by Elise Faber
Brit sighed. She’d had weeks to shore up her defenses against the pain inside of her, to try and bury it deep. Not that it had worked, since both Mandy and Mike had seen right through her.
But apparently, no one was going to let her denial slide today.
She could only be thankful Dan was on assignment, that she and her brother had exchanged just a few emails because of that.
For once, the distance was a good thing, because Dan didn’t know anything was wrong and hadn’t come storming home to beat up Stefan.
The Gold needed their captain healthy and uninjured at this point in the season.
“I’m not ready to talk about it.”
“That might be the first honest thing you’ve said tonight,” Mandy muttered. “But seriously,” she said, “when you’re ready . . .”
“Noted.” There was a moment of quiet. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Mandy said before chatting her up about all of the latest team and television gossip.
An hour later, her muscles sore, but much the better for it, Brit returned to the locker room.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down to see a number on the screen she would have never expected to see. Worry tore through her, and she scrambled to answer, her fingers trembling.
“Hello? Diane?”
“Could you come over?” Stefan’s mother asked. “I tried Stefan, but he’s not picking up, and it’s my nurse’s night off.”
It wasn’t even a question. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She started to say goodbye then hesitated. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“No, I’m just feeling a little shaky,” Diane said. “And I don’t think it’s safe for me to be alone. There’s a spare key under the bear statue on the porch.”
“Okay, don’t move. I’ll be there soon.”
Brit hung up, canceled on Mandy with a promise to explain later, and raced to her car. The plus with moving was that the media had backed off enough for her to drive again.
Two minutes later, she was out of the lot and en route to Stefan’s house.
Fifteen minutes beyond that, she was at Stefan’s front door, reaching under the statue for the spare key.
It wasn’t two minutes after, she smelled a rat.
Diane was sitting at the kitchen table, two plates of delicious-smelling pasta in front of her.
“Hi, dear,” she said when Brit hesitated in the doorway. “Come in. Sit down.”
“You’re not sick,” Brit blurted, her heart in her throat. She shouldn’t be here. Not like this. If Stefan came home . . .
Diane smoothed down the scarf tied over her hair. “Not sick,” she said. “Sorry about the deception, but I didn’t know how else to talk to you.”
Brit took a step into the kitchen. Stopped. “If you’re all right, then I really should go.”
“I am all right,” Diane said, “or at least physically. My treatment is finished. No more ER visits, and all the tests are clear so far. Only time will tell on that front, of course, but I feel better than I have in years.” She shrugged. “That’s something.”
“Yes, it is.” Brit bit her lip. “I’m so glad.”
“Me too,” Diane said, then chuckled when Brit’s stomach growled loud enough to shake the house. “But enough about me. You’ve already come this far, why don’t you at least eat?”
“I shouldn’t.”
But she walked to the table anyway and sat down, drawn by the wonderful smell of the pasta and maybe also a desire to alleviate some of the deeply rooted loneliness that had filled her since Stefan had found out about her deception.
The first bite of the pasta was heaven on her tongue, tangy and spicy and loaded with glorious carb after carb. “Oh, my God, this is incredible.” She moaned between bites.
“Baked ziti,” Diane said. “My specialty.” She let Brit eat for a few minutes before saying, “You know, Stefan’s never been good with sticking through the hard times, me and hockey aside. I love my son, and God knows, he’s been so darned good to me, but the first sign of a bump in the road, and he cuts ties.”
What had driven them apart was way more than a bump.
Try the freaking Grand Canyon.
But—
“What happened between us wasn’t Stefan’s fault,” she said. “It’s totally on me.”
Diane smiled gently. “Nothing is one-hundred percent, sweetheart.”
“Trust me when I say this one was.”
Diane frowned, opened, and closed her mouth a few times before sighing. “I won’t ask you to tell me, because that is something between the two of you,” she said. “But I worry about him. He’s unhappy.”
“I know.” Brit voice’s cracked. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, honey.” Smooth fingers grasped hers, squeezed gently. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. It’s just that Stefan . . . he’s always been able to hide his emotions well. Even when his dad tried to take him, Stefan was calm and confident. Just said he wouldn’t go, no matter what. But I’ve never seen him like this.”
A knot of dread curled in Brit’s gut.
“He put his fist through the wall in the study. Has been beating the punching bag in the garage to death.” Diane shook her head. “This is different.”
Brit dropped her forehead to her free hand and sighed, her heart hurting so much more than she would have ever thought possible. “Stefan’s so cold anytime I talk to him. I don’t know how to get through, how to make him understand that I’m so incredibly sorry.”
“The thing about Stefan is that you just have to keep at it, keep battering at his walls. You have to almost force him to feel—”
The front door slammed open, and Brit’s head shot up.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
“Tell me you didn’t call him,” Brit said.
“I didn’t call him,” Diane murmured. “I texted him.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Mom?”
Brit tried to pull her hand free. To stand and flee . . . somewhere. But Diane was surprisingly strong for a cancer patient.
“You’re seriously devious.”
“Sometimes.” Diane smiled broadly. Then called, “In here.”
“I got your message—”
Stefan stuttered to a stop in the doorway.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
“What are you doing here?” he bit out.
Well, there was the anger Brit had wanted.
“I called her,” Diane said, standing and taking the empty plates to the sink. They made a soft clink against the cast iron, but Brit found that she couldn’t keep her attention on the other woman.
Rather, it kept drifting back to Stefan, standing so stiffly in the doorway.
A soft hand on her shoulder made Brit jump, her heart in her throat. But just as quickly as it had come on, she pushed the tendrils of fear aside.
She wasn’t that person any longer. And despite her cowardice of the last weeks, she wasn’t the type to not fight for something she wanted.
Yeah, she had plenty of she’s-not-worthy vibes bouncing around in her mind, but not fighting for Stefan, just giving up—
Now she saw that wasn’t an option.
“Take a chance, sweetheart,” Diane whispered as she moved toward the other room. “Batter at those walls.”
Brit nodded.
“Stefan,” she said, once they were alone, “we need to talk.”
He sighed, walked across to the fridge, and pulled out a beer. His demeanor was still distant, but there was a softer edge to his words, as though the ice surrounding him had melted slightly. It gave her strength to push on when he asked, “What’s there to talk about?”
“A whole fucking lot.”
Pop. He removed the bottle top and threw it in the trash before taking a long swig of the beer. “Yeah, I guess there is.”
“Look,” she said. “What I did was all kinds of screwe
d up. I should have refused, and, barring that I should have at the very least told you what management—what I was doing. It’s just—” She blew out a breath and swallowed down the tightness in her throat. “They had the pictures, Stefan. And then they threatened Bernard—”
“I know,” Stefan interrupted. “Bernard told me.”
“He t-told you?”
“Yup.” He sat down across from her. “Why are you here, Brit?”
“Your mom—”
“I get that. But why stay?”
Her soul itched to round the table, to crawl into his lap and revel in the feel of his arms around her. Never had she felt safer, more whole, than just being held by him.
“I wanted to—”
Damn. Now her freaking eyes were getting all misty. She didn’t cry. She was a badass hockey player. Tears weren’t on the freaking menu.
“I wanted to make things right. I did wrong, I know that.” She bit her lip. “I guess I was hoping . . . I just want another chance at us.”
Stefan didn’t look at her, just stared at the floor for a long, quiet moment. But when he did finally meet her eyes, her heart sank down to the floor.
“I don’t think we can, baby.” The endearment tore her insides to shreds. “What we had was something special, but now there’s this thing, this betrayal between us, and I don’t know how to get past it.”
It was killing her to not touch him, so Brit stretched across the table, laid her hand atop his.
He pulled back.
Crack. She actually felt the fissure form right in the center of her heart.
“We just do it,” she said, pressing her rejected hand to her chest in a feeble attempt at holding the broken pieces together. “One day at a time. It’s not like I cheated. I made a bad mistake, but it was for all the right reasons.”
“And what happens the next time someone threatens you with the pictures? Will you sleep with them? How far will you go to hide what happened?” He shook his head. “I can’t be with someone who’s got skeletons. Not like the ones you have. Not when they affect our life together.”
She stood, paced the floor. “Fuck, Stefan,” she said, finally finding her mad. “Everyone has skeletons. That’s part of being in a relationship with someone. You accept their faults. But even you aren’t perfect. The crap with your dad, that’s a pretty big skeleton.”
Brit knew she’d said the wrong thing the moment the words rolled off her tongue. It wasn’t that they weren’t the truth, but rather that this was an absurdly wrong time to say them.
The doorbell rang just as Stefan opened his mouth to reply, and she watched as the noise made drew him back into reality, erasing any warmth she might have gained with a deliberate, icy cold.
“I’ve got it,” Diane called.
“You need to go.”
Brit shivered at the frost in Stefan’s tone, knew she’d pushed him too far.
Resigned, she nodded and started to leave the room. The door slamming shut with an abrupt cry from Diane made Brit hurry into the hall.
“Are you okay?” She rushed to the woman’s side. Her face was pale, and, when she swayed, Brit led her to the couch before sitting beside her.
“Stef—” she began.
But he was already there, kneeling in front of his mother. “What is it?”
The doorbell rang again. Followed by a loud banging.
Stefan stood, and Diane grabbed at his hand. “Don’t.”
His face hardened. He pulled away, walked to the door, and flung it open.
An older man with salt-and-pepper hair and an expensive-looking business suit stood there. When he saw Stefan, a self-satisfied smirk curved his features.
“Your father wanted you to hear the good news first.” The man thrust an envelope into Stefan’s hand, turned, and left.
Stefan closed the door.
“Who was that?” Brit asked into the silent room.
“My ex-husband’s right-hand man.” Diane’s voice was a little steadier. She pulled her hand free and stood. “I’m sorry. It just took me by surprise, seeing him after all these years.”
Stefan tossed the envelope into a nearby trashcan.
“Aren’t you going to”—Brit gestured toward the wastebasket—“you know . . .”
“No,” he ground out. “I don’t give two shits about what my father wants.” He fixed Brit with a fierce gaze. “You need to go.”
“I know.” She rose and walked to the front door.
Diane cleared her throat when Brit reached the trashcan.
She glanced back over her shoulder.
Diane nodded at the envelope. “Read it.”
Brit hesitated.
“Please.”
She picked up the envelope.
“Mom—”
“Shh,” Diane told Stefan. To Brit, “Open it.”
With trembling fingers, Brit obliged her and tore back the flap. Inside was a legal document saying—
Holy shit.
“What is it?” Diane asked.
“Stefan’s father bought the team.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Stefan
Stefan crossed the room and snatched the paper out of Brit’s hands. He rapidly scanned the document, his gut sinking more and more with each word.
His father had bought the team.
Somehow his paternal sperm donor had managed to skirt all of the media outlets, to not let a single trace of a rumor out and . . . he’d bought the Gold.
“Fuck!” Stefan turned and slammed his fist into the wall. “Why the fuck can’t he just leave us alone?”
Gentle fingers on his shoulder made him stiffen. His gaze snapped to Brit’s. “Why are you still here?”
Those brown eyes widened with hurt, but the resultant slice of guilt didn’t stop him. He pressed on. “Why, Brit? So you can get off on manipulating me some more? Why don’t you fuck Blane instead? At least he’s in love with you.”
“Stefan!” His mother’s voice held a tone he hadn’t heard since he was a sixteen-year-old boy.
It made him see reason.
“Hey, I’m sorry—” No matter what she’d done, Brit didn’t deserve to be treated like shit. He took a step in her direction.
She backed away.
Her bottom lip wobbled, but her chin was high, her shoulders squared. She looked over at his mother. “Call me anytime, Diane.”
His mom rose from the couch, pulled Brit into a hug, and whispered something in her ear.
Red-hot envy inundated his nerves, and the ice around his emotions cracked and gave way. Regardless of everything, he wanted to be the one holding Brit, murmuring in her ear . . .
Well, now he’d gone and thoroughly blown any chance of that, wounding her time and again, rejecting her when she wanted to move forward.
Brit stepped out of his mother’s arms and slid past him, obviously careful in her efforts to not touch him.
Stefan stopped her with a hand on her arm anyway. She stiffened but didn’t pull back.
That was something, right?
When she flicked her eyes downward, he couldn’t help but follow suit. Her arm looked so small encased in his fingers, so delicate and fragile.
Kind of like her expression.
“Brit,” he said. “Please. Just—”
That spurred her into motion. With a tug, she extricated herself. “I’ve had enough for tonight, thank you.” Cool, calm words that did nothing to hide the wealth of pain inside her heart.
Pain he’d caused.
He’d never even considered how guilty Brit must have felt through the whole relationship debacle, but if it was one iota of what he experienced in that moment, Stefan realized he might finally understand.
There had been occasional flashes of agony, of a deep, dark secret she was hiding from him, sometimes even during their happiest moments.
Feeling as he did then . . . well, it gave him clarity to what s
he’d gone through.
“Brit, I—” he said.
“That’s enough.” His mother’s tone brokered no argument, but he might have still pushed the issue if not for the relief in Brit’s expression at the interjection.
“Okay,” he said and blew out a breath. “Just okay.”
Stefan couldn’t bear to watch as she left. Instead he went to the kitchen, grabbed another beer, and drank.
Then another. And another.
And another.
Sometime in the night, he made it to his bedroom and collapsed onto the mattress without bothering to strip.
It felt like ten whole minutes had passed when voices penetrated his consciousness.
“I don’t care if he’s sleeping—”
His door slammed into the wall with a bang. Stefan’s eyes snapped open, and he groaned as a million stabbing knives jabbed at his brain.
“Wh—?”
A splash of water had him sputtering, but it also had him fully awake.
If he’d thought he couldn’t feel any worse . . .
His father, Pierre Barie, was standing two feet away, an empty glass in his hand.
“You bastard,” his mom spat. She rushed toward him and tripped on the rug.
Stefan lurched forward, but his father caught Diane before she fell.
“Let me go,” she said and wriggled out of his grip. She shoved at Pierre’s shoulder. “How could you? After everything?” A rasping breath. “You barge in here and—” Her sob sounded as though it were torn from her.
Stefan was already moving. His mother hadn’t cried when the doctors told her she had cancer. Not the first time. Nor the second. She hadn’t even cried during the entire drawn-out court process of his teenaged years.
In fact, he’d never seen his mom cry, except while reading her trademark romance novels or watching sappy romantic movies.
But in less than two minutes, Pierre had achieved the feat.
Stefan’s hands clenched into fists as he held his mother. She was crying hard, wrenching, tearing sobs that hurt his soul.
The pain. There was so much pain in them.
“Shh, mom,” he said, holding her tighter, releasing his fists to stroke her back. “It’s okay. We’ll be all right. I’ll just ask for a trade—”