Page 15

FIFTEEN

Rowan

I remember Blake’s dad being impossibly hard on him in high school, but not outright mean or cruel. The way he behaved tonight infuriated me, which was why I had to get Blake out of there. Mr. Rourke was trying to humiliate him, and it serves no purpose. Why now? He’s actually playing in the NHL. This is the pinnacle of success in hockey. So why try to sabotage that?

He’s jealous.

It comes to me out of nowhere, and I realize it’s true.

Mr. Rourke played in the Major Juniors but never got any further.

Blake has.

“He can’t help who he is,” I say after Blake has had a few minutes to calm down. “He’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” He snorts. “Of what? He thinks I’m a loser.”

“You’re a loser who accomplished things he couldn’t. He stalled out at eighteen. You’re still playing, and now, you’ve reached the big-time. Even if it’s just temporary, look at how well you’re doing. When you were in the minors, he couldn’t say much because his opinion that you’re not better than him was validated. Now you’ve shot that theory to hell, and he hates it.”

“And I’m starting to fucking hate him,” he growls.

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I’d sell my soul to the devil if I could pay back the money he took in that second mortgage.”

“I know.”

“Fuck!” He lets out a shout and clenches his fists.

“It’s okay. Let it out. I can be a safe space for you, Blake.”

He throws his head back against the head rest, and when I glance over at him, his eyes are closed. “I fucking hate him,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

“I know.” I’m not sure what else to say or how else to soothe him.

“And he makes it so that I can’t even enjoy my mom and sister.”

I don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.

“I mean, why isn’t he proud? Why isn’t he cheering for me? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do?”

“You’d think so.”

“I just don’t get it, and I never will.” His fists are still clenched in his lap, and I can’t help but reach out to cover one with my hand.

“Just because he’s your dad, you don’t have to let him hurt you. You’re an adult. You can end the relationship. You can go no contact.”

“I plan to. I just hate to because it’ll hurt my mother.”

“She’ll understand.” I squeeze his hand tightly.

And I don’t let go.

Not even when his fist unclenches and he slowly turns his hand over.

Not when he laces his fingers through mine and returns the pressure.

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” I suggest. “That way, you can let off steam without anyone seeing you. I have beer, wine, and a bottle of Absolut I’ve been saving for the right occasion. I think this is it.”

“I think so too. Thanks.”

We get to my apartment ten minutes later, and he doesn’t say a word as we take the elevator up to the fourth floor. I have a spacious one-bedroom with a little den I use as a reading nook. There are one-and-a-half baths, a balcony I spend a lot of time on in the summer, a gas fireplace that’s wonderful in the winter, and beautiful views of the city. It’s probably a little pricey for the size, but there’s secure parking, a gym, and it’s central to everywhere I need to go.

“This is nice,” Blake says as I turn on the lights.

“Thanks. I love it. I’m saving to buy something, but this is L.A., and I can’t afford anything I want to live in.”

He nods. “Yeah, Phoenix prices are high too. I don’t know that I’ll ever afford a house unless I leave hockey.”

“What would you do if you did?”

“Go back to school.”

“ Back to school?” I ask in confusion.

He sighs. “Yeah. I didn’t finish.”

“You didn’t finish… college?”

He shakes his head. “My junior year was a shit show, and I was on probation for my senior year. By the time we got to the second semester, I was thinking about hockey, finally making some money… I needed four classes for my degree, but like a dumbass, I didn’t do it.”

“Oh, Blake. I had no idea.” I walk into the kitchen and dig out the bottle of vodka. “I have cranberry juice and orange juice. Or you can drink it straight.”

“Let’s do cranberry,” he says.

I pull out two tumblers, add a couple of pieces of ice, and then a good pour of vodka. I top them off with a little cranberry and hand him one.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes. “Fuck, it’s been a long day.”

“Come on. My balcony is relaxing. Let’s talk out there.” I lead the way and we settle on the two cushioned chairs.

“I’d be out here a lot if I lived here,” he says, staring out at the view.

“I am,” I say. “It was one of two reasons I leased the place.”

“What’s the other one?”

“Well, there were several reasons, but I love having the balcony and the fireplace. There’s also a gym, I have my own parking spot, and it’s very safe.”

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe,” he says quietly, finally looking at me. “I know you can take care of yourself, but any woman who lives alone needs a modicum of security. The world can be a scary place.”

“That it can.” I relax into the chair, the adrenaline from the game finally starting to drain out of me.

“What’s the real reason you’re single, Ro?” he asks out of nowhere. “I’m not being a jerk, I’m really curious. There has to be more to it than just being busy and career-focused. You’re beautiful, educated, have a good job, and you seem as sweet as you always were.”

That’s a hard question to answer.

For so many reasons.

“I guess it’s a lot of things,” I admit. “Guys in L.A. can be so pretentious. Everyone is an aspiring something. Actor, model, producer, screenwriter, musician. No one is just…an accountant. Or a teacher. I mean, I’m sure they exist, but I haven’t met any. And the rest of it is that I am genuinely and truly busy. I travel with the team. On game days I work sixteen to eighteen hours. On regular days it’s at least an eight-hour day, longer if there are meetings.”

“And you’ve never met a guy on the team? This team or the baseball team you worked for?”

I grimace. “When I was working for the baseball team, I was young and trying to prove myself. I didn’t need to get a rep for dating players. And here on the Phantoms, the no fraternization clause in my contract makes it kind of moot.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Ms. Barrowman is married to Gabe.”

“Yeah, it probably doesn’t apply to the person who makes the rules. Hell, we probably shouldn’t be fraternizing now either.” I give him an impish grin.

“I don’t think that means you can’t have friends.”

“No, I don’t think so either.” I take another sip of my drink and realize it’s almost empty. “Ready for another?”

“Absolutely.”

We make two more drinks together and then go back outside.

“You know, if we take into account that whole thing about getting married before we were thirty,” he says, chuckling, “we’re almost out of time.”

“Wellll…” I make a playful face. “I couldn’t marry a guy with a micro-penis.”

He laughs. “Now, you of all people, know that’s not true.”

“Oh, please. I was sixteen when we started sleeping together. I didn’t know a micro-peen from a microchip.”

We both dissolve into laughter. “You may need a reminder, sweetheart.”

I swallow, suddenly stone-cold sober.

That’s the last thing I need.

And yet, my body is on alert, as if it remembers all the things about Blake I’ve tried so hard to forget.

His strong, muscular body.

Deep, passionate kisses that were never sloppy, not even at fifteen.

The look in his eyes every time he was inside me.

Sweet Jesus, this has to stop.

“I think that would count as fraternization,” I say as lightly as I can.

“You’re probably right. But it sure would be fun.”

I can’t even argue the point.

Because it would.

Sex with Blake was always fun.

Always satisfying.

Something I can’t say about the other men I’ve been with since him.

“Do you ever think about… us?” he asks, his voice so quiet it’s a little hard to hear.

“Sometimes, I guess,” I admit.

Why lie?

We were together a long time, even though we were young. We were each other’s first everything. Maybe not kissing, but intercourse, oral, all the serious stuff.

And we did it all.

We had no idea what we were doing, but we did it anyway. At least, the things we knew about.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” I ask after a moment.

And he knows exactly what I mean.

“No. Not even close.”

“Then why?” I ask. “Why did you have to… throw away what we had?”

“Because I had to know what else was out there. I had to be sure you were the one.”

“By sleeping with other women?”

“Sleeping with them, talking to them, getting to know them. All I knew was you. And by the time I realized there would never be anyone better, anyone I could love more, it was too late.”

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

I don’t know what he’s trying to say, but it is too late.

Isn’t it?

“Ro?”

“Hmm?” I turn to find him leaning over, so close we’re almost touching.

“I want to kiss you.”

And I want that too.

So much it almost hurts.

I know it’s a mistake.

But one night—to erase the pain and hurt and bad memories—isn’t the worst idea in the world.

“It can only be one time,” I whisper.

“I know.” His eyes are practically burning into mine.

“Kiss me, Blake.”