by Elise Faber
The man should be on the Silver Screen, not skating circles on the ice.
Okay, so he did more than just skate circles—and Angie had to admit she knew this because she’d watched the Gold play with scary regularity since meeting Max. He was a talented player, with occasional glimpses of brilliance, and she had seen the Gold’s coach put him on the ice more than once when he needed someone steady to calm the team.
So yeah, Max Montgomery was successful, hot, and good at his job.
His eyes had also held interest, and he’d called her Angel.
“Dangerous,” she whispered.
But she clicked to open it anyway.
What she read in the email made her morning look like it had been filled with rainbows and puppy dogs rather than groping and police reports.
Fuck. Her. Life.
Seven
Max
He’d double-checked his alarm this time.
He had.
He’d looked at his phone just before tumbling headfirst into bed and made sure his alarm was set and ready to go . . . for the morning this time.
“Fuck,” he muttered, lurching up in bed after seeing the screen of his cell.
8:17.
A.M.
Fuck.
Brayden’s school had started seventeen minutes ago. He was incompetent and useless and—
He could save the mental bashing for a later time.
For now, they needed to haul ass.
Max jumped out of bed and sprinted for his closet, throwing on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats before shoving his feet into sneakers. Then he ran down the hall to wake up Brayden.
But before he had actually opened the door to his son’s room, he happened to glance back down at his phone.
And saw it was Saturday.
As in not a school day.
As in he could have still been sleeping.
Max groaned and quietly made his way back down the hall. Brayden’s room had remained silent during his shenanigans, so luckily his sprinting hadn’t woken his son or Sparky, who’d come home with them that day two weeks before and had quickly fit right into their lives.
Max hadn’t had any success in changing Sparky’s name—Brayden thought it was “absolutely perfect” and “could they please, please keep it?” and after a statement like that from a seven-year-old boy, how could a father deny his son such a small request?
He couldn’t.
Sparky it was.
The best part of the entire adoption process—besides the fact that Sparky was an awesome pooch and Max already couldn’t imagine their life without him—was that Anna had been absolutely perfect in her selection.
Sparky was chill, sweet, and had been beyond great with Brayden, so much so that Sparky’s permanent crate was now in Brayden’s room.
Hence, Max tiptoeing back to his bedroom so he didn’t wake beast or boy.
He sighed, toeing off his shoes before flopping onto the mattress and closing his eyes. Unfortunately, the underside of his lids did not bring back peaceful oblivion.
“Fuck,” he grumbled and pushed back out of bed.
Despite the four hours of sleep, he was officially up. Panic and a hallway sprint would do that to a man. Fuck. At this point, he might as well shower and make breakfast.
Max was halfway through soaping up when Brayden and Sparky burst into the bathroom.
“Dad!” Brayden said, one hand over his mouth. His words were partially muffled. “Sparky threw up. It smells horrible.”
Max froze, suds sliding down his body. This was karma. Had to be.
He’d successfully avoided the mom talk and in return?
Vomit.
He hung up the loofa and hurried to rinse off. “Take him outside, bud, in case he pukes a—”
Sparky upchucked on the bath mat.
“—gain.”
“Ew!” Brayden retched.
“Out!” Max ordered, wanting to get his son out of the splash zone before he had two sources of puke to clean up. “Get dressed.”
Brayden nodded, turned to leave.
“Close the door behind you,” he called before Sparky followed him out and trailed vomit through the house.
Brayden moved at Flash-speed, slamming the door closed, and leaving Max trapped with the vomit monster.
He quickly rinsed the shampoo from his hair then wrenched the water off, grabbing his towel and wrapping it around his hips before stepping out, careful to avoid the soiled mat. In the meantime, Sparky barfed again, this time on Max’s sweats, which he’d left in the corner of the room when he’d undressed for the shower.
Anna would say he should have put them away in the first place.
Then again, she’d also said Sparky would be the perfect pooch for them.
“Perfect,” he grumbled. “Ha. Not so much.” But he knelt next to Sparky until he’d finished then scratched the obviously miserable dog behind his ears. “I’m sorry, buddy. We’ll get you some help.”
Max stood, sidestepped the puddles, and hurried into the closet to get dressed, round two. After tugging on fresh sweats and a shirt, he grabbed his cell and called the vet while tugging on his shoes. Thankfully, they were open, and he made arrangements to bring Sparky in immediately. Then he threw a couple of towels over his shoulder—he didn’t want barf splatter-painting the back of his SUV—scooped up the pooch and fumbled to open the bathroom door.
Brayden barged through at the same moment and only quick reflexes stopped Max from getting a doorknob in the face.
How he would have explained that one to the team . . .
Brayden immediately slapped a hand over his mouth and retched again.
“Car,” Max said. “We’re taking Sparky to the vet.”
To his son’s credit, Brayden didn’t spend a second arguing. Instead, he whirled and ran for the stairs.
It wasn’t until they were in the waiting room at the vet’s office, the staff having taken Sparky into the back, that Max saw the first sign of worry.
“I-is Sparky going to be okay?”
“The vet is going to help him feel better,” he said instead of promising that. Sparky had vomited at least a half-dozen more times on the fifteen-minute drive and had been very lethargic when Max had carried him in. He wasn’t sure what that meant. Was it a stomach bug? Did dogs even get stomach bugs? Or—
Hell, he didn’t know.
The door opened, and Anna rushed through. Her hair was slicked back into a ponytail, her eyes wild, and her face pale. She saw them and hurried over. “Oh my God, are you guys okay? Is Sparky—”
“He’s with the vet,” Max told her. “They’re trying to figure out what’s up with him.”
“Oh,” she said, voice small. “I’m—” She sniffed and shook her head. “Sorry,” she croaked out, clearly panicked but trying to hold it together for Brayden.
Max felt bad for calling her. He’d try to play it cool, to make her see that she . . . “I-I love him.” A breath, her tone more normal. “I’m just a little worried.”
Brayden moved before Max could, wrapping his little arms around her waist. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “Dad says the vet will make Sparky feel better.”
Anna nodded, squeezed him back. “You’re right, of course. Both of you.”
“Can you stay here with him for a little bit?” Max asked after Brayden had wandered off to play with some toys on the other side of the lobby. “I want to go home and clean up.”
Anna frowned. “Clean up?”
Max shrugged. “Sparky attempted to redecorate the house.”
“Ew.” Anna made a face just as the front door opened. Out of the corner of his eye, Max saw a flash of dark hair, the outline of a cat carrier. “I can go clean it up.”
“No,” he argued. “It’s a mess, Anna. You don’t want—”
“Messes I can deal with,” she said, lifting one shoulder. “And I’m an old hand at puke.”
“It’s a lot of puke and not your job—”
“Wh
ose idea was it to get Sparky, hmm?”
He raised a brow. “Mine.”
Anna huffed. “That’s not what I meant. I picked him, and—” She sniffed. “Ugh,” she groaned. “Why am I so emotional about a dog?”
“Because the little asshole has grown on us?”
Her jaw dropped, but then she gave a little giggle. Max slid an arm around her shoulders and tugged her in for a hug. “It’ll be fine.”
“Good. So, you stay because I’m too emotional to make doggy decisions and I’d rather go back to your house and clean up puke.”
He released her. “You sure?”
A nod. “Absolutely.”
“Good.” He grinned. “Then you can start with the back of my car.”
She rolled her eyes, smacked him across the chest, but snagged his keys. “I’ll be back,” she told him. “With a clean car. But just so you know, you now owe me tickets for the next game against the Rangers. I’m going to root for them.” She pretended to glare. “Loudly.”
“You’re evil.”
One blond brow lifted. “Do we have a deal?”
Max snorted. “Yes, we have a deal.”
She nodded, waving and heading for the door. Just before she pushed through, Max happened to glance over at Brayden and saw who his son was talking to.
“What the—?”
Eight
Angie
Angie looked down at the sweet little boy. He was staring up at her with bright blue eyes, though his expression was serious.
“Is your cat sick, too?” he asked, eyeing the carrier in her hand.
“No,” she said. “Sammy’s just here for a checkup. Want to take a peek?”
He nodded, and she set the carrier on a chair so the boy could look in. “He’s a little unhappy being cooped up but just fine. Do you do checkups with your doctor?”
He nodded again. “Dr. Lexington. He’s nice.”
“So’s the vet here.”
He poked a finger through one hole in the carrier, and she heard Sammy start purring. She’d lucked out with her kitty—he was sweet, calm, and loved people.
And kids, too, apparently, because the little boy extracted his finger with an expression of pure joy. “He kissed me!”
Angie bent to look in at Sammy.
Her kitty was purring up a storm and rubbing against the sides of her cage. “He likes you.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “Really. My name’s Angie, what’s yours?”
“Brayden.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Brayden.”
“Want to introduce me to your friend?”
Angie froze, a wave of heat sliding down her spine. She knew that voice, and it belonged to the man who’d sent her the email on Monday, the one that had caused her heart to fissure and crack, the one that she was still too damned cowardly to act on.
No.
She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that.
She was supposed to be focusing on work, on filling the hole left from Bailey’s rapid and abrupt departure.
She couldn’t be thinking about Max or her sister or the fact that her cowardice was probably preventing her from experiencing a lot in this world.
Hell, Angie had just put herself out there by spending time with Kelsey and the girls. That had been decidedly out of her comfort zone, and she . . . had almost run that night.
Ugh, brain, she thought.
Because that was definitely not what she should be focused on.
She was making progress.
Yes, she was isolated. Yes, it was hard for her to get out there and do new things, but her job as a manager meant that she now dealt with people on a daily basis and that in and of itself was a huge improvement from where she’d been when her mom had died.
It’s not enough.
No, it wasn’t.
But, marathon not sprint. She needed to remember that.
“This is Angie,” Brayden said. “She has a cat. His name is Sammy, and he licked my finger.” Brayden made a face. “It felt kind of weird, but I liked it.”
And if that wasn’t an allegory for Angie’s life, then she didn’t know what was.
“Hi, Angie,” Max said softly.
“Hi.”
Silence. Brayden resuming his appraisal of Sammy, and Angie studying the whiteness of her shoelaces.
Fingers under her chin made her flinch and step back.
“Don’t touch,” she said, gaze still glued on the floor.
She couldn’t get through this if he touched her.
Max put his hands up, increased the distance between them. “I’m sorry.”
Brayden chose that moment to grab her arm. “Sammy kissed me again.” She found herself ruffling his hair with her free hand.
Kids were okay. Women were okay.
Men were . . . problematic.
As though they were opposite poles on a magnet, her eyes slipped from Brayden and Sammy up to Max.
His expression was intense, a sliver of fury in his gaze.
“It’s men,” she found herself blurting. “Well, that’s not it. It’s more complicated than that . . . Ever since—” Angie caught herself just in time, tearing her gaze from his, focusing back on the much safer topic of Brayden. “He’s a darling little boy,” she said. “You and your wife must be thrilled.”
Max was silent for a moment then, “I’m not married.” A pause. “Ever since what?”
She ignored the question. “Oh, I’m sorry. I saw your girlfriend leave and just assumed. I shouldn’t—”
“My nanny,” he said quietly. “Ever since what?” he repeated.
Her and her big mouth. But now what? She’d been to a lot of therapy, had filed a police report, had gone to trial and testified. All of that had almost been easier than moving on with her life.
Especially since the perpetrator was still in jail. She should be able to move on. It was just . . . well, she’d been permanently changed. Ten minutes had intrinsically altered the course of her life. She still struggled with touch, and with male touch in particular. Though, she’d gotten to the point now that if she initiated contact, then she was fine. But if they did, then she struggled to not be drawn back into those dark memories.
Angie just needed to remember she was getting better. Hell, she’d even gone on a couple of dates. Been kissed a time or two since.
But it didn’t change the fact that she’d been transformed.
And not for the better.
An isolated girl, newly orphaned and totally alone in the world. Beyond naïve.
Prime pickings for a predator who’d been interested in raping a very inexperienced young woman.
But though she still grappled with anxiety, even six years later—the attack having made her already nervous nature worse—the single thing Angie had never grappled with was shame.
The assault was not her fault.
“I was attacked,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Hurt?” Max’s eyes blazed now, and Angie found she couldn’t look away.
“Yes.”
His gaze flicked to Brayden then back to meet hers. “In that way?”
Appreciating that he wanted to protect his son, Angie just nodded. “Years ago now, but some patterns are hard to break.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
A shrug. “Me, too.”
“I’m going—“ He shook his head. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
Every nerve in Angie’s body froze. “I—uh—” No, her mind said.
But . . . then for some reason she wouldn’t be able to explain or understand even later, she nodded.
It made no logical sense that it was okay for Max to touch her when contact from other men made her uncomfortable—Max was huge and visibly strong. He towered over her, could hurt her easily, but in some deep, secret place in Angie’s heart, she trusted him to not hurt her. And, if she was being completely honest, she wanted his touch, ached to see what it felt like.
S
lowly, so slowly, Max reached a hand toward her.
His thumb had just brushed her chin when—
“Sammy?”
Angie jumped back, grabbed Sammy’s carrier with an apology to Brayden, and flicked an unsure gaze toward Max. “Uh, sorry. I need to—”
“Angel?” he asked softly.
“Yeah?”
“My email.” His voice was careful. “Did you read it?”
She nodded.
He looked at her expectantly and . . . she just couldn’t do it.
Pathetic, but there it was.
The shake of her head came after he’d already read the truth on her face. “It’s ok—”
“It’s not,” Angie interjected. “It’s really not, but I still can’t.”
She couldn’t bring her baggage into her sister’s life. Not now, not when Mandy was happy and going to have a baby.
This was Mandy’s chance for a future, and Angie couldn’t bring her down.
Which sounded really noble and it might even have been if not for that fact that the real reason she hadn’t reached out to Mandy was because deep down she was scared to try.
Ugh.
With a sigh, she hurried after the vet tech.
Inside the room, Sammy’s appointment was quick and uneventful. Then Angie was walking back down the hall and out into the lobby all the while unsure if she was actually anticipating seeing Max again or just petrified to potentially be back in front of a man she didn’t really know but somehow had revealed so much to.
In the end, it turned out she didn’t need to worry about either of those.
When she emerged into the front of the vet’s office, there was no sign of Brayden or Max.
Disappointed.
She wasn’t disappointed.
Aw hell. She was.
“Just you and me, Sam,” Angie murmured, pushing through the door to her apartment and setting Sammy’s carrier on the floor.
She used her heel to close the door before opening Sammy’s cage, having spent too many times chasing her kitty down the halls. He never seemed to want to really escape, but he did have a great time leading her on a merry chase outside her neighbors’ doors.