by Penny Dee
“Well, one is the safest number, after all. Less people to betray you that way.”
“I never betrayed you. I was doing my job.”
“Did your job involve making me fall in love with you?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
My restraint was gone and I rushed forward with my words. “You came after me with everything you had, Mackenzie. You had something to prove to your father and you weren’t going to let anything or anyone’s feelings get in your way.”
When a waiter walked past with a tray of drinks I grabbed one and slung it back. It was straight scotch and it burned a deep path to my belly. It also fueled my malevolence.
“You did whatever it took to get me back on the ice,” I continued, slamming the empty glass onto the table. Then like a real dick I leaned in and added quietly, “In and out of bed.”
Anger flared in Mackenzie’s eyes. But I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I’d already done enough damage. I’d already sank as low as I could get and I hated myself for it.
So I threw a wad of hundreds onto the table and stormed out to find another bar.
Unfortunately, Mackenzie decided to follow me. She caught up with me out on the street.
“You don’t get to call me a whore and then walk away.” She swung me around to face her. And then she shoved me in the chest so hard it nearly sent me on my ass. But it was well deserved. I had insinuated that she’d whored herself to get me skating again, and I’d made a spectacle of myself. All because I was a drunk ass. A drunk, brokenhearted ass.
Anger swept through me. Anger at myself for being the cruel and loathing asshole I was. Anger at Mackenzie for breaking down the walls and making me love her with all of my heart. Anger at the goddamn world. Anger at being alone because in one fell swoop my family was taken from me. Anger at Tyler dying and the fact that it was my skate that killed him.
Anger at the fact that I was so damn in love with this woman I didn’t have a clue of what to do.
I hailed a cab.
I needed to get home before I did anything else stupid.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Five
Mackenzie
Jake was drunk.
Falling down drunk.
I couldn’t walk away from him when he was in such a bad state. So ignoring his protests I followed him into the taxi and then endured a deafening twenty-minute silence back to his apartment.
Once inside, I helped him into his bedroom, barely capable of holding him up. We stumbled through the door and fell against the wall. For a brief moment, Jake’s eyes unglazed and he looked down at me, cupping my face in his big hands. His forehead fell to mine and he squeezed his eyes shut, the heat of him engulfing me.
“I’m so in love with you,” he whispered desperately.
“I’m in love with you, too,” I whispered back, feeling a tiny flicker of hope in my chest.
I was hoping this was the start of him forgiving me.
“But you’ve broken me,” he moaned.
And just like that the flicker was gone.
His words killed me and reminded me of what I’d done to him. He would never forgive me for what I had done. I could hear it in his voice and my heart twisted with pain. I needed to get him into bed, roll him on his side and then leave.
He needed to sleep it off and I needed to get the hell away from him so I could drown in my own guilt.
Using all my strength I dragged him over to the bed but crumbled under the six-foot-seven wall of muscle that was Jake Pennington, and we fell to the bed. Jake was a dead weight on top of me.
Of course this was happening.
Feeling his weight on me was a sudden turn on. One leg was trapped under him while the other fell to the side, putting him against the spot that suddenly ached for him. As if he realized, he looked up, his lips parting and his eyes filling with a sudden need.
“Oh, Z . . .” he moaned, grabbing my face and pressing his lips hard against mine. His mouth was insistent, opening my lips and thrusting his tongue in. It stole my breath from me and set every cell in my body on fire with a need for more. His hips pressed down, giving me no choice but to feel what our kissing was doing to him.
He was drunk and he hated me and I knew it was wrong. But my body didn’t know any better and it wanted him. It wanted him to peel my clothes from my body and fill me with his cock. It wanted his weight on me, heavy and solid, sliding against me as he embedded himself deep into me. It wanted the comfort and reassurance of the love making that had once been all and everything to me.
Oh, God, I missed him.
Jake inhaled thickly, shifting so he could press all the good bits of him against all of the good bits of me, and the throb between my thighs far outweighed the argument in my head. I wanted our clothes gone but I knew it would be wrong, so I settled for pretending I could stop this at any time and kept kissing him, his moans fueling my fire.
But as quickly as he started kissing me, he stopped and rose up on his palms like he was doing a push up above me, and fixed his glazed eyes to mine. Bicep muscles bulged on either side of my head and his chest was a thick wall of muscle before my eyes.
“I fucking loved you,” he said with an edge to his voice that dampened every ember of desire in my body. “Fucking. Loved. You.”
I could only stare at him as his drunk eyes roamed my face.
“But it was nothing but a bet . . .” he whispered, frowning and looking confused. “How could it only be a bet? I don’t . . . I don’t understand . . .”
I took his chin in my hand. “What I feel for you has nothing to do with any bet. Do you understand me?”
He exhaled deeply, looking slightly weakened by my words. He wanted to believe me but he was at war with himself over it.
Clumsily, he climbed off me and sat at the end of the bed. He shoved his hands through his hair and then dropped his elbows to his knees. I waited a moment and then slid over to sit next to him, not touching him but aching to do so. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and soothe the pain from his body. I wanted to somehow transport us back in time to the cabin when it was only us, when I hadn’t hurt him and he had felt inspired and motivated by me—not hurt and broken by me like he did now.
“What have you done to me?” he whispered, running his hand through his hair. The pain in his voice stole the air from my lungs and sat like a weight on my chest.
I was so sorry. So very, very sorry.
“And I dreamed your dream for you, and now your dream is real . . . how can you look at me as if I was just another one of your deals?” he sang softly.
“Please don’t,” I whispered. I couldn’t bear to hear him sing our song like that.
“Why not?” he spoke quietly, but his voice was cold. Ice cold. “Because isn’t that exactly how it is, Mackenzie? Wasn’t I just one of your deals?”
His tormented eyes found mine and I could see his pain etched firmly in the sharp contours of his face.
“That’s not true.” My own voice was meek. Regretful. Full of shame. Threatening to break beneath a heavy load of remorse.
He looked away. “You need to go.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to, Jake. Please let me stay with you. I need to make this right.”
He shook his head and drew in a deep breath as he squeezed his eyes closed, waited and then opened them again.
He turned his head and in a moment of clarity his eyes found mine. “We’re done.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Don’t say that.”
He looked away. “Goodbye, Mackenzie.”
The way he said it. The tone. The finality. It told me what I dreaded the most. That when he said goodbye, he truly meant it.
I stood up.
And not bothering to hide my tears, I walked away.
Two days later, the Fury lost game four to the Ice Cats, three to two.
* * *
The day after the Fury lost to the Ice Cats, I flew to LA to hav
e lunch with Darryl Stanton Williams.
AKA Purgatory.
AKA a giant hulk of a man.
AKA a giant hulk of a man who happened to be a really nice guy.
I was surprised.
We sat in the late morning sunlight at the Garden Bar & Restaurant in downtown LA. He wore a handsome suit custom-made to accommodate his massive size, Paul Evans Italian leather shoes, and gold on almost every finger. In the ring he was all bravado and show biz, but outside of the ring he was a gentle giant with impeccable manners and an obvious respect for women. He was nothing but a gentleman to me.
It made what I was going to say all the more difficult because I knew I would have enjoyed working with him.
But I wouldn’t be.
“I’m sorry, Darryl. I know my father said I would be handling your contract but I won’t be.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because I’m committed elsewhere.” I cleared my throat. “It was meant to be a short-term thing but it turned into something a little more long-term.”
He nodded and sunlight gleaned on his aviator sunglasses.
“Well, that’s a shame, Mackenzie,” he said, his voice deep and masculine. “I was really looking forward to working with you. I’ve heard good things. And seeing what you did for Jake Pennington . . . man, who wouldn’t want to work with you? You’ve made the whole sporting community stand up and take notice. I could really use someone like you in my corner.”
Inwardly, I sighed at the mention of Jake. But then, I always sighed when I thought about Jake. It was the only way I could push back the heartache.
“I appreciate you saying that, Darryl,” I said, taking a sip from a tall, frosted glass. It was filled with sparkling water and chopped pieces of orange, cucumber and mint. “I hope this doesn’t reflect badly on my father’s agency.”
He shook his head. “Nah. Of course not. I’ve been dying to have your old man represent me for as long as I can remember.”
I relaxed. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “But you could do me one favor.”
I smiled and nodded. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Less than five hours later I sat in the back of a limo, dressed to the nines in a Valentino floor-length dress and clasping an Alexander McQueen lace butterfly clutch as we pulled up outside the lit-up LA Live complex.
We were at the ESPYs.
And I was Purgatory’s date.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jake
For the fiftieth time in five minutes I struggled with my tie in the hallway mirror. Why the fuck hadn’t I decided on the bowtie instead?
Rapidly losing my patience I ripped it loose and pulled it over my head to try again, just as the doorbell rang. We were at Johnny Pepper’s mansion in Calabasas, just outside of Los Angeles. We were in town for the ESPYs . . . Johnny had flown Casanova, Cowboy, and myself out to California to represent the Fury at the glittering sporting event.
Even though red carpet events weren’t my thing, I was desperate for the distraction from my pre-game five nerves. We had lost game four and I blamed myself because I had been so damn distracted.
Taking my fifty-first shot at getting my tie to look halfway decent, I opened the door and came face to face with a stunning woman standing on the doorstep. Dressed in a tight pink and aqua dress, glittery heels and big, bouncy, blonde hair, she had Cowboy written all over her.
“Well, hi there, handsome,” she drawled. Her smile was big, and cute, and she had the whitest teeth I’d ever seen in my life. She was a few years older than Cowboy’s usual dates, probably somewhere in her early forties, although she was so well put together it was hard to tell. She was also sexy as hell, and clearly knew it.
“Let me guess, you’re here to see Cowboy?” I asked.
She looked at me seductively. “I sure am, honey.”
“I’m Jake.” I offered her my hand, which she took. “Nice to meet you.”
“Well, now. The pleasure, it seems, is all mine,” she replied, her voice thick with a southern drawl and as smooth as warm whiskey. “I’m Lucile.”
“Lucile, that’s a pretty name.”
Lucile smiled that big Texas smile of hers. “Why thank you, honey. Now are you going to let me inside? Or you planning on leaving a girl out here on the doorstep all night?” She winked and there was so much fake eyelash happening I swear I could feel it flap like a fan.
“Of course.” I moved and opened the door wider so she could step inside. “I don’t suppose you know how to tie a tie?”
“Oh, honey, if there’s one thing I know my way around it’s a man’s tie.”
Okay, this woman had so much sex going on I felt dirty just standing next to her.
“Great. I’m kind of having a hard time with this one.” I pointed to the limp tie around my neck. Because apparently she wouldn’t have worked that out herself. Inwardly, I grimaced because this woman was like a sexual driveby and I really didn’t know what to do or how to act around her.
“Oooh, well now.” She winked and cocked an eyebrow at me seductively. “One tie, one hard time. Sounds like a perfect evening to me.”
I swallowed hard and then froze. Was Cowboy’s date coming onto me?
“Mom! Are you hitting on my teammate?” I heard Cowboy yell from his bedroom down the hallway.
Wait. What?
“Oh, relax, Bartholomew,” Lucile called back to him calmly, stepping toward me and taking me by the tie. As she wrapped and tugged at it she winked at me. “My boy is so touchy sometimes.”
In under a minute my tie was perfect. Lucile patted me on the shoulders and took a step back to look at her handiwork.
“There. Perfect.” She winked again, and her smile was warm and affectionate.
“Wow, Mom. You look sensational!” Cowboy swooped in and gave his mom a peck on her smooth cheek.
“Well, don’t you look handsome,” she replied proudly to her son, then turning to me added, “My son is such a good boy.”
Cowboy looked almost coy around his mom.
“Should we get a drink before the car arrives?” he asked.
“Good idea,” I agreed, and followed them into the kitchen.
Casanova had his head buried in a newspaper at the kitchen counter and looked up when we walked in. His eyes rolled over Lucile in appreciation as she and Cowboy walked past him to the bar.
“Who’s that?” he mouthed to me.
“Cowboy’s mom,” I mouthed back.
Casanova’s mouth dropped open. “For real?”
I nodded, just as Lucile looked around and smiled.
“Don’t tell me you two handsome boys are dateless tonight?”
Casanova looked at his watch and stood up. “Nope. In fact, I’m on my way to pick Chloe up from the hotel.”
Lucile turned to me. “What about you, handsome?”
“My date is on her way.”
“You’re not picking your lady up?” Lucile sounded surprised.
“She kind of insisted on picking me up,” I replied.
“Jake’s date is Ana Karena, current womens’ WWF champion,” Cowboy explained to his mom as he handed her a glass of champagne. “And if two-hundred pounds of pure muscle says she’s picking you up, then she is picking you up. No argument.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. I excused myself to answer it and found Ana Karena standing on the doorstep.
And she looked incredible. “Wow!”
“Hey there,” she grinned and stepped inside.
Ana Karena was a stunner. Tanned. Strong. And with bright blue eyes. She was at the peak of her career and totally committed to her sport. I would lay money on it that she had been at the gym as late as an hour ago.
“Sorry I’m a bit late,” she said. “I was at the gym and didn’t realize the time.”
I kissed her cheek. “You’re not late.”
Her eyes rolled over me appreciatively. “You know, you don’t scrub up too bad.”
I offered her my arm. “And you look sensational.”
She nodded. “I know.”
This year, the ESPYs were being held at the LA Live complex in downtown Los Angeles, which was a little under an hour’s drive away. We took a limousine, courtesy of Johnny Pepper, which gave Ana and I the perfect opportunity to catch up.
Ana’s girlfriend, Krystal, was an archaeologist and currently occupied at a dig in Spain. Ana filled me in on their plans to build a holiday villa in the Mediterranean, while I filled her in on Mackenzie. Which kind of took up the entire drive from Calabasas into downtown LA.
The sun had set by the time we had arrived and as we approached LA Live the dazzle of lights and flashing cameras lit up the darkness. Reporters lined the red carpet leading into the mammoth entertainment complex, and as soon as Ana and I exited the limousine, they swooped in.
We paused to do the obligatory poses—ignoring the questions being fired at us—before moving inside.
Once inside, there was more mingling.
“Look, there’s Brianna Bronco,” Ana said, leaning into me as she pointed out her rival in a bright yellow slinky dress. “Goddamn, what is that girl wearing?”
“Z would look amazing in something like that,” I whispered back, without thinking. “Did I mention how tiny she is?”
“Yes, you did,” Ana replied flatly.
“Except, she wouldn’t wear yellow. Hell, I think she is afraid of the color yellow. Did I tell you how she has all these weird-ass phobias?”
“Yes, you did.”
“See that woman over there . . . the one in the midnight blue thingie—”
“That’s a pantsuit, Jake.”
“Yes, that. Well, she kind of looks like Mackenzie. Except Z has longer hair. And more blonde. And she has these great dimples. And much more—”
When I started to use the universal hand gesture to signal a big rack, Ana interrupted me. “Shall we go inside?”
An usher in formal attire greeted us and showed us to our seats. We were in the third row, in between an Olympic swimmer whose name escaped me, and wouldn’t you know it, Ethan Valentine.