Page 2 of For Puck’s Sake (Seattle Vipers #2)

ONE

brEA

T he lights dim as I settle onto the stool in the small corner of Lia’s front parlor. This massive Queen Anne Victorian home befits her huge personality. With its vibrant interior and vintage furniture, she has truly made this place hers. Lia, the now well-known dressmaker and designer, is making a name for herself all over Seattle and the west coast. I’m so proud of her. When I last saw her, she was still fighting her way through design school. I shake my head imperceptibly as I continue to take the place in. It’s just like Ridley to make sure his baby sister has nothing but the best. Still protecting her even when she no longer needs it, because that’s who he is. She is his world, all he has left.

Nope, not tonight, Brea, don’t go there.

I look around the room, all the familiar faces smiling back at me. Faces I’ve missed these past two years, faces I’ve tried to forget because it hurt too much to think about all the things I lost when I walked away from him. For two years I’ve stayed away and kept my distance, keeping my goals and aspirations firmly in front of me. My past and the people I left behind are just that, my past. At least that’s what I tell myself to keep my head above water, to keep going. Until that phone call . . . his cries . . . the pleading . . . the hurt in his voice.

Sitting my guitar in my lap, I lean into the mic and adjust the height. I smile, catching eager eyes waiting patiently for me to begin. No matter how many times I do this, no matter how big or small the crowd, it still feels surreal to be performing, to sing and play. My dreams are no longer dreams but my reality. To think they were almost snuffed out by doubts and insecurities. I almost gave them up to be what? A sad, lonely, hockey wife. Nothing against hockey wives but I want more, need more for myself.

Clearing my throat, I refuse to continue my train of thought, and focus on the here and now. It doesn’t matter anyway, no need for me to drum up memories I’ve buried down deep. I am here for a reason, and it’s not to rekindle old flames or relive my mistakes.

“There are a lot of you I already know in this room.” I look over at Tor and the beautiful woman he has wrapped in his arms, then a few others. Devan whoops and cheers in excitement as I wink knowingly at him. “For those of you who are new to me, I’m Brea Brookes,” I say, tilting my head in greeting as the claps and cheers rise once more. Nope, it will never get old. “I’m here for the birthday girl.”

I raise my hand to shield my eyes against the blue light shining in my direction to get a better look at the woman who is still like a sister to me. Devan has her pulled into his chest protectively, making me quirk a brow slightly at how comfortable she appears in his embrace. It makes me wonder if Rid— Nope, it doesn’t matter what he thinks, if she’s happy, then I’m happy for her.

I point to Lia. “There she is. Lia, I wouldn’t miss your twenty-fifth birthday for all the world. Tonight is your night. This song is for you.”

I let my hand fall from the mic, pull Bessie closer and pluck the first chords. Someone hoots loudly in recognition as I let my fingers play the familiar tune. I repeat the opening once more, hesitant, almost changing the chords at the last minute to move into another favorite with practiced ease, but I continue.

An awareness comes over me, a familiar one. I don’t need to look up to confirm it’s his eyes on me. There’s part of me, a deep-rooted part of me, that will always seek him out and acknowledge his presence. I let my gaze drift up and find bright cerulean blues staring back at me, full of so much pain and regret, my fingers falter for a brief second before I have to look away. I shouldn’t have come but Lia reached out to me after all this time. Regardless of how things ended with the man leaning against the door frame at the back of the room, I could never say no to his sister. She is the one person I love enough to put me in the same room as Ridley Masters once again. I won’t let whatever he is going through pollute my headspace. The pain in his voice, the pleas. “I love you, Angel.”

The strings of my guitar press gently against the pad of my fingertips, almost nudging me, reminding me of why I am here, clearing my thoughts. The song begins, a dance so habitual, I close my eyes and open my mouth as the first verse falls from my lips.

In the silence of the night,

Memories flooding back to life.

Every word left unsaid,

Every tear that we’ve shed.

Can we turn back the hand of time?

To when your hand was in mine.

Someone begins to belt out the chorus, making my smile widen despite the emotional lyrics. These words, written months ago as I tried to come to terms with my decision to put myself first. I turned my feelings, my what-ifs, into one of my most popular songs. Hearing it sung back to me—or with me—well, hell yeah, it’s still a surreal experience.

Give into me, one more try,

Let’s rewrite our story, reach for the sky.

Don’t let fear hold us down,

We can turn this love around.

Give into me, take my hand,

Together we’ll make this stand.

For a second chance, we’ll see,

If you’ll give in to me.

My lips part as the next verse flows from my mouth. My heart clenching at the achingly intimate lines I wrote as I got lost at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey after seeing him with someone else for the first time. I knew it would happen, but it still nearly killed me because he was mine, damn it. Mine. With every picture, social media post, video, and gossip blog, the sight of him with another woman taking pieces of him that don’t belong to her still hurts the parts of me that will never let him go.

We’ve both made mistakes,

Let’s not let them seal our fate.

There’s still a spark, a flame,

Burning brighter than we can name.

So, let’s throw caution to the wind,

Start this journey again.

Even as I sing the words, I regret my song choice. The heavy weight of what I’m singing, not intentionally meant for anyone in this room, but he’s right there, the one who inspired it, these words are for him. The meaning behind it all lost with every day, week, month, and year that passed. There will never be an us again, so I guess it’s fitting to finally sing this song with him in the room with me. The final nail in our coffin, once and for all, the final goodbye to what we once were. It’s bittersweet, but we’ve both moved on. Forever is not always forever after all. But . . . the little voice reminds me maliciously, he begged me to let him fix it.

I listen to the room singing along, my lyrics, my long-drawn-out heartbreak sliding easily off their tongues. They nod their heads and hold their lovers tight as they find their own meanings.

I know it won’t be easy,

But love’s worth fighting for.

Let’s leave behind the past,

And open up that door.

I let the song finish and instantly go into another, then another, hoping to shake the unsettling feelings of the opening song, refusing to let it dampen my mood. I sing my heart out, keeping my eyes off Ridley and on Bessie, until the room erupts in applause for the last time. I waste no time, feeling too much, I need to make a quick exit. For the first time in months the old hurt returns. I refuse to blame myself for the outcome of our ending, after all, we both failed to keep the promises we made to each other. Ridley has made me face my decision every day with a new puck bunny, his nightly conquests hanging proudly on his arm for the world to see. I’m surprised he doesn’t have one clinging to him tonight.

“Happy Birthday, Lia. Thank you for having me.” I stand, placing my guitar down as I blow Lia a kiss and bow my head. The room is going crazy with Lia cheering the loudest, the same blue eyes as her brother’s shining proudly back at me. I give her one more smile, noticing Ridley’s movement out of my periphery as he steps forward then stops himself. Turning quickly, I can feel Ridley’s eyes boring into me, but I won’t engage him, I can’t. I think he and I have said all we’ve needed to say to one another. I came for Lia and now I want to leave without any unnecessary drama, especially with?—

“You went a little heavy on the short set list, baby. You okay?”

I turn, catching Dean’s bright, sly smile, dimple popping in the middle of his right cheek. Damn him and that dimple. The dimples God blessed him with are his superpower, with just a quirk of his lips. It’s my weakness, almost making me forget my sour mood. Almost. Tall and lean with caramel brown skin, dark brown eyes like two pools of swirling chocolate, he is handsome and clean cut. The kind of man you’d write home to your momma about. Well, in my case, he still doesn’t measure up in my mother’s eyes, purely because he is in the music industry as well, and of course, doesn’t have a future worthy of her attention. Her words, not mine. Not that she gives me her attention, even after all my recent success. I’m still not the daughter she wants or expects me to be .

Ignoring the onlookers who’ve turned their attention back to the party around them, Dean leans in and kisses my lips unexpectedly. I tense, or more accurately, I flinch. So, I shat where I ate, and now I’m paying for it. One lonely drunken night after a small gig in downtown Seattle had me falling into bed with my road manager, and I couldn’t stop. I thought maybe he and I would work . . . but a month ago, that drunken phone call changed everything. It changed me and my budding feelings. I never told Dean why he found me sobbing into Bessie that night, and I have been pulling away from him ever since.

Dean groans as he licks my bottom lip with his tongue, his subtle way of wanting me to open up for him, but I don’t give in. This isn’t the time or the place for the PDA, and he knows it. One: we don’t do PDA, and two: I wouldn’t call what we do behind closed doors long-term relationship goals. In conclusion, I don’t have a boyfriend, although Dean would argue up and down that I just need time to come around.

What really burns my bread in this moment is he knows exactly where we are and who’s watching. Yes, he’s staking his claim, or attempting to piss on me in front of Ridley. I pull away and purse my lips. Honestly, I shouldn’t care about Ridley’s feelings. It’s not like I don’t see his exploits plastered everywhere I turn, but Dean is asking for a public confrontation he isn’t ready for. We are in a room full of big ass hockey players. Ridley’s teammates are his ride or dies. The last thing Lia needs on her birthday is a massive team brawl that would likely send Dean to an early grave.

I quickly glance up and catch Tor’s big hazel eyes narrowing on me from across the room. I can almost hear his thoughts from here. I don’t need to see the disappointment on his face either. Looking away, I nudge Dean and put a little distance between us.

“Really, Dean. Did you really need to kiss me? That was unnecessary.” I tsk in annoyance. Turning I reach for the mic stand, perching on the stool, I dissemble the pieces, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible.

Dean leans over me and grabs my guitar, my case already in his hands. I catch his nonchalant shrug. “I don’t know, B. You open your set with the song you wrote for him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Don’t think I didn’t notice the slight break in your playing when you looked out at him. He clearly has a distracting effect on you. He needs to know you have moved on and that you belong?—”

I stand, keeping my movements easy as I continue to break down equipment. “Let me stop you. I don’t belong to you, and I didn’t belong to him.” That last part’s a lie , but I keep that to myself as I continue. “I don’t need to justify why I play what I play or the reason behind my set choices.” I incline my head and purse my lips. The accusation in his tone, no, hell no, I won’t stand for it. I can feel my anger rising right along with my voice, making me pause as I scan the room again. No one is looking in our direction, in fact, Ridley is no longer in the room. I know it’s for the best, I am sure he saw Dean kiss me and decided not to make a scene in his sister’s home on her birthday. Part of me wants him to approach me, tell me he is proud of what I’ve achieved in such a short time. A sliver of my heart still yearns for the bright smile and the happiness behind his eyes when he watches me play. Like he used to, like he did all those years ago. Why I feel the need to get his approval after all this time is beyond me. But Ridley knows my struggles, he sees me . . . well, he did at the beginning.

Even though I already know it, I need validation. I need to know that the sacrifice, ending our relationship, our engagement was worth the utter devastation of walking away.

“I didn’t mean it that way, B.” Dean holds his hands up in surrender after seeing the scowl on my face. Yeah, I have a temper and I am not afraid to use it. “I’m sorry, Baby, I just, I’m not afraid to admit I’m insecure, jealous even. Every time I hear you sing that song.” He pauses, his lips turning down in a pout. Ha, an actual dimpled pout. Really.

I open my mouth to object to his term of endearment. I am not his baby, and Dean is getting too comfortable. I got comfortable once and look where it got me. I almost lost myself, and I’ll be damned if I do it again. I didn’t leave the love of my life to fall for someone I consider half-decent and only good enough to warm my bed. Yep, I am the asshole in this situation, and I know it. I’m using him, and it’s not fair, but neither is life. Okay, maybe that’s too deep a thought for this situation. Dean is not a bad guy, but I can’t give him what he wants. My heart is battered and bruised, it doesn’t have the strength to beat for anyone else but me.

Dean picks up my case and continues his line of thought. “Besides, in a few months, you will get to leave all this behind, and it will become a distant memory. You have a tour to look forward to. This is your chance, Brea. After a while all that will remain of him are words.”

He turns and I let him walk away without a rebuttal. He’s right, in a few months I will leave Seattle behind and embark on my first big tour. I’ve been invited to Los Angeles after the New Year to sign a major record deal with Solstice records. All my hard work, grit and determination put me exactly where I’d hoped. But as much as I would like to believe that this world, Ridley’s world, will become a distant memory, I know it’s not true. There’s too much history, too many memories, and too much love and love lost to forget. He is in every song I sing, every note I write, ingrained and etched on my soul.

Shaking off the growing melancholy, I spend the next few minutes working in silence, passing off equipment to Dean. I guess he’s decided he’s just as eager to load out because he doesn’t attempt small talk, opting to pack my equipment away in his truck as fast as his feet can carry him. I stop on occasion to talk to a few of Ridley’s teammates, but Ridley hasn’t returned to the room and all I feel is relief. It’s better this way. Avoid confrontation and the growing awkwardness whenever we are forced to interact. Once everything is packed away, I take my time to circle the room. Greeting Tor and fangirling over his girlfriend, Lia’s neighbor, Jazminne Starr. I even managed to hug Lia, who has definitely had her fill of birthday shots for the night.

“I miss you. I looove you, Brea. Thank you for being here,” Lia says as she hangs off my neck in a crushing hug. I laugh. If Devan wasn’t holding her up, we’d both be on the floor.

I eye him over her shoulder, and he slashes his hand across his neck to indicate she is cut off and nods enthusiastically. I love to see her free and happy like this, but she is going to regret her decision to drink so much in the morning. Despite being the youngest, she has proven to be the more responsible of the Masters siblings.

“Ridley loooves you too. He . . . he . . . is just broken. He’s here . . . did you see him? Talk to him, Brea,” she slurs, swaying on her feet.

Devan’s eyes widen as he wraps his hands around Lia’s waist and lifts her off her feet. As if that will suddenly stop her from spilling all of his teammate’s secrets. “Okay, trouble, I think it’s time to get you some water,” he says, shooting me an apologetic look that I don’t know what to do with. A part of me wants to know what she’s referring to, but as easily as I think it, I blow it off. He is no longer my concern. Broken? I doubt that very seriously. I don’t see a broken man when I see him plastered all over social media with his new fuckboy persona. If I see another puck bunny attached to his neck like a leech, I’ll scream. Nope. Broken, he is not.

“Yes, definitely water time,” I tease. “I’m going to go.” I throw my thumb back towards the exit, before giving Lia’s hand a squeeze. I turn as she protests, and Devan pulls her away, her words getting lost in the crowd. I’ve overstayed my welcome. My brain is screaming for me to exit and get the hell out of here. I avoid talking to anyone else as I make my way to the front door and step out onto the porch. I let the cold air fill my lungs as I take a deep fortifying breath and lean against one of the brick pillars for support.

“Last time, Brea. You’ve kept your promise. Be done,” I say to myself as I slow my breathing and wait for my heart to stop beating through my ribcage. Yeah, I don’t think I can do this. I can’t keep putting myself in situations where I am reminded of my life with Ridley. Until recently, I managed to give Ridley, his hockey team mates, hell, hockey, a wide berth. Seattle was big enough for the two of us to exist without crossing paths. A couple of months ago, while performing at a local bar, Ridley lost his shit when he saw me with Dean for the first time, then the phone call, and well, now he’s everywhere. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt to be in his presence. There’s a reason why I left and stayed away. This is not my life anymore. I chose me. I chose my music. I chose my own path.

I straighten my spine, letting my thoughts build up my walls, strengthening me. I walk down the steps, away from Lia’s house, away from Ridley. He is my past, my music is my future. There is no turning back, the only way for me is forward.

RIDLEY

I step out of the shadows at the corner of Lia’s front porch, and I watch the love of my life walk away for the final time. At least that’s what it feels like. Watching her clutch the brick pillar, panic evident in every breath she took. I wanted to reach out and wrap her in my arms and comfort her. She bolted out of the front door as if she couldn’t stand to be in my sister’s home a moment longer. It’s clear she’s still struggling with our breakup, no, our breakdown. I think that is a more fitting description of what happened between us. We broke way before we decided to pull away from one another, and it’s all my fault. I’m to blame for the anguish I see on her face, and I am the reason why she can’t stand to look at me, let alone be in the same room as me. She didn’t let me fix it—us—fuck! Why the hell did I call her begging her to take me back? Hence me nursing the same beer all night—I won’t let it happen again.

I was selfish. I didn’t want to share her, not even with the one thing she loved the most, her music. I made demands, I put her in an impossible situation—life as a hockey girlfriend, well, wife. It isn’t easy, and in the end, she chose music. I’ve spent two years resenting her for it. Two years of believing she threw what we had away. So, what does any man do when he is heartbroken and licking his wounds? Well, he rebels, becomes the complete opposite of the man he once was. I’ve been a fool. A fool to believe that anyone could ever fill the void she left behind. A fool to believe I could fuck the pain away with meaningless one-night stands. I’ve made a mockery of the man I was because I was a stubborn, pigheaded, fucking fool. It’s almost laughable. I want to chase after the taillights of her car, fall to my knees and tell her how sorry I am.

I watch her car turn and disappear around the corner. A minute later, Dean’s truck pulls out and follows her. I clench my fist at the sight. I have no right to be angry. My jealousy claws at my throat, making it hard to swallow. I can’t be upset if she found someone else. I deserve the spikes to my heart with every touch they exchange. Hell, she has had a front seat to my fuckery for months, whether she’s wanted to or not.

“Fuck.” I wipe my hands down my face in frustration. “What the fuck am I going to do?” I ask no one in particular, but the stars will bear witness at least. I love Brea, and I never stopped. I thought I accepted the finality of what happened between us, but helping Tor these past few months has reawakened feelings I thought I’d buried deep inside myself. He finally found someone worthy of his love, and it is so easy to remember what I had, what I gave up. Damn it! I want it back.

So, here I am making another selfish declaration. I say selfish because it is clear she is moving on with her life without me, and I can’t accept it. I won’t. I know I’m being irrational, but I’ve never been rational when it comes to my feelings for Brea Brookes. I want my Luna back, my Angel reigning beside me once more. I don’t deserve her, and I may never actually get a second chance to fix what’s broken but damn it I am going to try. I don’t know how, or when, but I will make her believe in me, in us again. I can’t make the impossible possible, but damn it, one of us needs to be a willing sacrifice to make things right between us. I’m ready to bleed for my girl. I’m living a half-life without her and if her lyrics are any indication, so is she.

The thumping bass from the party pulls me from my thoughts as I turn to head back inside. Suddenly feeling better than I’ve felt in months, now that my direction is clear, I send up a prayer to whoever is listening.

“Give me a chance, just one chance,” I whisper as I push open the door, rejoin the party and go in search of the birthday girl.