by Joss Wood
The Mavericks, as they’d planned ten years ago, was theirs. They’d worked like crazy, taking financial risks, pouring their hearts and souls into the team and it had finally, finally, paid off. Quinn part-owned a professional hockey team, the only hockey team.
He should feel happier.
Mac’s fist plowed into his shoulder. “I’ve seen you more excited over a pizza, dude.”
Quinn looked across the ice, guilt closing his throat. This was a turning point, a major achievement, and he was sucking the life out of the party. Normally, he’d be the one celebrating the hardest, but little was normal since Cal left.
Everything felt strange, out of place. It was as if his life was now one of those fun-house mirrors, everything distorted, unfocused. But that wasn’t his friends’ fault; it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his. He made his choices and was living with the very crappy consequences.
Suck it up, Rayne. He dragged a smile onto his face and lifted his cup in a salute. “Here’s to us. We kicked ass.”
Kade’s small smile acknowledged Quinn’s effort to get into the swing of things. “Good try, but your level of enthusiasm still sucks. So, let’s talk about it.”
“Might as well,” Mac agreed.
Oh, God. What was with his friends and their desire to talk things through? They were guys. Guys didn’t talk stuff to death.
“Nothing to talk about,” Quinn snapped and frowned at Mac. “And we need to get down to the locker room.”
“We have time,” Mac replied.
Kade removed a stick of gum from his pocket, unwrapped the paper, keeping his eyes on Quinn. “Nothing to talk about? Really? Except Callahan, that is. How is she?”
So it looked like they were going to discuss Quinn’s absent wife and his nonmarriage. “She arrived safely in Lesotho. I haven’t spoken to her recently.”
“Why not?” Kade asked.
“She’s in a mountainous region with a bad signal,” Quinn snapped.
“Wren manages to talk to her every couple of days, so do Brodie and Rory,” Mac commented, his face and tone bland.
Busted. How could he worm his way out of this? What excuse could he use? Quinn rubbed his temple and decided he was too tired to look for one. Besides, these were his best friends, his safety net.
“It’s just easier not to talk to her.” Quinn took another sip of coffee and grimaced. He placed the mug on a high table and pushed it away.
“You miss her.”
Miss her? That was such a stupid, tame, word for what he felt. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think for missing her.
He absolutely missed his lover, missed his friend. “Yeah, I miss her.”
“Why did she leave again?” Mac asked.
Quinn rubbed the back of his neck. “We decided that the...situation was getting out of control.”
“Out of control how?”
Kade looked at Mac; Mac shook his head and echoed Kade’s look of confusion. Really, was Quinn going to have to draw them a picture? “Neither of us wanted a happily-ever-after deal. Neither of us wanted to commit so we dialed it down before we...before we found ourselves doing that.”
Kade tried to contain his mirth, but Mac just let it rip, his laughter rumbling over them. Quinn felt his fist clench and wondered if he would be forgiven for punching his best friend shortly after they realized their biggest professional and business triumph. And before a game.
Probably not.
“Glad that I amuse you. Moving the hell on—”
“How can you not realize that you and Cal are in a committed relationship, that you have been for years?” Kade asked, bemused.
“What are you talking about?” Quinn demanded.
“Moron, you’ve been friends for twenty years. That’s commitment right there. Easy, natural, something that just is.”
He’d try to keep this simple and maybe they’d understand. “Yeah, we were committed to a friendship, not a love affair.”
“You worked to keep your friendship alive. You wanted to keep that connection. It was very damn important to you. And to her. You’ve been more committed to each other than anybody else in your lives. Your commitment to each other is longer than our friendship, longer than your career with the Mavericks, so much more meaningful than your relationship with your family. And you’re both wusses, running away from each other,” Mac bluntly said.
Oh...hell. Quinn wanted to deny his words, wanted to argue, but he couldn’t find anything to say. There were reasons why he couldn’t have a be-mine relationship with Cal.
“It’s not as simple as that,” Quinn croaked the words out.
Two sets of eyebrows lifted. God, he’d never felt so exposed, so completely vulnerable. How could he tell them, these two masculine, virile men...
He rubbed his temple and when he looked up at them, his eyes reflected his anguish. “Cal wants kids. I can’t give her any.”
Kade and Mac stared at him for a long time and while he saw sympathy on their faces, he didn’t see pity. Thank God. If he had, he would’ve handed in his man card. Kade tapped his fingers on the table, a sure sign that he was thinking. “Why do you think that?”
Quinn explained and they listened intently. Kade frowned and shook his head. “You need to get a second opinion. I don’t think you can rely on one blood test years ago as a definitive diagnosis.”
Mac nodded. “And, if it turns out you can’t have kids, then there are other options. Adoption, surrogacy, sperm banks. Hell, I’ll even donate some of my magnificent boys to the cause.”
Kade choked on his beer and Quinn’s mouth dropped open. Then humor—unexpected but welcome—bubbled to the surface. He shook his head. “It’s bad enough working with you, training you—having to raise a mini-you would do my head in.”
“The point is, there are options. But—” Kade sent him a hard, cool, assessing look “—before you get there you have to decide whether you want Cal in your life or not. Separate and apart from the giving-her-kids issue.”
“Which he does,” Mac interjected.
Which Quinn did. More than he wanted to keep working, coaching, breathing. His life without her in it had no meaning, no color, absolutely no direction. And even less joy. Kade was right: he’d never been able to commit to anyone because he’d always—even if it was only on a subconscious level—been committed to Callahan. He loved her. He’d always loved her. His subconscious knew what it wanted and it had been waiting a damn long time for his body and his brain to catch up.
“Yep, he’s getting there.” Mac gripped Quinn’s shoulder, their equivalent of a girly hug.
Quinn felt he should say something, should express his gratitude that he had these two guys solidly in his corner. But hell, what could he say that didn’t make him sound like he’d grown a pair of ovaries?
“Thanks,” he eventually muttered.
Mac grinned. “Well, you know that we’d take a bullet for you. Not in the head, or in the heart, but maybe like in the ass...or the big toe.”
Quinn, for the first time that night, for the first time in a month, laughed. As his laughter rumbled out, he felt his mobile vibrate. He pulled it out and swiped the screen with his thumb.
His laughter died and something that felt like hope took its place. “I need to go.”
Mac snatched the mobile from his hand, read the message and handed the phone to Kade. Quinn was too shocked to object to them reading his messages. All he cared about was going home.
Kade slapped the phone back into Quinn’s hand.
“I have to do this,” he said, hoping they’d understand. “Cal and I need to talk.”
Neither Mac nor Kade said anything for a while and Quinn’s heart sank. He understood their reluctance, he was, after, running out on his responsibilities. The Maveri
cks, the game...they were important, sure, but Cal was his life.
Then they grinned and he knew that they’d been messing with him. Jerks.
“Go, we’ll handle your responsibilities here,” Kade told him. He grinned. “I mean, really, how difficult can coaching be?”
Quinn shoved a hand through his hair and narrowed his eyes at Kade. At the door he turned and sent Kade a withering glare. “Payback is a bitch, Webb.”
Kade just laughed. “Get the hell out of here, Rayne, before we change our minds.”
Quinn bolted.
Eleven
Living her life without Quinn was like trying to make the world spin in another direction. It simply didn’t work. It made her feel dizzy and ditzy and...sad. Bereft. Alone.
She’d tried. She’d given it her best shot and, after a month, she was over living on the other side of the world, trying to remember why it was better that she and Quinn were apart. The only thing that was true, real, important was that they stay linked, that he remain a part of her life, in any way she could get him.
She didn’t know how that would work, what role she was going to play, but they could work it out. They would work it out. He’d been the biggest part of her life for most of her life, the person she’d loved best all these years, and while she loved him, fiercely, she’d take him any way she could get him.
Cal opened the door to Quinn’s home and dropped her overnight bag to the floor. Although she knew Quinn would be at the arena, preparing for a Mavericks game, she tipped her head, listening for movement, hoping she’d hear him upstairs. Hoping she could see him, drink him in.
Cal played with her cell phone as she walked toward the huge windows. She placed her shoulder against the glass and stared out at the water; she’d missed this view, missed his home.
Missed him with every atom of her being.
She’d always thought that love was something ethereal, an emotion that made you happier, prettier, smarter, more worthwhile. She’d dived into a marriage with Toby in order to feel safe and protected, in the hope that he’d take her to a place where grief didn’t exist, where nothing could hurt her. She’d miscalculated there. Toby had hurt her and she’d been slapped in the face with everything she’d been running from.
His death had released her and, instead of trying to work through her issues with men, commitment and marriage, she’d dismissed both the species and the tradition, choosing to go it alone.
Only to find all she wanted and needed in the man who’d always been her rock, who made her laugh, who’d always encouraged her to fly but who would catch her if she crashed.
Because love wasn’t perfection. It wasn’t big houses and gourmet meals, designer clothes and fake smiles. Love wasn’t the storybook kiss in the rain. It wasn’t red roses or deep, soulful conversations.
Love was messy. Love was imperfect. Love was sarcastic text messages and two-minute phone calls, buying takeout and eating it on the bed before making love. Love was arguing and sharing the shower, stealing his cup of coffee when you were running out the door, morning kisses before teeth were brushed. Love was a friendship set on fire. Love was not running when things got tough; it was having the courage to reach out for more.
Love was traveling across an ocean from one continent to another to tell her best friend, the man she loved best, that she wanted everything he could give her, whether that was a little or a lot.
Cal took a deep breath, felt her heart kick up. She couldn’t call him. He was preparing for a game and he wouldn’t answer. Quinn had tunnel vision when he was in the zone and he was never more in the zone than when he was preparing for a Mavericks game. But she could send him a text. He’d get it when the game was over and that would give her some time to think about what to say to him.
For the first time ever, she couldn’t find her words with Quinn, couldn’t explain what she was thinking and feeling. Maybe it was because this time the words she needed to say were too important, the feelings too scary. She typed and erased four messages and cursed herself.
Keep it simple.
Hi, I wanted to tell you that I miss you, that I miss us. Maybe you can give me a call and we can chat about us, our marriage? Please?
Cal pushed the send button on her phone and bit her bottom lip. What if he didn’t reply? What if he came home and was upset to see her back? Oh, God, what if he’d moved on? What if he came home with a puck bunny groupie on his arm?
Maybe coming back to Vancouver was a bad move, she thought, staring at the ocean, fighting back her tears. Maybe she should leave. Go back to Africa and then onto India, bury herself in her work.
Except she’d done that, had tried to push him away, had tried to forget him, but she’d failed spectacularly. No, she wouldn’t run. She’d wait, talk to him, repair whatever she could of their friendship.
She realized that he would never love her, not the way she wanted him to, but they could be friends and maybe that would be enough.
So she’d stay here and wait.
* * *
Thank God he was one of the bosses because blowing off an important game, leaving the stadium before his team was about to go on the ice, would get his ass canned if he were an employee, Quinn thought as he swung his Ducati in and out of traffic. As soon as he got to the yacht, he’d call Cal back, find out where she was. Then he’d call the team’s pilot and tell him to file a flight plan for their company jet.
He needed to grab some gear and his passport—God, he couldn’t forget his passport. Quinn steered his bike into his parking spot at the marina, ripped off his helmet, shoved it under his arm and started jogging toward the access gate and the Red Delicious. As he ran, he looked down at his cell, his thumb hovering over the green button to call Cal back. What would he say? How could he express everything that was in his heart?
Why did this have to be so damn difficult? He didn’t want to spill his soul on a telephone or via an internet connection. Nope, if he was going to make an idiot of himself, then he was going do it properly, face-to-face.
And if that meant flying halfway around the world, then that was what he would do. Besides, he knew he could persuade her to his way of thinking—a proper marriage, love, staying together, being together—by kissing her, helping her get naked. Hey, a guy had to use whatever worked.
Quinn stormed onto the yacht, belted up the stairs and whipped open the door. He threw his helmet onto the chair at the door and thundered down the stairs to his cabin. He pushed the green button and the call rang as he yanked open the door to his walk-in closet. Stepping inside he grabbed some T-shirts and tucked them under his arm.
One ring, two, three, four—God, she had to answer.
He tossed the shirts onto his bed and dropped to his haunches next to his nightstand. He stared at the small wall safe in the table and couldn’t remember the code. What if she didn’t answer? What if he couldn’t get ahold of her? What would he do? Where would he go?
“Hello?”
Quinn stood up abruptly, swore and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hi, sorry. I didn’t think you were going to answer.” He spat the words out, hardly able to hear his own voice above the thundering of his heart.
“Hi. Shouldn’t you be at the game?”
“I should. I’m not.” Just hearing her voice made sense. She made sense. “Where are you?”
“Why?”
“Because wherever you are, I’m on my way there.” God, he sounded like an idiot. “I mean, I’ll get there. Give me some time. You’re right—we need to talk.”
“You’re coming to me?”
He thought he heard amusement in her voice but dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. It wasn’t like he was thinking straight at the moment. “Yeah, the company jet is at my disposal. It’ll get me where I need to go. So, can you text me directions?”
&
nbsp; “I can do that. But it’s pretty simple, I can tell you over the phone.”
“God, Red, I can’t think straight, and I definitely won’t remember anything you say. Just text me. I’ll get to wherever I need to be as soon as I can.” And he prayed it wouldn’t take more than a day or two.
“Okay, um, great. See you soon.” Cal disconnected and Quinn stared at his blank screen, a frown on his face. Dammit, that was it? That was all she had for him? He was flying out to see a woman he loved and all she could say was see you soon? God, she was the most infuriating, crazy, annoying brat he’d ever laid eyes on. The only woman he’d ever loved, would ever love.
And, yeah, two days was better than two weeks, two months, two years, never. So he’d be a man and suck it up...
His phone flashed and Quinn swiped his thumb across the screen. He read the message, frowned and read it again.
At your bedroom door, turn right. Walk up the stairs and look for the girl holding the bottle of wine and two glasses.
Holy, holy, holy crap.
* * *
Quinn thundered back up the stairs, skidded into the lounge and stopped by the cream-colored sofa, his hands gripping its back with white-knuckled fingers. Cal noticed that his chest was heaving and his breathing was erratic. She was amazed, thrilled, that her presence could raise the heartbeat of this superfit man.
Her man. Maybe...
She looked for something to say, some witty comment to break their charged silence, something to slice through the tension. She had nothing so she lifted her half-full glass of wine. “Want some?”
“Wine? No.” Quinn’s voice, deep and dark, rumbled across her skin as he walked toward her, his eyes a little wild and a lot determined. Her throat closed up as he narrowed the distance between them and she allowed him to pull the glass from her hand, watching as he placed it on the coffee table in front of her. “That’s not what I want.”
