Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I knew I shouldn’t ask; I knew it instinctively. And yet somehow my stupid mouth formed the words anyway. “Who is Cass?”
Eyes darted around, everyone looking at each other, as if to figure out who would say it. But Lucian, who kept his focus on his food, eating mechanically as though he barely tasted it, answered as blandly as toast. “My ex-fiancée.”
And it hit me: Lucian had lost a lot more than his profession.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lucian
“You up for company?” Brommy didn’t wait for my answer but took the empty seat next to me on the small patio that overlooked the ocean.
It was impressive that he’d ferreted me out, given the size of the estate, but Brommy had a knack for such things. I dug my hand in the small cooler at my side and pulled out a bottle of beer for him.
“Thanks.” A snick rang out as he opened it.
The sun had all but disappeared behind the ocean, leaving only a brilliant gold sliver. In a blink, that was gone, too, and the sky deepened to a soft smoky blue that reminded me of Emma’s eyes. Which was hokey as hell but still true.
Brommy sat back with an expansive sigh, tilting his head up to look at the stars that were starting to shine in the velvet twilight. A breeze rolled over us.
“Man, I love this weather,” he said.
“It’s great. If you ignore the droughts, rampant wildfires, mudslides, and earthquakes.”
He chuckled. “Still beats the shitacular humidity of DC.”
“We weren’t there for the weather, Brom.”
That shut him up, and I felt like a dick for saying it. Brommy didn’t say anything for a bit—just drank his beer and stared out into the night. When he finally spoke, his usual jovial tone was subdued.
“Ant is an asshole.”
“He can’t help himself around me.” I took a drink. “We’ve always brought out the worst in each other. Both of us playing hockey only made it worse.”
But he’d won that particular competition, hadn’t he? I might have been the better player, but he still laced up his skates.
“That shit he said about Cass—”
“I honestly don’t give a shit,” I cut in, then glanced over at a doubtful Brommy. “I’m serious. You know what the strongest emotion I feel is when I think of Cassandra? Relief.”
“Man . . .” He shook his head with dark amusement.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it? I was going to marry that woman, and I was too complacent to even notice that I didn’t love her. Hell, I barely liked her.”
Sometimes, I still couldn’t believe how close I’d come to making what would have been one of the biggest mistakes in my life. Worse, I’d let Cassandra—she’d never wanted me to call her Cass—believe I loved her. It was a shit thing to do to anyone.
“A sweet smile and a nice set of tits make many a man blind.”
“I’d like to think I’m better than that.”
“So do we all, my friend.” He raised his bottle in a wry salute. Then finished off his beer. “Don’t feel too badly about not seeing it. She’s a pro. Total puck bunny.”
“Don’t let Tina hear you. We’re not supposed to use that term, remember?”
As Tina would say, it was sexist and crude. She wasn’t wrong. Then again, neither was Brommy; there were women who made it a mission to land a hockey player. Given that most of us loved the attention they gave us, it wasn’t exactly an uneven exchange. Just not one I was interested in devoting my life to.
Brommy’s snort was eloquent, but then he sobered. “I missed you, man.”
A lump the size of my fist rose in my throat. I missed him too. So much that sometimes I found myself turning to make a joke only to realize he wasn’t there. None of my guys were. All that I had left were ghosts.
I wanted to apologize for not calling him, for ignoring his calls and texts. But how to tell him that anything to do with hockey, including him, was too much for me? If I got too close to the game, I felt like an addict in withdrawal, my fingers shaking, my heart racing with an insistent need to get back onto the ice.
I couldn’t tell him that it had to be all or nothing when it came to hockey. In the dark, next to my best friend, I could only look down at my fisted hands resting on my thighs.
He spoke slowly, carefully. “I’m not going to pretend I know how it feels, Oz. I just . . . hell. I don’t know what I’m saying other than I’m here if you need it.”
The lump grew, pressing against the roof of my mouth. I swallowed convulsively. “I should have called.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
“I’ve been feeling sorry for myself.”
“The shit you are,” Brommy said with heat. He looked two seconds away from kicking my ass.