Sin Bin (Denver Rebels Book 3)

by Maureen Smith

  Logan closed his eyes, fighting raw emotion. “The next morning he called CPS to come get me. He assured me that it was only temporary. He looked me right in the eye and told me that my mom would be back soon, even though he knew that was a lie. I waited and waited for her. The next day came and went with no sign of her. One week turned into a month, and I was still waiting for her to come back and get me. Twenty years later, as a grown fucking man, I still clung to the ridiculous hope that she would reappear someday and tell me it was all just one big misunderstanding.”

  His heartrending words brought a rush of warm tears to Meadow’s eyes. She kissed the back of his neck and buried her face in his hair, grief and sorrow nearly overwhelming her.

  He breathed deeply, working to keep his voice steady and his emotions under control. “At least I finally have some closure.”

  “That’s true.” Meadow sniffled. “But there’s still so much you don’t know about why she left or what her life was like in Argentina—”

  “I don’t want to know.” The words were raw, bitter. “If she went there and started a new family, it would make her desertion so much fucking worse.”

  Meadow’s throat tightened. She silently agreed with him.

  “Your father must have come clean and told his family about you. Your siblings—”

  “I already knew about them,” Logan said gruffly. “I used to see them in commercials when I lived in Toronto, and they follow me on social media.”

  “Really? Do you follow them back?”

  “No, but I’ve seen their Instagram pages. They seem like rich, spoiled brats.”

  Meadow smiled a little as she began massaging his shoulders. His muscles were hard, bunched with tension.

  “Do you think you’ll ever call your father?” she asked softly.

  “No.” His voice was cold, his answer unequivocal. “Hell no.”

  She nodded slowly. “I don’t blame you.”

  As he sank into a brooding silence, she quietly sloshed more bubble bath into the water. Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and urged his head back against her chest. When he didn’t resist, she poured handfuls of warm water over his head, gently massaging the fragrant suds into his black hair.

  He closed his eyes, seeming to relax as her fingers combed through the silky strands and stroked his scalp.

  When he finally spoke again, his voice was so low she wondered if the words were actually meant to be heard. “I lost my virginity when I was eight years old.”

  Her hands stilled, and she stared down at his face.

  His voice had no inflection. “I guess ‘lost’ isn’t really the right word. It was taken from me.”

  A sick feeling settled in Meadow’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

  He sat up slowly, water streaming down his face as he wrapped his arms around his legs again. “When I was eight, I lived with a foster family that had a daughter named Cheyenne. She was twenty-one years old and she took classes at the local community college. I thought she was pretty, and she was the only one in the family who was nice to me. Her brother treated me like a stray dog off the street. Her mother tolerated me because she wanted the checks. Her father barely acknowledged me, which I didn’t mind because he was an abusive, raging alcoholic who couldn’t stay out of the casinos. The more money he lost on the slots, the more pissed off he was when he came home. And when he was pissed off and drunk, things got real ugly,” Logan recalled grimly. “His wife would always warn him not to hit me because she didn’t want my social worker to find out and take me away. Like I said, those monthly checks were all she cared about.”

  Meadow sat motionless, barely breathing as Logan rested his chin on his knees, his eyes closing before he continued speaking. “One day when I was walking past Cheyenne’s room, I heard her crying. She saw me and called my name. When I went into her room, she invited me to sit next to her on the bed. She told me she’d just broken up with her boyfriend because he cheated on her. I didn’t really know what to say, but I figured I should try to cheer her up with some jokes. So that’s what I was doing when she suddenly leaned over and kissed me. I was stunned. I knew it was wrong for her to be kissing me. It felt wrong. But when I pushed her away, she started crying again. I was scared and confused. I wanted to get the hell out of there, but I felt sorry for her. So I stayed. And before I knew what was happening, she was undressing me and…doing things to me.” A shudder ran through him, the pain of excavating traumatic memories roughening his voice. “When it was over, she begged me not to tell anyone. She said if her father ever found out, he’d kill both of us. I knew she was right, so I promised to keep our…relationship a secret.”

  Meadow listened in horrified silence, reeling from every word.

  “After that day, she started sneaking into my room late at night when everyone else was asleep. After three months, she started getting too comfortable, and it made her sloppy and careless. One afternoon when we were home alone again, she came to my room and said she wanted to give me a special blowjob. That’s what she was doing when her father came home early and caught us. I’ll never forget the enraged look on his face. The shock and disgust. He grabbed Cheyenne by her hair and yanked her off me, then started yelling and beating the shit out of her.

  “On one hand, I was glad that we’d gotten caught. Now that our dirty little secret was out, I knew the abuse would finally stop. On the other hand, I was scared because he was really whaling on Cheyenne, and I thought he was going to kill her. So I got up and flew at him, kicking and punching him with everything I had. But I was just a kid, so there was only so much damage I could inflict. Once he turned all his rage on me, I didn’t stand a chance. He fucked me up so bad that I ended up in the ER with a concussion, two black eyes, a broken arm and four broken ribs. I came out of surgery surrounded by my social worker and the police. Both Cheyenne and her father had been arrested for child abuse.” Logan’s back expanded on a deep breath followed by a heavy sigh. “And that’s how I spent my ninth birthday.”

  “Oh my God, Logan!” Meadow cried tearfully, sickened and appalled. “That happened on your birthday?”

  He nodded tightly.

  “As if your birthday wasn’t traumatic enough!”

  “I know,” he said darkly. “If I could have erased April eighth from the fucking calendar, I would have. To make matters worse, Cheyenne was never convicted. She got off scot-free.”

  Meadow wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him fiercely, kissing the top of his head as her tears fell into his hair. He bowed his head, holding her arms against his chest as she wept silently. She was heartbroken for him, devastated that he’d suffered such a horrifying, soul-crushing ordeal.

  She thought of the way puck bunnies threw themselves at him, craving the famous bedroom skills he’d had no choice in learning. She now understood why he treated women like cheap commodities, toys to be enjoyed and discarded. Being abused at such an early age had shaped his attitudes about women and intimacy. Because his introduction to sex had been poisoned, his feelings would probably always be tainted.

  “It’s different with you,” he spoke as if he’d read her mind. His voice was low, rough and achingly raw. “The night of my birthday when we made love for the first time, and every time after that, there were no ghosts between us. No ugly memories. No fear or shame. There was no one in the room but you and me. Believe me when I say that making love with you couldn’t be more beautiful and perfect.”

  She swallowed the painful ache in her throat and held him even tighter, her breasts plastered against his back. “I love you so much, Logan,” she whispered fervently. “I’ll always love you, and I’ll always be here for you.”

  He linked their fingers over his heart. “You’re all I need, Meadow. All I could ever need or want.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  LOGAN

  Santino called logan the next evening, waking him from his nap. He was exhausted from practice and still feeling the effects of yesterda
y’s hangover. So he was mostly unresponsive for the first few minutes of Santino’s call.

  Apparently Jupiter had talked to Trish while Logan was out of commission yesterday. Trish was so concerned that she’d called Roxanne—her new bestie—who in turn called Logan to fuss over him. After assuring her that he wasn’t suicidal, he’d made her promise not to call Santino. She’d kept her word for all of half a day.

  “I didn’t know,” Santino was saying. “If I had known where the donations were coming from, I would have sat you down and told you. I would have let you decide whether you wanted to keep accepting his money, but I would have strongly encouraged you to do so.”

  Logan frowned. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” Santino was unapologetic. “Your father got away with not paying child support for eighteen damn years. The money he donated for you to play hockey is only a fraction of what he owed you and your mother. If she’d taken him to court, there’s a good chance he would’ve been ordered to pay big bucks given his tremendous wealth. That kind of money would have provided a completely different life for you and your mother.” Santino sighed. “Honestly, son, I wish your mother had played hardball and threatened to go public about their relationship. If he’d refused to pay child support, the negative publicity would have hurt his family’s reputation and jeopardized their fortune. That’s the last thing he would have wanted. He would have cooperated just to protect his family name.”

  Logan scowled. “She shouldn’t have had to resort to blackmail to make that bastard do the right thing.”

  “I agree wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, some men need extra incentive to handle their responsibilities.” Santino sounded grim. “I don’t want you to think I’m blaming your mother in any way. I know she was young and naive, and times were different back then.”

  Logan frowned, anger stirring deep in his gut as he stalked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. “I don’t want that son of a bitch taking any credit for what I’ve accomplished.”

  “He doesn’t deserve any credit,” Santino said unequivocally. “The world is full of people who have the money but lack the talent and drive to become elite athletes. Lucien Brassard didn’t make you the phenomenal hockey player you are. He simply provided the means for you to show the world what you’re made of.”

  Logan grunted, unscrewing the cap on his water bottle and taking a deep swig.

  Santino blew out a heavy breath. “I’m really sorry about your mother, son. I hate that you had to learn the truth this way.”

  Logan swallowed tightly. “Me, too.”

  “So he didn’t tell you how she passed?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “And he didn’t volunteer the information?” Santino gently prodded. “He came all the way from Canada to lay his cards on the table. Your mother’s departure changed the course of your entire life. Why would Lucien leave without giving you the full story?”

  Logan’s gut tightened. “I didn’t give him a chance. I told him to leave before I laid hands on him.”

  Santino fell silent, thinking.

  Logan swigged more water, watching the surveillance camera that showed live feed of the parking garage. He was waiting for Jupiter to come home from work. He missed the hell out of her. She couldn’t walk through the door fast enough.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Santino asked in concern. “I know it was a terrible shock, having your deadbeat father show up out of the clear blue. Maybe I should have a talk with him—”

  “No,” Logan growled. “That won’t be necessary. I made it perfectly clear he’s not welcome back.”

  “I bet you did.” Santino gave a grim little laugh. “Roxanne’s ready to pack her bags and come stay with you to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I know,” Logan said softly, watching Jupiter’s car pull into the garage. “I told her not to worry. I’m in good hands.”

  “I have no doubt.” Santino’s voice warmed. “I told that young lady she’s good for you. Always has been.”

  “She is,” Logan agreed with a quiet smile. “She’s one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

  The night before playoffs started, Logan went to see Hunter. Jupiter was attending a community outreach forum, so she would be home late.

  Hunter lived in Cherry Hills Village, one of the most affluent cities in Colorado. His sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion sat on ten acres with stunning mountain views.

  Logan passed through the security gate and drove up the long winding driveway to the detached ten-car garage. Hunter was a car aficionado with an extensive collection of cars that he stashed here and at his homes in Canada and Italy.

  Logan parked in a guest spot and made his way up the walk to the double front doors.

  Hunter’s pretty little housekeeper answered the door. Her cheeks were flushed and her dark hair was slightly mussed. She’d either been scrubbing toilets or getting busy with the boss. The latter seemed unlikely since Hunter swore he’d never touched her.

  She was the youngest daughter of his parents’ closest friends. When she couldn’t find work in Quebec, Hunter had offered her a generous six-figure salary to relocate to Denver and manage his household. She totally idolized him. Family friend or not, she probably wouldn’t object too strongly if he ever invited her into his private harem.

  She smiled, smoothing loose strands of hair back into her bun. “Bonsoir, Logan.”

  “Bonsoir, Juliette. Comment ça va?”

  “Ça va bien, merci.” She beamed at him. “You speak French so well.”

  “I took it in high school.” He smiled. “Is your boss around?”

  “Oui. He’s home.” She opened the door wider. “Come in.”

  Logan stepped into the massive foyer and toed off his boots. He did the same thing whenever he entered Viggo’s home. Sandström was Swedish, so removing shoes at the door was customary. With Hunter it was part nod to Japanese tradition, part OCD.

  As Logan carefully lined up his boots by the door, he saw Juliette watching him. He winked at her.

  She blushed and smiled shyly. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Not at the moment. Thanks.” He glanced toward the double staircase that wound up to the second level before branching off into two separate wings. “So what’s he up to? Trying to solve the mysteries of the universe?”

  “Did that last week.” Hunter had materialized as silently as a ninja. His chest was bare above the low-slung waist of black drawstring pants.

  Logan gave him a lopsided grin. “Bro, I hate it when you sneak up on me like that.”

  Hunter’s eyes glinted. “I was just about to meditate. Why don’t you join me?”

  “Ah, no, that’s okay. I’ll just—”

  Hunter had already turned and walked off, leaving Logan no choice but to follow.

  The twelve-thousand-square-foot house had ten bedrooms and eight bathrooms. The place was humongous, and some of the hallways felt like a maze as they turned in on themselves, making it easy to get lost if you didn’t know where the hell you were going.

  Hunter did a lot of entertaining. It seemed that every other week he was hosting a dinner party, fundraiser, masquerade ball or gala art opening. So the size of the house perfectly suited his needs.

  “So, listen,” Logan said to Hunter’s broad back, “I was wondering if you could show me how to make one of those fancy dishes of yours.”

  Hunter chuckled. “You came here for a cooking lesson?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Logan felt uncharacteristically sheepish. “Jupiter’s staying with me until we hit the road for game three. I want to make a special dinner for her on Saturday night. You know, to show my gratitude and appreciation for the way she was there for me on Tuesday. I mean, both of you were. But she’s my girl, you know? So I just...” He heard himself rambling and paused, biting his lip uncertainly. “What do you think? About the special dinner?”

  Hunter sent a smile over his shou
lder. “I think that’s a superb idea.”

  Logan grinned broadly.

  “If you’d come earlier, I could have showed you how to make Ossobuco. I’ve got a batch simmering in the oven—”

  “You made Ossobuco?” Logan asked excitedly.

  Hunter chuckled. “I did.”

  Logan pumped his fist. “Yes!”

  Hunter was an amazing cook, which came in handy when he entertained. His mother was Italian. Both she and her mother had taught Hunter everything they knew about cooking. By the time he was fifteen, he’d mastered many of their signature family recipes. His Ossobuco alla Milanese was one of Logan’s favorite dishes.

  Hunter led him through the south wing of the house to a rear terrace that opened onto an impeccably landscaped Japanese garden. The view from the terrace was spectacular. The rugged outline of the Rocky Mountains was visible in the distance.

  As they started down a long curved path, Hunter glanced at Logan. “She’s amazing, by the way. Beauty and brains out the wazoo.”

  “I know.” Logan smiled.

  “We had a riveting discussion about the most recent discoveries in astronomy. She has some fascinating theories about the black holes that were found near the center of the galaxy.” Hunter grinned, clapping a hand to the back of Logan’s head. “You’ve got yourself a real keeper there.”

  Logan’s chest swelled with pride and love. “Believe me, I know how lucky I am.”

  “Damn right you are. And don’t you forget it.”

  They passed the garden and koi pond to reach the Japanese teahouse. The wooden structure was totally authentic with a low-slung overhanging roof, shoji sliding paper screens and tatami mats covering the floor inside. Hunter frequently hosted tea ceremonies for the Japanese businessmen and diplomats he entertained. The teahouse was also where he came to meditate, especially before big games.

  When he slipped inside, Logan hesitated at the threshold. He always felt like he should bow before entering the muted space.