The Defender: A Single Dad Hockey Romance (Boston Hawks Hockey)

by Gina Azzi

  The Defender

  Boston Hawks Hockey

  Gina Azzi

  Three Cities Publishing LLC

  The Defender

  Copyright © 2021 by Gina Azzi

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Trigger Warning:

  This book contains sensitive subject matters dealing with loss and grief including the loss of a baby and loss of a spouse.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. James

  2. Bella

  3. James

  4. Bella

  5. James

  6. Bella

  7. James

  8. Bella

  9. James

  10. Bella

  11. James

  12. Bella

  13. James

  14. Bella

  15. James

  16. Bella

  17. James

  18. Bella

  19. James

  20. Bella

  21. James

  22. Bella

  23. James

  Epilogue

  The Heart Chaser

  Hey Reader!

  Also by Gina Azzi

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Two Months Earlier

  James

  My shoulders stiffen the moment I enter Taps. I glance around at the patrons, at Pete behind the bar, at the laughing groups of friends and knowing glances between couples.

  Panda hits me on the back. “You good?”

  “Yeah, man.” I force a grin. Because I’m supposed to be good by now, right?

  I follow some of my teammates and their significant others to the bar, but I walk slowly, hang back a bit. Noah has his arm wrapped around his pregnant girlfriend, Indy. Easton’s muttering something into Claire’s ear.

  It wasn’t that long ago that I was that guy. The one in the happy, committed, healthy relationship. The guy who was expecting twins and then, a first-time dad. The guy that liked to swing by Taps with the team for a drink before heading home to my woman, my family, my goddamn everything.

  I look down, sucking in an inhale to ease the tightening of my throat. It’s been over a year since Layla passed and still, it’s hard to visit any place I once went with her. Which means, it’s hard to go anywhere. It’s even more excruciating to be at the house, in the space she made into a home. If my kids, Milly and Mason, weren’t so attached to the place, I would have sold it the week after Layla died.

  “You want a beer or shot?” Yaeger clasps my shoulder.

  I clear my throat. “Whatever you guys are getting into.”

  “Line ‘em up!” Panda calls out, smacking the top of the bar. “Patron. You new?”

  I squint as a bartender I’ve never seen before comes into focus. She introduces herself to Panda as Bella, and the name fits because, God, she’s gorgeous. Gorgeous in a way that even strangers on the street would take note of. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail but some strands have escaped. Her eyes are a startling shade of blue, a contrast against her dark hair and tanned skin.

  She indulges whatever lame ass lines Panda spits with a laugh that hits me square in the stomach.

  I look away quickly, shame rolling through me. How dare I check her out? How dare I appreciate the curves of her body and the sweetness of her laughter when I once had Layla? But God, is this ever going to end?

  The constant anguish? The debilitating second-guessing? The acute loss that I still feel, no matter how I try to cope? Once upon a time, I had my happily-ever-after. I had a loving and giving wife. We built a home and filled it with the loud wails and peals of laughter from two beautiful, silly babies. I was fortunate enough to turn my passion, hockey, into my career. Men like me, men who already had it all, don’t get second chances at that type of happiness.

  Bella’s melodic laughter pulls my attention back to the bar where she’s filling up a line of shot glasses with chilled tequila. She talks quickly, joking and smiling, but when she looks up, her gaze slams into mine. I suck in an inhale, recognizing the shadows in her eyes. Pain. Longing. Emptiness.

  She holds my gaze for a beat before looking away, her cheeks coloring.

  But I continue to watch her because dammit, I see her. I see it. I have a deep understanding of the void in her eyes because for too damn long, I’ve worn it. Recognized it in my own reflection.

  Bartender Bella wears a cloak of concealment. Everyone who sees her, chats her up, would never suspect that she’s not good, not happy. I mean, she’s smiling, right? But underneath, there’s something. I catch it in the shadow that passes through her eyes when her gaze lingers on Indy’s swollen belly. I spot it in the slow exhale she releases when she punches in Panda’s order and thinks no one’s watching.

  Maybe it’s the hint of loss that draws me to her. Two similar hurts in a sea of merriment. I accept the shot of Patron. I throw it back, hissing when it collides with my throat. I slip onto a barstool and watch the gorgeous bartender with lonely eyes and a too big smile.

  When she turns to me, she falters for one blink. A jolt of surprise, a flicker of worry, a moment. In that moment, something shifts. My world, a cocoon of hurt and loss and grief, opens the tiniest bit. For the first time in over a year, it allows me to smile at a stranger and open myself back up, knowing that I’ll never find what I once had. Knowing that I don’t deserve to find what I once had, because I already had the best. But also knowing that right now, maybe I deserve just a little bit more than what I’ve been drowning in.

  “Can I get you a beer?” she asks, her fingers curling around the top ledge of the bar. Her fingernails, a deep purple, tap restlessly.

  Her nervousness settles me some and I nod. “I’ll take an IPA. Whatever you have on tap. I’m James, by the way.”

  She turns to look at me over her shoulder as she grabs a pint glass. “Bella.”

  “Good to meet you.”

  She fills the pint and places it down in front of me. “I’ve filled in for Selina a few times and these guys always roll through”—she gestures to my Hawks teammates—“but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before.”

  I shrug, picking up my beer and taking a sip. “I don’t come out much.”

  She quirks an eyebrow, partly in question, partly in disbelief. “No?”

  “Nope.”

  She leans forward and her scent, a light floral perfume I’m relieved I’ve never smelled before, wafts over me. She smiles, biting the corner of her lip. “What changed your mind tonight?”

  Is she flirting with me? Is this what flirting is? Whatever the hell this exchange is, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. No, I like it too much. The way the blue in her eyes brightens, the scent of her perfume, how her new position pushes her firm breasts forward.

  “It seemed like the right time to finally let these guys drag me out.” I gesture to Panda and Yaeger, ignoring the delighted expression on Panda’s face.

  My words cause h
er expression to shift for the tiniest of moments before she offers a throaty laugh. “Well I’m glad you decided to come. It’s nice to meet you too.”

  She smiles again, more open this time. I feel it wash over me like sunshine, dragging out a smile of my own when I’ve done nothing but glare for months.

  Another guy on the team, Sims, pulls me into conversation that leads to a game of darts. But I keep glancing over at Bella, making sure she’s okay as she navigates a full bar with a bunch of rowdy athletes.

  Between her presence and the guys ribbing, I drink more than I’m used to. When last call sounds out, a ripple of panic darts down my spine. Milly and Mason are sleeping at my sister-in-law’s tonight. They attended the team BBQ with me this afternoon and then I dropped them at Maia’s for a slumber party. But I haven’t checked in once.

  Guilt replaces my worry as I pull out my phone and shoot off a message.

  Me: Hey, sorry I didn’t check in. How are the kids?

  Maia: Hi! Don’t be ridiculous. I’m relieved you’re not interrupting our movie and sugar marathon with questions.

  I ignore her good-natured joking and focus on the more important part of her message.

  Me: The kids are still awake?

  Maia: No, worry wart. They’re sleeping. They are wonderful and we had a great time. Now go hang with your team and HAVE FUN. She’d want you to live your life.

  A lump clogs my throat at Maia’s words. It hurts because deep down, I know Layla would want me to live my life. But how can I live half a life now that I’ve already experienced a full one? Maybe I’m resigned to living the bare minimum that life has to offer.

  “Hey man.” Sims bumps my shoulder. “You good?” He glances at me before turning to look over his shoulder where a redhead plays with the ends of her hair, clearly waiting for him.

  I chuckle, appreciating how the guys always look out for me. But I don’t want to cockblock Sims so I nod. “I’m good, Sims. Get out of here. Use protection.”

  He snickers and walks toward the redhead, slinging an arm over her shoulder as he leads her out.

  I turn back to my phone.

  Me: I’ll pick the kids up tomorrow morning.

  Maia: I promised them waffles so just message in the morning. No rush, JR. Really.

  Me: Thanks.

  I slip my phone back in my pocket and head to the bathroom. When I reenter the main bar area, I’m surprised that it’s nearly cleared out.

  “Hey.” I stop next to the ledge.

  Bella turns toward me, a bar cloth in her hand as she wipes down the well bottles. “Hey.”

  “Can I settle up?”

  She shakes her head. “Panda took care of the team bill.”

  I mutter a swear. It’s customary for one of the guys to pick up the tab but since I haven’t come out in ages, I was hoping that tonight, that guy would be me. I dig into my wallet and pull out a hundred-dollar bill, sliding it across the bar.

  Bella shakes her head. “Put your money away, James. You want to do something nice for me?”

  What? My mouth drops open before snapping closed. Where is she going with—

  Bella laughs. “Relax.” She tips her head toward a barstool. “I was going to ask if you wanted to hang for a few, have a beer, and then walk me to my car. Pete usually does but he had to leave early.” She shrugs, dropping a vodka bottle back into the well and picking up a rum. “Besides, it looks like you could use an ear.”

  I plop down on the barstool and snort. “Am I that obvious?”

  She tilts her head. “You do a pretty good job concealing it.”

  “It?”

  “The hurt.”

  “Ahh,” I agree. “If we’re going to have a heart-to-heart, then I’ll need something stronger than a beer. I’ll take a whiskey. Neat.”

  She grins, as if my words please her. She pours two tumblers of whiskey and taps hers against mine before taking a pull. “Bad breakup?” she guesses.

  I shake my head. “My wife died.”

  Her face falls, stricken. But instead of feeling awful, the way I always do, a part of me is relieved to admit the truth. To have that part of this conversation already over with.

  “I’m so sorry, James,” Bella whispers.

  I dip my head. “Thank you. Layla passed about a year and a half ago. In March.” I look back up, offering a small smile. “And it broke me.”

  She nods, her eyes wide and empathetic. There isn’t an ounce of pity in them, just compassion and a sliver of understanding.

  “This is not the same thing, at all,” she emphasizes. “But I got divorced almost two years ago and that…” She trails off and a sarcastic laugh twists her mouth. “Well, that fucked me up pretty good.”

  At the hurt in her expression, at the hardness in her tone, I can tell she’s still battling that demon, searching for closure. And man, closure in situations like ours is fickle. It’s hard to make your peace when the other person isn’t around to help you find it.

  “I’m sorry, Bella.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees, refilling my whiskey glass. She leans forward again and I try my damnedest not to let my gaze dip to her breasts. “How are you coping?”

  I take a large gulp of whiskey, my head buzzing. “I’m not,” I admit on a chortle.

  She tips back her glass and smacks her lips. “Me neither.”

  I watch her for several minutes, the silence between us comfortable, natural, as she closes out her register. When she’s done, a bar rag flung over her shoulder, she rolls her lower back across the ledge of the bar and faces me. Her posture is casual, arms crossed over her chest, feet crossed at her ankles. Her expression is unreadable. But her eyes burn, deep blue filled with longing and loneliness that I relate to.

  The music playing on the speakers changes to the next song. Brad Paisley’s “Whiskey Lullaby” floods the space and I shake my head as she bites her bottom lip.

  “Pretty depressing, huh?” she chuckles, pushing to her full height.

  I laugh with her, reaching over to press the stop button on her Spotify playlist. The music stops and a new sound, a silence pregnant with unchartered territory, rushes in.

  “Does it ever get easier? Better?” she murmurs, her voice threaded with yearning. For what? Her ex? The life they once shared? The elusive sliver of peace?

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “So far, for me, there hasn’t been one easy day. Just moments, sometimes stretches of minutes, where I feel like I can breathe.”

  Her eyes meet mine and hold. She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip and I can’t look away. I grip the underside of the bar ledge, simultaneously wanting to bolt for the door and never move from this spot.

  My hands want to reach out to touch her. To feel her soft skin, her smoothness. My body wants hers. But my mind, fuck, my mind is racing. This is wrong. It’s too soon. It’s too much.

  Still, I can’t move. The silence of the bar rings in my eardrums, pulses in my temples. Bella’s pain mixes with mine, swelling into something both dangerous and comforting between us.

  I breathe in an inhale and hold it in my lungs.

  It feels like I’m on the edge of a precipice. The next decision I make is going to redefine my present, shake up my future.

  “Bella,” I murmur.

  Whatever she hears in my voice has a sad smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s okay. Walk me to my car?”

  I nod, standing from the barstool. I wait for her to round the bar and we walk out of Taps together. I pause for her to lock up. When we enter the parking lot, my fingers naturally settle in the small of her back. The heat of her skin seeps through the thin material of her tank top and unable to stop myself, I press my entire palm to the center of her back.

  She slows and glances up at me, her eyes uncertain in the moonlight.

  “Come with me?” I whisper.

  She stops walking and turns to face me. Her hands settle on my hips and even though they should feel wrong, they don’t. They feel right,
wanted, needed. “Are you sure?”

  I nod and clear my throat. I feel like a dick for what I’m about to propose but, “There’s a hotel a few blocks over.”

  Understanding passes through her expression and instead of the anger I expect, relief flares in her eyes. “Yes. I’ll drive.”

  I slide my hand to meet hers, stopping shy of her fingers and grasping her wrist instead. We walk to her car.

  “Just so you know, I don’t ever, I mean, I don’t do this type of thing,” she clarifies, clearing her throat.

  I smile as she stops beside a red Mercedes Benz. “I know. I don’t either.”

  She unlocks the car doors and we slip inside. I lean back against the seat and turn to look out the window.

  Is this okay? Is this allowed?

  You’re an adult, James. You’re allowed to enjoy the company of a woman.

  What would Layla think? Will my kids hate me if I date?

  Why are you thinking about dating? This is a one-night thing.

  But what if it could be more than that? Bella is the only woman in the past year I’ve even noticed, let alone connected with.

  It’s too soon. It’s been long enough.

  Bella eases her car in front of the hotel and passes her keys to the valet. She keeps her back straight as she rounds the car and I reach for her hand again, tugging her against my side as we step up to reception and secure a hotel room.

  We take the elevator in silence and as we draw closer to the room, I keep waiting for panic to rush through me. I keep waiting for her to turn around and bolt. But neither of those things happen.