
Sign up at Sawyer Bennett's website to receive her newsletter straight to your inbox. Want more from Sawyer
Bennett?

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The Editor's Corner
March into romance this month with Loveswept—snuggle up with your e-reader and our new books to escape
the chill of those cold winter nights.
Who doesn't love naked men? In Christi Barth's Risking It All, friends bonded by tragedy fight for their future
with strong and sassy women. In New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff's Lovegame, a damaged
starlet bares her soul—and falls for the one man who cares enough to listen. Speaking of games, New York
Times bestselling author Violet Duke kicks off her sizzling-hot new Fourth Down series with a
friends-to-lovers romance between a no-strings-attached sports analyst and the hottest damn tomboy he's ever
met in Jackson's Trust. As Sawyer Bennett's New York Times bestselling Cold Fury series continues with
Hawke, the league's most notorious party animal gets blindsided by the one that got away. The world of
extreme sports just got a little steamier in Zoe Dawson's Ramping Up. Second chances are sweeter than ever
for a reformed bully who's more than just a jock in Charlotte Stein's next installment of the steamy Dark
Obsession series, Never Sweeter. And Shana Gray's provocative new novel features a resilient fighter going
round for tantalizing round with the one that got away in After the Hurt.
For history fans, the Highland Knights series continues with a tight-knit band of Scottish mercenaries in USA
Today bestselling author Jennifer Haymore's Highland Awakening. Don't miss the first book in USA Today
bestselling author Ashlyn Macnamara's charming new regency romance trilogy, To Lure a Proper Lady.
And for those contemporary romance fans, there's a new voice in romance you won't want to miss—A. M.
Madden—who cleans up the city streets in the first book in her new True Heroes series, Stone Walls, featuring
hot alpha men on the NYPD force. New York Times bestselling author Marquita Valentine ratchets up the
tension as new beginnings lead to undeniable passion in After We Fall. And in Resist, a sizzling novel from
New York Times bestselling author Missy Johnson, a young journalist goes undercover in a world of desire.
I'm sad to say it's over...but it's not over over, as there is a bouquet of beautiful romances awaiting you in
April!

Until next month—Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel Associate Publisher

Read on for an excerpt from
Max
Cold Fury Hockey Series by Sawyer Bennett
Available from Loveswept

Chapter 310
Max
I stick the nozzle in my gas tank, depress the handle, and flip the catch down to hold it in place. Letting the gas
flow on its own, I head across the nearly empty parking lot to the gas station, which is lit up like a bright
beacon out here on Possum Track Road. I'm starved and I know my fridge is empty at home, so I'm going to
break down and buy some junk food for my dinner. I just won't tell Vale about it, as I don't feel like listening to
her bitch at me.
Vale Campbell.pretty as hell and nice to look at, but I dread having to hang out with her. That's because she's
one of the assistant athletic trainers for the Cold Fury, and most important, working with me on my strength
and conditioning. She would most certainly say Snickers, Cheez-Its, and root beer are not on my approved list,
and then she'd have me doing burpees, mountain climbers, and box jumps until I puked.
Pulling the door open, I immediately see two guys at the cooler checking out the stock of beer. Both wearing
wifebeaters stained with grease and faded ball caps. I, myself, pull my own hat down farther to hide my face,
as I don't feel like getting recognized tonight. It's late, I want to get my junk food and get gone. We've got an
early morning practice tomorrow.
I turn right down the first aisle, which houses the chips and other such snacks, slightly aware the other two
customers are heading to the counter to check out. I keep my back to them just to be safe and peruse the
options.
Funyuns.
Potato chips.
Doritos.
Corn nuts.

Reaching for a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips, I hear one of the guys drawl in a typical North Carolina
redneck accent, "Hey, sweet thang. How 'bout a pack of Marlboro Reds and how 'bout handing me that there
box of condoms. The extralarge size."
The redneck's companion snickers, and then snorts. I turn slightly to see them both shoot conspiratorial grins
at each other, and one guy nudges the other guy to egg him on. While the clerk turns to get the condoms, the
redneck leans across the counter and stares blatantly at the woman's ass. The other guy says loud enough that
I hear, so I know the woman hears, " M m m m m. t h a t is a fine ass."
Turning my body full so I face the counter, I see the woman's back stiffen and she turns her face to the left to
look at a closed doorway beside the rack that holds all of the cigarettes. I'm wondering if perhaps a manager or
another employee is in there, and she's hoping for some help.

But she doesn't wait and turns to face the two assholes, squaring her shoulders.
And god damn...she's breathtaking. Looking past the red and gold polyester vest she wears with a name
tag—clearly a uniform—I see her face is flawless. Creamy skin that glows, high cheekbones, a straight nose
that tilts slightly at the end, and full lips that look sexily puffed even though they are flattened in a grimace.
Her hair is not blond, but not brown. I'd describe it as caramel with honey streaks and it's pulled back from her
face in a ponytail with a low fall of bangs falling from left to right across her forehead.
While she faces the two men resolutely, I can see wariness in her eyes as she sets the cigarettes and condoms
on the counter in front of them. "Will that be all?"
Her voice has a southern accent but it's subtle. She looks back and forth between the two men, refusing to
lower her gaze.
Redneck number one nods to the twelve-pack of beer he had placed on the counter and says, "That was the last
of the Coors. You got any in your storage room?"
"Nope, that's it," she says firmly, and I can tell it's a lie.
"Are ya sure?" he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter and leering at her. "Maybe you could c h eck . I could
help you if you want, and we could make use of them condoms there."
I'd roll my eyes over the absurdity of that attempt to woo a girl who is way out of his league, but I'm too tense
over the prospect that this could be more than just some harmless goofing by some drunk rednecks.
"What do you say, sweet thang?" he says in what he tries to pass as a suave voice but comes off as trailer trash.
"I say there's no more beer back there," she grits out, gives a look over her shoulder to the closed door, and
then back to the men.
And that was a worried look.
A very worried look, so I decide that this isn't going any further. Grabbing the closest bag of chips my hand
makes contact with, I stalk up the aisle toward the counter as I pull my hat off with my other hand. I tuck it in

my back pocket, and when I'm just a few feet from the men, the woman's eyes flick to me, relief evident in her
gaze. I smile at her reassuringly and flick my eyes down to her name tag.
Julianne.
Pretty name for a really pretty girl.
The sound of my footsteps finally penetrates and both men straighten to their full heights, which are still a few
inches below mine, and turn my way. My eyes go to the first man, then move slowly to the other, leveling them
both with an ice-cold glare. With the power of my gaze, I dare both of them to say something else to the beauty
behind the counter.
Because I suspect the only sports these guys watch are bass fishing tournaments and NASCAR, I'm not
surprised neither one recognizes me as the Carolina Cold Fury's starting goalie. Clearly the lovely Julianne
doesn't either, but that's also fine by me.
The sound of Julianne's fingers tapping on the register catches everyone's attention and the two men turn back
to her. "That will be $19.86."
One of the guys pulls a wallet from the back pocket of his saggy jeans and pulls out a twenty, handing it to her
wordlessly. Now that they know there's an audience, neither one

seems intent on continuing the crass game they were playing. At least I think that was a game, but I'm just glad
I was here in case their intentions were more nefarious.
Julianne hands the guy his change and they gather their purchases and leave without a word.
As soon as the door closes, her shoulders drop and she lets out a sigh of relief. Giving me a weak smile, she
looks at the bag in my hand and says, "Is that all?"
"Uh, no actually," I say as I give her a sheepish grin. "Got distracted by those assholes."
"Yeah," she agrees in a tired voice, brushing her long bangs back before turning away from me to an open
cardboard box she has sitting on a stool to her left. She reaches in, pulls out a carton of cigarettes, which she
efficiently opens, and starts stocking the rack of cigarettes behind the counter. I'm effectively dismissed and
there's no doubt in my mind she doesn't know who I am.
I head back down the chip aisle, grab a bag of Corn Nuts, and continue straight back to the sodas. I grab a
Mountain Dew, never once considering the diet option, because that would totally destroy the point of having
a junk food night, and then head over to the candy aisle. I grab a Snickers and I'm set.
When I get to the counter, she must hear my approach, as she turns around with the same tired smile. Walking
to the register, her eyes drop to the items I drop on the counter, robotically scanning the price of each. I watch
her delicate fingers work the keys, taking in her slumped shoulders as she rings in the last item and raises those
eyes back to me.
They're golden...well, a light brown actually, but so light as to appear like a burnished gold, maybe bronze.
A piercing shriek comes from behind the closed door, so sharp and high pitched that it actually makes my teeth
hurt. I also practically jump out of my skin, the noise was so unexpected.
The woman—Julianne according to her name tag—does nothing more than close her eyes, lower her head, and
let out a pained sigh. For a brief moment, I want to reach out and squeeze her shoulder in sympathy, but I have
no clue what I'm empathizing with because I don't know what that unholy sound was. I open my mouth to ask
if she's okay when the closed door beside the cigarette rack flies open and a tiny blur comes flying out.

No more than three feet high, followed by another blur of the same size.
Another piercing shriek from within that room, this time louder because the door is now opened, and for a
terrible moment I think someone must have been murdered. I even take a step to the side, intent on rounding
the counter.
Julianne moves lightning fast, reaching her hands out and snagging each tiny blur by the collar. When they're
brought to a full halt, I see it's two little boys, both with light brown hair and equally light brown eyes. One
holds a baby doll in his hands and the other holds what looks to be a truck made of Legos.
Looking at me with apology-filled eyes, she says, "I'm so sorry. This will only take a second."
With firm but gentle hands, she turns the little boys toward the room and pushes them inside, disappearing
behind them. Immediately I hear a horrible crash, another shriek, and the woman I know to be named Julianne
curses loudly, "Son of a bitch."

One more screech from what I'm thinking might be a psychotic pterodactyl and my feet are moving without
thought. I round the edge of the counter, step behind it, and head toward the door. When I step over the
threshold, I take in a small room set up to be a combo office/break room. Small desk along one wall covered
with papers, another wall with a counter, sink, and minifridge, and a card table with rusty legs and four metal
folding chairs.
It also suddenly becomes clear what manner of creature was making that noise that rivaled nails on
chalkboard.
A little girl, smaller than the boys, is tied to one of the folding chairs with what looks like masking tape
wrapped several times around her and the chair, coming across the middle of her stomach. Her arms and legs
are free, and the crash was apparently a stack of toys she had managed to knock off the top of the table.
"Rocco...Levy...you promised you'd behave," Julianne says in a quavering voice as she kneels beside the little
girl and starts pulling at the tape. The little boys stand there, heads hanging low as they watch their mom
attempt to unwrap their sister.
I can't help myself. The tone of the woman's voice, the utter fatigue and frustration, and the mere fact that these
little hellions taped their sister to a chair has me moving. I drop to my knees beside the woman, my hands
going to the tape to pull it off.
Her head snaps my way and she says, "Don't."
My eyes slide from the tape to her, and I'm almost bowled over by the sheen of thick tears glistening but
refusing to drop.
" P l e as e. d o you mind just waiting out there? If any customers come in, just tell them I'll be out in a moment,"
she pleads with me, a faint note of independence and need to handle this on her own shining through the
defeat.
"Sure," I say immediately as I stand up, not willing to add further upset on this poor lady with the beautiful
tear-soaked eyes. She clearly has enough on her plate without me adding to

it.

IS

Love stories you'll never forget By authors you'll always remember eOriginal Romance from Random House

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