by Sophia Henry
I can totally tell they’re related. He has the same honesty as Bree, but she inherited the better bedside manner.
Mason’s unimpressed tone and look tell me I’m nowhere near the top of the list of people he wants to be hanging out with right now. I completely understand, since I’m the one who ruined his fucking life.
“I’m sorry about running out the other day,” I tell him. “And, uh, this.” I wave my hand around.
“We’ve all been there, Luke.”
Might as well get all the big shit off my chest while I have him here.
“That hit, the one that took you out…shit, man, it wasn’t on purpose.” I collapse into the chair adjacent to the couch and drop my head to my hands as I contemplate what to say next. I take a deep breath. “And I’m really sorry. You know how it is out there on the ice. We’re not trying to hurt someone. We’re in the moment, thinking of what we need to do to get the W. Not realizing someone could get really hurt from a random hit. You know what I mean? I’ve thought about it for years. I—”
“Hold up,” Mason says, interrupting me midsentence.
I lift my head, ready to look at him and accept whatever he has to give me after my confession.
“You’re right, it’s the nature of the game, period. I don’t blame anyone for taking me out, Luke. I mean, I did get pissed when I recognized you. My first instinct was to fuck you up and blame you for my shitty life, but—I’ve known all along that it wasn’t just one hit or one person that ended my could-have-been career. The hit was clean.” Mason tosses the remote control to the TV onto the coffee table in front of him. “I had a list of concussions a mile long going into that game. That just happened to be the last one. I never thought it was anyone’s fault.”
I’m relieved that he sees it that way. I never blamed the dude that slammed me into the boards and took me out either, but I don’t know how I’d react if I found out my sister was dating him. If I had a sister, that is.
“How did you recognize me?” I ask.
“Fuck if I know.” Mason runs a hand through his dark, shaggy hair. “Your face must’ve triggered a memory I didn’t even know I had tucked away. It tripped me out.”
“I get it. Seeing you triggered a memory for me, too.”
Mason pauses and peers at me. His blue eyes are identical to Bree’s and it freaks me out. “Have you had that on your mind all these years? Thinking you took someone out of the game?”
“Honestly?” I ask, then shake my head. “No. I didn’t even think about it until I got hit myself.”
“So you didn’t give a shit until you realized you were dating the sister of the guy you took out?” Mason asks dryly.
“I didn’t know my hit ended your career,” I tell him. “I asked about you after the game and your coach told mine that you were fine. I didn’t think anything of it since it wasn’t malicious. Hell, do you ever think about any of the checks you delivered?”
Mason shakes his head. “Fuck, no. That’s the game.”
“Exactly. So when I saw you at Bree’s and realized who you were, I freaked. She’s been telling me about you and your injury for months. And come to find out it was me.” I tap my chest with my index finger. “I’m the person who ruined her brother’s life.”
“Yeah, that’s a complete mindfuck.” Mason laughs. “But I get it. I’ve been lost and depressed for the last seven years, then I get here and see Bree happier than I’ve ever seen her. And the reason she’s so fucking happy is you. It’s a weird, ironic situation, but I seriously don’t blame you.”
“Thanks.” I swallow hard and the tension finally releases its hold on my shoulders and neck.
“I hear you went out with a shitty fluke injury, too.”
“Yeah. Compressed-disc shit. Paralysis if I get hit again.” I use my hand to mimic a flapping mouth.
Mason laughs. “Dude, I get it. Stupid fucking concussions are not how I expected to leave the game.”
“It’s hard to believe when someone tells you you’ll never play again, right?” I can’t believe I’m actually admitting that my days of playing professional hockey are over—that’s been one of my biggest hurdles.
“It’s been seven years and I still can’t believe it,” Mason says in a faraway voice.
“I know it sucks going down before your time. I’ve been working through that myself over the last year. But it’s just a game, man. There are so many ways you can still be involved.”
“It’s not just a game and you know it.” Mason looks past me.
“You’re right. It’s not just a game. It’s who we are. It’s how we eat, sleep, and breathe. It’s how we define ourselves. And it takes time to find a new identity.” I pause. “But eventually, you have to find one. You can’t hole up in your parent’s mansion fucking around with videogames for the rest of your life.”
Mason reaches up and scratches his head, and I realize that might not sound like a bad thing to him. He probably hears this shit all the time.
“I spoke to a friend of mine in the Kings organization the other day. They have a scouting role open and he asked if I knew anyone who might be a good fit.”
The silence between us lasts longer than I expect. Mason’s eyes get wider as if he’s searching for clarity. “What? You want me to ask around?”
“No, Mason, I don’t want you to ask around,” I say. How much did those concussions mess this kid’s head up? “I’m offering to get you guys in touch. It’s not a sure thing. You’ll still have to interview and all that.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
Mason’s eyebrows veer closer together. “Did Bree put you up to this?”
“No. But she’s gonna fucking love me for it.” My lips spread into a grin. I can’t help it. I love the girl.
“She will.”
I want to see Bree so fucking badly, but I still have to focus on Mason for the next minute. “The travel sucks and the pay is shitty, but you’re back in the mix, working with young guys and the scouting staff of a professional team. It’s a foot in the door. What do you say?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Mason jokes.
“You can interview for a scouting position with the Kings or, ya know, you can keep being the Swirly Girl taste tester.”
“You should make my life sound a lot shittier if you want me to take the job,” Mason quips.
“It doesn’t get much shittier than being a middle-aged gamer with a craft-beer belly still living with mom and dad.” I tilt my head toward his stomach.
Mason’s hands fly to his middle as his face twists with the adequate amount of faux horror. Then he smiles and extends his hand. “Deal.”
“That was easy.”
“I’m desperate to get involved in the game again. My dad has a ton of contacts, but I wanted to do it myself. I know what sounds fucked, right?”
“No, it doesn’t. It sounds mature.” I don’t add that technically he still didn’t do it himself, because I’m not a complete dickbag. And me helping him is definitely better than groveling and asking Daddy.
When I hear my condo door open, I know it’s Bree.
“Hello?” she calls out, closing the door behind her. “I brought my first-aid kit in case you two beat the shit out of each other. Do I need it?”
“Nope. Luke’s getting me a job. Sort of. An interview,” Mason answers.
“Really?” Bree asks, looking back and forth between me and her brother.
I nod.
“I’ll get the deets from you later,” he says, walking backward toward the door. “Thanks again, Luke. I need to head out. It smells like puke in here.” He lifts the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose and shuts the door behind him.
It’s just me and Bree now.
“I can get you a job, too,” I tell her.
“I’m not looking for a job.”
“Well, I wasn’t looking to fall in love, but I did.” I take a step toward her and place my hands on her hips. Sh
e doesn’t back away or harden her stance. If anything, she relaxes in my grip, which tells me she’s forgiven me.
“You are different and funny and sexy and kind. I’ve never felt more comfortable or more attracted to anyone in my life.” I stop and rub my face in my hands. “I know I fucked up, Bree. I don’t know why the fuck I chose to lie—and run. But I do know that I can’t live without you, Bree. If you’re moving back to California, then I’m moving there too.”
“I’m not moving back, Luke.”
“You’re not?” I ask.
“Nope.” She grins and cups my face in her warms hands. “I want to be in Charlotte with you. Whatever you need right now. I’m not asking for forever—yet.”
“What if that’s what I want? Forever. Right here. Right now. With you.”
“We don’t have to make that decision this second.” She lets go of my face to wipe a tear from her cheek.
“I want you to. I want to know that you need me as much as I need you. That you love me as much as I love you.”
“You know I do.”
“You stood by my side and helped me make sense of things—my mom, life after hockey—and you helped me finally realize I’m good enough. I’ve been able to break through some difficult mental roadblocks over the last few months and I couldn’t have done that without my beautiful, natural, sexy California girl.”
Bree blushes. “Being with you has helped me, too, Luke.”
“We’re kind of a power couple, you know? If we stay together forever, we may be able to solve some of the biggest problems on earth. Like world peace, or how many licks it takes to get to the—”
Instead of letting me finish, Bree grabs my face again and says, “Save your licks for more interesting research, Luke.” Then she presses her lips to mine.
I immediately fold my arms around her and lift her up. She wraps her legs around my waist and I cradle her in my arms without separating our mouths. When we finally do, she’s flushed and breathless.
“I want to ask you to marry me,” I say. “Not today, but soon. Would that be okay?”
I wasn’t sure Bree would remember the moment at Jack’s funeral when I realized I wanted to spend all my time with her, and asked her if I could ask her out on a date. But the curve of her lips and the shine in her eyes tells me she does.
“Yeah, Luke,” she says with a nod. “That would definitely be okay.”
I’ve worked hard for everything in my life. That’s always been the measure of how important it was, because nothing ever came easy to me. But there’s something to be said for the amazing, selfless woman in my arms. The one who loves and appreciates me just as I am. The one who can help me forgive my own weaknesses because she believes in my strength.
Without having met Bree, I might never have been able to break away—maybe that’s what real love is all about.
Epilogue
Luke
ONE YEAR LATER
The pain is so intense that I think I might pass out. But I can’t say anything; I have to suck it up and be strong right now.
I wiggle my fingers, trying to loosen Bree’s grip on my hand before she breaks bones, but it’s virtually impossible. “Can you just—”
“Just what?” Bree asks through fast, heavy breaths. “Oh my gosh! Am I squeezing too hard?”
She’s not asking to be a jerk. She’s honestly concerned about me.
I quickly shake my head no. “Keep doing what you need to do. I’m good.” I bite back the throbbing and focus on the woman in front of me. The love of my life, who’s lying in a hospital bed at Charlotte Children’s Hospital about to give birth to our son.
There was never a doubt in my mind that I was going to marry Brianna Collins, so about eight months ago, I planned a trip to the Whitewater Center. I’d thought of every detail—right down to the music. We’d start on the rapids, move on to an evening yoga class, and finish the night with craft brews under the warm glow of the lights as we watched them reflecting off the rapids. A live jam band would be the soundtrack in the background as I proposed to Bree, the only girl I’ve ever loved.
I should have known that whenever I try to plan something in my life I’m going to trip over a bump in the road. This time wasn’t any different. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
—
When we got the Whitewater Center, Bree said she didn’t feel like rafting. That should’ve been my clue that something was up, but I brushed it off. We hung out, lying together on a blanket near the water, watching the rafters rush by. Yoga was perfect—as I knew it would be, since it’s one of Bree’s favorite ways to relax.
When she said she didn’t want to stay for music and craft beers, I got worried.
“What’s wrong, Bree?” I ask. “You haven’t been yourself today.”
“I, um…” Bree glances around. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, so the place was packed.
When she pauses, I recognize the chords of Bob Marley’s “Is This Love” coming from the stage, where a local reggae band has been performing for the last half hour. We may not have craft beers in our hands, but I never could have planned to have a cover of the perfect song playing while proposing, so I take it as the universe’s cue for me to go for it.
As if we’re drawn together by some outside force, we turn toward each other and grasp hands. Then we both speak at the same time.
“Will you marry me?” I ask.
“I’m pregnant,” Bree says.
“Wait, what?” we say in unison.
“Oh my gosh.” Bree releases my hands to cover her face.
But I can’t let her hide that gorgeous smile I love so much. I reach out and slide my palm across her cheek. She drops one hand and places the other over mine.
“Did you just say you’re pregnant?”
She nods. Her lips are turned up in the biggest grin.
My heart beats faster, but I can’t stop my smile. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
This time she shakes her head no.
I scoop her up in my arms, as if I’m about to carry her over the threshold. Then I press my lips against hers no less than twenty times. Fuck the stupid Whitewater Center. I want to get my girl home and celebrate the news—with sex.
—
Be the kind of person your kids will respect when they’re old enough to form a real opinion of you.
That’s the mantra I came up with for myself on the flight home from Vancouver, after the last time I met with my mom.
For the most part, I’ve lived that mantra. I might have made a few mistakes, like anyone, but nothing that could change the reality of the kind of person I am.
I hope my son sees that. I hope he knows how much his mother and I love him and want the best for him. He’s going to make mistakes, just like we did. But he’s going to be surrounded by love and support the entire way.
If you asked me before I met Bree if I wanted kids, I would have said no. I never thought I’d want a family, because mine was so fucked-up. But if I’ve learned anything from Bree, I’ve learned that even though we can’t change the past, we have the power to create our own future. And there’s no one I’d rather create a future with than Bree.
This is for you—the amazing person reading this book. I’ll never be able to express how much your support means to me. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.
Acknowledgments
Acknowledgment lists are always hard for me, because I know I’m forgetting someone. I hope everyone who read this far knows how much I appreciate you. I try to use social media to let you into my life and tell you how I feel. Follow me and engage. I love conversations with readers!
Kristalyn, Jessica, and Julie: Thank you for beta reading and critiquing Breakaway. I value your opinions, honesty, and how great you are at kicking my butt into shape, while still being kind.
Sue Grimshaw: Thank you for working with me to turn Breakaway into the story it is today. This book was written during a turbulent time in my life, when happily-ever-after was
the last thing on my mind. I appreciate that you gave me the time and freedom I needed to bring Luke and Bree to life.
Every single person at Random House/Loveswept who had a hand in bringing the Pilots series to life. I’m lucky to work with such a talented group of creative professionals.
The phenomenal staff at Amélie’s French Bakery and Free Range Brewing on North Davidson in Charlotte, NC: Not sure if anyone in either place realized that I wrote this entire book within that bakery and brewery, but I did—edits and all. I was drawn in by the delicious food and tasty drinks, but I return for the wonderful people and eclectic, all-encompassing, positive vibe. Thanks to everyone at both places for creating a space where anyone can come in, sit down, and feel comfortable.
The Charlotte Checkers organization: Thank you for letting me work with you during the 2016–2017 season. It’s awesome having such great hockey to watch here in Charlotte, my adopted home. A special thanks to the Checkers players and staff for the community-service projects you take part in. I’m impressed at how large an impact the Checkers Charitable Foundation makes in our city, and I’m honored to be a part of that.
Music: How is it possible that I have never acknowledged the music that inspires every single aspect of my life—and books—before now? Check out the songs that helped me create the stories on my website: www.sophiahenry.com/playlists or Spotify: SophiaHenry313.
Jeni Burns: How the hell could I ever make it through life without your encouragement, ideas, realism, and friendship? Thank you for everything!
Phenomenal friends: My #TZWNDUBC peeps and original RT girls. Holy cow! It’s been an amazing few years. I couldn’t imagine my life without your encouragement and support. Books brought us together, but fun, respect, and kindness keeps us together. I’m proud to call each one of you my friend and appreciate that you’ve always accepted me for who I am and who I continue to become.
Every author, reader, blogger, and friend I’ve connected with in the writing world: This truly is an amazing community of people who build up their peers to help each other succeed. I’m so fortunate to write in such a supportive environment.