Save My Heart (Sticks & Hearts Book 3)

by Rhonda James

  “Have you heard the latest about Scott Rivers and Rachel Westin?” Stacy asks them. They take turns murmuring no, and I can just picture them gathering at her feet, like the good little minions they are. So disgusting. Stacy lets out a dramatic sigh before sharing the latest gossip. “Well, apparently they celebrated his big win against Dawson by driving out to Parker’s Landing and doing it in his car.” Someone snickers, and they take turns making snide comments about me. “I knew it was only a matter of time before he woke up and dumped that mousy blonde. I mean, come on, Skylar Dennison is no Rachel Westin. Not even close.”

  My stomach lurches, and the minute they leave, I double over and empty myself of the only thing I’ve ingested in days: water.

  I remain hidden long after they leave, stunned and completely numb. Stacy probably had no idea I was even in the room. Then again, maybe she did and this was her way of rubbing it in my face. I mean, there’s no denying I’ve been an emotional basket case since our breakup. Either way, it works. I swallow my tears and ditch classes, opting to go home and break down in the privacy of my own bedroom. When I get there, I find that Mom hasn’t left for work yet. She takes one look at my face and deduces what happened. Or what she assumes has happened. This time, I don’t bother correcting her. Hell, for all I know, she may be right.

  “What happened? Why are you crying? That boy finally came to his senses, didn’t he? Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Smart boys like him are going places, Skylar. They have their fun with girls like us then after a while see you for what you truly are. Just another whore on their path to success.” She crushes her cigarette out in an ashtray on her way to the door. “I’m off to work. If you’re gonna hang ’round here, then clean up after yourself. I ain’t got time to pick up after your ass.” When she reaches for her purse, I seize the opportunity and advance on her. The sound of my palm striking her face is one I’ll remember for years to come.

  Thwack!

  I’ve lived eighteen years, and in that time, I’ve never raised a hand to anyone, but I guess the last two weeks have pushed me over the edge. The sound that comes next is one that will haunt me the rest of my life, because her hand connecting with my cheek holds the distinct sound of something I’ve become all too familiar with.

  Finality.

  It’s then I realize I need to get away from Chicago and the hell surrounding me. “How dare you! How can you stand there spouting such hurtful things? I hate you. I hate you!”

  Acting as if nothing happened, Mom turns and leaves for work without a good-bye or a backward glance. From this side of the window, I watch as the car pulls away then call my grandparents in Atlanta to ask if they’d be open to me moving in with them. They don’t question my request. Grandpa just tells me to go straight to the train station where there’ll be a ticket waiting for me. Roundtrip. Just in case.

  I pack my suitcase and take one last look around my room, knowing in my heart I won’t be using that return ticket. I find a seat on the train, and my fingers immediately go to my lips, recalling the taste of his mouth the last time our lips touched. I don’t regret a single moment of our time together. We laughed. We cried. We shared. He made me feel beautiful. And for a short time, he made me feel loved. Regardless of how it all ended, in a library bursting with stories, Scott Rivers was my fairy tale.

  I smile at the memories and brush a wayward tear from my cheek while whispering a quiet good-bye to the boy who’ll always own a piece of my heart.

  CHAPTER 1

  SKYLAR

  Four Years Later

  “…I’m sending you to the Detroit office.”

  I look up from my phone, closing out the picture that had unsuspectingly captured my attention, to find Mitch Harrison watching me. It takes all of three seconds to realize I’ve missed most of what he was saying.

  Busted.

  A slow smile spreads across his handsome features while he waits for me to set aside my phone. Leaning back in his big leather chair, he rests his hands comfortably behind his head as he laughs at my embarrassment for getting caught in the act. “Welcome back. You were pretty engrossed. For a moment I thought I might be boring you.”

  “Sorry. I just… I saw… It was just something on Instagram.” I grimace at how pathetic I sound.

  Four years ago, when I arrived in Atlanta, I wasn’t exactly sure where my future was heading. I’d already earned enough credits to graduate high school, so I’d enrolled at Georgia State and used my love for writing and photography to pursue a degree in journalism. My grandfather had been the one to introduce me to Mitch. After we spoke, he offered me an internship at Harrison Media, which eventually led to a full-time position. Six months ago, we launched PLAY Magazine, which is a new media for the company. Before the magazine even launched, Mitch offered me the opportunity to combine my love for telling stories through the written word and my photos. It’s my dream job. So, when he called requesting a lunch meeting, I’d assumed it had something to do with the upcoming issue I’m working on.

  Wait a second.

  “I’m sorry.” I blink up at him in confusion. “Did you say something about me going to Detroit?”

  His head rears back in another fit of laughter before he stabs a forkful of lettuce and brings it to his lips. “Skylar, I’m beginning to think you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said. What’s going on? Where is your head right now?”

  “Well…” I stammer, jamming my hands under my thighs to keep them from fidgeting. “I h-have a question.”

  “Okay,” he draws out the word.

  “Are all men assholes, or is it just me? I’ve been in Atlanta four years, and in all that time, I haven’t had one decent relationship. Not one.” I let out a sigh before I continue my rant. “So, I can only assume something must be wrong with me or I have really bad taste in men.”

  “No, Skylar. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re smart. Ambitious. Pretty. Listen, these guys are clearly idiots if they don’t look at you and see all of that.” He stuffs more lettuce in his mouth, and I ponder his words while he crunches.

  “Thanks, but you’re just saying that because you’ve known my grandfather for, like, ever.” I give an exaggerated eye roll.

  “That’s true, your grandfather has worked for me since the company launched, but it doesn’t take a genius to see those qualities in you. I don’t make a habit of calling my employees pretty, because, well, that could be construed as inappropriate, but you’re more than an employee, Skylar. You’re family. You’re Samantha’s best friend, and I feel as if you’re one of my own children.” He offers a kind smile from across the table, and I find myself returning it. It’s true, before she took a job in New York City, his daughter Samantha and I spent nearly every waking moment locked at the hip.

  “Thank you. Considering the relationship I have with my own mother”—or lack of one—“I really appreciate the way you and Mrs. Harrison have opened your home to me.” I pick up my fork and take a bite of chicken Caesar salad. “Now, enough about my silly problems. You mentioned something about Detroit. Is there a problem up there?”

  “Not at all, in fact, things are going really well. The assignment I was referring to is strictly for the November issue of PLAY. The Detroit Devils have acquired two top-ranked players fresh out of college. Although their team didn’t make it to the finals this year, their season stats were impressive enough to earn them awards. Their rookie goalie is Scott”—he sifts through the small stack of papers in front of him until he finds what he’s looking for. I don’t need to listen to his next words to know what he’s going to say. Call it a woman’s intuition or whatever, but my stomach tightens as if preparing itself for the massive blow. “Aha, here it is. Rivers.” My blood runs cold as that name is spoken out loud. “His name is Scott Rivers. He was the recipient of this year’s Richter Award. This kid is impressive on paper and in the crease.”

  He doesn’t need to tell me Scott’s stats. He’s always been impressive in the crease.
This was his dream, and he made it happen. Deep down I’m proud of him for his achievement, but I’m also a little sad, because a long time ago, I’d pictured us celebrating those accomplishments together.

  A shiver passes through my body, and I circle my arms tight around my middle.

  “The other guy’s a defenseman by the name of Brantley Cage. Hard-hitting, fast as hell, and good at handling the puck. I’m sending you on a temporary assignment to Detroit to follow them around for a couple of weeks. Get to know them. Photograph them in their day-to-day lives as they transition into the team. This will be a great opportunity for us, and I can’t think of anyone more qualified to take on this story.”

  I start to argue, but my mouth feels drier than the Sahara Desert. I reach for my water glass and down half its contents. “Mitch I hope you know I appreciate this opportunity, but I’m not sure I’m the best person for this job,” I stammer.

  Holy. Wow. Is that sweat rolling down my back? I think it is.

  He wants me to spend two weeks photographing every move Scott Rivers makes. Watching his manwhoring up close and personal. Yeah. Good times. I take another swig of water and end up nearly choking to death.

  “Are you okay?” By now, Mitch is at my side, whacking me on the back. When he finally decides I’m not going to keel over, he moves back to his chair and regards me from his position across the table.

  Feeling ridiculous, I pull myself together and force a smile. “See. I’m good.”

  “You sure?” he asks in his fatherly voice, all business tabled for now. I love this job, and I want him to take me seriously. I have to let him see that I’m a professional and not a child. Which, by the way, is exactly how I’m acting.

  “I’m good,” I repeat, my voice sounding a touch too high, maybe trying to convince us both.

  “I realize this is coming out of left field, but the opportunity arose and I didn’t want to miss our chance to show that PLAY is a contender in the sports media division. Derek Davis is a broadcaster out of the Detroit office, and he played hockey with these two in college. He’ll be your initial contact. He’ll show you around and introduce you to the guys. Derek is like family to me, so I know you’ll be in good hands. I have a furnished apartment lined up for you. Your expenses will be covered and we’ll ship out anything you need from your apartment here.”

  “Derek Davis? Wait a sec. His father is your best friend.” I sit up a little straighter in my chair, thinking I may have found a way out of this certain fiasco. “Isn’t he the famous photographer, Elliott Davis?” Mitch nods and eyes me warily. “Why don’t you just hire him to photograph them? I’m sure his shots would be much better than mine and—”

  “Trust me. I wouldn’t be able to afford to take up that much of Elliott’s time,” he says jokingly. “Look, Skylar, their story is what I’m really after. In order to get the best story, I need my best writer. I need someone who’s younger. Someone these guys can relate to. After all, you’re going to be part of their daily lives for the next two weeks. So, what’s it going to be? Can I count on you to make this happen?” He looks to me, waiting for my answer.

  How should I handle this? Do I tell him the sordid tale of how once upon a time Scott Rivers broke my heart? Or that for six months after I arrived in Atlanta, I checked my phone and social media constantly, holding out hope that maybe he’d change his mind and still loved me? Still loved me the way I still loved him?

  No. All of that is in the past, where it remains. Besides, I don’t want him thinking I’m that girl who refuses to move on and cause him to lose confidence in me.

  I can do this. I’ll just go there and do my job. Surely, he must be in a committed relationship by now. If that’s the case, he probably won’t have a lot of time, which will give me time to focus on the other guy. Wait, what was his name again? I look up to find Mitch still waiting for me to answer his question.

  Shit. “Sorry. Of course, you can count on me. I promise I won’t let you down.”

  “Great!” His hands smack together enthusiastically, and he turns to page his assistant. “Sheila, book a flight for Miss Dennison to arrive in Detroit tomorrow, then make sure you send her the packet I had you put together before she leaves the office.” He turns his attention back to me, and when I look at him, I see a man who’s putting all of his faith in my ability to get the job done. No matter how hard it may be for me, I won’t let him down. “Skylar, I want you to try and have fun with this. Maybe use this time to do something that finally makes Mr. Instagram stand up and take notice.”

  “Yeah. I’ll get right on that.” I bark out a laugh and head back to my desk.

  Fuck my life.

  CHAPTER 2

  SKYLAR

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving me,” Asher grumbles, fingering one of the many bras I’ve just folded and placed among a pile of items waiting to be packed. “What the fuck am I supposed to do without you and Sam around to keep me out of trouble?”

  I swat his hand away and lean around him to grab the rest of my undergarments before he touches anything else. “Please, you’re giving us too much credit. I don’t think we were all that successful. I seem to recall you finding plenty of trouble regardless of our attempts to intervene.” I finish by giving his shoulder a nudge to let him know I hear what he’s saying without him actually having to come out and say it. I already know he’s going to miss me. Samantha, Ash, and I moved into this tiny apartment two years ago, yet somehow it almost seems like yesterday.

  “You know, this situation sucks major swamp ass,” he bitches.

  “Ew,” I shiver. “That is one visual I do not want stuck in my head.”

  “Well, it’s true. We were supposed to go to Paul and Sophie’s masquerade party dressed as Harley Quinn and The Joker. Now what the hell am I gonna do?” He falls back against the mattress with his hands behind his head.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in plenty of time,” I assure him.

  “Yeah, right. You’re probably going to get up there and never want to leave. Then what will I do with myself?” he grumbles behind his hands.

  Asher Reeves is one of my best friends. From the moment we met, we hit it off. We laugh at each other’s corny jokes. He tells me when I have something in my teeth. And he gives the best hugs. The three of us have been inseparable ever since my freshman year of college. In fact, all our friends call us the Three Amigos.

  Ash is a few years older, and he and Samantha went to the same high school. He’s a baseball player. At least, he used to be. He was a catcher, and he was really good. He was recruited during high school to play professionally and spent a year in the minor leagues before being called up to play with the Braves. It was the chance of a lifetime. Something he’d spent his entire life dreaming about. Sadly, he only had the chance to play in twenty-five games before an injury took him out of the game. Permanently. Thankfully, outside of his superb athletic abilities, he’s freaking gorgeous. Not long after he resigned from the team, he was approached by a modeling agency, and he’s been the face of many name brand companies. Long, muscular legs and a chiseled torso make him the perfect underwear model. Guess it also doesn’t hurt that he’s sporting a nice package beneath those Calvin’s.

  I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no, I haven’t seen it. Well, I’ve seen the outline of it when he walks around in his boxers, but I swear I’m not a creeper. It’s not as if I sit around waiting for him to stumble into the kitchen after a late night out with friends. Well, maybe once or twice, but that’s it. I swear to God.

  Sneaking a glance, I let my gaze linger a few seconds longer than it probably should. Angular jaw. Skin bronzed by the Georgia sun. To say that Asher is easy on the eyes would be an understatement. Dark hair worn a touch too long, but that’s okay because it’s sexy and sex sells. Dark, expressive brows set off steel blue eyes that grab your attention and keep you dreaming of them long after you’ve turned the page featuring his latest endorsement. As if feeling the heat of my ga
ze, his jaw tenses and a muscle twitches on the side of his flawless face. A face I look forward to seeing after a long day at work. And a voice I love hearing each and every morning, even before I’ve had my first sip of coffee.

  I know. I know. I sound like the girl harboring a secret crush on her best friend. But trust me, you’re way off base with that one. If only it were that easy. My secret crush is far more complicated and couldn’t be less interested.

  He pulls himself up and takes my hands in his. “You disappeared there for a second. What’s up? You okay?”

  I clear my throat and quickly shift my gaze to the open closet. “Sorry. I was just thinking about a few things.” I blow out a whoosh of air as his hands settle on my hips. I shift to the right and give him a pat on the shoulder. “You know what? I think you should still go as The Joker.”

  “What are you talking about?” He turns to face me, angling his knee so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “I can’t pull off Jared Leto on my own.” His lower lip juts out to make for an adorable pouty face.

  “Shut up.” I bump his elbow with my hip. “I’m not buying it. You’re totally hot enough to pull off Jared, and you know it.”

  A devilish chuckle vibrates from deep within his throat as he lowers one lid to give me the sexiest little wink. “Yeah. I know. I just love hearing you say it. I know how hard it is for you to bow to my sexiness.”

  “Oh, my God.” I smack the back of my hand across the wall of muscles making up his chest. “Get over yourself, Stud.” I walk over to my closet in search of my suitcase. Of course, it’s sitting on the top shelf way out of my reach. Suddenly, he’s behind me, arm reaching far beyond where my fingers hang in mid-air wiggling foolishly.