Perfect Love (Perfect Series Book 2)

by Amanda Cowen

  “Thank God,” she sighs, and I hear the exhaustion in her words.

  I’m not sure I’ve fully appreciated how difficult hiding our relationship must have been for her, to balance what she sees as her responsibility to me and to her internship and her education and even her father. I imagine it must feel like being pulled in every direction.

  “I know this changes everything. I am so ready to be with you. I just . . . I don’t want you to be punished by your family for being with me.”

  She laughs into my neck. “My father is going to freak. There is no doubt about that. Lyndsey is going to think I’m nuts. But I don’t care. I’m so not impulsive or reckless in my decisions, but it feels good to finally do what I want.” She traces a finger along my chest. “I can’t believe I kissed you in front of the cameras and then posted a selfie of us on Instagram.”

  I lean down and kiss her forehead.

  Her finger stills and she looks up at me. “All I wanted was the world to know how much I love you and believe in you. I want to be good to you.”

  “I want to be good to you too.”

  Our kisses between the sheets, and with her body coiled tight and sweet, sucking me in, everything else slips away. Quinn’s mine and I am hers. Her scent and the sounds she makes cloud my brain and make my thrusting erratic and hard. She’s panting, moaning, drenched, and pulling me deeper inside her. Her legs clamp around my hips and she flips me over with a laugh, riding me with her back arched away and her head thrown back, fingers digging in my abdomen, anchoring herself in me.

  Her skin shines, and I sit up underneath her, needing to feel the slide of her chest over mine as she slithers and slides. I push her back again, hovering over her once more this time with her legs on my shoulders and her mouth quivering as she struggled to find words.

  Her nails dug into my back and I hiss, telling her “I love you” and “yes” and wanting her to mark me, to leave something that will still be there tomorrow when she has to leave for Boston again.

  She comes once, and then again, and I pull at her hair, looking at her wild and untamed. I collapse on her, incoherently stringing words together as I come, trying to tell her what we both already know: that whatever happens outside of this room is irrelevant.

  Chapter 18

  Quinn

  Cash takes a nap while I clean his condo. With spring break coming to an end and me having to leave for Boston tomorrow morning, I want to make sure his place is spotless and his cupboards are full. With one final swipe along the countertop, I try to download every memory of this week. I try to enjoy the last few hours of ocean breeze and Cash’s soft snores carrying across the condo as he sleeps. I think about how far we’ve come and how fate brought us back together.

  When I pull open a cupboard, at least five empty whiskey bottles tumble out around my feet and onto the floor. What the…? My heart feels like a wild drum beneath my ribs.

  He’s been drinking.

  He’s been drinking excessively and hiding it from me. Sure, I’ve smelled whiskey on his breath on two separate occasions, but I thought those were isolated incidents. I didn’t realize it was this bad. The thought of him turning to alcohol again is painful—no, unbearable—when he could be turning to me. It makes me choke inside.

  I feel my face flame with anger, and I stumble back to the kitchen table, suddenly feeling like there isn’t enough oxygen anywhere. I stare at the empty bottles lying in front of me and somehow manage to pick them up and stuff them back into the cupboard.

  Why does it feel like my stomach has dropped out, leaving nothing but a hole filled with acid?

  I am reeling. My heart splinters into a thousand pieces. Realizing he’s still suffering with his addiction tells me he’s clearly not okay. His drinking is worse than I ever thought or expected. I blink and wipe my eyes as if I have something in it, and not as if I am about to break down on the kitchen floor. He’s given me so many chances to walk away, and I’ve been so sure of making us work that I didn’t even comprehend why he would want to push me away. He’s been struggling with his demons. Apparently, I’ve been so blinded with what I wanted, I never took the opportunity to appreciate that he’s been suffering silently too.

  I know what I have to do.

  My stomach twists anxiously.

  If there is one thing I’ve learned falling in love with Cash, it’s that you don’t ever turn your back on someone you love. You fight for them. You push them to be their best. And you definitely don’t let them fall.

  ___________

  I timed it perfectly. Greg Callohan, former NHL player and one of my father’s closest friends, was driving in from San Diego to meet us for dinner. Because it was my last night in Santa Anna, Cash and I decided we would keep our tradition alive but switch it up by going out for Chinese instead of ordering in.

  No sense in hiding out in his condo now that the world knows we are together, including Lyndsey. She didn’t hesitate to call me this afternoon after she saw the article. She told me my photo was even posted to the NHL Players/Girlfriends website. I thought Lyndsey would scold me and be angry like our father about the news, but she wasn’t. Instead she asked me if I was happy. And when I told her I was, she accepted my decision. I updated her on my plans to finish my semester at Harvard with the possibility of transferring to UCLA to be closer to Cash, and of course her, which made her ecstatic.

  When we arrive at Ling Lee’s Chinese Restaurant, Cash opens the entry door for me. As we walk inside my heart beats like a drum in my chest. I survey the restaurant for Greg, but he’s nowhere to be found. I nervously chew on my bottom lip as Cash follows behind me with his hand on my lower back. The hostess seats us at a table for four in the back corner.

  Cash opens up a menu and says, “Should we order the usual or should we go rogue on your last night?”

  I smile at him trying to ignore the twisting pain in my chest, knowing Cash will not be pleased with what I’ve arranged tonight. He sits across from me, eyes penetrating my calm exterior. Where on earth is Greg?

  “Well?” he asks, as he lifts a hand and runs it through his hair, completely ruining the pathetic styling job he attempted.

  “Let’s go rogue,” I say, letting out a tense breath.

  Over Cash’s shoulder, I catch a glimpse of a tall, broad man walking into the restaurant. Greg is here.

  The waitress approaches our table, and even though I know she’s speaking to me I can’t speak. Greg quickly spots us, gives me a wave and walks toward our table. He looks like he lost weight, and although he is neatly dressed and clean-shaven, his clothes hang all wrong on his tall frame. He looks much different than I remember him from when I was a teenager, but I also know he’s been through a lot these past ten years.

  “Is there another person joining you?” the waitress asks as Greg appears behind her.

  I swallow, looking away to the wall and beg my emotions to stay bottled up. “Yes, he will be joining us. Can you please give us a few extra minutes?”

  The waitress nods and walks away.

  Cash cranks his head in Greg’s direction with a scowl on his lips. “Greg Callohan?” His glare shoots back to me, unimpressed. “Quinn, what is going on here?”

  “Cash…” I stand up and shift my eyes between him and Greg. “This is Greg. He used to play with my father in the NHL.

  “I know who he is.” His voice is cold. “What I don’t know is what he’s doing here.”

  “I invited him.” I gesture for Greg to take the seat next to me. “He is here to have a chat with you.”

  “Quinn, seriously?” he asks, his voice low and demanding.

  I don’t let his tone affect me and I continue on with what I set out to do. What I know is right. “Greg, this is my boyfriend, Cash Brooks.”

  “Yes, a legend in his own right.” Greg leans across the table and shakes Cash’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Quinn, you should've told me you invited someone to dinner with us.” Cash runs his hand acro
ss his mouth.

  “She’s been a little worried about you,” Greg interrupts. “Says you've been having some troubles. Told me she found a stock pile of empty whiskey bottles in your kitchen cupboard today.”

  “Are you kidding me? No. Um, I'm fine.”

  The lump in my throat seems to spread both down and out, clogging my ability to breathe, pressing down against my stomach. “Cash. Please. You keep on telling me you choose me. But what I need is for you to choose you first this time.”

  He winces, leaning back in his chair.

  I’ve experienced a million emotions in the past six months. Plenty of anger, some regret, frequent guilt, and a steady hum of self-righteous pride. But I realize Cash needs me, and I need to be the one to confront him about cleaning up his act. He knows I’m right, even if he doesn’t want to face his demons. Because he loves me, I know he will respect me for inviting Greg to speak with him.

  “Quinn invited me because she’s worried about you. She was hoping we could talk a little bit. I’m sure you’re aware of how my NHL career ended years ago.”

  Cash looks over at me. “I can get back on track without your help, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. But maybe you need a little help. A little reminder.” I push the words past the wall of heartbreak in my throat. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have to not reach out and touch him. “I know you’re trying. But when I found those empty bottles I panicked. I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow. I can’t leave knowing you are still struggling. I won’t let you end up like my mom.”

  He considers this, eyes moving over my face. A muscle in his jaw twitches, a telltale sign I’ve struck a chord.

  “Everyone needs a little help now and then, right?” Greg asks. “If you could do this on your own, don't you think you probably would've done it by now?”

  Cash swallows hard, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  “I remember watching you play when you first were drafted to the Tornadoes. I remember thinking I hadn’t seen real talent like yours in a long time.”

  Straightening, Cash says, “You did not.”

  “Yes, I did,” Greg replies. “It was only a few years before you started playing that my career ended. I wished I hadn’t picked my addiction over the pros. Watching you made me miss the game.”

  “But for Greg it was already too late,” I pipe up. “He let his addiction define him and ruin his career.”

  “Quinn, do you think you'd do me a favor and, uh, see if you can find the waitress?” Greg narrows his eyes at me. “And when you find her, can you ask her to bring us some water. Please and thank you.”

  I swallow down about five thousand different reactions. The primary one is irritation, for shooing me away when I’m the one who invited him here. I look across the table at Cash, and he nods. I shift my eyes between the two of them and then push back from the table. But after I round the corner leading to the washrooms, I stop to purposely eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “Cash, I don't even know what I need to say, all right? I can't promise you what's going to happen if you get clean. But unfortunately, I know exactly what's going happen if you don't.”

  “I don't mean to be like this.” Cash sighs.

  “I know that. I know a really good place, Cash.”

  There is a heavy silence until Cash speaks again. “Those places don't work for me.”

  “That's exactly what I said till one of 'em did. Cash, listen to me. You have a woman who loves you, and I know to you it looks like she's up on top of the world, but that girl is hurting, and she needs you. She might not know it, you might not know it, but she needs you and she needs you bad and she needs you clean. You understand that? She doesn’t need another person like her mother in her life to let her down. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Goosebumps break out along my skin. His simple response rocks me. He isn’t fighting, he isn’t denying, but he says exactly what I need to hear. He might not know I’m listening, but he’s made me so incredibly relieved and filled with hope.

  “Cash, I do care what happens to you,” Greg assures him.

  “But you barely know me. What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing. I want you to get clean. Why would you think I want something from you?”

  “Everybody I know, except Quinn, wants something from me, so…”

  “That's a sad way to live.”

  “Yeah, well, it may be sad, but it's true,” Cash says.

  “You know, not everybody wants something from you. And if you think they do, well, maybe you need to spend some more time by yourself, you know? All these issues you got with what happened to your brother and mother and this so-called wife of yours…it’s time to forgive yourself and move on. Not only for you, but for Quinn.”

  I can feel tears forming in my eyes, and I blink them back before I rejoin them. “What about me?” I ask and take the seat in the empty chair beside Cash.

  He quirks an eyebrow and watches me for a moment before he slides his hand over top of mine. Just his simple touch causes my stomach to jump.

  “Nothing,” Greg says. “Were you able to find the waitress?”

  “No, I didn’t…” Instinctively, I relax when I look up at Cash’s affectionate grin. “Did you guys have a good chat?”

  “We did.” Cash’s eyes soften, and he reaches out and pushes a strand of hair behind my shoulder. “Thanks for introducing me to Greg.”

  “So?” I ask.

  “Greg was about to recommend a few good treatment centers.”

  Chapter 19

  Cash

  Cash Brooks Is Not the Only One Suffering

  When Cash Brooks suffered a blow in Boston that took him out of the game, his absence was met with frustration and disappointment. With a severe concussion as his diagnosis, fans are wondering if Brooks is now damaged goods. Already dropped down to the AHL last season for continual misconduct and suspected substance abuse, Brooks was given a second shot in the pros only seven months ago. It’s rumored the NHL’s patience with Brooks is wearing thin, and when a team is frustrated with a player, other teams in the league know about it. And since Brooks has been off, he’s been rumored to have been using substances again. Santa Anna Tornadoes General Manager claims Brooks inability to change shows a lack of character and judgement, and he has made his disappointment in Brooks clear. However, news broke Monday night that Brooks has entered Stage Two of the NHL-NHLPA joint Substance Abuse and Behavioral Health Program.

  This isn’t the first time Brooks has gotten into trouble off the ice. Only six months after his debut in the NHL, Brooks was admitted to a treatment facility for substance abuse. On the ice, Brooks has been a notoriously frustrating player. Blessed with size, speed and skill, Brooks is the total package but has come nowhere close to realizing his potential. When he is on his game, he is a dominant player using all his tools to be effective. However, on many nights, he has been invisible.

  With Brooks entering rehab, he is currently suspended without pay and can only play when doctors deem him fit enough to return. Recent news has linked Brooks to Quinn Ashby, the daughter of Hilton Ashby, the Tornadoes President. Quinn Ashby is suspected to be the reason Brook’s is finally seeking help. The smart and cute Harvard grad student is rumored to be a positive influence and his biggest supporter. Brooks is still a young man who has his entire life in front of him, and hockey will be waiting when he is ready. Hopefully, other players who are suffering will seek help too in the wake of Brooks’ situation.

  __________

  I’m detoxing now. No, I’m beyond detoxing. I’m absolutely out of my mind. My brain doesn’t work so well anymore. Hands? Shaking. Body? Aching. Head? Nauseated.

  I try to sit up on the bed and the sudden movement makes my head spin. I collapse on the hard mattress and stare up at the ceiling watching the fan whirling around above me. I’m trapped in this tiny room with nothing but a bed, toilet, and garbage can. I might as well be in jail. I’m stuck here, forced to
detox every ounce of alcohol out of my system.

  Time passes slowly. Painfully. There is a light at the end of the tunnel though. Once I’m clean, I’ll end up in the main rehab facility ready to finally battle my demons.

  __________

  A voice whispers my name from far, far away. Since I moved from detox to the facility, I haven’t left my bed in four days. I’m on a major downer. All I want to do is sleep. The voice whispers my name again. I crack open an eye and see my counselor, Trina, approaching my bedside.

  “Cash, Quinn is here to see you,” Trina says cheerily. “Would you like to meet with her downstairs?”

  “No. I don’t want her to see me like this.” My voice sounds far away. It doesn’t even sound like my voice.

  Jesus, I’m so miserable. Disgustingly, pathetically, miserable. Just the mention of Quinn has my stomach feeling queasy. Nausea sticks to my throat. I swallow. I breathe deeply.

  “She’s been here every other weekend to see you—”

  “I said I don’t want her to see me like this. Please get out. Tell her not to come back.”

  It’s painful—no, it’s unbearable—to send her away again. But I am not ready.

  “Cash, are you sure this is what you want?” Trina asks, cautiously.

  “No, of course not!” I’m struggling to breathe again. There’s no use in confiding in Trina right now. She can’t help me, not when I’m such a mess. I exhale, and the air seeps out in a weak puff. “I know she’s trying to be here for me, but it’s only making things worse. We agreed we are on a break. She needs to respect that.”

  Trina doesn’t respond. She nods and closes the door behind her.

  The last thing I wanted when I admitted myself was for Quinn to feel tied to me. What if I didn’t recover? What if I couldn’t defeat my addiction to be the man she deserves? The guilt was too much.