I expect her to still be asleep when I get back from my workout. Last night after amazing sex in the den we’d finished the centerpieces and gone to bed to have more mind-blowing sex. She shook me awake at four in the morning because, as usual, I didn’t hear my phone ringing. It was my agent. He was supposed to be arriving in Silver Bay in less than twelve hours so I assumed that either something had happened to change his plan or I was being traded. Every damn time he called me I felt like the sky was falling.
“Paul? What is it?”
“Just know that the whole fucking piece is a bullshit opinion piece and it means nothing,” he blurted out without so much as a hello. “And just so you know, I can confirm the Vipers have told me they are in talks with Toronto and Brooklyn. Serious talks.”
I sat up in the dark. Rose laid a supportive hand on my back as I stared out at the darkness of my room. “Brooklyn? It’s serious?”
Then she sat up too because just mentioning the city must have something to do with the trade—and Brooklyn meant playing with Devin. That wouldn’t just be a fresh start—it would be a dream come true.
“Yeah. Not a done deal by any means, but they are interested,” he confirmed. “I just hope this asshole’s blog doesn’t scare them off. I wish we could sue the fucker.”
“What blog?” Right. He’d originally called to tell me some opinion piece was bullshit. “Arthur Bryce. The former goalie turned ESPN dickhead. He wrote a blog for them about the top overrated players in the league.”
“And I’m number…?”
“One.”
“One?!” I spat back and feel humiliation burn through my veins where my blood used to be. Number fucking one. Fuck him. “That old fuck hasn’t played since the eighties. He doesn’t know shit about modern hockey. Why the fuck do people even pay for his opinion? You’d get more knowledgeable information from a ten-year-old girl.”
“That’s it, buddy. Get it out now with me because when the press asks you about this tonight at your charity event, you have to be cool and casual,” Paul explained to me. “Because this just became more than a nice gesture to the community. It’s your chance to prove you’re a professional by not reacting to this asshole. You wanted this event to be proof you’re not the tabloid boy-toy bar star the media tried to make you out to be, and now even more people will be watching you.”
He told me he’d be arriving late afternoon and was staying at the Silver Bay Inn and then he hung up. Rose sat up and pressed her warm, bare torso to my back as I Google the blog. Sure as shit, there was my name and a particuarly unflattering picture of me getting slammed into the boards, by Devin of all people, next to a giant number one on his little slam book article. Rose read it over my shoulder; I could tell because I felt her body tense and her breathing stopped for a second.
Then she’d kissed my neck softly and said, “He means nothing. Don’t let him get to you.”
I’d let her pull me back down into bed but I couldn’t fall asleep, so I’d gotten up at five-thirty while the sun was cresting the mountains across the lake and I’d gone for a run.
I meant it when I told Rose that I was going to try harder—take an active role—in my career. I’d definitely been giving my training my all this summer, but that article had made me really push myself today. I ran all the way into town, stopped at the diner for eggs and a protein shake and then ran home.
When I get back, drenched in sweat and still breathing heavy, I’m shocked to see her standing in the front of the island in nothing but a bikini. It’s the minuscule black one she wore to the lake. That day feels like a lifetime ago, but the bikini is still the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
She smiles as she pours piping hot water from the kettle into one of the colorful mugs Donna bought me as a housewarming gift. “Morning, sexy.”
“You wear that and call me sexy?” I counter as I pull my sweat-soaked tank top up over my head and drop it on the floor. A piece of hair escapes the haphazard bun I had it pulled back in and I push it from my eyes absently. I sit down at one of the stools across from her and gulp from my water bottle as she steeps her green tea.
“That ESPN guy is a jerkoff. He has no business judging you.” Rose’s voice is soft but clear. “Jordan and Devin both called while you were out to tell you the same thing.”
Although I didn’t see it as warranted, I think the Garrisons felt guilty because they were part of the reason I was judged so critically. There’d been a lot of articles written when I was drafted first overall about the sacrifices I had made to be a hockey player. Leaving my mother, living with the Garrisons in Silver Bay, working part-time jobs to help pay for equipment and still getting decent grades in school. And of course growing up with the Garrison brothers made for media comparisons now that we were all playing professionally. I had been the highest drafted player of the three of us and they’d both performed better since going pro—at least that was the media consensus.
“‘At number one on the disappointment list is Luc Richard,’” I whisper fiercely, repeating pieces of the article that were seared into my brain. “‘Who would have thought the boy who looked like he was the hottest thing to come out of Silver Bay, Maine’s vast hockey pool would turn out to be so underwhelming the Las Vegas Vipers can’t find a single team interested in trading even a bag of magic beans for him.’”
“This from a guy who let in seven goals in one game to lose the Stanley Cup the one time he made it to the finals,” Rose snarks and shakes her head.
“I’ve never made the playoffs,” I mumble as she takes a sip of tea.
“Devin doesn’t make the playoffs every year.”
“But he won the Cup his second year. Jordan won a Cup too.” I walk over and sit beside her on the swing.
“All by themselves? No. Their team won. You can’t do it on your own, Luc.”
“I was chosen number one in the draft. I’m supposed to carry a team.”
“I know you’re working your ass off. Jordan always talks about how hard you’re working at the training sessions. And whatever team is smart enough to pick you up will by the one you win a Cup with,” she says with a resolute certainty, like she has a Magic Eight Ball and she’s seen the future. “And when you do, it won’t matter if Devin or Jordan did it faster. No one will care anymore. You’ll find your own path. You’ll make your own stats. And I’ll email that reporter every damn day and update him on every point you get to remind him how stupid he is.”
I smile at that. She winks at me, the mug perched in front of those perfect, pouty lips of hers. If I was still with Nessa, Nessa wouldn’t have said any of those things. She’d whine that I was talking about myself too much and then strip so I would just fuck her and stop talking.
Suddenly I realize this is what Jordan and Devin have. This is what makes a relationship right. This intense level of understanding and knowing how to say the right thing without even thinking about it. I’m suddenly overwhelmed with feelings for her. Not lust or desire—although they’re lurking inside me, as always—but the feeling that completely engulfs me right now is love. Pure, deep, passionate love.
I love Rose Caplan.
“I need your help,” she declares, obviously oblivious to the huge revelation that is currently making my heart feel like it’s bungee jumping behind my rib cage.
“I’d do anything for you.” My voice is gentle, warm and sincere and it makes her curious eyes find mine. A tiny blush starts to speckle her cheeks because she’s absorbing the deeper meaning of that statement.
But she doesn’t change course. She keeps talking like she has no clue I’m on the verge of telling her I’m in love with her. “I need you to take the stuff over to the banquet hall. I’ll have Jessie pick me up here and then I’ll go over later and set everything up.”
“Why don’t you just go with me and we can do it together?”
Her dark eyes lose a bit of their light. “People will be arriving all day for your event. Reporters, agents, players. We’re not together, remember?”
Oh. Right. This sucks way more than I thought it would when I suggested it.
She leans in to hug me. “I’m sweaty and gross,” I warn.
“You’re sweaty and sexy,” she argues back and kisses my earlobe, tugging it between her teeth for a second—just long enough to make my dick twitch. I nuzzle my head into her shoulder, turning it so my face is pressed into her hair and the side of her neck. I inhale deeply. She smells like coconut and fresh-cut grass. Her lips press against my collarbone lightly.
“I was going to go for a swim,” she whispers against my skin. “Want to join me?”
“Sure.” She steps back from me and starts toward the French doors that lead to the back deck.
“The current looks a little rough,” she says and I glance past her to the gently lapping waves hitting my dock. There is nothing rough about the water today. When I look back at her she’s grinning, her dark eyes mischievous. “This bathing suit is very fragile. I wouldn’t be surprised if I lose it in the rough water.”
She walks onto the deck and down toward the dock. I stand up and take my keys and cell phone out of my shorts before moving to join her. As I step out onto the deck, she’s already diving off the dock into the water.
No matter what happens with my team and no matter how many more shitty articles are written about me, nothing will change the fact that right now, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.