by Mignon Mykel
Copyright © 2017 by Mignon Mykel
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a media retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this book, excepting of brief quotations for use in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Cover Design and Formatting: oh so novel
Editor: Jenn Wood, All About the Edits
All images have been purchased
Table of Contents
The First Year
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
The Second Year
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
The Third Year
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
The Fourth Year
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Fifth Year
Chapter Forty-Eight
Coming Soon
Author’s Note: This book picks up at the end of both Troublemaker and Breakaway. It is highly recommended to read at least Breakaway first, to obtain pieces of Asher’s history. However, due to the dark nature of Asher’s past, Altercation has been written in a way that you should be able to enjoy the duet, without the prequels.
This duet is also broken up into years—to further clarify, the years begin in late August/early September.
To the Ashers of the world:
You are worthy.
If I thought she was beautiful when I saw her walk in to Starbucks, this girl was fucking gorgeous up close.
And she was Avery’s friend. What were the frickin’ chances? I glanced over at Ace inquisitively before returning my gaze to the pretty girl in front of me.
I cleared my throat and finally offered my hand. “Porter.”
Her eyes—a psychedelic blend of greens and blues and even some red—shifted from my sister, to me, to my hand, then back to my eyes. Finally, she pulled a hand out from her jeans and put it in mine, squeezing once rather than shaking.
“Ge—Asher,” she stuttered.
The corner of my lips kicked up in a partial grin—and, I swear, an unintentional attempt at flashing the Prescott dimple—as I squeezed her hand back. “Nice to meet you, Ge-Asher.”
Her face flushed and she pulled her hand back.
“Sit down, you two!” Avery said, moving back to the seat she’d been in previously. I pulled out the chair next to me for Asher to sit as well, not sure if she would take it or go to the other side and sit by my sister.
Ace and I were close. Probably the closest of all our siblings.
She was older than me, but as hard as I tried to be the annoying little brother, she put up with me through the years. I couldn’t remember exactly when it happened, but Avery was nicknamed Ace because she was a freaking ace on the rink. At five-years old, she was surpassing the boys on the ice. She was probably the only female who was almost better than me at hockey.
Almost.
I sat down, not wanting to seem like I was waiting for Asher to sit, while all along I was incredibly drawn and focused in on her. From the corner of my eye, I took her in as she studied the chair—it wasn’t going to bite her—and her upper lip pushed out as, I assumed, she played with the backside of her Monroe piercing.
She was such a visual contradiction.
Her face was…sweet—there wasn’t any other word to describe it—with its soft bowing of her upper lip, the gentle dip in her chin, and her soft cheekbones, all set in a heart shape.
But then she had her piercings and tattoos. Both of her ears were pierced, nearly from top to bottom, with her right being pierced…
I counted four studs, as well as an inner-shell ear piercing and another along the upper crest.
Her left ear only had two studs in her lobe, but her tragus was pierced as well.
Add those to her beauty mark piercing in her upper lip and the swirl of colorful splashes on her right arm, and she should have a bad-ass look to her—not the unsure one that was all over her face.
Even after she sat in the chair beside me, she seemed unsure.
“We’re going to go to IKEA,” Avery announced, and I could feel Asher stiffen next to me. Avery directed her look to Asher. “Trust me, you’re going to want new furniture in the guest house. Who the hell knows what has happened on some of those surfaces.” Then my sister looked at me, her brows up. “Did you know that Kenna stayed there for a while, and when Parker came to sweep her off her feet, they didn’t leave for a week?”
Ken was my twenty-three-year old sister and Parker was her fiancé.
Parker also played for my dad in Beloit, which made his sleeping with McKenna a real big no-no but apparently, he hadn’t cared. Parker had a six-year-old daughter, Ella, who probably was welcomed into the family fold quicker than Parker himself had been.
“I don’t really want to know what Ken did in there for a week,” I answered.
“I can go to a hotel,” Asher spoke up. I hadn’t caught it when she introduced herself, but her voice, with its slight Southern drawl, had a raspy quality to it—like that woman who played Erin on Chicago P.D.
The type of voice that girls got when they were sick.
I didn’t think Asher was sick.
And it was fucking sexy as all get out.
Again, I found myself considering this girl next to me.
“You will not go to a hotel!” Avery said, picking up her mocha. “It’s semi my fault you’re stuck here.”
I frowned. “What do you mean by that?” I asked my sister.
“CJ rear-ended me over on 2nd street, and I pushed into Asher. All of our cars are ruined and Asher was headed…where were you headed?”
Asher shrugged beside me and her chin dipped as she considered the table. “I didn’t have an end destination.”
I turned in my chair, a leg on either side, and leaned into the table. Frowning, I asked Asher, “How do you know Avery?”
Avery knew Asher,
or she didn’t. This whole thing wasn’t adding up.
“Porter, leave the girl be.”
Asher lifted her chin. “I don’t.” She shrugged. “Know Avery,” she clarified. “Not really. We just met and I have nowhere to go.” She swallowed and I watched as her face hardened, her eyes darkening. “She offered me a place to stay, and then your mother insisted I take it too. Any more questions?”
Again, my half-grin kicked on my face at her show of attitude. Damn.
With a chuckle, I shook my head. “Nope. No more questions.” I turned back to the table and picked up my Frappuccino, sipping from the green straw. “You guys will need muscle at IKEA. I’ll come with.”
“You have a flight,” Avery said with a frown.
I waved off her concern and swirled the contents of my cup as I held it from the dome lid. “Rescheduled.” I shrugged. “For Sunday.”
I’d have to remember to do that.
And to get in touch with Nico, the teammate I was rooming with for the season.
I was drafted first round to South Carolina Rockets, an NHL team on the opposite coast from where my brothers played. It had been my goal throughout high school to become drafted to anyone other than San Diego, and when it happened, I had been fucking excited.
Where San Diego literally was family—my dad played for them for years, I grew up knowing the coaches, and both my older brothers played for them—South Carolina had a family-like aspect to them. They liked to pair rookies with senior players for the first year, and I got placed with Nico D’Amaco, a forward who hailed from his own family of hockey players.
I didn’t imagine we would chat about it over bonbons, but maybe he’d have some pointers for me.
“Mom was going to pick us up in a little bit and I was going to borrow Dad’s truck. You can drive,” Avery said, her blue eyes unwavering and steady on mine.
Ace was challenging me.
She knew I wasn’t the biggest fan of Dad’s truck.
I had gotten into an accident in it when I was sixteen and while it wasn’t a bad accident by any means, it still wasn’t my favorite vehicle to drive. For all intents and purposes, I should be more fearful to drive my new baby, a Honda CBR 1000 bike, or even the little sport car I’d been driving since sixteen—had I been in it during the accident, the end result would have been far worse—but there were some major negative connotations associated with Dad’s truck, and me in the driver’s seat.
“Fine, I’ll drive,” I caved. It was just a fucking truck.
Besides, as athletic as Avery was, these two could still use a man to help move some of the heavier furniture.
Just call me a gentleman.
“So, we’ll need to find you a couch, a bed—”
“I can’t afford this,” Asher cut in. Her face was drawn into a frown.
“Psh. Don’t worry about it. My parents will cover it. The furniture needs to be replaced anyway.”
I took out my phone to cancel the Uber I was going to take to the airport, while I talked to my sister and Asher. “You should probably talk about it to Mom and Dad first, before you go and spend their money.”
“Look, there’s Mom now,” Avery said and I glanced to the door where our mother was walking in.
“I wanted to say goodbye before you left,” Mom said.
Before coming to meet Avery for coffee, I stopped at the house and said goodbye to Dad, but Mom had been out. I now knew that it was because of Avery’s accident.
I stood and she wrapped her arms around my stomach. I could rest my chin on my her head these days—all us boys could. She cried the day I was no longer shorter than her. The memory made me chuckle.
“Don’t laugh, Porter Ashe Prescott!” Mom said, leaning back and hitting my stomach.
“I wasn’t laughing at you, Mom. Just thinking about something.”
“He’s not leaving today anymore. Rescheduled,” Avery cut in. Her fingers in air quotes, paired with the look she gave me, told me she didn’t believe my lie.
Oh well, wasn’t her lie to believe in.
“Ace wants to spend your money,” I told Mom, lifting my brows and challenging Avery to keep opening her mouth.
“Porter—”
Mom laughed and stepped away from my side. “One would never guess that you two are nineteen and twenty-one. My goodness.” Mom smiled down at Asher, still sitting in her chair. I watched as Asher scrambled to stand, her knee catching the table. I winced for her, even though it didn’t seem to faze her.
“How are you doing, Asher?” Mom asked her.
“I’m good.” She nodded a few times. “Really, I can find a hotel. Please don’t put yourselves out for me. There’s no sense in spending money on furniture for a person you don’t know.”
“Nonsense. It all needs to be replaced anyway. I think it’s been about ten years since it was last updated. Besides, I’m sure Avery wants to go to IKEA. We can afford an IKEA update. Were you guys ready to head to the house then?”
“Let’s do it,” Avery answered, and I picked up what was left of my Frappuccino to toss the cup. I headed the group of us toward the door, holding it open for Avery, my mom, and finally, Asher, as she walked through.
Following behind her, I took her in. Her shirt sleeves were now down, covering up the swirl of colors on her arm but that was okay. At the moment, I was fixated on her hair, the thick mass of wavy brown locks.
I rubbed my hand over my jaw.
I wanted to unwrap this girl. I wanted to figure her out, because something told me she had a hell of a story.
Just like when I first saw her walk into Starbucks, I found myself wishing I weren’t going so far away.
We drove back to Avery’s house in her mom’s convertible, with the top up. I had climbed into the back and there seemed to be some sort of standoff outside before Avery’s brother folded his large frame into the back beside me.
The entire drive to their house, Porter leaned forward as he spoke to his mom and Avery, but I could still feel him watching me, even though his green eyes were never truly on me.
It made me damned uncomfortable.
I had my hands together between my knees and I played with my shirt as I sat there quietly, listening to their conversations. I learned on the short drive to their house that Porter was leaving for South Carolina to play professional hockey, and more than that, their entire family played some part in the hockey community.
Their dad was a coach here in town for a minor-league team, but had played professionally when he was younger. They had two older brothers playing for the same team in San Diego, a sister who coached college hockey and was putting together a Midwest division for the women’s professional hockey league, and another sister who was engaged to a hockey player that played for their dad, who she met through the team because she did marketing for them.
Turned out, Avery was even finishing school so she could be a sports agent.
What kind of family did I stumble into?
No wonder they were okay refurnishing a guest house for a nobody like myself.
“You okay?”
I turned my head toward Porter. He was still leaning forward but it sounded like his mom and Avery were having a discussion among themselves now—I’m pretty sure I caught CJ’s name in there—and his face was turned toward me.
Porter was a beautiful man. His green eyes regarded me cautiously, as if he knew my secrets and was afraid of stepping on the wrong button. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, but it took nothing away from his beauty—it only added to it. His lower lip was slightly fuller than his upper, and his nose had a slight bend in the bridge where he likely broke it at one point.
His ear lobes had small plugs in them, too. I’d never really thought much about guys with gauged ears, but it simply added to his attractiveness.
He lifted his left brow, not really calling me out for not answering, but making a point of pointing it out all the same. That same eyebrow
had a slice through the end, a scar from something or another.
“I’m good,” I finally answered. I told myself to sit back in my seat and look out the window, but I was held captive by his green gaze.
“What’s your story?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Your story. Where did you come from, how did you end up here, of all places; a small town in Wisconsin that’s known mostly for its hockey team these days, but also for its Hormel Foods plant?”
I shrugged and was finally able to turn my head. Through the window, I watched as we passed through town and then through farm fields. The colors—mostly the yellows and oranges that came with autumn—blurred together as we drove down the road.
In the reflection of the glass, I could make out Porter still watching me. Whatever relaxation I found in the last few minutes quickly flew out the window.
Porter made me uncomfortable…but I was surprised to realize it wasn’t in a fearful way.
I spent my early teens a bit promiscuously. A tease, if you will. I learned that I liked heavy petting, heavy kissing. Up until my senior year, I hadn’t ever gone all the way, but I certainly earned a reputation at the high school I attended through my junior year.
I wasn’t that person who was looking for love in all the wrong places—I wasn’t naïve in thinking that sex meant love.
I scoffed to myself.
No, sex was a power struggle, and it was one I sorely lost on.
When my foster father…
I shook my head. I refused to go there anymore. I was done with that time in my life.
Regardless, sex and guys were the last things on my radar. And because of that, I couldn’t recall the last time I felt attraction toward any guy. Sure, some of my male drill instructors in the failure that had been called boot camp, had been handsome in a hard way—when they weren’t scowling. And Hunter Douglas, the brother of a boot camp friend, certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes.
But before seeing Porter walk into Starbucks, before shaking his hand in introduction, never had there been a male who gave me butterflies. I wasn’t a butterfly type of girl.
Butterflies were reserved for the perfect, pretty girls. Girls like Carter and Avery.
