Breakout Page 7

  “But I am here if you need to talk.” She swapped the towels, went back to massaging.

  “Gossip, you mean,” he said.

  “Gossip,” she agreed. “But only because I’m so blissfully happy that I want everyone I care about as happy as me.”

  “You and Blane are lucky to have each other.”

  “True.” She patted his back, telling him nonverbally that she was done with her treatment. “Cool pool. Hot pool,” she said. “Then roller and out. And yes, Blane and I are happy, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be, too.”

  He shrugged into his shirt. “It does if the person I want isn’t interested.”

  Lies.

  And she knew it.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “I know she’s interested.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  He crossed the room, scooped up a towel. “She’s running scared.”

  “Well, hun, if I know nothing else about you, it’s that you’ve never backed down in the face of adversity.”

  “I—”

  He hadn’t really needed to overcome adversity, not like a lot of the guys on the team. His life hadn’t been fraught with challenges. He’d had loving parents, a supportive group of friends, good coaches. Yes, he’d worked hard, but his path to his dream job had been relatively easy.

  Mandy closed a drawer with more emphasis than was strictly necessary, the sharp crack making him straighten. Before he could comment, she stomped over to him and poked him in the chest. “First,” she said. “I’ve told you guys that this is not the cabinet for pool towels.” She took one step to the right, opened that cabinet—which in fairness to her snappy tone was labeled “Pool Towels”—pulled one out then shoved it in his chest. “Second, don’t start pulling that Humble Kevin Act. You earned your spot on the team and you overcame obstacles to get here. Own that. Accept that.” Her tone softened. “I know how hard it is to lose a dad, even if in my case, mine wasn’t a very nice person. A lovely one, who genuinely cared about you? That couldn’t have been easy, Kev.”

  “It—”

  What could he say?

  “It was what it was.”

  Mandy lifted a brow. “Really?”

  “What?”

  “It was what it was? That’s what you’re going with?”

  “Well, it wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter.”

  She sighed, punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Except you did, Kev. You could have stopped, could have given up. But you took care of your mom and you worked hard, and you got where you are today.”

  He never should have told Mandy about his parents, but they’d spent many hours together last season when he’d been recovering from a pulled groin and she’d been helping—cough torturing—him to get better. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d been the only one sharing. She’d told him about her dad, a former player who’d had a devastating spinal injury during a game. He hadn’t been a good person before, and post-injury he’d been even worse.

  But his life hadn’t been like that.

  Yes, his dad had died, but it had been quick and a surprise and . . . there had been nothing to do except to get on with it.

  So he had.

  “I did what I had to do.”

  Mandy shook her head. “Humble Kevin.” She sighed. “It’s a lovely trait in a world of egotistical professional athletes. Just make sure your humility doesn’t mean you don’t get the rest of your dream.” She turned for her office. “But, Kev, this isn’t the time to not fight for your life. Otherwise, you might look back on your life in twenty years and realize you missed your only shot.”

  He stared after her for a long moment before going into the pool room and completing her treatment orders.

  But though his time in the water was finite, the exercises on the roller an easy path to follow from beginning to end, Mandy’s words swirling around his mind weren’t so easy to take to heart. He knew he wasn’t just going to step back and accept Rebecca pushing him away, no matter how much it had stung, but he also didn’t know what the hell he should be doing.

  Give her space?

  Storm into her office and refuse to leave?

  Funny how neither of those options seemed particularly effective.

  Then, just as he’d gotten out of the hot pool, Kevin heard the tell-tale click-click of heels across hardwood floor. He paused, wearing only a towel around his hips, a few steps from the plate glass windows.

  He was close enough to watch Rebecca pass by, close enough to see her steps slightly falter, close enough to feel the weight of her gaze on him.

  She saw that he saw her looking, and her cheeks turned that lovely shade of pink again.

  Peaches and cream.

  Good enough to taste, to lick . . . to eat.

  She stilled, stared at him long enough for his dick to twitch, but just when it was becoming a coverage issue, Rebecca’s chin came up, her eyes deliberately turned away, and she was gone.

  But that interaction had told him enough.

  Rebecca might want to be detached, but she wasn’t, and that meant he had at least one weapon in his arsenal that couldn’t fail.

  It also meant he wasn’t giving up on her. On them.

  On what might be.

  Eleven

  Rebecca

  She was an ass.

  She knew that, understood that, but it still didn’t mean she was going to go back and apologize. An apology would pave the path to potential forgiveness, which would lead to more talking, and that would certainly lead to more bodies pressing together, mouths getting closer, tongues brushing—

  And then she’d be lost.

  She liked Kevin, more than she should, based on one date.

  Fine. The truth was that she’d known him much longer than one date. She’d had this obsession with Kevin for three years. Well, perhaps obsession was too strong a word, but she’d definitely kept a closer eye on him than she’d needed to, and she’d noticed him as a man, when she didn’t notice any of the other players—Brit included—as anything other than chess pieces she had to direct . . . at least in the realm of her work.

  Sara had been the first to slide through her shields, followed by Mike, and before she’d realized what had been happening, Rebecca had found herself integrated into a group of friends.

  But she’d still never let herself just be.

  Always calculating an angle, making sure the press stayed away when they wanted privacy but was there to catch the perfect shot if and when they needed one. She had staff to manage the team’s social media but still crafted a good chunk of the posts, helped the players manage their individual PR needs if necessary, had personally crafted the direction of the team’s public image and outreach when she’d come on board.

  The team was her baby, just not one she could hold in her arms.

  Because of that, she was always at work, always had to work—

  “That is total bullshit.”

  Brit’s sharp reprimand, a cutting remark from someone who was no doubt tough, but whose words were rarely barbed, had come into play after Rebecca had refused to sit down and enjoy a drink with them at a team event over the summer.

  She’d said she needed to take pictures, and Sara had countered that she had staff for that.

  To which Rebecca had said they sometimes missed things.

  To which Mandy had pointed out that Rebecca was a bit of a control freak.

  The truth, which she’d admitted, followed by the refrain that she couldn’t stop working or something might slip and then the team might be in a bad place—

  Hence, the bullshit reply.

  But it had also been followed by some brutal truth that hit home and hit hard. She’d still not sat down for the drink, but not because she’d been worried about work. Instead, she’d been rocked to her core by Brit’s assertion.

  “Take it from someone who knows, Rebecca,” she’d said. “This isn’t work. This is hiding from the world in somethin
g you love because that shit is sure safer than putting yourself out there.” A pause. “Trust me. I’ve been there and it sucked. But if you can take the leap, let down your shields . . . then the world becomes a much better place.”

  The world could become a better place.

  Just that easily, according to Brit.

  Talk about bullshit.

  Except . . . she hadn’t been able to shrug off the words.

  And paired with Kevin deciding to be all manly and lovely and really, fucking tempting, and she was feeling less like Rebecca Fucking Stravokraus and more like a wilting lily.

  Was that even a thing?

  No. Probably not.

  Sighing, she began shutting down her computer and gathering up her work. Her mind having drifted to the summer, and Kevin, and how much of an ass she was meant that it was unlikely she’d be able to get back to work. Might as well pack it in and finish what she needed from the comfort of her couch, in cozy pajamas, and with Law and Order: SVU streaming in the background.

  That, especially after the emotional two days she’d had, sounded freaking fabulous.

  Plus, she had a bottle of red ready and waiting to be opened on the counter.

  She slipped her feet back into her heels, shouldered her bag, then stood. Now the only thing left was to sneak out of the rink. She wanted to avoid Kevin, obviously, but she also needed to bypass anyone who might see how far off her game she was, namely Brit, Mandy, and on the off-chance she was at the facility to watch her hubby, Sara.

  Her door had stayed closed for the majority of the day after her run-in with the gorgeous hockey god, but that didn’t mean her coast would be clear, and so she cracked the wooden panel and carefully peeked out.

  Quiet.

  Lights dim.

  Noise minimal.

  She glanced at her watch, saw it was past six. With any luck, her escape would go unnoticed. After snagging her jacket and slipping it on—well, after that and a good thirty seconds of wrestling her bag from her shoulder with her coat half on then untangling it from the jacket sleeve then shoving her arm into the freed sleeve before finally hooking her briefcase back over her shoulder—she slipped out into the hall.

  No lie, she might have been breathing a little hard after her personal WWE match.

  Cute.

  What wasn’t cute, was the shriek that came out of her mouth when someone appeared at her elbow without saying a word. Someone who made every nerve on her body prickle and moisture pool between her lips.

  She glanced up to confirm it was who her body told her it was, not sure if she was hoping it wasn’t or thrilled when she saw it was, indeed, Kevin walking next to her.

  Fuck.

  Because thrilled.

  She couldn’t stop the little thrill from skating through her body. The blip of hope that said this thing with Kevin wasn’t over before it got started.

  His eyes flicked to hers, his lips pressed flat, stiffness in his spine, the line of his jaw. But he didn’t say anything, just reached up, brushed his knuckles over her cheek, and while she was reacting to that gesture, he took her briefcase, slipped it from her shoulder and tossed it over his.

  “What—”

  One glance and her question just petered out.

  Especially when he lifted a brow and flicked his gaze to the doors lining either side of the hallway, doors through which she could hear people talking, people she definitely didn’t want to overhear whatever conversation they were about to have.

  Because the team was like a family.

  A giant family that gossiped like motherfuckers.

  Not in a bad way, but still very effectively, and they’d somehow managed to avoid detection that morning—mainly because Gabe and the other Rebecca had been making a bigger scene and so no one had noticed her and Kevin.

  But, case in point to the breadth of the gossip train, someone had taped up a fake prescription on the wall made out to Gabe for Romance Pills.

  “Mike,” Kevin murmured.

  She smiled. That figured. Mike Stewart had wooed a very recalcitrant Sara Jetty and they were married with a kiddo on the way, so some would say he’d done a great job.

  Rebecca knew better.

  He’d done a fabulous job. So much so that the other guys on the team had gone to him for all sorts of romantic tasks, from anniversaries to proposals.

  “Dr. Mike,” she read the signature with a chuckle. “That man.”

  Kevin nodded, lips twitching as they moved on down the hall. He held the door for her and walked in the direction of her car. And no, she wasn’t disappointed that he wasn’t taking her to his, that he wasn’t cajoling her into dinner.

  Absolutely not.

  He paused near the trunk, waited for her to unlock and open the driver’s side door.

  Then he was there.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, he was there, pinning her between the opening and the door.

  “I—”

  His mouth a millimeter from hers, the wide breadth of his chest flush against hers, his scent seeping into her senses, making her head spin, her breath catch, and her pussy ache.

  Oh God, he was going to kiss her.

  Oh fuck, she needed that so freaking much.

  The lightest brush of lips, the barest flick of tongue, and then . . . nothing. He reached across her, placed her bag on the passenger’s seat, and stepped back. Knuckles on her cheek again, and her knees wobbled.

  His jaw clenched.

  He came close again, heat in his eyes, mouth so damned tempting—

  “Goodnight, baby.”

  His words took a long moment to penetrate and by the time it did, he was gone.

  But the longing in her mind, her heart, between her thighs didn’t ever really disappear. And that night, clad in her cozy pajamas, her red wine in hand, SVU on in the background, work in her lap, Rebecca felt just the same as every other night before.

  Alone.

  Only this time, it hurt a little bit more.

  She didn’t know why she was doing this to herself.

  This being retrieving a box from the top shelf of her closet that she hadn’t opened in years.

  Ten years to be exact.

  But Rebecca found that she couldn’t resist anymore. Or maybe she couldn’t put it off any longer. Because of Kevin. Because he’d opened some Pandora’s box inside her heart and mind and . . . she was feeling something for the first time in more than a decade.

  She opened the cardboard lid, tugging the flaps so that the top suddenly popped open.

  Inside was her whole life.

  Or, what had been her entire life before her parents died.

  Photo albums. Report cards from every grade. A few glitter-covered art projects that had been much more glittery back in the day.

  But art wasn’t what she was in search of.

  Rather, it was the envelope she’d placed there after packing up her parents’ house. Her father’s signature scrawl on the front, written on the front, To My Becky. She’d never opened it, hadn’t had the courage to read what he’d felt he needed to say to her. Not when she’d lost everything.

  So, like so many other things she’d stashed behind barbed wire, she’d shoved down the memories, the loss, the desire for more.

  Until Kevin.

  She felt rubbed raw, and worse, she felt longing. Deep, flaying longing for something different. For a future and a past.

  For Kevin.

  Taking a deep breath, she tore open the flap of the envelope and read. Then cried. Then read again.

  And then she began to wonder. To hope. To think she might just be able to take the plunge and, for the first time in a decade, that she might not need to be alone to be safe.

  That maybe she could be safe with Kevin.

  Dear Peanut,

  If you’re reading this, I’ve joined your mother on the other side. I’m so sorry I couldn’t win this battle for you, that I’ve left you alone. Life hasn’t exactly been kind to our family, has it? Y
ou’re so young and yet have been through so much. Too much.

  I’ve thought so much about what I’d want to say in this letter, what words could possibly make any bit of difference in your circumstance. My love for you, my daughter, is infinite. And I’m so sorry that I’ll have missed so much of your beautiful life. You’ve given me so many lovely memories, so much laughter, so many wonderful conversations, (and never enough hugs from my Becky girl), but while I hold those tightly to my heart, I know what your illness, what losing your mother and now me, will have done to you.

  I’ve seen the light dim in your eyes, hate the pain that has changed you, and so I want to caution you to not close yourself off to the world, to let life find you and then to grab hold of it with both hands. I know this seems like cliché advice because life has already found you in many unhappy ways.

  You and your mother have been my heartbeat, and because of you both, my life has been full.

  I want you to find that, sweetheart.

  I don’t want you to be too scared and hurt to take that leap.

  Be brave, baby. Don’t play it safe.

  A hundred thousand kisses, two hundred million hugs,

  -Dad

  Twelve

  Kevin

  He got to the rink early and sat in his car, waiting for Rebecca to show.

  Twenty minutes later, she did, pulling to the lot in her ugly ass silver hybrid and parking in her usual spot by the door. He waited a minute, enjoying the view of that luscious ass bending over to reach for her bag in the passenger’s seat, waiting to see what color it would be today.

  She had three of the same bags—black, red, and blue.

  For obvious reasons—because he dreamed of fire engine lips—his favorite was the red.

  Kevin only had to wait another moment before he saw.

  And fuck’s sake. Red.

  His dick twitched. Swear to God, it was just that easy with her. She breathed, he was hard. But now, instead of storing the image to use later, he shoved out of his car and crossed the parking lot.

  She was muttering to herself when he approached, looking down at her nails and grumbling something about a chip. Since they and the rest of her looked absolutely flawless, he used her distraction and her under her breath grousing to his advantage. After slipping his fingers under the handle of her bag, he tugged it down her arm and tossed it over his shoulder.