Page 2

CAM

“There’s no way I’m going to find another job now.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. “He’s made sure my name is mud at every gym in Portland, and it’s spread to Seattle, too.”

My mom huffed with irritation. “You should be able to sue him for that.”

I dropped my hand and turned exhausted eyes on her. “With what? I can’t retain a lawyer.” Well, not unless I found one willing to accept sexual favors, since that was about all I had left to offer anyone for anything. I didn’t say that to my mom, though.

She pursed her lips. “Maybe you just need to find something else to tide you over. Until this all…” She waved a hand like something flying away.

I so wanted to tell her that wasn’t going to happen.

Gym rats could have incredibly long memories, and that stupid asshole—the one on whom I’d wasted eight years I was never getting back—had made sure I was fucked in that respect.

No one in the fitness community was going to want to hire Cameron Wright any time soon.

At this point, I wondered if anybody would. Fucking hell.

Sighing, I pushed myself up off the couch. “I’m going to go send out a few more job applications. Can’t hurt, right?”

“Good luck, honey.”

Yeah. I’d need it. I trudged upstairs to the guest room I’d moved into since that semi-sentient piece of maggot-riddled roadkill had upended my life.

It looked depressingly like a hotel room—my mom loved pastels, and she was also a bit of a minimalist. There wasn’t much on the furniture in here except a bedside lamp, my phone and charger, and my laptop, plus a few odds and ends from my toiletry kit.

Most of what I owned was wedged into my mom’s storage unit. The rest was in one of the boxes stacked inside the closet or the two suitcases parked in front of it, plus some clothes I’d arranged in the drawers. It was my mom’s house, but it didn’t feel like home.

Maybe because my whole life was on its ass and everything felt jumbled and scattered and… ugh.

Okay. I was too miserable to deal with job applications right now. I’d doomscroll for a little while, maybe watch a few videos, and then send applications out into the ether to be summarily ignored.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and flopped onto the bed.

And then I froze.

On the screen, there was a text from someone I hadn’t heard from in a long time.

I stared at his name. Trev Allen. Wow. We hadn’t talked in… four, five years? Something like that. I was suddenly overcome with nostalgia, memories from junior high and high school flooding my mind. Hanging out at lunch. Our comical attempt at dating. Screaming myself hoarse at his hockey games.

The last few years had been a bit of a whirlwind, and it hit me now just how much I regretted losing touch with him.

He’d always been such a great guy. Even our stupid high school breakup had been anticlimactic.

We’d gone out one afternoon, and after the matinee, we’d had a sort of awkward conversation where we agreed we were better off as friends.

Then we’d grabbed whatever we could afford off the McDonald’s $1 Menu and sat in his car, talking until we both got in trouble for breaking curfew.

God, wouldn’t my life be better now if all my breakups were like that?

I definitely regretted all the time that had slipped by since I’d seen him, that was for sure. And now he was reaching out, so maybe I should see why before I wandered off into another nostalgic daydream.

I tapped my screen and read his text.

Hey, Jake told me you’re in a bind. Long story short, I’m in one too, and we might be able to help each other.

I blinked at the message. There was a flicker of disappointment that he wasn’t just reaching out because he’d missed me. He needed something from me. Damn.

But also… he wanted to help? And what in the world could he need my help with?

Last I’d heard, he’d locked down like a three-and-a-half-million-dollar-per-year deal with his hockey team.

Though some of our mutual friends had mentioned that his divorce had been messy.

Maybe his ex had taken him to the cleaners?

Boy, could I relate. At least Dickhead and I hadn’t been married. Somehow I suspected he’d have found a way to screw me over even harder.

Well, I was desperate, and I didn’t exactly have any other help on the horizon, so… why not? And Trev did say he could somehow help me, so yeah, why not?

With my heart in my throat, I typed out a message.

yeah, things got messy with my ex. What’s going on with you?

He didn’t read it or respond right away. Not surprising, I guess; his text had come through almost half an hour ago. I must not have heard it.

I was about to swipe away and start doomscrolling like I’d planned, but then the three dots appeared. I held my breath, waiting for him to hit Send.

After a solid minute, he finally did.

Short version – ex is threatening to go for full custody if I don’t lock down fulltime live-in childcare for the hockey season. Which starts really soon.

I blinked. Childcare? That was not a career path I’d considered.

But… did he say full-time? And live-in? That meant a paycheck and a roof.

Not gonna lie, my friend, there isn’t much I won’t do these days. You just need a nanny basically?

Basically. Do you have a car? If not I can get you one.

My jaw fell open. He’d buy me a car? Or lease one or whatever? I mean, okay, he was a millionaire and all, but goddamn.

I have a car. Pretty sure it’ll make it to you. You’re still in Pittsburgh right?

Yep. I think it’s like a 5 day drive. I can fly out and drive with you if you’d rather not go alone. As long as it’s not my custody week.

As much as a road trip with Trev sounded like a blast, we didn’t actually know each other anymore. Agreeing to move in with him and work with him was a massive leap already—one I couldn’t afford not to make—but being cooped up in a car together for three thousand miles could get sketchy.

I can make the drive. Are you sure about this?

Absolutely. Not gonna lie, I’m desperate.

Pause.

That sounds kind of dickish. I’m desperate for someone to take care of my kids. It really will be great to see you again, too.

I had to chuckle. Good save, my friend.

But I understood. My entire life had been turned on its ass recently, and I was pretty single-mindedly focused on finding a solution. Any solution. I wasn’t out to use anyone or take advantage of them, but I was ready to jump on the first viable fix that came my way.

So could I really begrudge him reaching out to me with that same kind of desperation?

And hell, if I showed up and he was an asshole—if he treated me like he didn’t give a shit about me and only cared about getting out of his bind—then I didn’t have to stay.

I could stick around long enough to save some money, then bug out.

I was hard-pressed to imagine him being like that, though.

Yeah, he was a rich and famous athlete now, but he was still Trev.

Some of the guys from high school were still in touch with him, and they’d never had anything negative to say about him (well, aside from Jake, who was still salty that Trev had signed with Pittsburgh instead of somewhere on the West Coast).

Trev was also offering me a promising path to getting back on my feet. A place to live, a paycheck, and a car? Hell, I’d have taken him up on it even if we had been bitterly estranged exes.

Send me the details. I’ll leave as soon as I can.

Thank you, Cam. You’re a lifesaver.

I smiled to myself. He was a lifesaver, too.

And what could I say?

I was thrilled to be seeing my old friend again.

It was one thing to be aware that my childhood friend was now a famous athlete and a literal millionaire.

It was another thing entirely to pull into the cobblestone driveway of a huge-ass house and have my GPS tell me, “You have arrived at your destination.”

“Holy shit,” I murmured as I eased my dilapidated Honda to a stop in front of the fancy brick house. Everything from the enormous windows to the manicured landscaping was flawless and just… big . I couldn’t imagine living here as a single guy.

Which meant this was probably the place he’d bought with his ex, intending to raise their kids here. Even then, it seemed way too big for four people.

But was I going to look this multimillion-dollar gift horse in the mouth? No, I was not.

As I was getting out of the car, the front door opened, and I very nearly tripped and fell on my ass.

Holy. Crap.

Trev had always been incredibly fit. Playing hockey had kept him in tiptop shape, and he’d been goodlooking even through those awkward junior high years. He’d looked amazing in high school and college.

The man standing in the doorway now? Oh my God.

That blue henley stretched snugly across ripped abs and pecs, and his biceps and forearms were mouthwatering.

When my gaze landed on his narrow hips and holy-shit-are-you-kidding-me thighs, I had to force myself to meet his eyes instead.

He’d been so lanky as a kid, and while he was still leaner than a football player or a power lifter, he was—fucking hell, most of my personal training clients would’ve sawed off limbs to look like that.

He’d also lost a lot of that youthful softness in his face. His jaw and cheekbones were more prominent now. Back in high school, he’d bemoaned his lack of anything to shave, but now he had a respectable dusting of dark stubble that just made him even prettier.

That perfect smile, though—that hadn’t changed a bit.

“Wow,” he said as he stepped outside, arms outstretched. “I can’t believe how long it’s been!”

“Right?” Dazed, I stepped into his hug. “It’s been too long.” Those words were even truer when he embraced me so tight I could barely breathe.

How did I go this many years without one of your hugs?

I almost got choked up, but I managed to hold my composure, and as I stepped back, I cleared my throat. Gesturing at him and grinning, I said, “Didn’t you say you’d have a hockey smile by thirty? Looks like you still have all your teeth.”

He laughed, which… oh God.

When did you get so hot? Who gave you the right?

“Actually,” he said, tapping the left side of his jaw, “I’m missing two.”

“You are?”

He nodded as a blush crept into his cheeks. “The one in front is capped. The molar—I’ll get an implant there after I retire.”

I whistled. “I thought your old coach told you not to stop sticks with your teeth.”

“Hey now.” He pushed his shoulders back and feigned offense. “I’ll have you know the one in back was from stopping a puck.”

Grimacing, I shuddered. “Um. Ouch?”

“Seriously.” He turned his head a little and pointed at a faint silvery scar just above the edge of his stubble. “Had to get stitches, too. It fucking sucked.”

“Yeah? How much of the game did you miss?”

“Period and a half.”

I snorted. “That sounds like you. Still bleeding and barely stitched together, but back out on the ice anyway.”

Trev shrugged. “It isn’t like I could feel it. It was still numb.”

“Still. Dude.” I chafed my arms. “So what about the one in front? Puck?”

“No, that was a stick. But!” He put up a finger. “I drew a four-minute double minor for it, and we were already in overtime in an elimination game for the conference final. So… it was worth it!”

“Wow. Cost you a tooth but won the conference championship? Nice.”

“I couldn’t complain.” He scowled. “Well, except we got swept in the Cup finals, but hey, at least we got the conference rings.”

“Could’ve been worse, right?”

“Definitely. But anyway, enough about my dental history.” He gestured at the house. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.”