Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

by Skye Jordan

  He’d also never realized just how devastating that would feel. How very different it felt for him to walk away from someone—even Mia—than to be the one left behind. And how often Mia had experienced that. All because she’d loved Rafe too much to fully give herself to anyone else.

  Lifting both hands, he covered his face and rested his head.

  Should I just let her go?

  The thought twisted the knife in his gut. Rafe couldn’t ever remember a time when he’d reached out for Mia when she hadn’t been there.

  “I won’t accept anything less than 150 percent in any of my relationships anymore. And this time, I’m going to be the one to walk away.”

  She’d made that hard call in the face of extreme pressure. Rafe knew it had to have been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. And now that she’d taken that step and made the break, maybe it would be better for Mia if he just…

  “Are you fucking meditating?”

  The familiar grouchy voice pulled Rafe’s head up and to the left. He moved too fast, and his head swam. He pitched sideways and grabbed the nearest doorframe, catching himself.

  “You think you can communicate telepathically with her or something?” Tate prodded in that bitchy, condescending tone he used when he was annoyed and fed up. But at least he wasn’t livid. At least he wasn’t coming after Rafe, pinning him to the floor, and beating the shit out of him again. “’Cause if you get down on your knees and start chanting, I’m calling security.”

  “Shut up.”

  A room door between them opened, and an older man looked out, his face scrunched into an irate scowl. “Both of you shut up. People are still trying to sleep.”

  And he slammed the door.

  “Not anymore,” both Rafe and Tate said in unison. Then laughed at the same time.

  And just like that, the ice was broken. But the chunks were still floating between them, cold and sharp. And Rafe didn’t even care. He just wanted Mia. Only he hadn’t figured out if going after her was the right thing to do.

  Rafe walked past the complainer’s room and leaned his hip against the wall between Grumpy’s door and Mia’s. His lifelong friend stood there, far more contrite today. Joe had a way of pulling both him and Tate back to earth quickly. But their fights had always been with others, never with each other. And their fights had never been this extreme, this hurtful, or this personal. Rafe didn’t know what would happen to their friendship, which was another painful spot in his life.

  “We were going to tell you—” Rafe started.

  “After the season ended,” Tate finished. “I know.”

  So he’d talked to Mia. That part was good, though Tate didn’t look relieved or happy or even any more settled.

  Rafe added, “And we didn’t mean for it to—”

  “Become anything,” Tate completed his sentence again. “Mia told me she seduced you and why.” He paused only a split second before his face compressed into a scowl and his hand whipped out with a rigid finger pointed at Rafe’s nose. “But you still should have said no.”

  Rafe lifted both hands in surrender. “I should have. I can’t count how many times I’ve said that to myself over the last couple of weeks.” A moment of awkward silence existed before Rafe asked, “So, did you two—”

  “Make up?” He huffed a humorless laugh. “Hardly.” Tate looked at a spot beyond Rafe’s shoulder. “In time maybe…”

  That didn’t bode well for Rafe’s chances at forgiveness. His heart dropped even lower.

  He pushed off the wall. “I’m gonna go pack. Catch an early flight back. Maybe I can think of something in the next seven to ten hours to say or do that will convince her to at least sit down and talk to me—”

  “When did you become such a girl?” Tate asked, giving him a disgusted look. “What’s all this talking shit. ‘Let’s talk about this.’” He lifted his voice to imitate a female. “‘I wanna talk about that.’” His voice dropped to his pissed tone again. “What happened to the guy I knew before Mia got ahold of your balls? The guy who took action when he wanted something? The guy who just shut up and went after it?”

  Tate dropped his arms and straightened from the doorframe. “You keep that attitude, and we’re gonna have to change your last name from Savage to Pussy.”

  Rafe laughed, relieved to see the return of Tate’s good-natured insolence.

  “Go on. Get out of here,” he told Rafe. “But if you want to do that talking bullshit, you’ll have to do it over the phone from the East Coast, ’cause she didn’t go back.”

  “What?” Rafe’s attention laser focused again. “Where did she go?”

  “To her apartment here. Said there was no reason to go back. Called her boss last night and told him she’d start work early.” Tate turned around and started down the hall toward the elevators. “See you back at home.” But then he stopped and looked at Rafe again. “Oh, and I think this goes without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway because I’m not going to leave anything left unsaid between us from here on out.” He turned deadly serious again. “You cheat on her, you bail on her, you hurt her in any way, you’ll answer to me. And when you really answer to me, you’ll need to retire, because last night will look like a fucking picnic.”

  He walked away and disappeared down another hallway, but Rafe wasn’t thinking about Tate’s threats. He was consumed with the realization that she’d already made up her mind. She’d already turned her back on the possibility of working it out with Rafe. She’d already given up on him.

  Mia was gone.

  Mia scrolled through images of filming shots from Cynthia on her phone, enlarging a few to study the construction detail. She was exhausted from too little sleep and too much crying, and the sun and wind on the beach weren’t helping her burning eyes. But she was desperate for anything to keep her mind busy, and she’d done as much moving in as she could handle.

  She wasn’t going back to the apartment until Cynthia called her and told her UPS had picked up everything she and Rafe had bought on their one-day shopping trip together.

  Tapping one image closed, Mia shaded her eyes, scrolled through the costumes, and opened another. Before she could magnify it, a text pinged her phone from Faith, Grant’s girlfriend: I have at least a dozen people who want jerseys like mine. So do all the other girls. And I had brunch with Ted at the Crofts’ this morning. When he heard you’d approached Silver with your designs and not him, honest to God, you’d think someone just told him the Riders lost the playoffs.

  Mia laughed, but it hurt. God, she was going to miss everyone. Sure, they were still close now, but she knew how time came between people. Distanced people. And knowing she would eventually lose this hurt.

  She dug her toes into the warm sand, tossed her blowing hair over her shoulder, but when she went to respond, she didn’t know what to say. So she ended up sending Faith a sad emoji.

  Miss you. When will you be back? Faith asked.

  “Ah crap.” Mia dropped an elbow to her knee and her forehead to her hand. She hadn’t thought about that when she’d made the decision to stay.

  She hadn’t said good-bye to anyone in DC. And once she started working here… By the sounds of it, Mia wouldn’t get a break until they had to legally give her a break, which would be two weeks’ vacation every year and a few holidays.

  Shit.

  She might need to push back her start date a day or two. Sneak in a quick flight back east just to see the girls and say good-bye. Sure, Rafe and Tate would hear about it, but Mia would be gone by then. She just wanted to see a few people personally before she didn’t see them again for, hell, probably a year. Tina, Eden, Faith, Sarah, Amy, Rachel, Lily…

  Amy, Rachel, Lily.

  Her heart broke a little more. They’d be so different in a year. Mia wouldn’t know their sizes or their color preferences like she did now. How could she make outfits for little girls whose tastes changed on a whim when she saw them only once a year?

  Would they even r
emember Mia in a year?

  Then she thought of another year without seeing Rafe. Thought back over how miserable she’d been this last year…

  A fresh wave of loss tumbled through her and the tears she’d been fighting for hours rose up in her throat. She let her gaze drift to the ocean.

  “Suck it up,” she murmured to herself. Everyone moves on. If one of the players got traded, they’d be leaving just like she was leaving. No one was going to watch out for Mia but Mia. That was abundantly clear. It was her own damn fault it had taken her so long to see it.

  Mia filled her lungs with the fresh sea air and forced a perspective change. The water was so blue. The waves so serene. The sun so warm. The air so mild.

  She could be happy here.

  She would be happy here.

  She was losing friends and family back east, but she would gain new friends here. Find new opportunities. And, maybe, someday, even create a family of her own.

  Until then, work would help fill this hole inside her.

  Eventually.

  So why were those damn tears choking her again?

  “Hey.”

  The voice so close behind her when she thought she was alone startled Mia. In the split second between registering the voice and turning, she knew who she would face before her eyes met his. But knowing and seeing were two different things, and Mia’s heart still banged hard against her rib cage. Then it raced and fluttered and squeezed. All her thoughts came to a dead stop, and confusion reeled her brain in a whole different direction. She looked behind him toward the road as if that would explain what he was doing here.

  “You are one difficult woman to find,” he said, lowering to the sand beside her in slow, pain-filled movements. “Do you realize how big this beach is?” Once he settled, he dropped the running shoes he was carrying. “Or how small you are? Even when Cynthia gave me an idea of where you were going, it was still like that whole needle-in-a-haystack thing.”

  She angled toward him, wincing at the way his injuries looked as the healing process began. That was never a pretty sight. “You went to my apartment?” She shook her head. “What in the hell are you doing here? You should be landing in DC right now.”

  “But you’re not in DC.”

  She lifted her hands. “So?”

  “So that’s why I’m not in DC.”

  What the hell? Mia pressed her hands to the sides of her head and forced her brain to stop spinning. “I’m not fighting with you, Rafe. I don’t have the interest or the energy.”

  “Thank God for that, because neither do I.”

  A bubble of anger burst inside her. “Look, I can’t do this. I don’t want to drag this out. I just want us to get on with our lives.”

  Rafe pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, failing to hold a groan back when he moved. But when he turned his head and leveled that silvery gaze on her, his eyes were clear, his expression, even marred with bruises and cuts, relaxed. Far different from the man she’d seen last night.

  “Yeah,” he said with a slight nod and a thoughtful tone. “That’s what I want too.”

  The knife in her gut twisted a little, but Mia huffed a laugh. “Then you’re in the wrong place, buddy. Get your ass on the next plane east.”

  “Eventually.” He heaved a little sigh. “But this is where I want to get on with my life. With you.”

  He reached out with one hand and pulled a windblown strand of hair off her forehead, then cupped her cheek. His hand was warm, his fingers and palm rough, and his touch brought memories and feelings flooding back. Mia couldn’t keep her gut from clenching with want or her eyes from fluttering closed, but she clung to the image of every man in her life walking away to find her strength.

  “I’m sorry, Rafe. That isn’t—” The words “what I want” hung up on her tongue, because they weren’t true. It was exactly what she wanted. But it was also what she knew he couldn’t give her, and she had to amend her words to make them accurate. “That doesn’t work for me.” She turned her head and lowered her knees to ease from his reach. “I meant what I said last night. I’ve been settling all my life, and I’m not willing to do that anymore. I know hard limits are going to create situations that require sacrifices and that I’m facing loss.” That all too familiar pang hit her in the throat again, and she pulled a stuttering breath. “But, it’s time.”

  He nodded. “I know.” Dropping his hand to the sand, he leaned into it. “It took me too long to figure it out. And I’m sorry it caused such a mess with Tate and Joe. I’m sorry I hurt you. Caused you so much stress.”

  Somehow, this wasn’t helping. “Look, I’m sure from your perspective, this was the right thing to do. And I appreciate the apology and the gesture, but I don’t want to see you right now.” She had to look away from the flash of pain in his eyes and rolled to her knees, then her feet. “But by all means, tell Joe and Tate you extended the olive branch.”

  Before she could stand, Rafe grabbed her hand. The quick move cost him. His eyes slammed shut, and pain creased his features, but he kept a death grip on her hand while he breathed through the pain.

  And when he opened his eyes, he might have looked angry, but his voice was soft and patient, with just a hint of steel when he said, “I’m not here for Tate or Joe.”

  A flare of temper threatened. “They’re the only people who knew I didn’t go back to DC.” She pulled her hand from his and lifted both in surrender. “And, look, it’s fine. It is what it is. I understand—”

  “No, you don’t.” He rolled to his knees with a grimace and took hold of her biceps. Deliberately looking into her eyes, he said, “I’m here for you, Mia. I talked to Joe when I went to the ER last night, and he gave me his blessing. When I went to your room this morning, Tate told me where you were. You know he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want me to find you. He would have let me get on that plane, waited until we were somewhere over Iowa, then looked at me and said, ‘Oh, by the way, Mia stayed in California and never wants to hear from you again.’”

  She knelt there on the sand, her mouth hanging open. He was right. That was exactly what Tate would have done.

  An uneasy flutter tried to break out, but Mia repositioned her grip. “What did Joe say?”

  “He said the only thing that I could do to disappoint him would be to not go after what makes me happy. And he already knows you make me happy.”

  That made Mia want to sag into a puddle in Rafe’s arms.

  Reality check. Joe and Tate weren’t their only problems.

  She shrugged out of his hold and got to her feet. Rafe struggled to his own.

  “That’s…” She released a breath and tucked her hair behind her ears. “That’s great. I’m glad you all worked it out and patched things up. But that doesn’t change anything for you and me. I’m done with these dysfunctional relationships, and we both know you never stay with one woman.” She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s just who you are.”

  Rafe exhaled and nodded. Shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “It was who I used to be. Until you. Before you, I never wanted to stay with one woman.”

  Oh God. Those were dream words. From a dream man.

  If only he meant them.

  She crossed her arms and heaved a sigh. God, she was so tired. “Rafe—”

  “Tate gave me some good advice, believe it or not.” He laughed, the sound filled with irony. “He told me I’ve been letting too much talk take the place of action. And he was right. So, I went back to doing me.” He brought his hands around in front of him, and one held a small box. He met Mia’s eyes again, serious and soft. “I’m going after what I want.”

  She still wasn’t following what he was saying. Until he dropped to one knee in the sand again, opened the box and lifted it toward her.

  “Mia, I love you. I want you. I need you. Marry me.”

  Her mind hit a wall. Her gaze jumped between the ring and his face at least half a dozen times while her mind spun and spu
n but went nowhere. While her lips formed words but nothing came out. Her heart lodged in her throat, cutting off her speech and blocking her air.

  “Rafe— What— That’s—” She took a step back, hands stacked over her pounding heart. “What? You can’t be serious.”

  But, da-yum, that ring, sparkling in the sunlight, looked very serious.

  “You know me. You know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t serious.”

  And he just stayed right there on his knees, offering the ring.

  Hysteria trickling in. It bubbled in her gut and fizzed along her nerves. “Then you need to go back to the hospital for another head scan. Rafe. Married? You’re insane.”

  “No,” he said, level, calm. “I’m in love. With you. I’ve been in love with you for what seems like forever. What’s insane is the idea I could ever love someone even half as much as I love you. What’s insane is us pushing each other away because of what other people think or want or say. What’s insane is wasting another minute miserable when we can be happy. Together.”

  She tented her hands over her mouth. Tears blurred her vision.

  He was serious.

  This was real.

  “Holy…”

  He grinned. Barely. And lopsided, with his cuts limiting the movement. “I’d rather hear ‘yes.’”

  “Rafe,” she breathed. “What about…”

  She looked up and around, almost forgetting where she was. The whole bicoastal issue smacked her in the face. Then Tate’s words echoed in her head: “I told you not to give up your own place,” and something that felt the way she imagined PTSD would feel vibrated in her chest.

  Was this just another mistake waiting to happen? If she gave up this job, this apartment, this life for a man, and he changed his mind…

  “I know what you’re thinking.” His words brought her gaze back. “But I’m still here.” And he was. He hadn’t moved an inch. “And I’m not leaving, Mia. We can catch a flight to Vegas and elope tonight if you want. No prenup, no negotiations. You get all of me. One hundred and fifty percent. You keep this job, this apartment with Cynthia. I’ll fly in as often as I can. Do my charity work and interviews from here instead of DC. I’ll spend the off-season here. We can get a little place of our own to stay at when I’m in town. When you get time off, you can fly back to DC to see everyone. A lot of couples manage on far tougher schedules. In two years, when my contract comes up, and I’m a free agent, then we can…” He grinned again, lifting one brow. “Negotiate.”