Chapter 1
Bentley
“Listen up, everyone!” Coach’s voice vibrated through the loud locker room, silencing the chatter after a hard as fuck practice.
Gage, Rory, and Warren were to my right—the tight knit trio making room for me on the bench.
Ever since I cleaned up my no-filter mouth and dropped the attitude like I could take Gage’s spot, they’d made an effort to bring me into their group. It was a hell of a lot better than trying to pretend like I could own Gage in a match-up. But, after some pick-up games and pointers from him, I sure as hell was coming close.
“I mean really open your ears here, guys,” Coach Harris said, his hands on his hips and that vein throbbing in his forehead.
Fuck.
Who messed up?
Every head in the room snapped to attention, noting the serious tone in his voice. The season had just started. We hadn’t even had our first game yet. So, we were all either about to uniform up and run through an entire extra practice because someone broke a rule, or he was about to tell us we were trading someone.
I swallowed hard, shifting on the bench.
“You all right?” Gage asked under his breath.
“Fine.” I didn’t mean to hiss but damn.
If cuts or trades were being made this season, my ass was on the top of the list. Not because I hadn’t stepped up my game and brought my shit the last two seasons. But because Gage was still rocking. Sure, our time on the ice was close to fifty-fifty now, but he had seniority where I didn’t.
“We have a new addition to our team,” Coach continued, and I released a shocked breath.
Rory chuckled next to Gage, who elbowed me in the side.
Fuckers must’ve known and were letting me silently panic.
Assholes.
Didn’t stop me from liking them.
“A new physical therapist,” he said. “But more than that, she trains Olympians and she’s run some of the best camps in Canada for six years now.”
My heart plummeted to my stomach.
No.
Not possible.
She wouldn’t.
She couldn’t come to my team.
“So not only will she patch you up, she’ll make you a better player while she’s at it.”
A rumble of curiosity rolled through the room, but I barely registered it.
All I could do was sit there in denial.
She wouldn’t.
“I’ve seen her drills, too,” he said. “If any of you step out of line I’m sending you to her. She makes me look like a fairy fucking princess.”
God damn it. He can’t be talking about Chloe.
What . . . because there are so many female PTs who train Olympians and run camps in Canada?
Acid rolled in my gut.
Coach pointed to where Warren sat on my right. “Kinley here has first-hand experience with her. He can vouch.”
Warren nodded, wearing an easy smile. “You definitely don’t want to fuck with her.” He glanced at me, his head tilting when he noted the panic in my eyes.
“And,” Coach said, his voice as sharp as a razor. I returned my attention to him, hating that Warren had gotten a glimpse. He’d done the same a few weeks ago, when we were discussing his girl problems—but everything had worked out for him.
“She’s completely off-limits,” Coach continued, looking in the eyes of every player in the locker room. “I know that professional relationships are fine once declared to HR, but we just signed her for a one-year trial contract for a check fatter than I’ve seen in years. We lifted her from Ontario, and I know I don’t need to explain how good it feels to steal something from those guys.” He sighed. “We need her. We’ve had too many minor injuries happen to not have a solid PT now that Denning retired, let alone one who can up your game so you avoid getting hurt.”
A white-hot knife slipped into the center of my chest.
“Off-limits,” he said again, eyebrows raised. “Understand?”
“What do you think we are, Coach? Brainless animals?” Rory joked.
“You most of all, Jackson,” Coach snapped.
Rory scoffed. “I’m a married man.”
Coach cocked an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t always.”
The guys—my newly appointed friends and mentors—wouldn’t have an issue staying away from whoever coach had hired. They were all mindlessly fucking whipped.
Jealous.
Maybe.
But I’d shut the door on that kind of thinking a long fucking time ago.
After someone had ripped my heart out and tossed it across the country.
Chloe fucking—
“Now that we’re all in agreement,” Coach continued. “I’d like you to meet Chloe Lewis.” Coach rushed over to his office door, threw it open, and out she stepped.
Into my locker room.
Into my territory.
My life.
Chloe fucking Lewis.
She’d cut her hair since the last time I’d seen her—a decade ago.
The once long black curls were gone, replaced with a severe cut that stopped at her chin. Sleek, silky, the way she was on the ice. Her pink lips were in a sexy-as-hell smirk, but I could see the nerves in those hazel eyes. The flicker of fear as she scanned the crowd.
Then she popped a hand on one of her perfect hips, those long legs sheathed in tight denim, and laughed. “For a bunch of Sharks, you all look pretty tame.”
The sound of her voice crashed over me like a rushing wave.
Her laughter as I tickled that spot behind her knee.
Her sigh as I lapped between her thighs.
The w
ay she felt under me.
Memories assaulted me one by one.
A lifetime of them.
Because that’s what she’d been—my life.
From kindergarten and on—the girl owned my heart.
Then she’d crushed it.
“I know I’m coming from Ontario—”
Loud boos swallowed her words, and she cringed, her hands raised in submission.
Her on her knees, promising me the world. Promising she loved me. Begging me to let her devour me.
I flinched against the memories that continued to hit me. Like the sight of her had smashed cracks in the walls I’d scraped my soul to build.
“All right, all right,” she said, her hands dropping. “I get it. I’m the enemy.” She shook her head. “But I’m here now. And I’m ready to work with each of you individually if that is what it takes.”
Her eyes finally found mine, and I froze, the air in my lungs going so fucking tight.
Just like her body.
That gorgeous body.
Long and lean and lithe with tits that perfectly filled my hands.
A soft gasp rushed from her parted lips, but she quickly covered it with a laugh.
Was she not expecting to see me?
Did she forget which team I belonged to?
Was I so easily forgotten?
“And, um . . .” she fumbled around her words. “I’m so honored to be here. I hope in time you’ll understand that.” She tore her gaze from me, the spell broken enough for me to slip in a breath.
I wanted to stomp across the room and claim her mouth like I had a thousand times before.
I wanted to hold her, listen to her, hear about everything that had happened since we’d last spoken.
The shreds of my heart warned against such bullshit, but I couldn’t help it—I missed my friend.
Because she had been my best friend . . . in another life.
A slow, pathetic round of claps sounded throughout the room after Coach flashed us a glare.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t think I had the power to.
Because if I did?
I wasn’t sure if I’d kiss her or scream at her for slaying me all those years ago.
For tossing over a decade’s worth of friendship and love in the garbage.
Throwing me away like I was worthless.
A growl rumbled in my chest, the bench groaning underneath me from how hard I gripped it—even as she left the room, as my teammates went about their business of showering.
“Rookie.” Gage snapped his fingers in front of my face, and I cut a glare at him.
He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at me like I needed to remember who I was shooting daggers at.
I blinked a few times, finally rising to stand.
“What’s up?” I asked, my tone even despite the turmoil brewing in my gut.
“You okay?” He genuinely wanted to know, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good.
When I’d first signed to the Sharks, I had a big-ass chip on my shoulder. Something to fucking prove. Thought that was the way to earn the guys’ respect.
Couldn’t have been more wrong.
I’d walked onto a team made up of brothers.
Or something stronger than blood, if that was possible.
Respect.
Backing up the shit-talk.
Having each other’s backs, no matter what—that was the key with Gage, Rory, and Warren—the trio that ruled the rest of the team.
My life had been easier since I learned that.
And now this.
“Fine,” I said, pulling my sweat-soaked shirt over my head.
He tilted his head, clearly not buying it.
“I’m fine, man,” I said again.
That was another thing that came with their friendship—they didn’t fuck around. If one of them needed the other, they were there, no questions asked. And while I was pretty fucking psyched about being included in that code now . . . I didn’t have the right words to tell him what was wrong with me.
Because how could I?
How could I explain that Chloe was once my world?
One that disappeared.
And one that I thought I’d moved on from.
“All right,” Gage said. “Hit you up later.” He left for the showers, Rory and Warren already gone, leaving me alone to change.
Dragging my feet because they felt like lead.
Questions raced through my head as I showered.
Why was she here?
Why would she leave Ontario?
Why did she look surprised to see me?
I took so long, nearly everyone else was gone by the time I shut the water off and wrapped my white cotton towel around my hips.
I rounded the corner, ready to get my gear and bolt—maybe to the nearest bar—but Chloe’s gasp halted me in my tracks.
“Oh god,” she snapped, blinking rapidly. “I thought everyone was gone.” She raised her hand over her eyes like I might blind her.
The move was enough to make me laugh, the motion soothing some of the sting at the sight of her.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I said, my voice too low, too raspy.
She dropped her hand, her eyes trailing the length of my body which was naked save for the towel. A slow trip where she paused at my abdomen which—thanks to gym days being every fucking day—were carved from stone.
“Yes, well, I . . . um . . .”
I dared to take a step toward her, unable to stop the pull she had on me. “Cat got your tongue, Chloe?” Her name rolled off my tongue so easy I could taste her there—green tea and mint and honey.
I swear I saw her shudder.
She cleared her throat, her spine straightening. “Wasn’t expecting to run into you like this, Bent.”
Acid and warmth.
Electricity and vibrations.
They shook me with the way she said my name.
“Half-naked?” I forced out the tease. “Or with the Sharks?”
Her eyes snapped to mine, the flecks of green shining from beneath the blue. “I’ve always known you were a Shark.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, like I could protect it from the onslaught of her voice, her smell, her nervous eyes.
“And this job . . .” I let the sentence hang there, praying to God she’d fill it in.
Hurt, almost at agonizing levels, flashed across her eyes before she shifted a calm mask over them. “I needed a change,” she said. “Sharks offered the most.”
“So, you’re here for the money?”
“Isn’t every job about that?”
“No,” I said. “Money is a perk. The job is a calling. At least for me. I thought for you, too.”
“Maybe,” she said. “A long time ago.”
I narrowed my gaze, trying to sift through her words, find the real meaning beneath.
Like I used to.
Like I’d always been able to do.
“Rogers!” Coach barked, causing Chloe to jump, her palms landing splayed on my water-beaded chest.
For an instant, the touch seared.
A flash of lightning striking me to my core.
“Oh!” She yelped as if I’d burned her and then jolted back a few steps.
“What the hell are you doing, Rogers?” Coach glared between us.
“About to get out of here, Coach,” I said, innocently enough.
“Then get there.”
I nodded at Coach and would’ve spared Chloe a look . . .
But she’d spun on her heels and rushed into Coach’s office like someone chased her.
I huffed, quickly slipping into some athletic pants and a white T, trying like hell not to think about how good her hands felt on me.
Didn’t need to be sporting a massive hard-on on my way out of the locker room.
Fuck my life if she didn’t make me ache.
My body may have forgotten the pain she caused, but I sure as
hell couldn’t.
Chapter 2
Chloe
A vacuum sucked all the air from my lungs.
Damn it all to hell.
I knew he was a Shark.
Knew it when I signed the contract—the one I desperately needed.
But I didn’t have a clue it would be so hard seeing him.
Like someone had stolen all the breath from my lungs and replaced it with bits of broken glass.
Bentley Rogers.
The love of life.
The one I’d wrecked to spare his career, and destroyed myself in the process.
I stomped into my studio apartment, the place was tiny and crowded and just what I needed.
I’d had a bigger place in Canada, but now . . . I was minimalizing.
Possessions.
People.
Whatever needed chucking.
Tossing my bag down on the cracked kitchen counter, I grabbed a small glass from the cabinet and poured myself two fingers of whiskey. I swirled the amber liquor around before tossing the whole thing back.
Bentley.
Seeing him was like taking a one-way ticket back in time.
To a life with so much more laughter.
Joy.
A non-toxic sort of happiness I could almost taste.
It had been so long since the wisps of that light caressed my insides.
My heart beats for yours.
I clenched my eyes shut, the sound of Bent’s voice too clear in my head.
He was thirteen when he first spoke those words. And he continued to remind me of that fact until the day he left.
Until the day I pushed him away.
Made him believe we weren’t something more.
“Damn,” I hissed, and poured myself another glass.