Tomorrow he’d think it all through properly. For now, he’d settle for eating some food before landing face down on whatever bed was in his new home.
Fuck, the steps to the front door looked such a long way off to his tired legs.
“Need a hand with those?” Karl stepped out of the house, wearing joggers and a Rush hoodie.
“Does it make me a pussy if I say yes?”
Karl slapped him on the shoulder. “Quite a night, huh? When I left you after the All-Star break last month, I thought I wouldn’t get to see you until the postseason.”
He huffed out a laugh and walked with Karl to his luggage. There were four huge cases and an equipment bag perched on the curb where the limo driver had left them.
Between them, they dragged everything up the driveway.
“You didn’t need to stay awake.”
Karl shrugged. “I’m not usually in bed until three. What’s an extra hour or two? And there’s no game tomorrow. Just practice to get you integrated into the team.”
“What time are we headed in?”
Anders dragged the cases into the entrance hall, and Karl did the same. “Eleven. I’ll save the celebration for tomorrow. Sarah insisted I give you a—and I quote—full tour of this beautiful, neoclassical home to make sure you know where everything is. But, pysen, the key is on the table in the hall, I stocked the fridge with a bunch of shit, and the bedding in the last bedroom down the hallway upstairs is ours, to tide you over until you can get your own. I’ll be over at ten to head in.”
Anders laughed at the affectionate nickname Karl had always used, uncertain what the equivalent would be in English. Runt, maybe.
Anders threw his arm around his brother. Hugging him briefly was just about the only thing that felt stable and familiar right now. “Tack, brorsan,” he said, forgetting to thank him in English.
He watched Karl jog down the drive, then he shut the door. The house was neutral and calm, just like he’d wanted. An art deco style cabinet sat on a pale white marble tiled floor. The mirror above it told him what he’d suspected. He looked like shit. Anders pulled the beanie off his head and ruffled his hair.
Lights were on throughout the house, and he found his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and sighed with pleasure to find it full as Karl had promised.
After a quick but hearty meal of precooked chicken and quinoa salad, he dragged his cases up the stairs. They were filled with personal items he didn’t want to wait for, like books he was in the middle of reading, and clothes that fit the league’s mandated dress code of suits, shirts, and ties. Two cases held other clothing, shoes, sneakers, and coats.
He found the large bedroom painted in shades of the palest gray with a large window and white doors that led out onto a balcony. The gray linen curtains swished as he closed them. The bed was just a few feet away and thankfully large enough to fit his frame. Anders pulled his hoodie and T-shirt over his head in one smooth move, ignoring the whiff from his armpits. He kicked off his boots, shucked his jeans, underwear, and socks, and threw back the covers.
The feel of fresh, cool linen made him groan as he reached for the light switch.
Darkness flooded the room as he closed his eyes.
Denver.
It hadn’t been on his list of places to return to anytime soon. When he’d boarded the plane back to Phoenix after Karl’s wedding, he’d had no idea the trade offer would happen.
Sometimes the universe showed you the path so clearly, you’d be a fool to not follow it. And other times, like now, the future seemed as clear as mud.
At least he had Karl, and a new job to show up to, a new coach to impress, a new manager to please. A new crowd to win over, although the hype of having both Berg brothers playing was already travelling through the Denver fans like wildfire.
And there was Olivia.
Just the very thought of her had his thoroughly exhausted body find a last bit of energy to send to his dick. He reached down and adjusted himself. He didn’t have the energy to get off right now, although the memories of the way she’d writhed against him, crying out his name, had fueled many of his ejaculations over the last month and a half. So much so that there hadn’t been any other women. She’d been his invisible support. He’d thought of her as he’d trained. There was something about the way she’d trusted him, been open with him. It was something he wished he could do more easily.
He closed his eyes and thought of the many ways she’d come apart in his arms in the seven hours they’d spent together. In the early morning, they’d dozed with their arms entwined around each other before waking and starting again. He’d coaxed another orgasm from her. A total of three.
He remembered the laughter in her voice when she’d confessed it was likely more orgasms than she had with a man in the last two years.
It had made him feel like a fucking king.
She had made him feel like a king.
The second time he’d woken up—by a call from his parents that they were waiting for him to head to Karl’s house to continue their Christmas celebrations—he’d been alone. She’d been true to her word that it was a one-night thing and had left no note of goodbye, no details of how to contact her, although had he truly wanted to, he knew he could have called the distillery.
It would have been easy to believe it had all been a wild dream if his sheets hadn’t smelled so thoroughly of her. Of her scent, of her desire.
And he hadn’t mentioned her to anyone. He hadn’t told Karl of his secret tryst. He’d told his parents a mix of game fatigue and travel had left him so exhausted he’d slept straight through his alarm. And he hadn’t told any of his teammates in their usual locker room banter.
She was his secret.
And she would remain that way because there was no way he was going to be tied to Denver.
Nothing had changed. The rules he had for himself were even more important now. He had a big opportunity to prove himself with a higher performing team, who he needed to gel with quickly. He couldn’t make a single false step. He had the opportunity to show interested teams how easily he could slide into another organization and make a difference.
And he hopefully wouldn’t be here for long. The East Coast beckoned. Teams with a better profile, with more chance of winning, in rebuilding years. A place where he could lead from the front, instead of Denver, where the roster was full.
In another universe, at another time, he might have reappeared in her life with a large bunch of flowers and a hello. An offer of dinner. A grand gesture if she required winning over. He’d do everything in his power to persuade her.
Olivia had captured a piece of him.
But there was too much time left on his clock before his free agency kicked in to let it just run out now. He needed to stay in the game that needed the most attention.
And that was on the ice, not off it.
No matter how much it burned him to find out how that other universe and time might have played out.
Sonder was such an odd word. Some people even debated whether it was a real word or not. Yet the word set every fiber of Olivia’s body alight. And as she walked along the crowded Denver sidewalk on the way back to her apartment from the coffee shop, she focused on the realization that often hit her in a gloriously profound way that always made her feel better. That every single person she passed on this murky afternoon lived a life that was just as complex and nuanced and difficult and fabulous as her own. Certainly, they were lives that belonged to people she would never get to know. She walked past the lady in her sixties with fabulous pink hair. And the stoner in acid wash jeans and a hoodie that had frayed at the edges.
Somehow, knowing this gave Olivia comfort that her life was not unique. That she hadn’t been singled out to live a life that felt half-mast at its best. There was no special reason why she no longer had any living parents. Plenty of others had experienced that. And depression hadn’t peered through the looking glass and picked her out of a lineup. Knowing t
hat the man rushing toward her with his cellphone to his ear, or the woman eating a late lunch in the deli, had a life as challenging as her own helped her keep her own monsters at bay.
She took a sip of her coffee and entered her apartment building, pausing to hold the door open for a delivery guy holding a large bouquet of red roses. While Olivia rolled her eyes at the lack of originality, deep in her heart was a pulse of envy. Nobody would be sending her anything today.
Valentine’s Day sucked.
It sucked giant chunks of cold, wet fish.
She pressed the button to the elevator, thinking of the work she’d been able to get done at the distillery. Sundays were a little quieter than during the week. Emerson had been in her office, and Jake had been running Dyer’s Medallion, their medal-winning gin, on all three stills. They had a deal on the weekends to pretty much leave each other alone.
Weekdays were fair game. Requests could be made, meetings could be held. Business was business. But weekend work was for getting ahead, for planning for the coming week, for getting some focus and quiet to work on their own parts of the business.
Beyond eating her salad with Emerson, when they’d discussed the latest episodes of their favorite podcasts, she’d spent the day alone with her work.
Once at her floor, Olivia walked to her apartment and opened the door. “Hello, lover,” she said loudly.
Natalie, her longtime friend and new roommate of six weeks, waved her spatula. “Making the sauce for lasagna for dinner. Want some?”
Pasta. Meat sauce. Melty blobs of mozzarella. Olivia knew she shouldn’t, but there was only so much willpower a girl could be expected to hold on to. “That would be amazing. Thank you. How was night shift?”
Natalie was a neonatal intensive care nurse. “Depressing. One of my babies is really struggling. I didn’t want to leave. Just in case, you know? That’s why I’m making comfort food.”
Yeah. And that was why Olivia was being indulgent, complaining about being stuck when there were such sick babies needing her friend’s care. Things could be so much worse.
Natalie was one of the friends she’d withdrawn from and one of the first she’d contacted when she’d felt a little better. Olivia had been living downtown when she’d gotten sick. Moving in with her father had helped keep her sane, but after his death, her siblings needed to sell his house, and by then, Olivia had felt the flickering of need to get back on her own two feet.
They’d met in high school and had clicked immediately, initially over the liberal use of color in both of their wardrobes, and later over decorating Natalie’s small but cheerful two-bedroom apartment. As adults, they shared a love of travel books and murder mysteries.
“You know what we need?” Natalie said, taking the pot off the heat. “A night out.”
Olivia groaned. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Everywhere is going to be full of loved-up people. It’ll be hard to get in anywhere.”
Natalie began to assemble the lasagna. “My brother’s best friend runs security at a club in LoDo, just off Larimer. He can put us on the guest list. We can just ignore the lovebirds and dance. And look at it this way, if the club is filled with couples, we won’t need to fight off as many gropey hands.”
Olivia laughed. “Wow. You make it sound like it will be so much fun.”
“It will be. Come on, we don’t need to stay out late. But I just finished nights, and staying up will help me right my schedule.”
“Fine. But just for a little while.”
It was nearly eleven when Olivia and Natalie stumbled into the club. A bottle of wine at home and a late departure had kept them from getting there sooner. A wall of warmth and a pounding bass hit Olivia’s chest as she felt the music flow through her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ventured into a night club, certainly not since the summer, and she was glad Natalie had talked her into stepping out.
“Do you want another drink?” Natalie shouted.
Olivia shook her head. Perhaps she’d already had one more than she should have, given it was Sunday night, but thankfully there were no events at the distillery tomorrow. She needed to stick to water for the rest of the evening unless she wanted a raging hangover.
“Let’s dance,” she said.
Almost immediately as they hit the dance floor, Natalie was dancing with a giant of a man . . . all beard and flannel. Hands the size of pizzas gripped Natalie’s hips. For all her comments about gropey hands, Natalie was a heat-seeking missile when it came to men who looked like lumberjacks.
Buoyed by the crowd, Olivia lifted her arms and swayed her hips in time to the music. It felt liberating. Nobody knew her. No one knew her story. She was just Olivia.
She glanced around the room, at couples dancing, guys laughing over a beer, girls watching from the balcony. There was obviously a private party going on upstairs . . .men in suits and women in . . .well, not a lot. She envied them for their easy body confidence and wished she could just as simply turn her own confidence back on.
Her wardrobe was filled with cute outfits she couldn’t comfortably fasten but fully intended to get back into. Tonight, she’d kept it simple. Dark jeans, heeled boots, and a black top that was sexy enough in the way it flattered her cleavage but covered her arms.
One woman in the shadows of the balcony wore a miniskirt and a top that was nothing more than a square of fabric with a complex assortment of strings across her back. She was long and lean with red hair that flowed like molten lava.
A man’s hand played casually with the strings. A broad hand. It was teasing, bordering on erotic, and Olivia suddenly became aware she was staring.
Just as she was about to tear her gaze away, the man stepped out of the shadows.
Anders.
Goddamn, if her heart didn’t splinter. She felt the pain as if he’d reached into her chest and squeezed the damn thing. He was just as handsome as she remembered. And the pair looked like the golden couple, the kind of couple she saw on the front page of a celebrity magazine when she waited in line to pay at the grocery store.
Her movements stopped, and she realized she was standing on the dance floor like a statue.
Move, Liv.
As if he heard her, he chose that moment to look over the dance floor, his eyes finding hers. The flashing lights of the nightclub made it hard to read his response, but she didn’t want to wait around to find out anyway.
She spun and grabbed Natalie. While playing it cool seemed impossible, she needed to try. At least until she could catch some air.
“What’s up?” Natalie said, leaning closer so she could hear.
“I’m just going to the restroom, and I’ll grab us a drink on the way back. What would you like?”
“Vodka tonic, please.”
Olivia fought her way through the tightly pressed bodies, and it was almost impossible to move, especially as the DJ took that moment to play a popular current hit. When she finally stepped off the dance floor, she took a breath and followed the sign toward the bathroom. A few more steps and she could compose herself, not that it would matter. Anders was clearly busy upstairs with a woman who was way more in his league than she was.
“Hey, Olivia.” Anders’s voice carried toward her. She heard the gasp in his breath; he’d obviously raced to reach her.
She could pretend she didn’t hear. Suddenly exhausted, she wasn’t ready to see him or talk to him.
“Olivia.” A hand reached for hers and she slipped her fingers from his grasp.
Shit. It’ll be okay, Liv. Just talk to him.
As she turned, she prayed she could trust her gut.
“Goddamn, Olivia. Wait.”
Anders needed to explain. Apologize. Fuck, he didn’t know what he needed to do. How could he explain the complex feeling in his gut that she’d be his kryptonite?
His team had won tonight, a crucial game that finally pulled them ahead of the pack. It had been an ugly, dragged out fight. In the last four days, he’d shifted state, team, home, and
job. He’d played two games. The first he’d had minimum impact in, the second he’d made more of an impression with a play that had led to a goal. The press had loved that and was debating the larger impact he could have in the league, and how he had the goods to help Denver make the playoffs.
But all thoughts of the success went out of the window when he’d seen Olivia’s face look up at him from the dance floor. Since his return, he’d compartmentalized her, locked her in a box not to be opened. She was his fucking Pandora’s box.
He’d followed her down the club’s dark corridor that led toward the bathrooms. Reaching for her had been easy. Dealing with her snatching her hand away was something altogether different.
Olivia stopped but didn’t immediately turn around. He saw her shoulders straighten and her ribs expand as she took a deep breath, before she turned to face him.
“Hey, Anders,” she said, her voice too smooth. “Welcome back.”
Her smile was fake and he missed the real emotions and vulnerability she’d shared on Christmas Eve. The way she’d put her trust in him, the way she handed over her body to his care, had cranked him up so fucking high. Right now, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Oh, good. Fine. You?”
“I got traded to Denver.”
Her eyes flashed wide, the first genuine response he’d seen from her. It probably meant he was a heartless dick enjoying her reaction, even though there was nothing he could do about it.
“Congratulations. You’ve obviously settled in easily enough.” She glanced in the direction of the balcony.
Karl’s wife had brought her friend Sophie with her as a setup. A rocking body and meaningless conversation had seemed the perfect way to spend the evening celebrating his performance on the ice. And, fuck, he needed somewhere to put the adrenaline and testosterone that still flooded his veins.
Love In Moments: An opposites attract hockey romance (Love Distilled Book 2) Page 5
