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“If you could turn back the clock, what would you have said,” he asks.

“I probably would have punched you,” I grin as does he, “but I would have asked why? Still to this day, I don’t understand what I did.” Urgh. I hate being vulnerable and that’s exactly what I’m doing and especially in front of him.

Pierre takes a sip of his wine, and I can see he is mulling over what he is going to say.

“You loved me too much and I never felt worthy of your love,” he confesses.

His words tear at my walls. “I didn’t believe I deserved you, Issy.

I had to listen to all my friends talk about how you were too good for me.

That I was punching well above my weight with you. ”

“We were together for three years.”

Pierre nods. “I was the last person who saw my dad before he left.” I didn’t know that.

“I had forgotten my cup, and there was no way I was getting a puck to the nuts, so I rushed home to grab it. That’s when I saw my dad walking out the door with his bags packed.

I was confused because he didn’t have any away games.

He was angry when he saw me standing on the path, looking at him taking the coward’s way out, leaving during the day.

” I can see the pain on his face as he relives that memory.

“I asked him to stay, and he told me I wasn’t enough of a reason for him to stay, that none of us were.

That this wasn’t how he saw his life turning out.

That he was bigger than this. Then he wished me luck and left. ”

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“After you left, things spiraled for me. I went a little wild,” I remember seeing images of him, and that made me hate him even more.

“I knew I self-sabotaged the relationship because I didn’t think I was good enough, and I was sabotaging everything else in my life, too.

Coach told me I needed to shape up or ship out.

I was nearly kicked out of college,” he confesses.

I had no idea. “Coach suggested that I talk to someone, and I thought it was stupid, but he made it a stipulation of my probation to stay on the team or he would bench me for the entire season.” Wow.

“It took me a while to work through my shit with my dad, but the counselor made me realize that I started unconsciously mimicking my father’s behavior especially since people started comparing me to him, telling me how much I played on the ice like him.

That doesn’t excuse what I did, Issy. You were collateral damage against my childhood trauma. ”

“I had no idea.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t either until I started talking to someone. But it was too late when it came to you.” His hazel eyes meet mine.

“I’m sorry, I guess I should have listened to you,” I tell him.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. Just because my dad hurt me doesn’t mean I get to hurt you.

I did try to find you a couple of times, but your dad told me you were dating someone in London, and you were happy.

I mean, you were in London, and I was in New York, it was never going to work anyway.

So, I gave up,” he explains, knocking back the rest of his wine.

“You tried to talk to me when I first came back during Dad’s birthday, and I wouldn’t listen.”

“Is, you were hurt. I understood. I talked to the counselor about what I did to you, and she tried to help me forgive myself, but I never could until you forgave me on the plane.”

I take a sip of my wine. “I didn’t want to forgive you.

It was easier to hate you and blame you than to deal with the fact that I still loved you, even after everything you had done to me.

” Pierre’s face falls. “I wasn’t prepared to ever let you get that close to me again.

I couldn’t take a chance on letting you inflict that kind of damage on me again.

I hid away instead of dealing with it all. ”

“I really fucked things up.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“I did too. We were kids,” I tell him, sipping my drink.

“I wasn’t a kid when I kissed you at your father’s wake,” he states, looking at me.

“No, you weren’t,” I agree.

“I want to apologize again for that moment. I honestly can’t believe I did that to you at such a vulnerable time. You were crying and I wanted to help, but being back in that room and having you hug me and … in that moment, I wanted to pretend everything between us never happened,” he tells me.

“I did too,” I confess.

Silence falls between us.

“But I made things worse because you thought I was still that man. A cheater. I mean, I was. Things with Kitty at that time were rough. I tried to call off the wedding when I got back from the funeral.”

“You did?” I’m shocked.

“Not because of you … I mean kind of … urgh …” he says awkwardly.

“Kissing you made me realize that Kitty and I were not meant to be, but I felt trapped. The wedding was a media circus, everyone kept telling me it was cold feet, that everyone goes through second thoughts. Then our team made the playoffs, and you know what it’s like, that was my sole focus, it had to be.

I pushed every red flag Kitty showed me away because I couldn’t deal with it. ”

“I watched the game,” I tell him.

“You did?” He seems surprised.

“I always watched your games.” Pierre’s mouth falls open in shock. “That penalty was a rookie move, and I felt for you. You had snatched back the chance to make the finals.”

“Pretty low point of my career,” he says.

“It won’t define your career, though,” I tell him, which pulls a small smile from his lips.

“You watched my games?”

I smirk. “Don’t think anything of it. It’s my job to keep an eye on the agency's clients.” He sips his wine, chuckling. Which makes me giggle, a bit of tension slowly easing from my shoulders. “And things seem to be looking up for you, from what Marcus says.”

“I can’t believe The Mavericks are interested in me.”

“Having the St. Pierre brothers on the ice together is a huge deal for the team. The added revenue that you and Felix would bring in, the merch, the fans, your skills, it’s a no-brainer. Will you entertain any other teams?” I ask him.

“Not if The Mavericks are interested. I want to end my career with my brother by my side.”

“You’re not over the hill yet,” I joke with him.

“For hockey, I am. The Mavericks have said that they would be interested in talking to me about coaching with them if or when I’m ready to hang up my skates,” he explains.

“They did? And that’s something you would be interested in doing?”

He nods. “I would, yeah. If I can get one season with my brother, then I’ll be happy, even better if we win the cup,” he adds.

“You’re in with a chance. Bill will lose his mind if you guys win it.” I chuckle.

“I’m highly motivated.” He grins. “Are we good, Issy?” he asks.

“I know we are laughing now, and I don’t want to ruin it, but I need to know that you and I can try again …

as friends. I’ve truly missed you.” His speech is heartfelt, and being around him again, deep down inside, I have missed him too.

He was my best friend as well as my partner.

“I’ve missed you too,” I confess, and I see the hope in his eyes. “It’s hard, I’ve held onto the anger toward you for so long, I’m going to need a minute to truly let it go. And when I look at you, I see Missy Jenkins on her knees, smiling.”

“I’m so sorry about that.”

“I know you are,” I reassure him. “I want to truly move on from our past, Pierre. Do you mind being patient with me?” I ask him.

“I’ll wait forever for you,” he tells me.

“You’re a horrible singer,” I tease him.

“I can’t be good at everything.” He belts out another noughties power ballad.

I’m having fun and laughing with him, something I never thought I’d ever do again.

The two of us may have drunk too much wine tonight, but after the conversation at dinner where we put a lot of our issues on the table and spoke honestly, I feel like a bit of the weight and tension between us is lifting.

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Hockey Superstar.”

“Hockey isn’t the only thing I’m good at,” he says.

“Really, what else do you excel in?”

“Cooking.”

That’s true, he is a good cook, but I’m not about to inflate his head. “I’ve only tried one dish, the jury is still out on that.”

“Fine. I’ll cook for you every night until you realize I’m a fantastic cook.” He grins.

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.

“I want to. It’s the sign of my appreciation for letting me crash your life,” he explains to me.

“Guess I can handle that.” I take a sip of my wine. If it means I don’t have to cook, sign me up.

Pierre continues to list off his other talents. “I’m good at being a dog dad.” He is, he loves that floof ball. Frankston is passed out on the rug in front of the television, he’s totally over listening to our bad karaoke tunes.

“You are a good dog dad.”

This makes him smile. “I’m good at massages.” Really? The old I’m good at massage trick. “Not those kinds, but I am good at them too. I give good foot massages, here give me your feet,” he says, trying to grab my feet.

“Ew, no.” I giggle as I dodge his hands.

“Don’t you remember how good I used to be at massaging your feet?” he says.

That’s right, he would massage my feet when I came back from Pilates, his strong fingers digging into the right spots.

“Come on, give me those little piggies,” he teases. I could use a foot massage, being in heels all day hurts. Reluctantly, I move my feet into his lap, he places his glass of wine on the side table, and then grabs my feet. The first slide of his thumb along my arch has me moaning.

“Oh my …” I groan, throwing back my head as his fingers work wonders over my skin.

“Told you I was good.” He chuckles.

“So good,” I moan. Who knew so much tension was being held in my feet?

“I miss hearing you moan like that,” he says as he suddenly stops massaging my feet.

“Did I say that out loud?” I nod. “Ignore me. I’ve had too much wine.

” He starts massaging my feet again. This time, I try to keep my moans to myself.

“Fuck,” he grumbles as he moves uncomfortably on the sofa.

I open my eyes and realize what is happening.

The tenting in his sweats is a damn giveaway, he’s hard and he’s trying to move his cock into a more convenient position.

“Did I make you hard?” I stare at the large tent.

“Um, yes. The sounds you were making were hot,” he confesses.

“Your fingers are good.”

A proud smirk falls across Pierre’s lips. “You know they are.”

I bite my bottom lip, remembering the other night when I let him slide his thick fingers inside me before I broke down. Thank goodness for my battery-operated friend who was able to finish me off. “Pierre!” I blush.

“Right, sorry. I can’t not flirt with you. It’s a habit.” He grins.

“You can flirt, I guess, as long as you aren’t expecting anything,” I warn him.

“I would never dare.” He smirks suspiciously.

“I mean it. You and I are friends only,” I remind him.

“Looks like I’ve been upgraded from acquaintance to friend,” he teases.

I roll my eyes and try not to laugh. “I have to go to bed, I have work in the morning.”

“Think of me while you play with yourself, eh?” he calls out to my retreating back.

Asshole.

But he’s not wrong.