Page 21 of At First Smile

“Think about it. All it takes is a day shooting a PSA, a night where eligible rich women bid on a chance to take your grumpy ass out, and a few hours taking them out where they soon realize they’d misspent their ex-husband’s money on you…

And bam”—he claps his hands together— “you’re back in Jacobson’s good graces, no longer the NHL’s most hated player, and the media leaves you alone. ”

Stunts like this work all the time. Still, the idea of using a charity to make me look good churns in my stomach.

I especially don’t like doing it with Landon.

The idea of appearing on camera with his smug face to spout platitudes about violence not being the answer leaves a vile and sour taste in my throat.

It may make me the brute I’m accused of being, but sometimes violence is the answer, and he needed a good punch after what he did.

“Let me think about it.” I sigh.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He clicks his tongue. “I told Landon’s people we’d reach out next Friday.” Greg drums his fingers against his desk. “Who’s us ?”

“What?”

“You said, ‘Reporters ambushed us at LAX.’ Who’s us?” His lips curl and that always-present mischief in his eyes almost sparkles.

“And that’s what the eight reporters who’ve blown up my phone the last hour also want to know,” Sasha says, striding into the room, her dark curls pulled up into a topknot and her usually sleek business attire has been replaced by leggings and an oversize Dodgers T-shirt.

“Fuck,” I mutter, slouching in the chair.

“That’s three. I’ll let you stay because I want to know the answer, but expect my mother by Wednesday,” Greg teases.

“The reporters sent me copies of the photos. You and Pen Meadows make a lovely couple.” Sasha leans against Greg’s desk and holds up her phone, her onyx eyes dancing playfully.

A picture of Pen, her smaller frame tucked into my side, appears on the screen.

My right hand splays at the small of her back and my other one wraps around her and rests on her hip.

A glossiness shines in her honey-colored eyes.

My heart pricks with the memory of the tears that brimmed in those beautiful eyes.

“Emma Sinclair who?” Greg whistles. “You look like a wolf ready to rip out anyone’s throat that gets close to you two.”

“You haven’t been photographed with anyone since ending things with Emma, so you can’t blame the media for being curious,” Sasha explains.

“I don’t want Pen involved in this.” I try to keep the hard-edge out of my voice. None of this is Sasha’s fault and the last thing I want to do is take it out on her. Not to mention Greg’s glare warns that he’s just as wolf-like about his mate as I am.

Mate? God, I sound like that emo vampire brooding about the quirky museum docent from the audiobook we listened to on the plane.

I can already hear my brothers’ teasing remarks about how eagerly I land on the idea of Pen being my mate.

With his love-logged brain, Finn would spout off on Irish folklore about soul mates.

Gillian would slap me upside the head and tell me to stop thinking with my cock.

Maybe I am. How she felt coming apart beneath me as I thrust against her still makes me hard.

Even through the barrier of clothes the heat of her pussy scorched with the promise that burying myself to the hilt inside her would be an incomparable experience.

My body pulses with more than just the physical desire for Pen.

I want to hold her. I want to capture all her smiles with mine.

I want to get lost in her stories. I want it all. Her sadness. Her happiness. Her.

You can’t have her.

Sasha clears her throat. “If you two are dating then you’ll have to contend with the media from time-to-time. I could do media coaching with Pen, but her videos online tell me she may not need it. The media will adore her.”

“She has all the grace and charisma you lack. She might even make you seem less of an ornery bastard.” Greg chuckles.

Shifting my gaze out the window, I nod.

“What Greg is trying to say is that Pen Meadows may soften your image. Make you seem more likeable. If she’s open to it, we can issue a statement. Something like this is a new relationship and you’d like the privacy and time to find your way as a couple and…” Sasha’s words fumble to a stop.

I shift in my seat but turn my eyes to her assessing gaze.

She points a red-tipped fingernail at me. “What did you do?”

“How…” I close my mouth and shake my head.

Of course, Sasha knows. Besides her ability to smooth the edges on the roughest of individuals, she can, with one assessing glance, ferret out your hidden truths. Even if she doesn’t know what they are, she always seems to know they exist.

“I left her,” I murmur, my stare cast down.

“What?” she almost shrills.

Raising my head, I meet Sasha’s glare. “I left her.”

“Fucking idiot,” Greg mutters, slapping his hand on his forehead.

“Language,” Sasha tuts, wagging her finger at her husband before she turns back to me.

Lines mar her brow and storm clouds form in her eyes.

“You are ambushed by reporters at the airport and proceed to leave Pen, a woman that has – by all my research on her in the last twenty-four hours – never dealt with the press, you left her alone ?” She draws out the word as if it’s a weapon.

Perhaps it is a weapon. The word slices into my gut with the piercing impact of a sharp blade.

“I thought if I left the reporters would follow me and leave her alone.” What once seemed like a stellar idea is now acrid in my throat as I say it out loud. My knees bounce furiously, and I grip the chair’s armrest. “I need to –” I stand up, but don’t move.

What am I going to do? Go back to LAX and look for Pen? No doubt her West Coast bestie JoJo got her out of there immediately. Something I should have done. Instead, I left her to the vultures.

“Call her and explain,” Sasha offers. “Although, I’d recommend lots of begging.”

“And, perhaps, some jewelry,” Greg adds.

“Very expensive jewelry.”

“I—”

Her eyes narrow. “You didn’t get her number?” She throws her hands in the air. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Greg snorts.

“I thought we had more time.” I pace the room.

The entire day I’d lost myself in just being with Pen, so much that I’d not done all the things I should have. Get her number. Tell her who I am.

Who are you? Pen’s words echo in my heart.

Just your Rowan , whispers back. Am I, though? Rather… Do I deserve to be? Mere hours after telling her that, I don’t think I could walk away now that I knew what it felt like to hold her, but I did just that.

“DM her. Explain that you walked away to protect her. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Sasha smirks at her husband. “Since when are you the nice one?”

“Balance, my love. If you’re going to go Sasha fierce on him, I’ll assume your Pollyanna default mode.” He smirks back.

I shake my head. “No.”

“No?” they say in unison.

Placing my hands on my hips, I suck in a steadying breath. “I won’t DM her. It’s better this way.”

“For who?” Sasha’s expression twists into a scowl.

“For Pen.” I turn toward the window. “She deserves better than me. You both said it; she’d soften my image. What would I do to hers? How would I impact her life?”

The thirty-five hours I spent with Pen, a respite from my miserable life, is over.

I lost the chance for something… I crushed it the moment I walked away from her at baggage claim.

Though maybe a bit of the reprieve was lost with each minute that ticked away without being honest with her about who I was.

Being a hockey player isn’t who I am, it’s what I do.

A big part. To most people I am Rowan Iverson, NHL defensemen, not Just Rowan.

No matter how much I yearn to go back, I can’t. Even if I explain everything and beg for forgiveness, she deserves more. More than a man who hides his reality and then walks away.

“Sasha, please do what you need to do to make this go away. To make”—I swallow the hard lump in my throat— “Pen go away. I don’t want reporters bothering her or associating her with me.”

“Are you sure?” she says softly.

Her small hand rests on my shoulder, squeezing gently, but I don’t turn around. “Yes.”

She sighs. “I’ll make some calls.”

Sasha pads out of the room.

Hands braced on the windowsill, I stare my unfocused gaze on the world outside.

The sun hangs low in the sky, readying to say goodbye to the last day with Pen Meadows in my life.

I close my eyes and let myself get lost – for just a moment – in the only thing I’ll have of her from now on, memories.

Her silky lips against my mouth. The melody of her laugh.

The sensation of her body curled into mine.

Greg clears his throat, breaking the silence. “In the course of a single play on the field, I lost the future I had mapped out for myself. A career playing in the NFL. The girl I thought I’d marry. My ability to walk. They all were gone in the snap of my lower vertebrae.”

I pivot to face Greg.

He seldom talks about his accident, or the life stolen from him by something that happened in the blink of an eye.

The well-known story is a cautionary tale for young athletes – the future star cut down too soon.

But Greg never let that be his narrative.

Looking at his life with his beautiful family and thriving career, I can only imagine that the life he’d wanted at twenty-two pales in comparison with his actual life at forty.

His eyes link with mine. “In the hospital, my mother told me I could wallow in the wreckage of that future or use the broken pieces to rebuild a new one. So, that’s what I did.

I went to law school. I took a job as an agent, because even if I couldn’t play football, at least I could work with football players and occasionally stupid hot-headed hockey players. ”

My mouth curves into a small smile.

“I built a new future, but I saw it as a consolation prize. I saw myself as one. So, when Sasha waltzed into that board room nine years ago, I told myself that she wasn’t for me.

Someone like her deserves more than a consolation prize of a man.

” He gestures to himself. “Hell, most days I think she still does… But she chose me, even when I hadn’t chosen myself. ”

“It’s not the same, Greg. I’m no good for Pen. I’m not you. I’m?—”

“A man whose vision is clouded with the belief that he’ll continually disappoint everyone, a man who doesn’t even see himself as a consolation prize, but as a punishment,” he cuts in.

“Sasha isn’t the only perceptive member of the Lawson family.

In ten years, I’ve not seen you develop close friendships nor – outside of Emma – have a girlfriend. ”

“I’m friends with Wes.”

“He’s your employee and annoyed you into it. Hell, I think he annoyed me into it.”

“I’m friends with you.”

“We’re not friends. I’m your agent.”

I huff a dismissive laugh.

“You pay me twelve percent of your earnings, and I tell you the truth. You care so much about people that you hold them at a distance because you tell yourself all you’ll ever do is hurt them.”

“Are we adding psychologist to your list of agenting skills?” I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Yeah, and your snarky ass should listen to Dr. Lawson. Date the girl or don’t date the girl… but don’t lie to yourself that you are doing it to protect her.” He rolls from behind the desk and heads towards the door. “We all know who you’re really protecting.”