Breakout

by Elise Faber

  Then when she spun toward him, outrage filling her expression, he shoved her coffee into her hand.

  Dirty chai, extra cinnamon.

  He knew because he knew her, because he’d made it his business to know everything about her that he could discover, and also because he’d been biding his time for years, and now that she’d seen him, cried in his arms, shared a meal with him, he wasn’t going to let her go.

  “Kevin,” she snapped, and he bit back a smile.

  Snapping meant she felt something.

  Feeling something was good. Feeling something was fucking great.

  “Give me back my bag.”

  He turned and headed for the arena, leaving Rebecca no choice but to follow. After a moment and a significant amount of additional grumbling, he heard the click-click of her heels trailing him across the lot.

  “Kevin,” she hissed.

  He ignored her.

  She got more pissed.

  That was part of the plan.

  He wasn’t afraid of her anger. What terrified him was being dismissed as too young, too immature, too insignificant. So, provocation. Not allowing her to ignore him and to keep pushing her until the distance she kept trying to keep between them disappeared.

  Then he’d deal with why she’d shut down after he’d answered her question about wanting kids.

  Because he hadn’t missed that either, just as he hadn’t missed the longing in her expression when Mandy and Blane had brought their baby girl to meet the team, when Sara had announced she was pregnant, when Max’s son came to the rink.

  They were intertwined, he knew that.

  But he had to push her past her fear, past that distancing armor before she would trust him enough to spill.

  So he wasn’t going anywhere, and he’d keep biding his time.

  And it was going to work. Fuck. It had to work.

  He held open the door to the rink, ignoring the fire in her eyes as she stalked by him and down the hall to her office. Fine by him, especially since it allowed him a glimpse of that glorious ass. Encased in a pencil skirt and paired with heels that had slinky straps wrapping around her ankles, she was fucking incredible.

  “Stop looking at my ass, Hayes.”

  More sharp words, and it probably said something was fucked with his brain because he couldn’t deny how much he liked them.

  “Stop strutting that fucking beautiful thing in front of me, and I’ll consider it.”

  Was it possible for chocolate to turn to ice?

  If so, Rebecca had that shit down.

  Eyes narrowed, she stomped back to him, getting close, getting real close, close enough that his dick got hard. Perpetual problem with this woman. But, figuring he’d pushed her far enough, he let her snatch her bag from his shoulder and didn’t say anything when she flounced away.

  At least, he didn’t say anything until she’d reached the door to her office.

  Then he said, “See you later, baby.”

  “No fucking—”

  He turned for the locker room before she saw him smile. That, he knew instinctively, would push her past her breaking point, and he didn’t want to end up with one of those sexy as shit heels chucked at his head.

  “—way.”

  But he couldn’t resist adding, “Later, sweetheart.”

  A door slamming closed was his only response.

  He strode in to join his teammates, a wide ass grin on his face.

  The first pre-season game had finally come, and because it was pre-season and just one game in L.A., Rebecca wouldn’t be traveling with them.

  Kevin had to admit it was probably to avoid him.

  He was the only one of the major names on the team—and what a mindfuck that was, him being a major name—but the point was that he would be playing mostly with rookies and third and fourth liners. The guys still trying to earn their spots.

  But he’d specifically asked for a few extra games, knowing it helped him hit the regular season full bore and luckily for him, Bernard was a good coach and had accommodated Kevin’s request. Eighty-two games was a long ass season, especially in a high contact sport like hockey, but he knew his body, his training routine, knew it was better for him to gear up slowly rather than jump in at warp speed.

  Not sure that would make sense in anyone’s head but his own. Still, Bernard had okayed it so long as Mandy watched his progress.

  So, he was in Los Angeles, and Rebecca was in San Francisco, and she probably thought that his plan, fine, his pursuit he’d continued over the last two weeks, would be on hiatus.

  However, she didn’t consider his wingman.

  Or men.

  Or rather, wingwomen.

  Brit and Sara had his back.

  Hence, the text he’d received just as he walked out of his room heading down to the hotel lobby to get on the bus.

  You are relentless.

  From a number he didn’t have programmed into his phone, but he didn’t need to because his gut, his brain . . . his heart knew it was from Rebecca.

  I’m not the relentless one, Red.

  Two minutes passed, during which time he got onto the elevator, got off the elevator, strode across the lobby to the bus, and took his spot at the back.

  No longer a rookie and as a representative “old guy,” he got to ride in the back.

  Yup, it was like elementary school with the cool kids at the back of the bus, but since he was one of the cool kids, it was a little easier to swallow. Plus, there was always a hierarchy, even with the Gold, where there wasn’t any hazing or competitiveness or huge egos. That was sports, that was men, that—

  He mentally heard Brit calling bullshit on the men part and grinned then typed out another text.

  Have dinner with me.

  Nothing, for long enough that he’d given up on a response, had popped in his headphones and turned on his playlist (sans boy bands), before his cell vibrated.

  Will you stop pestering me if I do?

  Fuck, that shouldn’t make him grin, but damn if it didn’t.

  Nope.

  A beat.

  How was your dirty chai?

  His phone vibrated almost immediately.

  Wonderful. But Brit’s shit-eating grin wasn’t.

  And your croissant?

  Nothing. Then,

  Sara is equally as bad.

  He bit back a chuckle.

  So dinner?

  Kev could almost hear her exasperated sigh, but when she didn’t respond, he sent just one more text before turning his phone to airplane mode.

  Enjoy your lunch. See you tomorrow, baby.

  And because he’d switched his cell to airplane mode, he didn’t get her response until much later.

  Lunch?

  Kevin. You’d better not have arranged lunch.

  You are in so much fucking trouble.

  Then the one that gave him hope, along with the knowledge that it was time to go to the next step of his plan.

  Thank you.

  That little bit of vulnerable underbelly peeking out from beneath steely armor.

  Soft Rebecca.

  The fucking best.

  Thirteen

  Rebecca

  It happened while she was still trying to find the courage to leap.

  The text. The constant buzz-buzz of her cell as social media notifications came through.

  And through.

  But she was focused on an important project for the team, needed to put the finishing touches on it before she could deal with whatever fire was at her doorstep.

  Then her phone rang.

  Her office line.

  The one that never rang because everyone just called her cell.

  Frowning, she reached for the receiver the same moment as she unlocked the screen on her mobile and began scrolling through notifications.

  Her mouth couldn’t form words, her mind went blank, her heart squeezed tight and shattered into a million pieces. Someone was talking frantically in her ear, but she cou
ldn’t distinguish any of the words.

  The top news story on her feed read:

  Gold plane has engine failure.

  She dropped the receiver of her landline to her desk and clicked the article on her screen, reading it as quickly as she could and yet, only absorbing a few heartrending words.

  A bird strike . . . emergency landing for the Gold . . . engine failure . . . no contact . . . story still developing . . .

  Rebecca didn’t think.

  Couldn’t process anything except for the phone ringing after she’d selected Kevin’s number.

  It rang and rang, but he didn’t pick up.

  She hung up. Called again.

  More ringing. More voicemail.

  Hang up. Redial.

  Hang up. Redial

  Hang up. Redial.

  “Fuck,” she whispered over and over. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Hang up—

  Her cell rang before she could redial.

  “Hello?” she answered, eyes so blurry with tears she couldn’t see who was calling.

  “Baby.”

  She slid from the edge of her office chair to the floor.

  Kevin.

  “We’re okay,” he said.

  Her breath was labored. “O-okay.”

  “Baby.” Firmer this time. “We’re all okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

  She shook her head. She was nowhere near okay. She was bleeding out, terrified beyond reason, scared of losing him and . . . scared of never having had him at all.

  “You’re okay,” she whispered.

  “I’m okay,” he said again and the first notes of panic in his tone had her mind clearing, instinct having her blurt out, “Plane crash or not, I’m still not going to dinner with you.”

  Silence.

  Then laughter caressed her ears through the airwaves. “Baby,” he murmured. “I like you so fucking much.”

  Her reply of “I know,” got her another laugh before she managed to whisper, “I need to go.” Her cell was buzzing in her ear, a knock sounded at the door, and when she managed to find shaky feet and hang up her office line, it immediately began ringing again.

  “I know, baby,” he told her. “Just . . . we’re all okay, all right?”

  She nodded though he couldn’t see.

  “Bus is here to take us to a hotel,” he added. “I need to get on it.”

  “Okay,” she said, walking to her door, resting her palm on the handle when another knock sounded. “Kevin?” she asked before he hung up.

  “Yeah, sweetheart?”

  “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

  A beat then, “Me too.”

  They hung up, she took a moment to steady herself, and then because she was Rebecca Fucking Stravokraus, she straightened her shoulders, opened her door, and got to work handling the media circus that had just surrounded the Gold.

  But even as she worked, even as she juggled a million different balls, the words in her father’s letter kept coming back to her.

  Be brave. Take that leap.

  Don’t play it safe.

  Maybe once, she would have taken the engine failure as a sign to stay away from Kevin, to insulate herself against the pain of knowing that she could someday lose him. But . . . he was already in.

  The risk of pain was already there. Her reaction to the news story had made that quite clear.

  He’d snuck past her steel armor and barbed wire and was in. Deep.

  Be brave.

  Take that leap.

  Don’t play it safe.

  That tendril of hope in her heart grew, morphing, expanding into something tangible, something she was desperate for. Hope into determination into . . . courage.

  Rebecca thought that perhaps she was finally ready to leap.

  Or, at the very least, she might finally be ready to take Kev up on his offer of dinner.

  She’d learned to glance down before exiting her office.

  She’d learned this after stepping right into a lovely lemon tart with fresh raspberries on it several weeks before. Her heel had gone straight through the box and she’d almost broken an ankle right there in the hall. Her intern—the one she hadn’t fired because he was a fuck boy but had kept around because he’d done really good work—had almost busted a rib to keep from laughing, and she’d promptly seen red, scooped up the box, then had stormed into the locker room with the smooshed box in her arms.

  Then had ignored the various states of undress—and there were a lot of states of undress since she was on the team side of the room and hadn’t entered the media area—to deposit the mangled tart right in Kevin’s lap.

  Thus acquiring him more wingmen.

  An entire team’s worth.

  The boys and Brit had all banded together to help Kevin on his quest to drive her absolutely insane.

  “Just put him out of his misery already,” Brit had cajoled the last time she’d been to dinner with her friends, “and go out with him.”

  Stefan had nodded. “He’s a good guy.”

  “Plus, he’s hot. Those eyes. Those abs,” Mandy had said on a sigh, earning her a glare from Blane, who merely told Rebecca that, “A guy doesn’t go through so much effort for someone unimportant.”

  “He’s brought you coffee and breakfast every day for a month, got it to you even when you weren’t traveling with the team,” Mike had said, ticking the items off on his fingers as he spoke. “Plus, he’s walked you to and from your car every day he was here, found out about your sweet tooth and your love for prickly little cactuses”—of which she now had quite an extensive collection, and it had become something the team had given her no end of teasing about—“And that’s not even mentioning the new bag.”

  Her heart had flopped over in her chest at the reminder of that bag.

  Stormy gray, just like his eyes, and absolutely beautifully constructed.

  And expensive.

  Way too expensive, but she hadn’t returned it, couldn’t bring herself to return it, not when it was so freaking perfect. It was Kevin. Lovely and gorgeous and intuitive and something she didn’t have but very much wanted. And so instead of excising him from her life, his gestures had sewn him in so tightly that she didn’t think she would ever be able to let him go.

  She’d resisted the urge to carry that bag for all of twenty-four hours.

  Then she’d transferred her stuff to into it and had found . . .

  Underwear.

  The slinkiest, sexiest pair of lacy fire engine red underwear she had ever seen.

  Underwear, she was wearing that very day.

  Because Kevin was sweet and thoughtful and kind, but he also had a wicked side . . . a wicked side she was desperate to ignore and even more desperate to explore. Hence, wearing the underwear. Hence, carrying the bag. Hence, standing on the precipice of laying it all on the table, telling him all of the dark secrets inside her and letting him decide if he really wanted all of her.

  Because she had the feeling that if she dove in with Kevin, it would be forever.

  Forever forever.

  So when she stepped outside her office and didn’t see a teeny cactus or a pastry box or a bouquet of flowers or a cup of coffee, her heart sank. The team was back from the road trip just that morning, but his absence hadn’t meant that his attention had waned. The gifts had kept coming, feeding the dredges of her courage, transforming them into something much grander.

  She was ready.

  The plane had made her see, to consider her life without him, and she knew the risk of losing him was far outweighed by the agony of having lived without ever truly having him in her life.

  So it was time to leap.

  But . . . no gift on her desk or outside her door. In fact, he’d been back for hours and she hadn’t seen or heard from him.

  So now her heart was more than sinking because if she were admitting the truth to the universe, the thought of no more Kevin, no more thoughtful gestures or quiet escorts or sweet text messages before sh
e went to bed was unbearable.

  Had the plane scare made him reconsider everything?

  No. That was ridiculous. He’d called, the packages had kept showing up during the remainder of the trip. Surely if he’d changed his mind, then that would have stopped.

  Rebecca looked down again, as though something might have magically appeared in front of her feet, glanced left and right, then opened the door to her office, scanning the space to see if she’d missed something on her desk. Nothing. And when she pulled out her phone, there were no texts on the screen.

  Nada.

  So now she had the sinking sensation that she’d worn out her welcome, ruined her chance with Kevin.

  It had taken her too long to gird her loins and jump.

  “So fucking stupid,” she muttered, shouldering her bag and pushing back out of her office door, grasping tightly to anger because the alternative was tears and she wasn’t going to allow herself to go down that route again. “Fucking dumb ass, idiotic, moron—”

  “Those are a lot of adjectives for stupid.”

  Her heart leaped, actually leaped in her chest.

  She shrugged, tried to play it cool even though her pulse was thundering, and her knees had actually gone weak with relief. Resting back against the wall and determinedly ignoring those wobbling body parts, she quipped, “Well, I’m pretty smart for an old broad.”

  Gray eyes went warm, all snuggly like a cozy sweater on a cold winter day. Or maybe like that sweater on a San Franciscan summer day where the fog crawled under the Golden Gate to gather between the buildings and block out the sun.

  “That’s the first time you’ve made a joke about your age,” he murmured, brushing his fingers down the outside of her throat.

  Her mouth turned up, relief at Kevin being there, the contact, him smiling down at her making her normally weak filter all but nonexistent. “That’s because I’ve finally decided that I’m okay being a cougar.”

  “Oh?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “There are some things we need to talk about, but if you’re okay with everything I tell you—”