Redemption Series, Book 2

by T. K. Leigh

  Loosening my grip on her neck, my hand journeys down her body, memorizing every curve, every dip, every valley. Savoring the way her hips move and thighs clench. Relishing in everything that is Brooklyn.

  With a growl, I roll onto my back, bringing her on top of me, forcing her to straddle me so she can feel how much I need her. What I wouldn’t give to rid ourselves of our clothes that are a rather unwelcome barrier.

  Moving with the rhythm I set, she parts her lips and closes her eyes, her nails burrowing into my chest. “Drew…” The way she utters my name is a mixture of a warning and a moan.

  “Tell me you want me.”

  She takes her lower lip between her teeth, her breathing becoming heavy.

  “Brooklyn, look at me.”

  Her eyes fling open, dark, wanton, hungry.

  I dig my hand into her hair, forcing her mouth within a breath of mine. “Tell me you want this, that you want me inside you.”

  My words make her motions increase, the friction almost impossible to bear.

  “I shouldn’t,” she mewls.

  “But you do.” It’s not a question.

  “I do.”

  “Then say it.”

  “Fuck,” she exhales, circling her hips against me with greater urgency. “I want you inside me.”

  “God, that’s hot.” I crush her lips to mine, my tongue plunging into her mouth. The way she holds her breath makes it clear she’s close to unraveling. I pull her even tighter against me, oblivious to everything else…until I hear the familiar sound of small feet padding down the hallway.

  “Shit,” I whisper.

  Brooklyn inhales sharply, her eyes wide. She looks from me to the door, then quickly shoots off me, scanning the room in a panic. She zeros in on the closet and darts to it.

  “You don’t have to hide,” I insist, running my hand over my face.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Brooklyn…”

  She whirls around. I expect her to agree that she’s being overly concerned regarding this. Instead, she rushes over to grab her phone and clothes before darting back into the closet, the door closing just as the one to my bedroom opens.

  A deer caught in the headlights, I fling my eyes to the doorway where my two girls stand. I draw in a deep breath, my heart still racing from the rush of Brooklyn on top of me, her perfect body so close to falling over the edge. I wonder if this is the universe’s way of making us put on the brakes, of telling us it’s too much, too fast.

  “Oh man…” Charlotte pouts. “You’re awake already.”

  “Is everything okay?” Alyssa asks, her inquisitive eyes scanning the bedroom, landing on the side of the bed Brooklyn slept on to see the covers rumpled. I usually only sleep on one side of my king-sized bed. When I notice her focus zeroing in on the opposite side, I smooth the comforter.

  “I was restless last night and tossed and turned,” I say to explain away the disarray of my bed.

  Both girls remain frozen in place, analyzing me for what seems like an eternity.

  “Okay. Enough standing around.” I fling my covers off and rush toward them, swooping them into my arms. Alyssa protests, trying to tell me she’s too old for this, but Charlotte squeals with joy, the sound warming my heart, giving me hope the news I shared with her won’t affect her like I feared it would. “Time to get ready for school.”

  I steal a glance at the door to my closet as I walk out and carry them to the opposite side of the house, depositing them in Alyssa’s room. When I’m confident she has things under control with getting herself and her little sister ready, I close the door to her room, my steps quick as I make my way back down the long hallway. Safe in my room, I shut the door behind me, blowing out a breath.

  “That was close,” Brooklyn comments as she hurriedly yanks her jeans up her legs.

  “I hate having to sneak around with you.” I head toward her and grip her hip, pulling her into my body. She’s warm and soft. “Hate having to hide you.”

  “It’s only for a few more days.” She meets my eyes as she drapes her arms over my shoulders, bringing her lips to mine. It’s a brief kiss, but still deep and fulfilling.

  “Come on,” I say when she steps away to finish dressing. “I bought you a few minutes to make your escape.” Linking my fingers with hers, I pull her from the bedroom, our steps quiet as we pad down the stairs.

  Brooklyn opens the front door, hurrying to disappear before the girls come barreling down the stairs, but I pull her against me. Addicted to her lips, my mouth finds hers.

  “Last night was the best night I’ve had in a long time,” I whisper. “It was exactly what I needed.”

  I feel her lips turn up into a grin. “Me, too.”

  I deepen the kiss, my hand going to her ass and squeezing. “God, I love your ass.”

  Her smile only grows as she places her hand on my chest, pushing me away. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

  “Oh, I can finish.” I waggle my eyebrows at her.

  She shakes her head, laughing as she frees herself from me, heading toward her car.

  “Brooklyn,” I whisper-shout.

  She glances over her shoulder.

  “I have a few meetings downtown and the girls have dance tonight. Meet me at the beach at seven?” I arch a brow. “Like old times?”

  She bites her lower lip, pure, untainted joy crossing her expression. I can’t remember the last time I saw her this happy. “I’d like that.”

  I beam, unable to hide how absolutely exhilarated I am over the mere idea of spending more time with Brooklyn.

  “Goodbye, Drew.”

  When she’s about to duck into her car, I dart toward her. She’s taken by complete surprise as I yank her against me one last time, my kiss ravenous and eager.

  “I love you.” I gradually pull back, leaving a kiss on her nose. “So much.”

  “I love you, too,” she murmurs. “So much.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Drew

  “Andrew,” a soothing female voice says as I enter the cozy office in Boston’s Back Bay. “Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with me today.” Alice smiles at me warmly.

  “No, thank you.”

  She gestures down the hallway and I walk beside her toward her office. I can’t help but smile as I recall how much has changed since the last time I walked this path, Brooklyn at my side. At the time, I was just grateful she didn’t kick me out when I barged into her office, begging for help. Never in a million years could I have imagined we’d be where we are, days from finally being together.

  Once I enter the office, Alice gestures to a small sitting area, steering me from the formality of the desk where we spoke at our last meeting. I sit down, rubbing the back of my neck, praying she has some good news.

  “So, tell me,” she says, lowering herself onto the love seat, “How are the girls doing? You mentioned you planned to tell them this past weekend.”

  “Yes.” My legs bounce as I run my hands down my pants. I wish I had asked Brooklyn to be here with me, but she’s already stressed about her caseload as it is. I didn’t want to add to that any more than I already have. “They took the news alarmingly well. Based on your and Brooklyn’s advice, I spoke to the counselor at the girls’ school to inform her of the situation.”

  “Good.”

  “I expected Charlotte to handle the news badly, but she’s bouncing back.”

  “And Alyssa?” She arches a brow.

  I blow out a long breath, tugging on my tie. “It’s too early to tell with Alyssa. She says she’s okay, but… I don’t know. She’s not her usual self. I want to say she’s just having an off day, but I don’t think that’s it.”

  Alice nods, assessing this news. “Alyssa is older. She probably has some memories of her mother. This may bring up some of those memories of being abandoned that have lain dormant since she left.”

  “Brooklyn mentioned the same thing. She reached out to a child therapist she knows. I
have an appointment for both girls to see her this week. We have plans for them to continue seeing her at least once a week to ensure they learn to cope with the changes that are coming. I’ve cut back my hours at the college. Thankfully, our hockey season is over, so I don’t have to worry about all the practices and games. I’ve also had the assistant coaches take over the scouting trips I had planned. Right now, it’s more important that I stick around for my girls.”

  “Good. That will all work in your favor. We want to demonstrate you’re a constant presence in those girls’ lives.” She smiles, then her expression turns solemn. “Which brings me to the next thing we need to discuss.” She opens a file folder sitting on the coffee table and hands me what appears to be a court pleading. “This is our response to the request for custody modification. Now, it’s standard procedure to go through mediation first, as you’re probably aware from your divorce. In family law cases, you usually only see a judge if the parties can’t come to any agreement after multiple mediation sessions. This motion will still be filed and a court date set, which is when we’ll meet with the mediator, unless the parties can come to an agreement beforehand.” She pauses as her gaze rakes over me, hesitant. “I believe it’s in our best interest to offer Carla visitation with both girls.”

  “What?” I shoot back, eyes wide, muscles tense. “No. Absolutely not. I swore I’d never let her hurt them again.”

  “I understand your frustration,” Alice replies calmly. “But they’re her kids, too. The court will only refuse visitation to a biological parent in the instance of abuse or severe neglect.”

  “I’d say abandoning them for six years would qualify as severe neglect,” I mutter under my breath. I knew this was a likelihood. I even implied as much when I told the girls the truth. But I thought we’d fight harder, not offer them on a silver platter right off the bat. I want to see that Carla truly does want to be a part of their lives, that she’ll do whatever it takes to spend time with them. How will I know that’s the case if we agree to her demands immediately?

  “You may, but the court won’t, not when she left them in the care of someone who is exceedingly capable. And you want the court to consider you more than capable of caring for those children, considering that’s going to help you maintain at least partial custody of Charlotte. Agreeing to visitation will also help to that end.”

  I grind my teeth at the idea of sharing these girls with Carla. For the past six years, it’s just been us. I can’t imagine having to drop them off for weekends with their mother, walking into a lifeless house, waking up to something other than their excited squeals and giggles.

  “I’m not suggesting we allow the girls to spend extended periods of time with her. Not right away. They don’t know her. To begin with, we’ll agree to supervised visitations at pre-arranged times with you present. However, there needs to be a plan in place to slowly allow her unsupervised time with the girls once an assessment has been made and a neutral party at DCF determines she’s capable of caring for them.”

  I bite my lip, my face heating, my muscles constricting. Sensing my frustration, Alice reaches across the coffee table, clutching my hand in hers. I fling my gaze to her.

  “I understand you’re angry at your ex for abandoning you. And none of this will change your request for non-parental custody of Charlotte. We will still do everything to keep her under your care, even if that custody is split with your ex. But in my experience, putting into motion a plan to grant her time with her own children is the best option to get all parties on the path to healing. Those girls should have the opportunity to get to know their mother, don’t you think? Don’t you think everyone deserves a second chance?”

  I swallow hard at her words. As much as I want to say no, I can’t, not when I’ve been granted my own second chance, one I’ve been yearning for. I like to think I’ve changed since my hockey days. Maybe Carla has, too.

  “If you truly think this is the best option, I’ll defer to your judgment.” My voice is low as I pray this is the right course of action. I know the law’s on Carla’s side. It doesn’t make it any easier, though.

  Having spent more time going over strategy with Alice than I originally planned, I find myself running to my next meeting. I hurry through the lobby of the tall building in the Financial District, rushing into a waiting elevator. As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, I check my watch. Quarter after six. The second the elevator doors open and I step into the posh reception area, the woman sitting behind the extravagant desk greets me with a smile.

  “Mr. Brinks, so wonderful to see you again.”

  I should remember her name, but it’s been quite a few years since I’ve come here. It’s been quite a few years since I needed to be here. Usually, the endorsement and commentating gigs haven’t been of such a huge magnitude as to require me to sit down with my agent. But the opportunity to be head coach for the Bruins is a different offer, one that could increase my salary to a comfortable seven figures a year.

  “You, as well.”

  “Mr. Acosta is expecting you.” She stands, heading around the desk toward me. “I’ll show you in.”

  “Thank you.”

  She smiles, then turns toward the hallway to her right, walking with purpose. I follow her down the long corridor. Everything is glass and light, modern colors. Framed pictures of the biggest names in sports hang on the walls, a photographic résumé of the stars Daniel Acosta has represented over the years, myself included. It’s a name you hear often when you’re first climbing the ladder in professional sports. You hope for the day he’ll agree to meet with you, let alone cold-call with an offer to represent you, which was what happened with me.

  The day after the game that changed my career, turning me from a player who rarely saw any ice time to a household name overnight, I received a phone call from this man. At first, I thought it was just a joke, a friend playing a prank on me. Sure enough, it was Daniel Acosta wanting to represent me, saying if I signed with him, he’d set me up with endorsement deals that could net me another several million a year. Although I had to leave the game six years ago, he’s kept those endorsement deals coming in, pocketing himself a nice fifteen percent.

  Over the years, he’s proven himself to be reliable, trustworthy, and honest, advising me against some offers, regardless that it would earn him some money. He’s always looked out for what’s best for me, which was why he was the first call I made when the manager of the Bruins reached out a few weeks ago, asking for a meeting to discuss coaching the team. It’s not something he’s typically involved in, but I trust him to steer me in the right direction, to tell me if I’m making a colossal mistake.

  The blonde receptionist knocks on the large wooden door at the end of the hallway before opening it.

  “Mr. Acosta, Mr. Brinks has arrived.” She steps aside, allowing me to enter the lush office.

  It’s an enormous space, decorated in understated elegance. A large desk sits in front of an expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The rest of the room contains a sitting area with a couch, love seat, and a few chairs, as well as a wet bar. But the most impressive part of this office is the wall that’s made up entirely of dozens of TV screens, each one showing a different game, from European soccer, to college softball, to the Celtics game. This isn’t even his main office. His offices in New York and Los Angeles are double the size of this one, with an even more impressive video wall.

  “Andrew!” Daniel bellows, standing from the couch where he’s currently sitting, sipping on an amber liquid. “So good to see you.”

  “Thanks for meeting with me. I apologize for being late. My last meeting ran longer than I expected. Then traffic getting here was crazy because of the Celtics game tonight.” I gesture to one of the large panels displaying tonight’s pre-game show.

  “No worries. It gave me a chance to look over the contract Pat Winters sent over. Shall we?” Daniel gestures to the chair at the head of the coffee table, the love seat on o
ne side, the couch on the other. “Drink?”

  “No. I’m fine.” I sit, steeling myself for what I must do. If this meeting had occurred a few weeks ago, the outcome would have been different. But things have changed. It doesn’t make it any easier to turn down what amounts to any former hockey player’s dream job.

  “I understand Parker Hobbs spoke with you about why Winters has been trying to get a meeting with you these past several months.”

  “He did,” I say, rubbing my hands along my pants. “Probably wants to make sure he still has a job after this season.”

  My response garners a polite laugh from Daniel. I study him, a predator in his natural habitat. Crisp designer suit, a Rolex on his wrist, and shoes made by someone whose name I can’t even pronounce. It’s all about appearances with him. The more expensive the clothes, the easier it is to get what you want. While I shaved and put on a suit, I still feel underdressed compared to him.

  “Well, I’ve had a chance to look at the offer,” Daniel says, reaching for a large stack of papers. “It is quite attractive.” He glances at me. “And lucrative. One of the highest coaching offers I’ve seen.”

  “No. The highest,” I correct.

  “Ah. So you’ve done your homework.” His mouth turns into a smirk. “Winters is serious and motivated, as evidenced by the high salary and generous stipend for travel expenses and a car, among other benefits.”

  “It’s everything I’ve wanted since I was forced into retirement.”

  A solemn expression crosses his face as he nods. It doesn’t matter that it’s been six years. It’s a game those in hockey circles often speak about, especially those who were there, like Daniel was.