Wanting to Forget (Jordie's Tale) (Assassins Series Book 7)

by Toni Aleo

  The Bellevue Bullies Series

  Boarded by Love

  Clipped by Love

  Hooked by Love (Fall 2015)

  The Assassins Series

  Taking Shots

  Trying to Score

  Empty Net

  Falling for the Backup

  Blue Lines

  Breaking Away

  Laces and Lace

  A Very Merry Hockey Holiday

  Overtime (Summer 2015)

  Standalone

  Let it be Me

  Taking Risks Series

  The Whiskey Prince

  Becoming the Whiskey Princess

  Jordie Thomas is looking for something to take his mind off of the woman he let go—or rather, pushed away—and the terrifying prospect of what will happen if his broken leg doesn’t heal. He’s ready to get back to his family and fellow teammates on the Nashville Assassins and get back onto the ice. However, with his injured leg in the way and his mind clouded by a certain woman, he needs a break to clear his head and his heart. With New Orleans in his sights, can this player find a way to get back to the crazy and reckless life he used to live? Find out as author Toni Also takes readers on a wild journey in this Assassins novella.

  Jordie Thomas knew he should stop her.

  He should, but he couldn’t.

  Pressing his lips to hers once more, he held the door open, the cold air coming in a gust as she rushed out, pulling it shut behind her. Holding the knob in his hand, his eyes fell shut as the sound of her footsteps disappeared and then the slamming of her car door. Leaning his head against the door, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  Go after her, he urged himself. Don’t let her go.

  But he didn’t move.

  When he didn’t hear her car start, he slowly made it to the window, favoring his mending leg to peek outside. She was in the car, as he assumed, but fuck, she was crying. Hard. He usually didn’t care when girls cried, having watched his mom cry for every one of her husbands, but he’d truly never believed that she cared. Though now watching her jerk with her sobs, Jordie couldn’t handle it. Looking away, he fell into the chair beside the window before leaning forward, cupping his face in his hands as he sucked in deep breaths, letting them out in a whoosh. This was his chance; he had time to get out there, to stop her, but still he didn’t move.

  He could blame it on his leg. After snapping it in a hockey game back in October, he was still recovering from all the surgeries. The pain was dull due to all the crazy sex they’d just had, but he was fine. He could blame it on the fact that she was his best friend’s sister, but that hadn’t stopped him from fucking her, had it? He could blame it on all kinds of things, come up with reason after reason for why they couldn’t be together, but the answer was pretty straightforward.

  An answer he was going to fully ignore at the moment.

  When he heard the car finally start and then her tires crunching through the snow, he let his head hang as he squeezed his eyes shut. Reaching for the whiskey that sat on the table, he took a long swig but then pulled it from his mouth quickly.

  He could taste her on the bottle.

  Fuck.

  Throwing the bottle against the wall, he pushed himself up out of the chair and wobbled toward the fridge for anything that was just as strong. His heart was pounding, his blood burning in his skin, and he just felt worthless. How could he have let it get this far? How could he have fallen for someone when he’d sworn off love for so long? It was just too easy. All she had to do was walk into the room and he was a goner.

  He usually didn’t like girls who gave him shit, but she did, tenfold. The first time she met him, she called him an asshole. While yes, he was just that, he liked that she called him on his bullshit and she made it known that she wasn’t going to deal with it. She was strong, beautiful, and fucking talented. She could skate circles around a lot of his professional hockey-playing friends. She was a beast. He loved her tenacity, her drive, and most of all, she fucked like a damn dream. God, he could still feel her on him, tasting him, and driving him wild with need.

  She was just different.

  He never fucked a girl continuously. He’d fuck some chick over and over again in a twenty-four-hour span, but never two days back-to-back, and he never let a girl back in his bed who had been there before. But she was different. He couldn’t get enough; he had to have her, craved her, and it was a scary feeling. When he’d moved home to Colorado, she’d actually stayed with him so they could fuck. Never had a girl lived with him, but she did, and he didn’t want her to leave. Still didn’t want to let her leave, but what could he do? He owed it to her not to allow her to fall even more. Now, at least, she could get over him. Live a good life with some dumbass who wouldn’t equal up to him in the least, but she’d be happy. The whole white picket fence bullshit.

  She’d like that.

  As long as it had a rink and a fucking beagle.

  That was what she wanted in her Happily Ever After.

  He could give it to her, he could, but would it last?

  Would he love her for the rest of his life? And if he did, would she love him? It was a risk, one he had no intention of taking, so he might as well let it go.

  He had to get rid of these feelings.

  Lock them down.

  Throwing the freezer open, he found a bottle of vodka and started to chug, hoping to dull the pain. He didn’t want to feel like this. He was the one who let her go, who didn’t give her the love she wanted. He could see it in her eyes, had been seeing it for the last week, but he’d ignored it. Love was messy. Heartbreak was worse. He had lived his thirty-one years a single man, and he planned to die that way. He wasn’t going to let anyone in ever again. He just couldn’t.

  But somehow, she had wiggled her way inside, and now that she was gone, he missed her. He didn’t miss anyone, but he missed her. It was such a life-altering feeling. He’d gone so long without needing anyone, but now he wanted the one person he knew if he was to hurt would devastate him. He didn’t need that right now. He had to rehab his leg; he had to get ready to go back to Nashville, to his team, the Nashville Assassins, to play the greatest game on earth.

  He didn’t have time miss or even love her. She deserved better, someone who wanted to take the risk on love. One who didn’t care about his past or the betrayal that still haunted him or even the fear of losing his best friend. He didn’t let people in, but somehow this brother and sister duo had gotten in and he couldn’t lose them both. He had to let her go. It was what was for the best; he just wished it didn’t hurt so badly.

  Chugging more of the bitter liquid, he closed his eyes, hoping for oblivion. Letting the bottle hit the table hard, he rubbed his eyes, hoping to feel something other than the pain, but still it was there. He had to forget, but how could he? You don’t forget someone like her.

  Kacey King left her mark on him.

  He was hers.

  When his phone signaled a text, his head popped up, making him dizzy. Shaking his head, he reached for his phone, and he hated how much he hoped it was from her. He should have known better than to sleep with her. He should have known at first glance that she would be his downfall. Her eyes spoke to him, those gorgeous brown eyes that could undress him in two seconds flat. Her dark brown hair fell along her breasts in the most delectable way. Her ass was a thing of the gods. She squatted like a good girl should, and man, he loved getting his hands on those globes of beauty.

  And fuck, she tasted good.

  Like honey almost.

  Ugh, why did he let her go?

  Opening his eyes, he saw t
hat it was a text, but not from Kacey, from her brother, his best friend, Karson.

  Karson: Hey dude, Happy New Year’s.

  He didn’t deserve Karson’s wish of a happy new year; he had just let his sister go, probably broke her heart. But he texted him back.

  Jordie: Thanks man, you too.

  Karson: You okay? Taking it easy?

  Jordie: To some extent.

  Karson: LOL, I bet. Well, I have some news.

  Jordie: Yeah?

  Karson: Kacey is going to play for the US women’s team.

  He already knew this. They had been celebrating until she decided she needed to walk, but he was still so fucking proud. How could he not be? She was gonna kill it and bring the Gold home. He knew it, felt it, but Karson couldn’t know that he knew.

  Jordie: That’s badass. I’ll have to text her and congratulate her.

  Karson: Yeah, do that, we are superproud. Maybe we can fly out together to watch her.

  Closing his eyes, he knew he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t be there and watch her win; he’d crumble and tell her he was in love with her. That he needed her more than a normal person needed someone. It wasn’t right what she did to him. For so long he’d thought he had no humanity, but then she trotted into his life and turned it upside down. He’d thought for so long that love wasn’t in his cards…but… No, it wasn’t. He couldn’t. There was no trust left inside him. Karson was it. He didn’t even trust his mom, and that was saying something.

  But that was all beside the point.

  Looking down at his phone, he grabbed the bottle with his other hand and took a pull before texting him back.

  Jordie: We will see. Depends on the leg.

  Karson: Yeah, for sure.

  Karson: I have other news.

  Jordie: Yeah? What?

  Karson: Lacey is pregnant.

  Dropping his head, his heart just felt like it was exploding in his chest, but somehow he managed to text him back a happy response. While his life seemed to be falling apart, he was happy for his best friend. Karson had wanted a baby with the girl he’d let go of for a very long time. To know that it was happening was a fucking miracle, but at the same time, it just showed Jordie more how alone he really was.

  How pathetic and disgusting he was.

  Jordie: Man, that’s fantastic news. Congratulations. Give Lacey a kiss for me. Really, that’s great.

  Karson: Yeah, man, I can’t believe it. I’m so fucking happy.

  Jordie: You should be. Your life is pretty fucking great, eh?

  Karson: LOL, yeah it is.

  Karson: I miss you. In a no homo way, of course.

  Laughing, Jordie leaned back and something else just ached. He missed Karson too. They’d lived together for the last three years until Karson’s now-wife Lacey showed back up in his life. Still though, they were peas and carrots, as some of the guys on the team said. Karson just got him, understood why he was an asshole and still dealt with him.

  Just like Kacey.

  Jordie: I miss you too, dude. I can’t wait to come home.

  Even though Colorado was the place he was raised, Nashville would always be home. His real family was there.

  Karson: Me neither, bud. Talk to you soon, try not to drink too much.

  Jordie: Can’t promise you anything.

  Karson: Wouldn’t expect you to.

  Yeah, he wouldn’t. Jordie didn’t make promises; he didn’t care enough to. He just lived life the best he could. Which was becoming really fucking lonely, but what could he do? Promise himself to someone? Please. Not when he couldn’t trust a fucking soul and not when there were plenty of bitches to fuck.

  When another text signaled, he expected it to be Karson, and this time, he hoped it wasn’t Kacey. He was in a shitty place. He couldn’t take hearing from her. But thankfully, it was his buddy in New Orleans, Pierre Paul.

  Pierre Paul: Hey fuckface, Happy New Year.

  It didn’t seem very happy to him, and if this was the way his year was going to go, he’d gladly take a pass on it. But he texted back just the same, hoping differently for his buddy he’d played with in college. He was a good friend, but he wasn’t Karson. Karson was the first person Jordie had trusted since he was seventeen. But then Kacey came along, and well, that was a whole fucking other boxed-up issue he had no strength to even open. He’d rather drink himself stupid than open it up, but first he needed to text back his boy.

  Pierre Paul: What you up to? Fucking bitches?

  Jordie Thomas: I wish. I’m sitting here drinking my problems away.

  Pierre Paul: Alone?

  Jordie Thomas: Yup.

  Pierre Paul: Fucktard, stop that shit and come on down. I have the weekend off. We can party it up like we used to.

  Jordie Thomas: My leg’s busted.

  Pierre Paul: So, you don’t need a leg to drink or fuck. Come on. Change of scenery will do you good, get you ready before you gotta start training again.

  He wouldn’t mind getting away, but was that really a good idea? Looking at the bottle on the table, he shrugged. It was sure better than drinking alone. Hell, why not? A change in the scenery would be great. Maybe it would help get Kacey out of his mind.

  When his phone went black, he hit it again to text Pierre back, but a picture of him and Kacey stopped him. They were lying in bed, naked, but only he knew that. It was a good picture; her hot little body was pressed up against his, her arm lazily on him as she took the picture. He was staring at the camera, his dark eyes admiring her beauty as she stared at him. They actually looked like a couple. A hot one, of course, and the picture always knocked the air out of him.

  He knew that was the moment she fell for him, and hell, it might have been the moment he fell for her. He could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at her, that she was more than just a fuck. She was something special to him, and that was bad. Very bad. He knew he should have called it off then, but he’d allowed her to leave and then come back for more. He couldn’t get enough of her. When she’d come back, she’d stolen his phone and made the picture his wallpaper. He’d teased her, saying that’s what people in relationships did, just to remind her that he wasn’t about that life, but she’d ignored him and did it anyway.

  And he just never changed it back.

  When his phone dinged again, another text from Pierre came through.

  Pierre Paul: Come on pussface, say yes, you know you want to.

  A weekend of getting plastered and falling dick-first into waiting bitches?

  Yeah, he did want that.

  And maybe by the end, he would forget her.

  Walking out of Louis Armstrong airport, the first thing he saw was Pierre leaning against his car, his Ray-Bans on, and wearing the tightest pants ever. Pierre had always been into fashion like a sissy, but the dude got more ass than Jordie, so maybe the tight pants worked. Not that Jordie would ever be caught dead in them. What killed him the most was the fact that Pierre was wearing a tank that didn’t cover anything, showing off his body that didn’t have an inch of his original skin. No, Pierre was covered from neck to hips in badass tattoos, and apparently, by the appreciative looks of females, he didn’t need a shirt that hung off his body.

  “Hey, fuckface!” he hollered, pushing off the car to come shake his hand. After doing the bro hug, Jordie pulled back and gave him a dumbass look.

  “Dude, it’s like fifty degrees. Where are your clothes?”

  Pierre waved him off. “Eh, it’s warm, not like Colorado.”

  Jordie agreed. “You’ve got a point. Come on, my leg is aching. I need to sit down.”

  Pierre scoffed as he took Jordie’s bag, throwing it in the back of his Miata. “You’re a fucking puss now,” he teased, and Jordie flipped him off as he settled slowly into the passenger seat.

  “You try snapping your leg in half and see if you aren’t in pain,” he shot back as he put his seat belt on.

  It bothered him that Pierre teased him; his injury wasn’t for the faint of h
eart. The whole arena had gone silent after he rushed the puck and went leg-first into the boards, his leg going one way while his body went the other. It wasn’t a joking matter, and it had scared the fuck out of him. But he guessed Pierre did catch the venom in his voice because he only laughed as he started the car up and drove off, tires squealing like those of an obnoxious teen.

  Leaning back, Jordie listened as Pierre talked about the city and where he was staying. He had only just come to the New Orleans Jazz, the city’s hockey team. It was a new team and apparently Pierre hated it, but they were winning, so that was a good thing. They had a home game Monday, but Jordie was leaving on Sunday. He had to get back to PT on Monday, despite wanting to watch his friend play.

  “I’ll catch it on TV.”

  “Cool,” Pierre muttered as he turned out onto the highway. “The women here are all right. Gotta be careful though, lots of hookers.”

  “Lovely. Good thing I don’t need to pay for sex.”

  “No shit, right? We’ll go to my regular spot, find us some bitches, and get down. My house is big enough for both of us.”

  “Awesome,” Jordie said with a nod. “I need the distraction, that’s for sure.”

  “Figured, when you said you were drinking alone. What’s got you fucked up? I didn’t think you got fucked up.”

  He was right, Jordie didn’t, but since the accident, things had changed. He wasn’t sure why, but when Kacey wasn’t around, he was a bitter asshole. When she was, he felt like himself. He didn’t get it, but that was stuff he had no inkling to share with Pierre. Going for the lie, he said, “My leg has got me worried. Not sure if I’ll make it back on the ice.”

  “Eh, sure ya will. That’s a no-brainer. You’re the strongest guy I know.”

  It was nice and the same thing that Karson, even Kacey, had said, but still the doubt was there. Even with his boss saying there would be a spot for him, he knew it was a business and the Assassins liked winning. They couldn’t keep some busted-ass defenseman. No, he needed to get better, and he needed to start performing.

  The sooner, the better.