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Prologue

Alex

The closer I get to my house in Ashbourne, the worse the panic becomes, and my busted up knee isn’t helping the situation one fucking bit.

It’s been seven years since I’ve stayed in this town for longer than a week.

Even holidays and vacations didn’t last longer than that.

The good old doc said I needed help to recover from my injury, and I was not about to let my asshole ex—who happens to be my team captain and the one responsible for shattering my ACL in the first place—take care of my ass.

Doc says if I want a shot back on the ice, I need to take my recovery seriously.

As if I would do anything less than that.

Why do I always fall for asshole men ?

Probably because Daddy didn’t hug you enough as a kid, I think to myself. Actually, that’s probably to blame for a lot of my issues.

I’m fairly certain Brittany Evans, my high school girlfriend-turned-ex-turned-best friend, is the only woman on the planet who can stand me—and she’s married with two adorable kids and a third on the way. Oh, and her husband hates me, so she’s not the answer to my dilemma.

Which narrows my choices down to my pain-in-the-ass upper crust mother or my perfect brother and his bitchy wife.

Fuck me sideways.

But I guess that’s par for the course for an asshole like me, right?

Good boys like my brother, Austen, they get everything they want.

My brother could make it through a hurricane without a scratch, but me?

I protect myself on the ice; I protect myself off of it.

Defense is what I’m good at. It’s what I’ve always been good at, so I don’t end up broken beyond all fucking repair.

What’s that saying? If I’m too much, go find less? Yeah, that’s the story of my life.

I get out of the car, slam the door shut, and groan as I stretch my leg and catch my balance.

My knee hurts like a bitch. The tightness of the brace and the way it pulls at my skin and the hair beneath my track pants is distracting.

I can’t wait to get this thing off me—after I get something to eat.

I head into the bar. It’s lively for 4:30 on a Tuesday.

It doesn’t take long to find an empty table. Once I’m sitting, I prop my leg up on the chair across from me.

The bartender is a young girl I don’t recognize. Not surprising, since I’m never here, but this is a small town and everyone typically knows everyone. She takes her time walking over to me, one hand on her hip as she looks at me with dead eyes.

“You need a minute or…”

“Nope. I know exactly what I want,” I say, plastering one of my trademark grins on my face.

I’ve got this weird food association thing where I remember everything I’ve ever ordered at a restaurant, so I get the same thing every time I revisit.

Bella’s is a place I’ve been too many times, so it’s more than habit or routine at this point. It’s comfort.

Their towering plate of loaded nachos are the finest delicacy, and it’s a sin not to eat them when dining here.

I rattle off my order to her and she sets about putting it in before she grabs my beer and takes her sweet old time to get back to me. Not sure what I did to piss her off.

I’m halfway through my nachos, watching the Pens vs Bruins game, when I realize I’m going to be late to my PT appointment if I don’t peace the fuck out soon .

Yeah, I shouldn’t be drinking before physical therapy, but how else am I supposed to take the edge off? The pills they gave me fuck me up worse than the alcohol.

I flag down the bartender for my check. She rolls her eyes just as I hear a voice that makes every inch of my body go on high alert.

The deep rumble of a laugh vibrates through me, and I look up to see the one person I’d hoped to avoid while in town. One of the main reasons I avoid coming home at all.

Jordan Mackenzie, my little brother’s best friend and former football teammate. The only man who’s ever been able to truly break through my armor and see the real me.

I’ve seen Mack a handful of times when I’ve visited over the last few years on group outings with my brother. Since Austen and his former best friend Cam parted ways, he and Mack have become close, which is both a blessing and a curse.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wedge my way into Austen’s plans just so I could see him . Even if he pretends he doesn’t know me anymore.

Though, the last time I saw him without my brother in the room…

It’s been seven years.

My heartbeat slows as I fight the urge to stare.

He laughs with who I assume are his friends, that rugged smile betraying no hint of how brutal he can actually be.

His jeans are the perfect fit, showing off his round ass, and the way his black t-shirt hugs his abs reminds me exactly what they look like.

The red and black flannel is open, but the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

He’s running his hand through his nearly black hair, the muscles in his forearms standing out against the tight edges of his shirt sleeves.

I know what those hands feel like wrapped around my neck and other body parts I shouldn’t think about in a bar.

Please look over here.

Because the universe loves to fuck me over, he turns his head and looks right at me.

His gaze startles, smile falling from his face before his eyes narrow, pinning me to my chair with so much hatred I can taste it.

I can’t move, even if I wanted to. This place could be burning around me, and I’d be trapped beneath his stare. Jordan Mackenzie has that sort of power over me, even after all this time, it seems.

I hold his gaze as he says something to his friends, before he slowly walks across the room—right toward me.

“Mack,” I greet with a nod, taking a sip of my beer and trying to be casual. “ Long time no see.”

Mack’s honey brown eyes stoke the fire inside me, making my heartbeat quicken and my stupid cock twitch.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, his tone just as venomous as I remember. Yet as sharp as it is, there is a smooth edge to his deep, gravelly tone. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

His tone makes me want to drop to my knees, but one of them is more than fucked, so that’s not happening. At this point, I’m not sure I’d be able to get back up and that would be embarrassing because he’d leave me there. Sucking dick in a bar full of people would be the easy part…

There are a hundred things I could say to him right now. A hundred things I should say. But all I can do is be a smartass. Cover up the bone-deep pain with humor, just like I always do.

“Pissing you off.” I smirk. “My favorite pastime.”

Mack scoffs. “I’d have to give a shit about you for that to happen, Alex. Which,” he growls, his finger tapping the edge of the table as he leans closer. “I don’t.”

One tap. Two taps.

My spine straightens, muscle memory taking over.

His gaze darkens, and he adds, “I don’t give a shit what you do or who you do it with.”

My cock hardens in my pants, and I think coming home was a very, very bad idea. Every bone in my body stiffens, and the monster inside me pushes to the surface.

“Keep telling yourself that, Mackenzie,” I snap, my tone bitter and full of challenge.

I toss some bills on the table and fight to grimace through the pain of standing as I flash him a dark stare of my own. He’s the only person in the world who can make me this angry. Make me feel so goddamn much when I spend so much time shoving all those stupid feelings down.

Mack’ss got a couple inches on me—and everyone else around here. 6’4” is quite taller than the average guy. Not to mention he’s built like a brick house—like a Mack Truck, actually. Football player, and all. Well, ex-football player, I guess.

Pain shoots through my leg as I stand tall, but I refuse to give in and look away first.

“Maybe one day you’ll actually believe that,” I say as I knock into his shoulder with as much strength as I can muster. “Welcome home, Alex,” I say bitterly to myself once I’m in the car, knowing it’s going to be a long fucking recovery.