Broken (Breakers Hockey Book 1)

by Elise Faber

  Yes.

  Another buzz. A crying face paired with a red heart that had him desperate to type out the words he held in his heart, even though he was desperate to tell her them in person. Then,

  Good luck.

  The urge to blurt out all those words in his heart grew louder. Because she’d remembered, even after their night had taken a delicious, wonderful turn that he certainly hadn’t expected, one that had kept them both up into the wee hours of the night, she’d texted this morning, she’d remembered his meeting.

  He sent back a thanks, along with a promise to check in with her later.

  Then he got into the shower, put on one of the many suits and ties Lexi had teased him about, and headed to the arena, to the office he’d commandeered from Char. There were perks with remaining close with his former protégé, the current GM of the Gold.

  He knew he’d have a quiet, hopefully soundproof, private space to conduct what was going to be a painful meeting.

  Turned out that soundproofing was key.

  Because it turned one handsome, cocky, girlfriend-poaching Mark Shelby into a whining, screaming, hissy-fit-throwing crybaby.

  At least no one could hear the bullshit he was spewing.

  He was pissed that Luc had the “audacity” to trade him.

  His words, not Luc’s, and frankly, Luc was shocked the bastard had enough space in that brain of his to actually use big words, considering the size of the man’s ego.

  He’d conferenced in with Todd and Lexi, with Mark’s agent, who was almost as much of a son of a bitch as Mark himself.

  Not that anyone could get a word in edgewise, not with Mark’s ranting.

  But the deal was made, the ink was dry, and that was hockey. Players didn’t always get a say in the teams they went to. And maybe because he was talented and put points on the scoreboard, Mark had figured he’d be with the Breakers to stay, and truthfully, until the toxicity had flared in the locker room and on the ice, Luc would have believed that, too. He would have been hard-pressed to give up his star player.

  Things had changed.

  Mark had changed them.

  “Is this because I fucked that dumb bitch?” Mark snapped, shoving back his chair and pacing across the conference room. “She wanted it and . . .” He continued on with his ranting, but Luc tuned him out, not giving a shit at what he said.

  Because it wasn’t about Mark fucking around on Marcel.

  It was about Mark being poison.

  He was gone.

  And the reality was that Mark didn’t have anything in his contract to prevent a trade, nor any clause within it that required Luc to run this decision by him. Luc had all the power in this decision, and Mark could yell all he wanted about it.

  He would still be going to the Kings.

  Heaven help the team there.

  Hopefully, they’d better contain his bullshit.

  But frankly, Luc didn’t give a fuck. Mark would be out of his hair in the next hour—the ranting man had a flight to catch—and that wouldn’t be coming soon enough for Luc.

  He’d always thought that Mark was a bit of an asshole, but his skills on the ice had made him easier to put up with, easier to ignore and excuse his crappy behavior. Yeah, he was a bit of a loner, a bit distant with the rest of the team, but it hadn’t appeared to impact much of anything until the beginning of this one.

  Because for whatever reason, Mark had decided to torpedo Luc’s family.

  And no one fucked with his family.

  So, Mark was out. Points or not. Abilities or not.

  The points hadn’t garnered the Cup, hadn’t gotten the team a better record. The cost-benefit of keeping Mark around was just too great.

  It was as simple as that.

  Luc gathered his papers, ended the call with Todd and Lexi, Mark’s agent signing off just as Mark whined, “I just bought a house and my stuff—”

  Stifling a sigh, considering Mark’s real estate woes were the least important things on his mind at this moment, Luc stood up, tugged open the door. “You’d better get to the airport. Traffic and—”

  Mark’s eyes widened.

  “—all that,” he finished.

  “I—”

  Char was waiting outside the door. Her sunny smile filled the space. “Just the man I was looking for,” she said, eyes coming to Luc’s. “I actually had a question about . . .” She trailed off, as though just noticing Mark for the first time.

  What a good little liar she was.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I can come—”

  “We’re done,” he said. “Come in,” he added, sweeping a hand forward as though it were his conference room and not the one she’d loaned him for specifically this purpose.

  Mark glared between them for a long moment, and then he sighed and stormed out, the door slamming behind him.

  “You sure you want to lose him?” Char asked. “He is talented.”

  “Would you keep him?”

  The expression on her face told him her answer.

  “Ah, I have trained you well, young Padawan.”

  “And now your nerd is showing,” she teased.

  He grinned, hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Missed you, kiddo.”

  “Me, too,” she said, smiling up at him before slipping out of his embrace. “Though I could do without the kiddo talk.”

  “Tough,” he said, reaching out as though to give her a noogie.

  She darted out of the way, made for the door. “Come on,” she said, “Logan is going to meet us for breakfast. We’ll play nice before he kicks your team’s ass on the penalty kill.”

  He nudged Char out of the way, turned the handle, and opened the door for her. “Your guys planning to be in the penalty box a lot tonight?”

  A grin. “Your guys planning to take a bunch of dives?”

  He sniffed. “No, my guys aren’t a bunch of little ballerinas falling all over the place.”

  “First,” she muttered, jabbing him in the chest with her finger, “ballerinas are crazy tough. Second”—another jab—“a better comparison would be soccer players and their magic, healing water.”

  He laughed. “I think the soccer players would take issue with that.”

  “I think the ballerinas would, too,” she said, her lips curving.

  “So, maybe we just stick with hockey is better than every other sport?”

  Her smile grew. “Exactly.”

  A tall, green-eyed man came around the corner, smiling like Char had hung the moon, and even if Luc hadn’t immediately recognized him, hadn’t once had Logan Walker on his own roster, Luc would have known the man because he tried to know every player in the league, and certainly the ones who’d been around for as many seasons as Char’s other half.

  “Molly’s?” Logan asked, after greetings were exchanged and hands were shaken.

  Char’s brow creased. “You want to torture yourself on a day you can’t eat it?”

  A kiss to Char’s cheek, a hand slipping around her waist, drawing her close. “It’s your favorite,” he said softly, as though that were explanation enough.

  And for Luc, it was enough.

  Because he felt that same breadth of emotion for Lexi.

  Char glanced at him. “Talk some sense into him, Luc. We should go to the new vegan restaurant so he can eat something on his diet plan.”

  “Or he can eat what he wants,” Luc said, lips twitching.

  Char smacked him lightly. “Stop trying to undermine my players.”

  “We’re going to Molly’s,” Logan ordered, tugging her closer. “You’re getting that new apple-pear muffin you’ve been raving about, and I’m not going to eat, other than a cup of coffee because I had my meal plan breakfast, okay?”

  A wrinkled nose—Char’s not Luc’s—but she didn’t argue further, just allowed Logan to lead them to the arena exit.

  And when the other man got pulled into a quick conversation with another player, Char glanced over her shoulder at Luc, love in her eye
s, and whispered, “You sure you don’t want to find this?”

  He inhaled sharply, debated for a minute what to keep against his chest and what to tell her.

  In the end, he said, “I have.”

  For a second, there was sad in her eyes. They were close enough that she knew only the barest details—he didn’t date. Or hadn’t dated.

  “I have it now,” he added.

  Her eyes widened. Her hand found his, squeezed tight. “Tell me everything.”

  Logan’s conversation wound down before he could even begin. “Later,” he said.

  A narrowed glance. “You promise?”

  Logan came close enough to hear Char’s question. “Secret GM stuff?”

  Char met Luc’s eyes, hers twinkling brightly enough that he laughed, and said, “Exactly.”

  “Damn,” Logan teased. “I hate not knowing everything. Maybe I’ll have to bribe you with muffins.”

  “I bet it would work,” Luc quipped.

  Char didn’t even try to deny it, just glared at them both before striding off. The woman had had a love affair with carbs for as long as he’d know her.

  Logan moved to walk after her, halting when Char whipped around, halting them both in their tracks with the fierce expression on her face. She pointed firmly in Luc’s direction. “Next time you play us, you’re bringing her.”

  He nodded.

  Not because of the order or the fierce gaze, even though both were formidable.

  But because he considered Char more than a good friend. Because she was family and wonderful, and he wanted Lexi to have that wonderful in her life, too.

  With a sharp incline of her head, a clipped out, “Good,” Char started walking.

  Then whipped back around again. “And you’re telling me everything on the car ride,” she said. “Not over breakfast or sometime later when you turn the conversation back on me and my life, so you don’t talk about yourself.”

  He hesitated.

  “Luc.”

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I taught you to do the scary GM voice too well.”

  A flick of Char’s hair, the red and gold and brown curls bouncing as she tossed them over her shoulder. “You taught me. I improved on the technique.” A beat, those fierce eyes again. “You promise?”

  Knowing he was trapped, Luc just nodded, said, “I promise.”

  Satisfaction in her deep brown eyes, but he only saw it for a moment because she tossed her head once more and pushed out of the arena.

  Logan glanced back at him, eyes dancing, lips twitching.

  Luc shrugged. “She doesn’t lie,” he said. “She did improve on it.”

  “Oh, I know,” Logan said, laughter filling the air. “Believe me, I know.”

  They both started busting up, and then still laughing, they followed Char out into the parking lot.

  Onward to muffins.

  Plus, a side of Char-driven truth serum before they even got to the bakery.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Lexi

  “Nice shiner you’ve got there.”

  Lexi froze at her boss’s words, taken off guard because she’d thought that the makeup she’d slapped on that morning had covered it well enough. Apparently, not enough, at least when it came to Todd’s scrutiny. FaceTime Fun Time—or FaceTime mutual self-satisfaction—was a dangerous pastime.

  She’d thought she’d broken her nose last night.

  But then Luc’s husky voice had coaxed her back under his spell, and she’d had a glorious fucking orgasm.

  Courtesy of her own fingers, but only really because he’d talked her through it.

  “That conversation with Shelby went well, huh?” she said, trying for distraction.

  “About as well as expected.” A beat, holding her stare. “So, what’d you do to your face?”

  “Nothing,” she said, too quickly, but when he kept looking at her like that, she found herself at risk of breaking under that intense blue gaze. “I just bumped into something.” Except, dammit, not only was that a stupid excuse, but her cheeks flared—also something she knew that her makeup didn’t cover, based on the way Todd’s brows lifted.

  “Now that’s a story I want to hear,” he said, eyes dancing.

  “No,” she muttered, “trust me when I say, no, you really don’t.”

  More brow-lifting.

  Then he shook his head, mouth tipped up at one corner. “You’re probably right.”

  She cleared her throat, stacking the files she’d brought, just in case she’d needed them and hadn’t been able to access some document on her laptop, for whatever reason. Unnecessary? Probably. But in her work life, she liked to err on the side of extra cautious and prepared. There was nothing worse than needing to pull out a piece of information and not having it, especially when she’d been in her early years as an attorney.

  “Want to come over for dinner tonight?” Todd asked, leaning a hip against the table. “Holly was wanting to see you.”

  She shook her head, genuine disappointment threading through her because Holly was hilarious, sweet, and a fantastic cook. Lexi was going to miss a good meal and a fun night of teasing Todd. “I can’t tonight,” she said. “I’m packing up my apartment.”

  Todd had been reaching for the door handle, but her sentence had him freezing. “You bought a new house?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m actually moving in with—”

  His phone rang. He reached into his pocket and silenced it.

  “With whom, Lex?”

  A tendril of discomfort weaved its way through her intestines, but she didn’t try to hide the truth. It would be pointless with the way that gossip traveled through the front office.

  “With Luc.”

  He relaxed, face softening.

  “Not as friends,” she whispered.

  Todd’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “Luc and I aren’t moving in together as friends.” She lifted her chin, wondered if her friend would judge her, but once the shock faded, all that was left in his expression was . . . approval. A quick breath. “We’re actually . . .” She trailed off, gripped tight some of that courage she’d been so hard-pressed to relocate, and her chin came up. “We’re dating.”

  His face didn’t change, just stayed locked onto hers. “Good.”

  Her jaw fell open. “Good?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, he’s our boss and—”

  “I’m your boss,” he said, squeezing her hand. “And when you take over my job, sooner rather than later, you’ll answer to the board and not to Luc. No issues on that front.”

  “But—” She suddenly felt a little insecure.

  It had all been fine when everyone knew they were just friends, but would it be different if she and Luc were more than that? Would everyone treat her differently?

  Because it wasn’t a matter of if she and Luc were more, they already were more than friends.

  Todd squeezed her hand. “But nothing, kiddo,” he said. “Bottom line, you deserve to be happy. He deserves the same.” Another squeeze. “That’s it, and if anyone has a problem with that, you just send ’em to me.”

  Her heart thudded.

  When had this man, one who’d been a peer and friend and now a boss and mentor, become more of a father figure than her own?

  For a while now, she supposed.

  “Todd,” she began, eyes prickling.

  His phone rang again. He silenced it again. Then surprised her by cupping her cheek, his words soft. “Happy. Remember that.”

  She opened her mouth, wanting to tell him how much that meant. “I’m—”

  It rang for a third time, and he sighed, apology in his eyes as he yanked his cell from his pocket. “Just so you know, I’m really glad you’re not moving back in with that twat-waffle, Caleb.”

  He pulled open the door at the same time he swiped, lifting the cell to his ear, his “Hello?” half cut off as the panel closed with a soft snick.

  His other words, though, they stayed with
her much longer.

  Happy.

  Yeah, she could do happy.

  It was Saturday morning.

  Luc was coming home tonight.

  And her apartment was nearly packed up.

  Only her bed, couch, and dining room table remained. Items she was trying to decide if she wanted to keep or if she just wanted to give away.

  She didn’t particularly like them, having bought just enough cheap furniture to fill the apartment. She hadn’t been able to stand bringing the stuff she’d shared with Caleb, so had only moved the few pieces she’d brought into their relationship, and hadn’t been willing to buy something expensive, not when she’d barely known where she was going to end up.

  Now she had a place, and that was enough.

  She knew she’d need to decide on what to do with it in the next couple of weeks, but for now, she was focused on setting up her life with Luc.

  After she’d unloaded this final carload. This final full carload, she thought, cramming the bag she was carrying into a tiny gap behind the front and back seat. Then she was sitting down, door half open, readying to turn on the car when she saw him.

  Her heart stuttered; her lungs squeezed.

  He sauntered over to the car, as though he had every right to be there, to waltz back into her life without warning.

  “Alexis.”

  Her throat seized and she pushed out the single syllable. “Dad.”

  “Hi, honey.”

  Honey. Honey?

  What in the absolute fuck was going on?

  “Hi,” she rasped, dropping the keys, and they fell into the gap between the console and the driver’s seat. “Shit,” she muttered, fumbling for the set as she felt her father come close, standing silently next to the car.

  She could brush a finger along the keyring but couldn’t actually reach the fucking set. Now she’d have to get out of the car and interact with her father.

  Who’d called her honey.

  An endearment she hadn’t heard for more than seven years.

  She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t.

  “I was hoping we could talk.”

  Fucking hell. Now? Why, after all this time? Because she’d made him feel guilty on the phone and now, he suddenly had a conscience?