“Hey,” I call to him.
He looks back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Let’s dedicate tonight’s game to Dad. He always wanted to visit Denver, remember?”
“He wanted to see the mountains,” Liam says, a half-smile crossing his face. “Good idea—let’s do it.”
But after he leaves, I can’t concentrate on anything. Normally, I joke around with Murph and a few of the guys. I go through a mental warm-up for the upcoming battle. I have my preps down.
One thing I never do is call Winter this close to game time.
I prefer to see her afterward when I can relax and really connect to her.
But I won’t be seeing her tonight because we play Arizona tomorrow, and we won’t be home in between.
My finger hovers over the touchpad of my phone.
I should wait to talk to her. Focus on the game.
But my heart isn’t listening to my mind. Not this time.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hunt? Doesn’t your game start soon? Is everything all right?”
Her unselfish concern and care for me hit me straight in the chest. More than that, my body’s reaction to her voice is palpable.
I relax. I stop nearly hyperventilating, which I’ve been on the verge of since Liam told me the news. And, I stop wanting to put my fist through the metal locker.
I’m in love with her.
It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to admit that.
I love her so much that I nearly tell her.
But it’s not the right time for that. I don’t want my feelings for her to hold her back from returning to New York. I don’t want to be that guy. And I don’t know that I’m ready for what saying those words will entail.
So, I say, “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“That’s sweet, Hunt.”
“And, Liam heard some news.”
“Oh?” Her voice rises. “You mean about the case?”
“Yep. The guy confessed to the murder of our father.”
She exhales both a breath and a stricken sound at the same time. “Oh, Hunt. Honey, I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you.”
“Me, too. But I’ll be home tomorrow night late.”
“Did you get details?” she asks in a nervous tone. “I’m assuming you did?”
“We did. They’re pretty…brutal.”
“I’m here for you,” she says softly. “If you want to talk after the game tonight, no matter the hour, call me.”
“I will. Will you be watching the game?”
“Of course.”
“Well, Liam and I are gonna put on a show, darling. So get ready.”
“I’ll be glued to the television set,” she promises. “Be safe. Kick some ass.”
* * *
Playing a hockey game as a tribute to your late father brings up all sorts of emotions.
Anger, yes, because of the way he died.
But I didn’t expect to feel the grief, too.
The air in the arena is cool as usual, and I relish the cold-as-ice feel tonight because that’s what I’m feeling in my veins. Cold and lethal.
I want to wash that fucker’s murderous face out of my head for good.
Liam and I line up on opposite sides of the ice like always. But this time, when he leans forward, he turns his head to the left briefly. I catch his eye, and he tips his chin in the direction of Denver’s goal.
I nod back at him.
And then, it’s on.
As soon as the ref drops the puck, Liam fights for it. He has control of it within seconds, and he slaps it over to me.
I’m in the zone as I skate past one defender and then keep the puck away from another. I back up, eye Liam skating down the middle, and as soon as he has a finger-width of space, I zip the puck over to him.
I don’t even wait to see what he’s going to do.
It’s like I know.
I shift further left, dodging the defenseman in my path, and as Liam makes it look like he’s going to shoot, instead, he passes it back to me.
I don’t even take possession of the puck before firing my stick through it. The goalie’s out of position, and the puck shoots by him and over the goal line.
I raise my stick to the heavens.
Goal One.
For Dad.
We do it three more times.
Twice, Liam scores, and I get one more myself. On two of our goals, the puck actually looks like it’s flying wide of the net, but then at the last second, it snakes inside the crossbar. It almost looked like someone’s hand gently nudged or guided it there.
I’ve never believed my father was watching our games before, but apparently, I haven’t paid close enough attention.
When the game ends, Murph and Dean wrap their arms around my brother and me.
“What the hell got into you two tonight? I’ve never seen you perform like that on the same night,” Murph says.
“Retribution,” Liam says simply.
“Redemption,” I add.
He and I look at each other and then up at the ceiling.
I think my father was here with us tonight. Maybe he always is, and I just haven’t taken the time to feel his presence.
* * *
Winter’s lips are on mine the second I walk into my townhouse at an ungodly hour the next night. Hell, it’s really morning.
“It’s after three a.m.,” I say to her between kisses. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
“I was waiting for you,” she says simply.
That’s all I need to hear.
Everything I’ve felt the past forty-eight hours, all the emotions that I’ve been keeping to myself…they all come out.
I put my mouth over hers in an urgent kiss and back her up against the wall. She meets me more than halfway, giving as much as she’s taking.
I lift up the t-shirt she’s wearing of mine and tug at her underwear. As I tug them down her legs, she pulls at my tie.
I practically tear the tie off of me before unbuttoning my dress shirt. I don’t even bother to take it off as I unbuckle my belt and unsnap my pants.
Winter releases my erection from my boxer briefs, and I lift her up. She fits perfectly with me, and her legs lock around my waist as I brace her against the wall.
I want her so badly I’m shaking. I can’t wait to be inside of her, but I need to make sure she’s ready.
“Do you want this?” I ask as I run my finger through her wet center.
“God, yes.” She grips my waist tighter with her legs.
I try to go slowly, but she’s so wet that I slide all the way inside of her in one motion.
And fuck, I’m so hard that with just one thrust, I feel close.
I force myself to slow down and look into her eyes. Her beautiful, blue eyes that see all of me. Not just Hunter Storm the hockey player but Hunter Storm the boy who lost his parents and Hunter Storm the man I am now.
Our gazes stay fastened on each other as I drive in and out of her. Each time she moans, I get closer, and I grip her hips to angle her more tightly against me.
“Hunt…” Winter’s eyes grow unfocused and even more dilated. “I’m going to…oh God, Hunt…I’m…” Her fingernails dig into my shoulders as she cries out her release.
Her eyes never leave mine.
Watching Winter’s eyes change as she comes is the hottest thing ever, and I drive into her harder.
“Fuck.” I drag my finger across her hip and flick her clit lightly. “Win, I’m coming…”
She moans loudly as I release inside her, and as I feel her clench around me, I realize she’s coming for a second time.
I start kissing her as we’re both coming down from our highs.
We kiss for a long time, and I realize how deep in I am with this friends-who-fuck thing we have going on.
“Let’s go to bed and talk properly,” she says in my ear. “I want to hear all about your dad and what the police told Liam.”
I’m in love with her, and she’s leaving.
But I don’t want to rock the boat when neither of us seems certain as to what the future holds.
“Let’s do that,” I say back to her as I kiss her cheek.
Chapter 22
Winter
The next month and a half pass quickly. Hunter and I grow closer, spending as much time as possible together.
He seems more at peace now that the killer has been found and is in prison. When he first told me, he sounded angry and in shock, which I would have expected. And that game he played—holy crap. He and Liam looked like one person as they played that game for their daddy. I was so proud of them, and as I watched it, tears streamed down my face.
But once the shock wears off over what the murderer did the night he shot and killed Mr. Storm, Hunter seems to relax. He’s more open, more willing to be vulnerable with me. We have some good talks, and I find myself wishing I weren’t leaving. I’m falling for him. Like really falling for him. Honestly, I love him. But I don’t know how to broach the concept of dating with him because I know Hunter isn’t into commitment. Plus, I’m going to be leaving eventually. And what would we do then?
I channel my attachment to him through sex. Which we have a lot of. Like every night he’s in town.
And when he goes away on a team road trip, I miss him. Also a lot.
But now, we don’t lose touch. He calls me every night even if it’s just to say goodnight before he has to hop on the plane to fly to another city.
I put my loneliness into working on my musical, which is coming along.
One day, I stop by to visit an old friend.
Mr. Les Anderson was my first piano teacher. He taught me the classics and how to read sheet music and write songs. His lessons were my musical foundation. But he also taught me how to play the songs I wanted to sing. From rock to pop to country, we sat side by side at his piano and played for hours.
I would come by after school when all my friends were hanging out or doing homework, and Les would give me invaluable training for my future. He had lived it. He used to be a director on Broadway, and he’d walked away to slow down and have a family.
I didn’t understand his choice then, but I certainly have a better grasp of it now.
I walk through the French Quarter and stop outside a burnt orange building with a green arched doorway and matching shutters on the windows. The second story is the quintessential New Orleans cast-iron balcony with the same green shutters and an American flag hanging from the window.
I push open the door.
I see Les right away. He’s sitting at the piano, and he’s got his back to me. His hair is white now, and he’s a little more hunched, but he’s still playing. Still singing, too.
“Hello, old friend,” I say as I walk across the room.
Les turns around on the bench. His entire face lights up when he sees me.
“Winter Allen. My dear.” He stands up and opens his arms.
I fall into them.
“My Winter,” he says. “Welcome home.”
The tears come so fast I’m not expecting them.
“Now, now.” Les reaches for the box of tissues on his desk. “Here you go.”
I take a tissue and wipe my eyes.
Les leads me over to the two hard-backed chairs by the window. “Let’s sit and talk.”
I wasn’t planning on telling him everything.
But I do.
I think it’s why I waited so long to come see him. In the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t see him without sharing my whole story.
Because Les Anderson has always been my surrogate grandfather. He was the man who helped me get up the courage to move to New York City. He said it would be hard but assured me I had what it took. And even though I made good on his faith in me, I’m ashamed I haven’t gotten any roles since the assault. It makes me feel weak.
“You’re the opposite of weak, my dear.” Les takes my chin in his hand. “Remember that. Sometimes, things happen, and our priorities change as a result. That’s not weakness. That’s listening to our hearts.”
I reach into my bag. “You always seemed to know where I was going with something before I actually told you. And along those lines, I’ve been working on something.”
Les takes a look at the musical book on my iPad. “This is a good start,” he says. “You’ve got something good here.”
I flip through the pages on the screen so I can show him the score I’ve been working on. “Will you help me with the parts I’m stuck on?” I ask him. “I’ll credit you as the primary songwriter.”
“Absolutely not. You’re over halfway along already.”
“I’m crediting you,” I say stubbornly. “I won’t let you help me otherwise.”
Les’s blue eyes twinkle. “As obstinate as always, Winter. I knew that trait would get you far in Manhattan.” He stands up. “Let’s go sit by the piano together and get to work.”
* * *
Les and I play and write for hours. We work until it’s dark outside and I’ve forgotten about anything but what I’m doing inside this little music studio.
When we’re done, Les is as excited as I am.
“I’m going to send this to my manager,” I tell him. “See what he thinks.”
“Just remember Broadway can be wonderful, but it’s not the only way,” Les says as he walks me to the door.
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
“Maybe you want to figure out how to make your own path here.”
I stare at him. “Here as in New Orleans?”
Les smiles. “We’ve got a lot of talented residents in the Big Easy. You could do something with that musical right here.”
“But shouldn’t I use the connections I have on Broadway?” I ask him.
“If you’d like to, of course,” he says. “I’m not steering you away from your dreams. I’m letting you know you’re not stuck.”
I hug him goodbye and grab a taxi to take me home. The French Quarter isn’t safe at night, and no matter how short of a walk it is, I know I’m safer to be driven home than to walk alone.
I scroll through my phone from the backseat of the taxi. Hunter left me a voicemail, saying they landed in Houston and I can call him back whenever.
I’m smiling from hearing Hunter’s voice when my phone rings.
Pat Buckman, my manager.
Butterflies shoot through my tummy. This would be the first time I’ve heard from Pat since I left.
He has no reason to be calling from Manhattan. Not unless…
I answer the call. Before he can say anything, I say, “Hi Pat. I have some exciting news.”
“Me, too,” he says in response.
Wanting to get my news out first, I start to tell him about the musical I’ve been writing.
“And I know the industry prefers adaptations, but this story is fresh and contemporary,” I say quickly. “It’s a romance and has all the elements of a love story, but the heroine has a redemptive storyline, and she survives a physical attack. I think it will play well on Broadway or Off-Broadway.”
“Forget that for now.” Pat’s voice is brisk but it can’t hide the excitement beneath the surface. “I’ve got something better.”
“What is it?”
“How does landing an audition for your dream role sound?”
I lose my air. “Wh-what?” I force out before sucking in a deep breath.
“Summerset Nights is having open auditions.”
Summerset Nights. The mother-daughter musical Mama and I used to watch together when I was a little girl. Playing the daughter in that musical had always been her dream for me. And it had been my dream, too. At least, I thought it was. Now, I’m not so sure.
Pat explains how they’ve opened up the show to new talent. “And I’ve worked my magic for you and secured you an audition.”
�
�When would I need to be back in Manhattan?”
“The new cast won’t start rehearsals for a few months. Right around when you’re scheduled to return anyway.”
“Wow.” I swallow. “Pat, I can’t guarantee I’m ready for a live audition. I’m sure you remember how my last few have gone.”
“That’s why I convinced them to let you send in a taped audition.”
“Seriously? That’s amazing.”
“I’ll email you the details. Get started practicing ASAP. You can video your audition and send it back to me. Okay?”
I know how this business works. I’ll think about it is not an option. You’re either in or you’re out, and I honestly don’t know which I am. But I can’t tell my manager that right now. So I give him the only answer he’ll accept. “Okay.”
* * *
Hunter
“Hey, do you think I should have a hot tub installed?” Murph asks from his hotel bed.
We’re in Houston as part of our road trip. We don’t play until tomorrow, and practice already finished for the day.
I don’t take my attention off the sports countdown on the television. “No clue.”
“It could liven up my house parties,” he says. “I was thinking of putting it by the pool.”
“Sure.” I stare mindlessly at the sports co-hosts as they rattle off stats from the hockey games that were played today.
“What’s up with you tonight?” Murph asks me. “You’re not even listening.”
“I never listen to you,” I say jokingly.
“How’re things with Winter? I thought you guys were doing well.”
“We are.” Except I called her hours ago and haven’t heard back, which is unusual for Winter not to even send a text.
Looking for a distraction, I turn my head toward Murph. “I think you should get the hot tub.”
“Yeah?”
I shrug. “Why not? You could use it in cold weather, right?”
“Ashley suggested it,” he says, his eyes flashing with amusement. “That girl loves the water. I think she’s half mermaid.”
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