Crashed Page 5

  Fanny had made it when they’d first become best friends.

  Before he’d fallen in love with her.

  Though, he knew it was probably what had first sent him from that path of friendship on to one that led to love.

  “God,” he whispered, running his fingers along the sparkling pink and purple clay swirls. He’d known when she’d given it to him—her at thirteen, him so much older (at least to his teenage mind) at fifteen—that he should hate it on sight or be embarrassed. He’d been pretending to be a tough guy then. Into hockey and video games and girls, not pink and purple glittering swirls. But he’d loved this damn frame.

  Because she’d made it for them.

  Because of the picture she’d had printed and placed inside.

  They’d been playing around on the ice, one of the few times that happened because Fanny skating was serious business, and she didn’t waste her precious ice time.

  But that day, her coach had gotten a phone call and his team, which had been practicing on the other rink, had ended their session early. He’d walked by the ice and had started teasing her—as one did when they were a fifteen-year-old boy who liked a girl but didn’t know what to do with those feelings. And she’d challenged him to a contest.

  A skating contest.

  He’d laughed, dismissed it.

  She’d taunted, convinced him.

  Then had proceeded to destroy his ass with a series of techniques that had him stumbling more often than staying upright, even without using those that required a toe-pick—something his skates didn’t have.

  He’d refused to concede.

  Her tasks had become increasingly more difficult.

  And then . . . she had caught him when he would have fallen. For a second, anyway, because even back then, he’d outweighed her significantly. They’d teetered on their blades, wobbling, then had collapsed to the ice where they’d sat there in stunned silence for one long moment before laughter erupted.

  Her coach had snapped the picture.

  He loved it. Then and now.

  Their arms around each other. Smiles huge, faces turned toward one another as though they’d shared the best joke either of them had ever heard.

  Even though his ass had been bruised the next day.

  Because they became inseparable after that moment.

  One interaction, one taunt, one smile, and his whole life had changed.

  But wasn’t that life? A series of small moments, each having a huge impact. A few minutes of teasing that had brought Fanny into his orbit. Several more in a doctor’s office that brought them closer despite the struggles. The sound of crunching metal, of smashing glass to take it all away.

  He carefully set the frame on the table, but it tipped over, and something fell off the back. He snagged it, eyes searching its surface in order to make sure it hadn’t broken, then turned his attention to what had fallen from the back. It was a notebook he’d never seen before, and when he opened the cover and saw his mom’s handwriting, his heart ached.

  He turned the pages, getting lost in her words, in the things she’d written, and missing her all over again.

  Sighing, he shut the notebook and carefully went through the rest of the box, making sure he didn’t miss anything else that was important then dumped the trophies and medals back inside. He didn’t need the reminders of his mediocre efforts on the ice, nor of what he’d never been able to go back to afterward.

  Then he carefully slid the albums onto his bookshelf, making sure they would be out of the direct sunlight, that they wouldn’t fall.

  Yes, they’d stayed cooped up in this box for who knew how long, and yes, they’d made it across several states from his mom’s place to the one he’d shared with Angela to Angela’s new place to here. But though the belongings had been boxed up and thrust around, left unprotected, that didn’t mean he couldn’t treat them with care now.

  And yes, maybe he knew that he was talking about Fanny now, and not the albums.

  Both were still precious.

  As was the frame, which he picked up and brought with him upstairs, staying by his side as he brushed his teeth and shoved his dirty clothes in the hamper. He held on to it as he crossed to his bed and slid beneath the covers, tugging them up and over him.

  Only then did he release the frame, carefully propping it on his nightstand, staring at their happy faces as he let sleep sweep up and take him under, promising himself, the universe, fate, and whatever god, gods, or goddesses were out there that he’d bring that light back into Fanny’s life again.

  Even if it was the last thing he did.

  Chapter Five

  Fanny

  “Now again, but on the inside edge.”

  Groans abounded.

  Laughing, she rubbed her hands together gleefully, channeling her inner villain, before waving the guys off to get started on the drills. Her time with the team in group settings like this would be winding down as the Gold focused more on hockey than on exploiting fundamentals, even if skating was probably the most important fundamental out there.

  Stupid hockey players thought things like stick handling and shooting were important.

  Meh.

  If they couldn’t skate, they couldn’t play.

  At least, that’s what she liked to tell herself.

  It inflated her grand sense of self and gave her a nice ego stroking at the same time. Win-win. At least for her.

  Grinning, she skated up to Kaydon before he could take off with his group, indicating the boards with a tilt of her head.

  He followed her over.

  “You’re favoring your knee again,” she said quietly.

  Caramel eyes met hers, a muscle in Kaydon’s brutally defined jaw clenched. But he didn’t say anything.

  “Want to tell me why?” she asked.

  His nostrils flared. “It’s fine.”

  She slanted a glance over her shoulder, saw that the guys were progressing with the drill rapidly, and knew that if she wanted to keep this private and between her and Kay, then she’d need to have the discussion quickly. “It’s not fine,” she told him, “and if you don’t want me to pull rank, you’re going to tell me what’s going on with your knee.”

  His eyes narrowed. His shoulders rose and fell on a breath. “I pushed it during my workout yesterday. Nothing is injured. It’s just sore.”

  Fanny studied him closely. “Hit the showers. Check in with Mandy before you leave. Then come and see me the day after tomorrow. We’ll work through the sore properly.”

  He opened his mouth.

  “Kay,” she said, placing a hand on his—or over his glove, anyway, “you’re on the Gold, now. That means that you’re not just a player or an asset. You’re part of our family, and we take care of our family.” She patted lightly. “It won’t help anyone, least of all you, if you push your recovery so much that you can’t play. We want you with us, but we don’t want you to kill yourself getting there.”

  His lips pressed flat. “Right.”

  She’d heard rumors of the team he’d played with before, the drama and bullshit in the locker room, between the board and the players, the way everyone had turned on each other. Kay was new here, and she understood that he wouldn’t necessarily believe the fluffy-puppy-dog-everything-is-rainbows approach that the Gold organization took. She hadn’t at first. Until she’d legitimately seen that management cared for the players and made decisions based on their well-being and not how much they could squeeze out of them.

  It would take Kaydon time to believe that.

  But she wasn’t going to let him fuck up his recovery until then.

  “Do I need to pull rank?” she asked archly, when he didn’t respond. “Either that or I can add some Elephants”—his most hated drill—“when you meet me.”

  Finally, his eyes seemed to melt, to soften, and one side of his lush mouth tipped up. “Ethan is right. You really are a monster in a tiny, sparkly package.”

  She grinned, swept a hand o
ver the—yes, sparkly—logo on the custom shirt Brit had made for her. It went with her earrings (glittery pineapples today) and the bedazzled gloves that she wore. A woman had to take her happiness where she could find it, and sometimes that meant sparkles. Other times it meant wine and horror movies. Po-tay-toe. Po-tah-toe. She watched the guys finishing up and skating over to her one by one, knowing they could hear her. “It’s good you know my inner colors. It’ll save me the trouble of breaking your spirit later.”

  Kaydon scowled, though his eyes were dancing. “Like taming a horse?”

  She considered that. “Or convincing a scared little kitten to come out from beneath the couch so I can pet him.”

  Silence.

  Then the guys started busting up. Even Kay shook his head and smiled.

  “So, Kitten,” she teased. “You going to follow my orders?”

  Max nudged Coop, who grinned and nudged Blane, who started to nudge Brit, but she sidled away, hissing, “Yeah, I heard. I don’t need the elbow.”

  “Heard what?” Ethan asked.

  “Kitten,” Logan said, shoving back a hunk of brown hair that had slipped beneath his helmet.

  Ethan’s smile was slow and sexy and predatory. “Kitten,” he agreed.

  Fanny winced, glanced up at Kay. “Sorry?” Her voice pitched up on the end, making it more question than statement, and her apology was further ruined when she couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up her throat.

  “Monster,” he repeated. But his lips were twitching, and he nudged her hip with his. “See you in two days?”

  She nodded.

  Kay headed for the door that led off the ice.

  “Bye, Kitten,” Max called.

  The guys cackled.

  Fanny winced again, though she couldn’t stop her laughter again when Kaydon flipped them all off, his fingers looking like giant . . . marshmallows? No, that wasn’t right. But anyway, it looked a little strange to be receiving the bird that was wrapped up in a bulky hockey glove.

  “All right, you punks,” she told them. “Because of you torturing poor Kaydon, I’m going to torture you all.” She gave them a beatific smile in response to their moaning.

  “You came up with the name,” Max muttered.

  “Just because we’re going to keep using it,” Coop added.

  “Doesn’t mean you need to torture us,” Blane finished.

  “Torture away!” Brit said.

  The guys had been nodding in agreement. Until Brit.

  Then they scowled. And Fanny rubbed her hands together again. “Okay, here’s my proposition. I either give you all one more drill or . . .” She deliberately trailed off, almost laughing again when they all leaned in. “Or,” she said again, even slower, “Brit takes you on a run.”

  “Run!” Brit shouted.

  “Skate,” everyone else yelled. Mainly because no matter how much they complained about Fanny’s “torture,” Brit taking them all on a run was the worst form of punishment they could imagine.

  “Hmm.” Fanny tapped a finger to her lips. “I think I heard run.”

  Ethan narrowed his eyes.

  She grinned.

  “All right. Fine. Umbrella. Three times on both feet”—Ethan slumped and Brit pouted—“and then our last group session of the preseason will be complete.”

  Whoops went up.

  “Rude,” she teased. “Maybe I need to schedule extra one-on-ones?”

  Coop tugged her ponytail as he skated by. “You are small and shiny but equally as feisty.”

  “And mighty,” Max added.

  “And evil.” Ethan.

  “That doesn’t rhyme,” Max grumbled.

  “Then evil-y,” Ethan said. “Better?”

  Max nodded. “Yup.”

  Shaking her head, Fanny skated to the boards, blew her whistle, and then focused her attention on the guys as they moved through the drill, making note on her clipboard of a few things some of the guys had to work on. But they were looking pretty damned good.

  Not to pat herself on the back.

  But . . . she patted herself on the back.

  This was going to be a good season. She could feel it in her sparkly, evil bones.

  The guys had cleared the ice, snagging the cones and tires she’d used during the session.

  They were neater than the kids.

  Or perhaps, better trained.

  Or perhaps not, she realized just before she stepped off the rink, spying a small tire that had been left behind in the shuffle. Smothering a grin, she skated to the corner, scooped it up, and moved to the opposite side of the ice, where there was a storage unit for equipment.

  She’d just tossed the tire inside when her nape prickled.

  She looked up, and it was like some inner detector knew who it was and where he was. Where Brandon was.

  By her skate bag.

  Probably because he knew she would be trapped, would have to take off her skates at some point. She couldn’t exactly drive home in them now, could she? Plus, she’d fuck up her edges.

  He shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

  The feeling was mutual.

  But he didn’t move away, even as she girded her loins and walked over to him. “Brandon,” she said, proud that her voice was neutral. She’d meant what she’d told him the night before. She had forgiven him long ago, but that forgiveness didn’t mean they could go back.

  She couldn’t welcome him back into her life. Couldn’t risk it.

  “Hey, Fan,” he said softly, his voice sliding over her skin and making her shiver.

  No. That was the cold air of the rink making her shiver. Not Brandon, nor his slightly raspy, all-too-sexy voice.

  “I—” She broke off, cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

  He held up a manila envelope. “Just had some paperwork for Kaydon.”

  Her brows drew together. “For Kay? Why?”

  Brandon’s brown eyes were warm on hers. “I’m his agent.”

  Surprise trickled through her, and yet she knew that it wasn’t warranted. He’d gone to school for sports management, teasing that she would be his first client. Those plans had been derailed by the discovery of his cancer returning and his surgery, but of course, he’d found his way back to it.

  And to me, her mind whispered.

  Swallowing hard against the panic, and maybe the slightest bit of longing that thought invoked, she smiled. “That’s great,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his arm before she could stop herself. Sparks shot up her fingers, warmth coiling in her abdomen. “I’m so happy for you. Do you work for Prestige then?” she asked, knowing they represented a good chunk of the Gold roster.

  Brandon nodded. “I brought my clients over and joined with them when I moved out here.”

  Speaking of which . . . why had he moved out here?

  Was it for her? Or some other reason. Or—

  “I didn’t,” he said quietly. “If I’d known where you were involved with the Gold, I would have come for sure. But I didn’t.”

  Fanny’s lungs seized. He would have come?

  “Right after Kaydon was picked up by the Gold, I ended up running into Devon Scott at a conference. He wined and dined me”—a grin—“and convinced me to move over to Prestige. Luckily, my clients all saw it as a net benefit, so I’m pretty much doing the same thing I was before, just in a nicer office and in a better climate.”

  Her lips twitched. “No more snowy winters.”

  “Exactly.”

  Quiet descended, or at least it descended between them. The rink around them was noisy. The sound of the Zamboni cutting the ice echoing through the space, along with that of the kids who’d gathered on the opposite side, who were getting ready for practice. God, she loved this space. The noise, the smell, the cool air. Lucky for her, she supposed, considering she spent the majority of her time here, either with the guys or with her classes and clinics.

  His eyes flicked over her shoulder, and she bit her
lip. “I should let you go. Kaydon should be in the training suite—”

  “Is he okay?” Brandon asked, concern whipping across his face.

  “He’s fine.” She squeezed his hand again. “I noticed he was favoring that knee again, and he told me he just overdid it at a workout. I strong-armed”—a shrug when he glanced up at her—“or well, I strongly encouraged him to see Mandy.”

  “I’d wondered why he headed off early.”

  “You watched the session?”

  He rocked back on his heels, studying her face, something flashing across his eyes that she couldn’t decipher. “You’re really good with them.”

  She inhaled, warmth blossoming in her stomach, spreading out to her fingertips. “They’re good guys.”

  A nod.

  More quiet.

  Then he reached for her.

  And for a moment, she didn’t know what she wanted—to lean in and let him touch, to skitter back and run like her hair was on fire, to . . .

  He held up a notebook.

  Oh. Oh. He wasn’t reaching for her. He was . . . trying to give her something.

  Right.

  “My mom,” he said, and she immediately stepped back. That hurt, too. Because Brandon’s mom had been wonderful. Sweet and funny and loving. Fanny’s own parents were fine, albeit more than a little detached. She knew that they cared about her, but her parents were also very into their own lives. Her mom had a busy career, even now that she’d reached retirement age, and her dad had always been more interested in building his cars than her.

  Skating and glittering skating outfits, new laces and music for routines hadn’t appealed to him.

  Nor to her mom.

  They’d thrown money at Fanny’s hobby, and that had been more than lots of other people had, so Fan knew she was lucky. It was just . . . she had traveled more with Sandy, her coach, than her own parents.

  Until she’d gotten together with Brandon.

  Then his parents had come to every competition they could, sitting beside Brandon in the stands. She’d had a support system she hadn’t ever expected to have, and she really missed Grace. And Jeff. Brandon’s dad had been a good guy, too.

  She remembered one time when he’d helped Sandy track down permission to a piece of music so Fanny could use it for her long program.