Page 13

West, Six Months Later

Quinn’s out on the ice, and it’s no surprise to me that he’s a natural, flying around, stealing pucks, making shots.

It’s a fucking blast to watch him learn, to watch him fall in love with the game.

“He’s good,” Belle murmurs, eyes trained on the rink.

“Damned good,” I agree as he sprints for the bench, completing the change exactly as he should—working hard, getting off to let the next line have their go. I draw her a little closer, tease, “When are we going to get you out there?”

She stills then rolls her eyes as she glances up at me. “I like all of my bones unbroken, thank you very much.” Then she leans a little closer, presses her lips to my jaw. “How do you like these early mornings at the rink?”

It’s barely eight, and we’ve been here an hour already.

Youth hockey is brutal.

Still, I’m living a dream, a fantasy. So, I just grin. “Reminds me of my childhood.”

“I know,” she says, burrowing into my side. “Especially the freezing my butt off while watching part.”

My grin widens and I pull off my coat, wrapping it around her and then drawing her close before she can argue about accepting it. “Quinn’s back out there,” I say, nodding at the ice, taking full advantage of her Mom Distraction to keep her warm.

“I wasn’t angling for your jacket,” she says a minute later, proving that my woman is not to be distracted—or not for long, anyway.

“I know.” I kiss the top of her head. “But this has the side benefit of keeping you close.”

She sighs, but doesn’t protest further, and we watch the rest of Quinn’s game all but glued together.

When he comes out of the locker room long minutes later, half carrying, half dragging the bag that weighs almost as much as him, it’s to ask, “Can I go to Jake’s for a sleepover?”

I love sleepovers.

I especially love that tomorrow is a holiday so that Quinn doesn’t have school.

What I don’t love is reciprocating said sleepovers.

But I take the good with the bad.

“I think you need a shower first, kid,” Belle says wisely, “but if Jake’s parents say it’s okay, I’m good with it. I’ll go check with Jodi now.”

Quinn glances at me. “We were going to play games tonight, can we do that tomorrow instead?”

Smart kid. Sweet kid.

I reach out and muss his sweaty hair. “Works for me.”

“Jodi’s down for torture,” Belle says, rejoining us a few minutes later. “Though, we’re on for next weekend.”

I stifle my groan, but know she hears it anyway because her lips curve up.

The next hour is filled with driving home, getting Quinn showered and packed up, and then me dropping him off.

But it’s an hour that’s punctuated with great.

Because Belle greets me completely naked in the kitchen when I get home.

And I get to fuck her someplace I haven’t had the chance to fuck her yet—the kitchen table.

It’s great—of course it is—and when it’s time to get comfortable and chill, I carry her to the couch, cuddling her close as we watch an action flick on TV.

Between the explosions and car chases, the question that’s been eating at me for months now slips out. “Why’d you ask that in the locker room, baby?”

She stills.

Then reaches forward and flicks off the TV.

Her eyes are remorseful. “Why’d I ask you if you’re still a player who gives up on the play?”

Yeah. That .

It pissed me off, hurt like a bitch—even though I didn’t want to admit it at the time.

Because some part of me worried it was true.

I gave up on fighting for her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know it was out of line.”

The guilt’s heavy in her eyes, her voice, her frame.

Damn. I shouldn’t have brought this shit up, not after all this time.

“Forget it,” I say. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does, honey.”

“I mean it.” I brush my lips over hers. “That question brought us back together, baby.”

“It hurt you, and pissed you off, and I hate that I asked it. I gave up on us. You?—”

Shit. I can see her spiraling now.

I should have just let this go.

“As far as I’m concerned,” I say, “it was a line that needed to be crossed. Yeah, it made me mad,” I add over her protest. “But without it, we’d still be apart. Now I get you and Quinn, and a life that’s not lonely.”

Her face softens, and she reaches up, touches my cheek. “I still shouldn’t have asked it.”

I draw her closer, run my hand up and down her back, and open my mouth.

But I don’t get out any further reassurances.

Because her next words steal them away.

“But I made myself do it because I had to know that you were still you.”

Everything in me stills.

Then…I get it.

And I love her even more for it.

“You being mad about it,” she says hurriedly, “furious and hurt and upset…I knew that the West I knew ten years ago was still in there. I knew that I could trust you and?—”

“Shut up.”

She blinks, a thread of hurt weaving into her eyes. “ Excuse me?”

“You can’t be sweet,” I mock grumble, tugging her on top of me, “and not expect me to react.”

Her brow furrows.

“You can’t be sweet and not expect me to kiss you.”

The lines smooth out.

Then she smiles.

“Well then”—she trails a hand down my chest—“why don’t you get on that?”

“I love you,” I murmur, brushing my lips over hers. “I love you more for asking that, for understanding my reaction.” I give her a long, drugging kiss. “But I love you most of all for giving me you.”

“I—”

I take her mouth.

And then I take her.

And I do it knowing that neither of us is ever going to let go.

Not ever again.

Hudson

I’m fucked, I realize as I stare up at the tiny spitfire of a woman.

Who’s lecturing me.

In a lilting voice that I can’t help but get lost in the melody of.

“…and I really need you to take some time to focus on this new system,” she’s saying, gesturing at an iPad. “I know it’s new and it’s tough to make these changes, but this will make it much easier for us to mobilize your speed and strength.”

She pauses.

And I realize that I’m staring.

That I’m so caught up in the beauty of her, I haven’t processed she’s expecting an answer.

“Got it,” I manage to rasp out.

She nods then rounds the desk and moves to the door of her office, pulling it open so I can see the hallway beyond.

Her office.

The new head coach of the Eagles, Diana Connors.

The first female head coach in the league.

And the object of my fantasies since she first showed up at training camp.

“I’ll see you out on the ice,” she says in that quiet, sure, melodic voice.

And…

I’m staring again.

Committing every freckle, every eyelash to memory.

Obsessed.

She clears her throat, brow furrowing. “Hudson?” she asks quietly. “Is everything okay?”

I nod. “Sorry,” I mutter, shoving to my feet, and moving to the door, feeling like a fucking lumbering giant as I get close to her. “Just tired,” I add by way of explanation. “I’ll be good by practice though.”

Her expression smooths. “Okay, Huddy,” she says. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

That does something to me.

No, not something.

Her soft voice calling me my nickname wraps invisible fingers around my cock and strokes.

Stupid.

I bob my head at her and start to step into the hall.

“Huddy?”

I stop, glance over my shoulder.

She opens her mouth.

But I never do hear her question…

Because that moment, the world starts violently shaking.

Thank you for reading! I hope you loved Belle and West second chance love story as much as I enjoyed writing it! The next full-length book in the Eagles Hockey series is LUCKY LACES . I thought I had my whole life figured out…and then the world started shaking.

And are you curious about Jace Henderson, grumpy boss with a heart of gold? Check out a sneak peek of his happy ending below in BEAUTY