"I didn't."
"Then why? Why take that chance?"
"Christ, Sammie. Really?" He pushed out of the recliner, ran both hands over his head as he paced around the small table. He came to a stop, jammed his hands into his pockets, and stared down at his ex-wife. "Because I love you. I never stopped. I told you that."
"But for all you knew, I had remarried."
"I knew you didn't."
Surprise widened her eyes. "You checked on me?"
Should he feel guilty? Yeah, probably. But he didn't. And he told her as much. Was that a mistake? He didn't know, couldn't tell because she was looking down at the coat in her lap. Playing with that stupid fucking zipper again. What should he do now? Take her in his arms? Kiss her until she realized how much she still meant to him? Tell her that he wasn't going anywhere, that she could take all the time that she needed?
That he'd still be here, no matter what she decided?
What would he do if she decided she wanted nothing more to do with him? Fuck, it would kill him. Just thinking about that possibility made his gut clench and bile creep up the back of his throat.
But he wouldn't force her to decide, wouldn't play games with her to make her give him another chance. This—whatever she decided, whenever she decided—had to be up to her. It had to be her choice. He'd taken that away from her once, he'd be damned if he'd do it again.
Even if he had to wait the rest of his life for her.
He stepped back, needing to put a little more distance between them before he did something totally hypocritical, like pulling her off the sofa and kissing her senseless. Yeah, as tempting as that was—because fuck, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, touch her, hold her—he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't do that to either one of them.
"Come on, I'll take you home."
He expected her to nod. To stand up and shrug into her coat and walk to the door. Instead, she tossed her coat off her lap and stood up and walked toward him, not the door. One step. Two. Another and another until she was standing in front of him, so close he could feel the heat from her body brush against his. And it would be so easy to reach out, to brush that silky curl from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear, to lean down and kiss her. So fucking easy. But he didn't. He couldn't, not when he was afraid to move, damn near afraid to breathe.
It was Sammie who finally reached out, pressed the palm of her hand against his chest, right over his heart.
Her heart. It had always been hers. Had he ever told her that? Yes, years ago. A lifetime ago. Did she still know? Or had she forgotten?
"I hated you for so long, for what you did." Her voice was a ragged whisper, the words slicing through him. The breath hitched in his chest and his vision blurred. He blinked, trying to bring everything into focus, but it was no good. The only thing he could see was Sammie, staring up at him with tears in her eyes.
"Sammie—" He wanted to stop her, needed to tell her that he knew, that she didn't need to say the words. If he heard them, actually heard her tell him how much she hated him, it would kill him on the spot. But his throat wouldn't work and the words wouldn't come, no matter how much he struggled to say them.
"I thought I'd hate you forever. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But…" Her voice trailed off. Hope flared to life in his chest, melting some of the icy fear that had been strangling him.
"But—?"
Sammie gazed up at him, tears filling those wide beautiful eyes, so deep he could lose his soul in them. He had lost his soul in them, years ago.
No, he corrected—he had found his soul.
"I'm scared, Jon. Scared that I don't hate you, when I know I should. Scared that I trust you, when I know I shouldn't."
"Sammie—"
Her hand drifted up his chest to his mouth. She placed two fingers over his lips, silencing him. "And I'm scared of what I feel. Terrified of how much I still love you."
"Sammie. God. I—" Jonathan cleared his throat, trying to clear the lump permanently lodged there. He finally moved, stepping closer, and reached out to cup her face between his hands. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, brushing away the single tear marring her perfect skin. "You're not the only one who's afraid. Loving someone that much—that gives them so much power over you. You've always held that power. Don't you know that?"
He reached for her hand and guided it to his chest, held it over the frantic beating of his heart. "Can't you feel it? My heart has always been yours, for as long as I can remember. God, Sammie. Without you, I'm nothing. I have no soul without you because you are my soul. You always have been."
"Then how could you have walked away like that? How could you have turned your back on us?"
"Because I was afraid. I thought you'd be better off without me. Thought you deserved so much more. I—I thought part of me had died over there, Sammie. After everything I did…I didn't want you to be stuck with someone half-dead."
"Jon, what you did over there, you did because you had to. You did to survive. To save lives. How could you possibly think that would change how I felt?"
"I—I don't know. I just—God, Sammie, things were so fucked up. And I couldn't bear the thought of coming home and having you look at me like I was some kind of monster, knowing what I did—"
"You're not a monster, Jon. You never were. And I just wish—" Sammie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling from the force of it. She opened her eyes and another tear fell, the sight of it tearing him apart. "I wish we could have that time back. That those years were never gone. But we can't get them back."
"No, we can't." Could she see what it cost him to admit that? See how much those lost years ate at him? He tightened his hand around hers and pressed it even closer, holding it tight against his heart. "But we can start over, can't we? Start over and make sure we live every minute for all we can."
"I—" Sammie hesitated, staring up at him while she chewed on her lower lip. He told himself to stay quiet, to not say a word. This was her decision to make. Her choice.
But his resolve to stay evaporated between one breath and the next. He couldn't stay quiet, not when there was so much riding on this. Sammie was too important to him, he couldn't risk staying quiet.
"I love you, Sammie. I never stopped. I wasn't lying about that. And I want you in my life. You and Clare. But if you can't—if you decide you don't want—" His voice cracked and he stopped talking for a second, cleared his throat and forced himself to keep going.
"If you decide this isn't what you want, I'm still going to love you. No matter what. And I'm always going to be here, waiting. Days. Weeks. Years. It doesn't matter. What I feel for you—it doesn't die. It never will."
Had he said too much? Had he scared her by telling her how he felt? Jonathan couldn't tell, not when she just stood there, staring up at him. He started to pull back, tried to tell her that he understood, that she could take all the time she needed.
Sammie stepped closer, leaning into him as she slid her hands around his neck. "I already know what I want, Jon. You. It's always been you. That's what scares me so much. And I don't want to wait. We've already wasted too much time. I don't want to waste anymore."
"Are you sure?"
Sammie nodded, the truth of her words—of her love—shining in her damp eyes. Jonathan leaned forward and captured her mouth with his. Soft, tender. Showing her with that one kiss how much she meant to him.
But it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough. He picked her up and carried her back to his bedroom, tried to show her with more than just kisses. More than just words.
And knew that a lifetime of loving her still wouldn’t be enough.
Epilogue
The soft click of the door closing echoed in the quiet room, making Jonathan jump. He gave himself a mental shake, called himself a fool for being so nervous. Tried to tell himself there was no reason for him to be nervous.
Except there was—a million reasons, and the biggest one was standing in fro
nt of him, watching him with a small smile on her face.
Sammie stepped toward him and placed her hands against his chest. Sculpted brows arched over wide brown eyes that held a hint of laughter. His heart slammed against his breastbone as Sammie's fingers slowly worked the buttons of his dress shirt.
He closed his hands over hers, brought them to his mouth and brushed a gentle kiss along her knuckles.
Against the simple gold band on the ring finger of her left hand.
The wedding had been a small one, the informal ceremony held in an intimate ballroom of the hotel. Well, maybe not small, not with Sammie's entire team in attendance. But they didn't have any attendants—just the bride and the groom and the flower girl, who kept giggling because she didn't understand why Mommy and Daddy were all dressed up, standing there in front of everyone.
Vows had been exchanged in low voices filled with emotion.
Filled with love.
Toasts had been made—more than one, as a matter of fact. Jonathan made a mental note to pay Mac and Daryl back for their toasts, even if they had caused the most charming blush he'd ever seen to stain Sammie's cheeks.
But the party was over now, at least as far as the bride and groom were concerned. Jonathan had swept Sammie into his arms and carried her out of the room, to the sound of cheers and applause.
There wouldn't be a honeymoon, not yet, not with Sammie's upcoming schedule. It was only January—they still had a few months left in their first season, not to mention the Blades' exhibition game against the Banners in two weeks.
That didn't mean Jonathan planned on skimping on the wedding night. Not even close.
He dipped his head and caught Sammie's mouth in a gentle kiss. Soft, sweet, with just a hint of promise of what was to come. Her hands slid up his chest, dipped inside the open edges of his shirt and traveled to his back. Touching. Caressing. Warm and gentle at first, then growing bolder. More insistent.
Jonathan eased his mouth from hers, pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against her own. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"
Sammie's hand traveled from his back to his chest, not stopping until it rested over his heart. Her fingers trembled against his skin, touching something deep inside him, something so powerful, so potent, there were no words to describe it.
"As much as I love you."
The words echoed in Jonathan's mind, travelled to the deepest corner of his soul, and shattered the last bit of darkness there. Sammie loved him. He still couldn't believe it. After everything that happened, after everything he'd done…she loved him.
God knew he didn't deserve it. Sammie. Clare. This second chance. He didn't deserve any of it, didn't deserve them.
But he'd never let them go, never again. And he'd make damn sure that Sammie would never regret giving him this second chance. Every second, every minute, every day, for the rest of his life and beyond.
He caught her mouth with his again, this kiss anything but sweet. She leaned into him, sighed when he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the large bed.
And showered her with the beginning of a lifetime of love.
###
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Dear Reader:
Welcome to the second book of The Chesapeake Blades!
If you read the first book, you'll realize that Sammie's story is a little different from Taylor's and she's dealing with some issues of her own. Yes, the issues with fighting to find a place of their own in the sports world still exists, but the larger focus for this book has shifted a little.
Sammie is a single mother juggling the obligations of a full-time job in addition to playing hockey. And, like a lot of mothers out there, she worries that her young daughter is paying the price of her busy schedule. But with help from her friends—and support from a surprising source—her struggles become a little easier to deal with.
I hope you enjoy meeting the ladies of The Blades, and that you cry and cheer with them on their journey. Shannon's story is next, and I'm so excited to get started on it—I have a feeling she might surprise all of us!
If you're interested in learning more about the NWHL, please check out their website!
Happy Reading!
LBK
#FightLikeAGirl
#PlayLikeAGirl
PLAYING THE GAME
The York Bombers Book 1
Harland Day knows what it's like to be on rock bottom: he was there once before, years ago when his mother walked out and left him behind. But he learned how to play the game and survived, crawling his way up with the help of a friend-turned-lover. This time is different: he has nobody to blame but himself for his trip to the bottom. His mouth, his attitude, his crappy play that landed him back in the minors instead of playing pro hockey with the Baltimore Banners. And this time, he doesn't have anyone to help him out, not when his own selfishness killed the most important relationship he ever had.
Courtney Williams' life isn't glamorous or full of fame and fortune but she doesn't need those things to be happy. She of all people knows there are more important things in life. And, for the most part, she's been able to forget what could have been—until Harland gets reassigned to the York Bombers and shows back up in town, full of attitude designed to hide the man underneath. But the arrogant hockey player can't hide from her, the one person who knows him better than anyone else. They had been friends. They had been lovers. And then they had been torn apart by misunderstanding and betrayal.
But some ties are hard to break. Can they look past what had been and move forward to what could be? Or will the sins of the past haunt them even now, all these years later?
Turn the page for a preview of PLAYING THE GAME, the launch title of The York Bombers series, now available.
The third drink was still in his hand, virtually untouched. He glanced down at it, briefly wondered if he should just put it down and walk away. It was still early, not even eleven yet. Maybe if he stuck it out for another hour; maybe if he finished this drink and let the whiskey loosen him up. Or maybe if he just paid attention to the girl draped along his side—
Maybe.
He swirled the glass in his hand and brought it to his mouth, taking a long sip of mostly melted ice. The girl next to him—what the fuck was her name?—pushed her body even closer, the swell of her barely-covered breast warm against the bare flesh of his arm.
"So you're a hockey player, right? One of Zach's teammates?"
Her breath held a hint of red wine, too sweet. Harland tried not to grimace, pushed the memories at bay as his stomach lurched. He tightened his grip on the glass—if he was too busy holding something, he couldn't put his arm around her or push her away—and glanced down. The girl looked like she was barely old enough to be in this place. A sliver of fright shot through him. They did card here, right? He wasn't about to be busted picking up someone underage, was he?
She had a killer body, slim and lean with just enough muscle tone in her arms and legs to reassure him that she didn't starve herself and probably worked out. Long tanned legs that went on for miles and dainty feet shoved into shoes that had to have heels at least five inches tall. He grimaced and briefly wondered how the hell she was even standing in them.
Of course, she was leaning against him, her full breasts pushing against his arm and chest. Maybe that was because she couldn't stand in those ridiculous heels. Heels like that wer
en't meant for walking—they were fuck-me heels, meant for the bedroom.
He looked closer, at her platinum-streaked hair carefully crafted in a fuck-me style and held in place by what had to be a full can of hairspray—or whatever the fuck women used nowadays. Thick mascara coated her lashes, or maybe they weren't even her real lashes, now that he was actually looking. No, he doubted they were real. That was a shame because from what he could see, she had pretty eyes, kind of a smoky gray set off by the shimmery eyeshadow coloring her lids. Hell, maybe those eyes weren't even real, maybe they were just colored contacts.
Fuck. Wasn't anything real anymore? Wasn't anyone who they really claimed to be? And why the fuck was he even worried about it when all he had to do was nod and smile and take her by the hand and lead her out? Something told him he wouldn't even have to bother with taking her home—or in his case, to a motel. No, he was pretty sure all he had to do was show her the backseat of his Expedition and that would be it.
Her full lips turned down into a pout and Harland realized she was waiting for him to answer. Yeah, she had asked him a question. What the hell had she asked?
Oh, yeah—
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I play hockey." He took another sip of the watery drink and glanced around the crowded club. Several of his teammates were scattered around the bar, their faces alternately lit and shadowed by the colored lights pulsing in time to the music.
Jason pulled his tongue from some girl's throat long enough to motion to the mousy barmaid for a fresh drink. His gaze caught Harland's and a wide grin split his face when he nodded.
Harland got the message loud and clear. How could he miss it, when the nod was toward the girl hanging all over him? Jason was congratulating him on hooking up, encouraging him to take the next step.
Loving Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 2) Page 19