by Elise Faber
But they righted themselves and him, and then there was nothing but smiles and pounding each other on the back…
And the Cup being brought onto the ice.
Oliver got it first.
She watched him lift it over his head, the crowd roaring. He held it up as he moved around the ice, taking the traditional circle in a way that was slower because he didn’t have skates, but one that perhaps meant more to him than anyone else in the history of winning it.
Then he passed it onto Conner, who gave it to Marcel, who gave it to Luca, Theo, Raph. Everyone got their turn, and she knew that it was like they were getting their first-time celebration, too.
Because a year ago, it had been marred by Oliver’s injury.
Because this year, there was only joy.
She leaned on the bench, saw that she wasn’t the only one with wet eyes. All of the Gold players had stayed on their bench, were cheering just as loud. Including Brit, who had her helmet propped on top of her head, cheeks rosy, blond strands of hair gathering around her face.
And she was crying, too.
Because she got it. The players on the Gold got it.
Hell, everyone in the arena got it.
This was a painful loss and coming full circle, becoming whole when it seemed impossible.
It was endings and new beginnings.
And it was love…for a fellow player who’d been through a lot, for a teammate who’d lost what seemed to be everything, for a man who was so damned good despite having been through more than anyone should have.
Oliver came back over to her, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her tears away.
Then she did the same for him.
Then she stared into his eyes and said, “I am so going to marry you.”
She didn’t find out until later that the moment was caught on the Jumbotron, that a mic was nearby, and her words had been captured on camera, replayed on the game coverage, on the local news.
She wasn’t aware of any of that.
Not until her mom sent her samples for wedding invitations.
With a date set less than six months away.
With a Post-It stuck to the front of them that read simply, Grandbabies.
Epilogue Part Two
Breathless
Marcel
She was…insane.
That was the only logical explanation.
He’d followed Prudence Hansley, retiree from the NWHL and current Scout and Development Coach for the Breakers, from the rink to this bridge.
And now she was strapping a parachute to her back.
It was late afternoon.
He’d attended the camp she’d been running because he was in town and liked to stay in shape, and he tended to get a little tetchy if he wasn’t on the ice.
She’d run a tough clinic, put the guys through their paces, made some good suggestions and corrections, even to him, and then she’d released them. He’d showered. The young guys who’d attended camp all week had gone to do young guy things, but then as he was leaving, he’d heard Pru take a call that had concern rising in him.
The call had been an argument.
Ending with, “The conditions aren’t too dangerous. I’m doing it, and I don’t give a fuck what you say.”
Obviously, that had prickled every cautious bone in his body.
Because he was a man who was cautious. Who planned and proceeded with care and didn’t just dive in.
From the time he’d spent with her—she was his friend’s fiancé’s friend—their circles often crossing, and he’d heard enough about Pru’s adventures to be seriously worried when she said she was doing something when clearly the person on the other end of the call was advising against it.
Now she was standing next to a bridge and strapping a parachute to her back.
What the actual fuck?
He popped open his door, stormed across the metal and concrete.
She glanced up, and though her eyes went wide at his approach, she didn’t stop strapping it on. Was she going to jump? Off this?
Seriously.
What the fuck was wrong with her?
Did the woman have a death wish?
He grabbed her arm when she would have stepped over the barrier. “What the fuck are you doing, Pru?”
“None of your fucking business,” she snapped.
He reached for the buckle of her chute, undid it before she could do something stupider.
“Stop,” she growled, but was too slow. It was already undone, and he was yanking it down her arms, off her hands.
He’d barely gotten it off when she tried to yank it back.
So, he did the only thing he could.
Or maybe, more accurately, the only thing he could think of in that moment.
He launched it over the barrier.
Pru gasped and grabbed on to the metal, leaning over the edge. He moved with her, still not convinced she wouldn’t do something stupid, like try to jump after it and strap it on mid-air, Black Widow style.
But all she did was watch it head to the river below them.
Splash into the water.
Then spun back and shoved him. Hard. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Me?” He snapped. “Me? I’m not the one who was base jumping without anyone around after having an argument with a sensible person who said what is obvious and that being that the conditions are too fucking dangerous.”
“I failed to get the memo telling me you have a say over my life.”
“Do you have a fucking death wish?”
Her nostrils flared, and she took off for her car.
But she didn’t get in, didn’t take off and go home.
She went to the trunk and got out another pack. Another parachute.
His temper snapped, and he ripped it out of her hands, tossed that over the side of the bridge, and then braced himself because she was going to shove him again. “Any more in there?” he growled. “Because I’ll throw those over, too.”
“Those are expensive,” she gritted.
“I don’t give a fuck,” he snapped. “You want to go base jumping, you do it as safely as possible with spotters or a partner, and you don’t do it after someone advises you to not do it today because the conditions are shit.”
The wind picked up right then, silently supporting his assertion.
She plunked her hands on her hips. “I do what I want.”
“Yeah.” He sniffed. “And you don’t apparently care that you’ll hurt people if you die doing something stupid.”
Something almost like vulnerability crossed her face. “My parents are gone. I don’t have siblings. It’s just me, relying on me, living my life.” By the time she finished, any trace of vulnerability was gone. Then it was just fire and temper and spunk.
All of which called to him.
“So, who’s going to be hurt, huh?”
“Hazel. Oliver. The guys. Me.”
She blinked.
Then lifted her chin. “You realize that I’m going to do this, and you won’t be able to stop me.”
He glanced in her trunk, her back seat, saw there were no more packs. “Today, I did.”
“So what, you’re going to stalk me?”
“If I have to.”
She sniffed. “You made it pretty clear that you’re not interested in me, so why care now?”
“Not interested?” He’d been lusting after her for months.
“You turned me down.”
He scowled. “You were drunk.”
“You turned me down.”
He stepped closer. “I repeat. You were drunk. I don’t fuck women who can’t consent.”
That stopped her for a second, and her face lost the rage. “You turned me down because I was drunk?”
“Do you need me to say it for a third time?”
Her eyes went wide, and then half her mouth turned up, her body drifting closer. “This is the most words I’ve heard you say at once.”
He shrugged.
The other half of her mouth tipped up, and her body came flush with his. Long brown hair, lean and strong and with the most kissable set of lips he’d ever seen. Her breasts brushed his chest, her clean, fruity scent surrounded him. He settled his hands on her hips.
“Would you turn me down now?” she asked, dragging a finger down his chest.
No. He fucking wouldn’t.
But she knew precisely what she was doing, could probably feel precisely what she was doing to him…and his cock.
“Would you take me home and—”
His fingers tightened. “I’ll take you home, and I’ll fuck you, princess, but only if you promise to not jump off this bridge.”
She frowned. “I—”
“Until whoever was the voice of reason on the other end of that call, telling you today wasn’t right”—the wind whipped around them—“says the conditions are good. And then if you still want to do it, you do it.”
And he’d be here.
Making sure she was doing it as safely as possible.
Because despite what his ex said, he wasn’t the kind of man who clipped someone’s wings.
He just wanted the spreading of those wings and the leaping out of nests to happen safely and smartly.
Her hazel eyes swirled with emotions—heat, frustration, interest, attraction, annoyance, desire, and more that he couldn’t discern. He watched and waited to see what she would do.
Her face went blank.
He braced himself again.
“Okay,” she said, throwing her arms around him. “Take me home and fuck me, pretty boy.”
Breathless
Marcel and Pru’s story is coming December! Get your copy at www.books2read.com/BreathlessEF
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Also by Elise Faber
Billionaire’s Club (all stand alone)
Bad Night Stand
Bad Breakup
Bad Husband
Bad Hookup
Bad Divorce
Bad Fiancé
Bad Boyfriend
Bad Blind Date
Bad Wedding
Bad Engagement
Bad Bridesmaid
Bad Swipe
Bad Girlfriend
* * *
Gold Hockey (all stand alone)
Blocked
Backhand
Boarding
Benched
Breakaway
Breakout
Checked
Coasting
Centered
Charging
Caged
Crashed
Cycled
* * *
Breakers Hockey (all stand alone)
Broken
Boldly
Breathless
* * *
KTS Series
Riding The Edge
Crossing The Line
Leveling The Field
Scorching The Earth
* * *
Love, Action, Camera (all stand alone)
Dotted Line
Action Shot
Close-Up
End Scene
Meet Cute
* * *
Love After Midnight (all stand alone)
Rum And Notes
Virgin Daiquiri
On The Rocks
Sex On The Seats
* * *
Life Sucks Series (all stand alone)
Train Wreck
Hot Mess
Dumpster Fire
Clusterf*@k
FUBAR
* * *
Roosevelt Ranch Series (all stand alone, series complete)
Disaster at Roosevelt Ranch
Heartbreak at Roosevelt Ranch
Collision at Roosevelt Ranch
Regret at Roosevelt Ranch
Desire at Roosevelt Ranch
* * *
Phoenix Series (read in order)
Phoenix Rising
Dark Phoenix
Phoenix Freed
* * *
Phoenix: LexTal Chronicles (rereleasing soon, stand alone, Phoenix world)
From Ashes
In Flames
To Smoke
* * *
Stand Alones
Someday, Maybe (YA)
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author, Elise Faber, loves chocolate, Star Wars, Harry Potter, and hockey (the order depending on the day and how well her team -- the Sharks! -- are playing). She and her husband also play as much hockey as they can squeeze into their schedules, so much so that their typical date night is spent on the ice. Elise changes her hair color more often than some people change their socks, loves sparkly things, and is the mom to two exuberant boys. She lives in Northern California. Connect with her in her Facebook group, the Fabinators or find more information about her books at www.elisefaber.com.