by Joss Wood
Coming to the arena had been an impulsive decision but one that was rooted in her need to see Quinn. She wanted to talk him into having lunch with her, to try and push past the barrier her impulsive declaration of love had created between them a week ago. They were still living together, still sleeping in the same bed, still making love. But they weren’t communicating. They were two people who were sharing his space and their bodies and nothing else. She didn’t think she could live like this for much longer. She was back in purgatory, except this time they were lovers but not friends. She felt angry and sad and, yes, disappointed.
They were acting exactly how they’d said they never would and they were hurting each other. They needed to break this impasse. One of them had to be brave enough to walk away before they destroyed their friendship. She’d raised the subject of love; she’d changed the parameters of their marriage by uttering the L word so it was her responsibility to fix what was broken.
While she waited for Quinn to call an end to the practice session, she thought how much she loved to watch him skate. Cal propped her feet up onto the boards that lined the rink. He was poetry in motion, at home on the ice just as he was on land. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a sleeveless jacket over his broad chest, he looked bold and determined.
And utterly in charge.
His players took his direction easily and quickly and, while they respected him, they certainly weren’t scared of him. It was obvious they gave him a thousand percent all the time. You didn’t work that hard for someone unless you were inspired to do so.
He pulled no punches. No one was spared his praise or his sharp tongue. Even Mac, his partner, was treated exactly the same as the rest of the players. On the ice there was only one boss and Quinn was it. That amount of intensity, that power was...well, it made her panties heat up.
Cal, digging into a bag of chips, looked up when she heard the click-clack of heels. She smiled at Wren, who was making her way to her seat in the first row back from the rink. On the ice, Quinn was barking orders to his squad, short blond hair glinting in the overhead lights.
“I heard you were here,” Wren said, bending down to kiss her cheek before dunking her hand in the bag of chips.
“Sneaky thief,” Cal muttered as Wren settled into the chair next to her.
“You can’t eat a mega-sized bag of chips by yourself. You’ll get fat,” Wren told her. “I’m just being a good friend, helping you out.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cal replied and placed the bag between them. She nodded to the thick envelope on Wren’s knees. “And that?”
Wren patted the envelope and popped another chip in her mouth. After swallowing, she passed the envelope to Cal and smiled. “That, my darling, is the measure of our success. You actually did it.”
“Did what?” Cal asked, opening the envelope and pulling out a sheaf of papers.
“The rehabilitation of Rayne. Those are the photocopies of every article mentioning you or Quinn over the past month and every single one is positive. Quinn is redeemed. By the love of a good woman.”
Cal started flipping through the papers, stopping now and again to read a headline, to look at a photograph. There was one of them kissing outside the coffee shop close to her office, another of them in Stanley Park at the picnic, walking hand in hand and laughing. Old Friends, New Lovers read one headline. Are Quinn and Cal Vancouver’s Most Romantic Couple? Is It True Love?
“The Mavericks brand is stronger than ever and trust in Quinn, as a person and as a coach, has been restored. Instead of baying for his blood, the press is now baying for babies.” Wren’s hand dipped into the bag again and she stood. “I’ll leave you to take a look through those. Thanks, Cal. I could never have whipped him into shape on my own.”
Baying for babies? Cal felt her heart tighten. That was never going to happen and it made her feel sad, a little sick.
If Quinn wanted a family or marriage, if he wanted her, he would’ve initiated a discussion about their future. He would’ve asked to talk about her ill-timed and unwelcome declaration seven days ago.
His silence on the subject said everything she needed to hear: he absolutely wasn’t interested in anything more than what they had.
He’d married her for a reason and since that goal had been achieved, there was no rationale for staying married. It was time to cut her losses and try to move on.
Cal tipped her head to look up into Wren’s lovely face. “Does this mean we can start, uh, dialing it down?”
“Sorry?” Wren asked, confused.
Cal shoved her fingers into her hair, lifting and pushing the curls back. “That was the plan—we make it look good and then we start drifting apart.”
Wren waved at the papers in Cal’s lap. “If you faked everything, then I commend you on your magnificent acting.” Wren placed her hands on her hips and scowled. “But I’ve been doing this for a long time and I know fake when I see it. This isn’t one of those times.”
“We’re friends.”
“Pffft. You are so much more than that. You are good together. Damn, girl, you are the best thing that’s happened to that man in a very long time. You don’t seem unhappy either, so why on earth do you want it to end?”
She didn’t, but what she wanted was beside the point. “It will end, Wren.”
“Then you are both idiots,” Wren told her before bending down and kissing Cal’s cheek. “I hope you both change your minds because yours could be an amazing love story.”
Wren touched Cal’s shoulder and gave her a sad smile before walking away. Cal gathered the articles together and pushed the papers back into the envelope and laid it face down on her lap.
She had to start controlling her attraction to Quinn instead of letting attraction control her. If she didn’t, she would find herself in the same situation she’d been in years ago, hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t love her, without any emotional protection or power.
Oh, wait...that horse had already bolted from the stable; she already loved Quinn. She loved him like a friend; she loved him as a lover. She simply, deeply, profoundly loved him, in every way a woman could.
Okay... She loved him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t protect herself. She was not prepared to let all rational thought disappear and capriciousness rule. She’d learned her lesson well.
Unlike her younger self, she could now look at relationships, and men, and see them clearly. Quinn didn’t love her, not romantically in a I-want-to-spend-the-next-sixty-years-with-you type of way. He loved making love to her. Maybe because she was handy and she was the only person he could—without making waves and headlines—have sex with. Quinn was also exceptionally good at separating his emotions from, well, anything and she knew he could easily separate their friendship from making love.
She didn’t have any desire to change Quinn. Yeah, her goal had been to rehabilitate his reputation, but she had no desire to rehabilitate him. She’d always loved him for who he was, the adrenaline junkie who’d jump off buildings with a parachute strapped to his back, who laughed like a maniac on roller-coaster rides, who leaped from one crazy stunt to another in order to feel alive. Because he’d spent his childhood hoping to be noticed, and she understood his need to feel alive, to feel free. She understood what motivated his crazy...
She loved him. She understood him. She would feel like she’d had her limb amputated when they parted, but they had to end this. Her heart was already battered and bruised, but that was better than having her psyche and her soul decimated.
She and Quinn needed to have a serious talk about splitting up. They needed to come up with a plan for how to navigate the next couple of months. They had to start winding down their relationship, start spending some public and private time apart. They had to be strategic in how they drifted away from each other.
She didn’t want the pu
blic to blame Quinn. She didn’t want to reverse the current wave of good press he was receiving. Her father wanted to return to work and so could she; there were problems with the projects in Botswana, India and Belize she needed to attend to. They could blame her work, distance and time apart for the breakup of their marriage. Everyone understood that long-distance relationships never worked...
Cal pulled a bottle of water from her bag and twisted the cap. She took a long swallow and replaced the cap as Quinn called a break.
Quinn’s eyes met hers across the ice and he lifted a finger to tell her he’d be with her shortly. Happy to wait, Cal watched as the players glided across the ice, most of them in her direction. As they removed their helmets, she recognized some faces from the barbecue on Quinn’s yacht last weekend.
“Hey, Cal.”
Cal dropped her feet and leaned forward, smiling. “Hey Matt, Jude. Beckett.”
Beckett sent her a bold smile. “Mrs. Boss Lady.”
Cal leaned back and crossed her legs, amused when six eyes followed the very prosaic movement of her denim-covered legs tucked into knee-high leather boots. God, they looked so young, so fresh-faced. Compared to Quinn, they looked like boys. These boys still had a lot of living to do. They needed to experience a little trouble, needed to have their hearts broken and learn a couple of life lessons. Then their pretty-boy faces would become truly attractive.
Cal jerked her attention from her thoughts to their conversation.
“So, what are we doing tonight?” Beckett demanded, sliding guards onto the blades of his skates before swinging open the door that would take him off the ice. He walked between Cal and the boards and dropped into the chair next to her, sending her an easy, confident grin. “FOMO’s, Up Close or Bottoms Up?”
“What’s FOMO’s?” Cal asked, interested. She knew that Up Close was a club and that Bottoms Up was a sports bar owned by Kade, Mac and Quinn.
Beckett stretched out his arms and his hand brushed Cal’s shoulder as he rested it against the back of her chair. Not wanting to give him any ideas—he was far too slick for his age—Cal leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees.
“It’s a place downtown,” Beckett replied. “Want to come?”
Matt flicked a glance toward Quinn and shook his head. “Uh, Beck, not a great idea. Boss man wouldn’t like it.”
Cal frowned. The comment sliced a bit too close to the bone. “Last time I checked, I was a grown-up and I make my own decisions. Quinn doesn’t do that for me.”
Jude pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, Cal, he really won’t like you...”
Beckett’s laugh was rich. “If she wants to come, let her. We’ll be there from around ten.”
Who went out at ten? Ten was when most people were thinking about bed, or sitting in their pj’s eating ice cream. “Ten?”
Beckett picked up the end of her braid and rolled it in his fingers. “Maybe you are too old to party with us.” Cal almost didn’t notice the sly look he sent Quinn, the smirk to his fallen-angel mouth. “Maybe you should just be a good wife and stay in. Quinn definitely won’t like it.”
She knew she was being played, but she couldn’t bear the thought of this young whippersnapper thinking anyone had control over her.
Cal jerked her braid out of his fingers. “For your information, Quinn has no say about what I do or who I do it with.”
Beckett lifted an amused eyebrow. “Okay then, Mrs. Rayne. FOMO’s, at ten. Do you want us to collect you?”
“I think I can get there under my own steam,” Cal told him, her tone slightly acidic.
“Get where?”
She hadn’t heard Quinn’s silent approach, but Matt and Jude’s tense body language should’ve given her a hint. Beckett’s sly smirk deepened and Quinn’s fierce frown didn’t intimidate him in the least. “Hey, boss. Just to let you know, Callahan is joining us at FOMO’s tonight, if you want to hang out.”
Quinn’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. “At FOMO’s?” He folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “No, she’s not.”
Beckett stood up and shrugged. “I told her you wouldn’t like it, but she said you’re not the boss of her.”
“Hey, I’m right here!” Cal stated.
“You are not going to FOMO’s.”
Cal tilted her head. Right, this was just one small reminder as to why she shouldn’t want to stay married. Nobody was allowed to make decisions about any aspect of her life but her. “I am. And you are not going to stop me.”
Cal stood up as Beckett, Jude and Matt made a tactical retreat.
Quinn looked like he was making an effort to hold on to his temper. “Cal, listen to me. FOMO’s—”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Rayne! We’re sleeping together and that’s it.” Cal pulled her bag over her shoulder. “You are never going to control me, tell me what to do or how to do it. I will never allow a man that measure of control again.”
“I’m not trying to control you! I’m trying to tell you that FOMO’s is—”
“Save it! I’m not going to listen!” Cal wasn’t interested in anything more he had to say, her temper now on a low simmer. What was it about men and their need to control the situation, control how their women acted? Was it ego? Stupidity? A rush of blood to the head? Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to play his game. She might like his bossy ways in the bedroom, but everything else—her money, her clothes, what she did and how she did it—was strictly off-limits.
She loved him and he didn’t love her. It was that simple. But even if he did fall to the floor and beg her to spend the next sixty years with him, she would never grant him the right to dictate her actions.
“I’m done with this conversation,” Cal told him, her voice quiet and cold. She picked up the envelope and slapped it against his chest. “Wren dropped these off. When you see them, maybe you’ll agree that we need to talk. We need to start thinking about dialing this down.”
“What are you talking about?” Quinn raised his voice as she started to walk up the stairs to the exit. “Come back here, I need you to understand why I won’t allow you to go to FOMO’s.”
Cal half turned and raised one shoulder, her face flushed with anger. Did he really use the word allow? After everything she’d told him? Seriously? “Allow? You won’t allow me to go? Who the hell do you think you are? I don’t answer to you, Rayne. I am not one of your players or one of your bimbo girlfriends who will roll over at your command!”
“Callahan!” Quinn growled.
Cal just kept on walking.
Yeah, they really needed to put some distance between them.
Ten
Black and pink and purple, Cal thought as she walked into FOMO’s. Lots of black and pink and purple. Not her favorite color combination. Cal slid into a small space near two guys standing at the bar. Between attempts to catch the eye of a bartender, she looked around for Beckett or any of the Mavericks players. She couldn’t see them and she wondered, not for the first time, what she was doing here.
Clubs weren’t her scene; the repetitive thumping of the music gave her an earache and the flashing neon lasers gave her a headache. The smell of liquor and cologne and perfume clogged her nose and she felt claustrophobic from the bodies pressing her against the bar.
“What can I get you?” the barman shouted at her, his white teeth flashing and his dreadlocks bobbing in time to the beat.
A taxi? An oxygen mask? “A club soda and lime. Hey, have you seen the Mavericks players in here tonight?”
His hands deftly assembled her drink, but his eyes gave her an up-and-down look. “Honey, you’re a little old and a lot overdressed to catch their eye.”
“Thanks,” Cal said, her tone dry. “Have you seen them?”
He nodded toward a floating staircase
in the corner. “They are upstairs.” He slid the glass toward her. “You look really familiar. Do I know you?”
“No,” Cal quickly answered, but she didn’t kid herself that she wouldn’t be recognized sometime soon. Not everyone in the club was drunk or stoned and she could guarantee that the vast majority of those who were still sober were Mavericks fans.
“I have that type of face,” Cal told him. She reached into the pocket of her tight skinny jeans and pulled out a bill. Before she could hand it over, she felt a hard body press her into the bar and a hand shot past her face, strong fingers holding a twenty-dollar bill.
Cal sighed when the bartender took the man’s money and not hers. She frowned, waving her money at him. “I want to pay for my own drink. No offense intended.”
“I’ve been offended all damn day,” the familiar voice growled in her ear. “I was offended when you flounced away, when you wouldn’t answer any of the ten calls I made to you, when you didn’t come home before coming here.”
Dammit. Quinn had tracked her down and he was here, stalking her. Not that his presence was too much of a surprise. Quinn wasn’t one to walk away from a fight.
“Quinn and his missus!” The bartender held up his knuckles for Quinn to bump. “Haven’t seen you in here for ages, man!”
“Yeah, wives tend to frown on their husbands visiting FOMO’s, Galen.”
“That’s the truth, dude.”
He knew the bartender, which meant he was very familiar with this club. Cal looked at the raised dance floor to the right of the bar and sighed at the skimpily clad women—girls—writhing and grinding. It was probably one of his favorite hunting grounds.
“What are you doing here, man? And why did you bring your woman?”
“Cal and I were on our way to dinner and I wanted to stop in and check on my boys. They behaving themselves?” Quinn asked.
Galen nodded to the floating staircase. “They’re upstairs, blowing off some steam. No paparazzi up there, no dealers, just some of their regular girls.”
