by Sarah Hegger
ROUGHING
#1 Ottawa Titans
SARAH HEGGER
Dedication
There’s only one person I owe this book
to, and that’s my dear friend Tara Cromer, the best hand holder,
commiserator, and ass kicker I could ask for.
Copyright
Copyright © 2019 Sarah Hegger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Format and cover design by: Renee Rocco
First Electronic Edition: October 2019
ISBN: 978-1-7334057-4-4
First Print Edition: October 2019
ISBN: 978-1-7334057-5-1
Contents
ROUGHING
Dedication
Copyright
Contents
Praise for Sarah Hegger
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Sarah Hegger
Books by Sarah Hegger
Praise for Sarah Hegger
Drove All Night
“The classic romance plot is elevated to a modern-day, wholly accessible real-life fairy tale with an excellent mix of romantic elements and spicy sensuality.”
—Booklife Prize, Critic’s Report
Positively Pippa
“This is the type of romance that makes readers fall in love not just with characters, but with authors as well.”
—Kirkus Review (Starred Review)
“What begins as a simple second-chance romance quickly transforms into a beautiful, frank examination of love, family dynamics, and following one’s dreams. Hegger’s unflinching, candid portrayal of interpersonal and generational communication elevates the story to the sublime. Shunning clichés and contrived circumstances, she uses realistic, relatable situations to create a world that readers will want to visit time and again.”
—Publisher’s Weekly, Starred Review
“Hegger’s utterly delightful first Ghost Falls contemporary is what other romance novels want to grow up to be.”
—Publisher’s Weekly, Best Books of 2017
“The very talented Hegger kicks off an enjoyable new series set in the small Utah town of Ghost Falls. This charming and fun-filled book has everything from passion and humor to betrayal and revenge.”
—Jill M Smith, RT Books Reviews 2017 / Contemporary Love and Laughter Nominee
Becoming Bella
“Hegger excels at depicting familial relationships and friendships of all kinds, including purely platonic friendships between women and men. Tears, laughter, and a dollop of suspense make a memorable story that readers will want to revisit time and again.”
—Publisher’s Weekly, Starred Review
“…you have a terrific new romance that Hegger fans are going to love. Don’t miss out!” Jill M. Smith
—RT Book Reviews
Nobody’s Fool
“Hegger offers a breath of fresh air in the romance genre.”
—Terri Dukes, RT Book Reviews
Nobody’s Princess
“Hegger continues to live up to her rapidly growing reputation for breathing fresh air into the romance genre.”
—Terri Dukes, RT Book Reviews
“I have read the entire Willow Park Series. I have loved each of the books … Nobody’s Princess is my favorite of all time.”
—Harlequin Junkie, Top Pick
Chapter 1
A primal scream shattered the peace in the kitchen. Followed by a bellow of unbridled rage. Standard background noise for Hockey Night in Canada.
Elizabeth took her roast out of the oven for basting while Jane snapchatted her newest manicure to her adoring public. At least her sister’s habitual teen scowl was downgraded to indifferent scorn.
“Kill him! Smash his face until he cries like a little girl. Fight him, you pussy.” Hockey was sacred in the Rogers household and, Dad believed, dependent on his active participation from his favorite lounger. “I’m gonna need another beer in here.”
“Janey?” Elizabeth looked up from the beef roast. “Do you think you could take him one?”
Perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Jane cocked her hand for a better angle and sent another snap. Jane had pretty much been on a hormonal rampage since she’d turned twelve.
“Jane?” Elizabeth balanced the roasting pan and spooned juice over the joint. One wrongly worded request and Jane would open a can of vitriol that would ruin Saturday night dinner.
Family dinner, always subject to Hockey Night in Canada, and Mom had found a way to merge the two.
Keeping her tone pleasant, she tried again. “Jane?”
“What?” Jane stared at her screen and smirked.
“Dad would like another beer.”
With an impatient huff, Jane looked up. “He’s not crippled. If he needs another beer, he can get it himself.”
Jane was right, Elizabeth knew she was right, but Dad came from a generation of men who barbequed burgers and took credit for the entire meal. She grabbed a Molson from the fridge and took it to her father in the living room. It was only a beer. No big deal.
Yeah, right. She was such a pushover.
Dad took the beer without taking his eyes off the screen. “What the hell!” He half rose in his seat. “Where’s the defense? Get them out of the paint.”
“Dinner in twenty minutes, Dad.” Elizabeth scooped scattered chips off the table and back into the bowl.
“When the game’s done.” Dad growled at the screen.
The hockey went to an ad break and Dad scowled at the bowl in her hands. “I’m eating those.”
“Dinner is nearly ready.” Elizabeth nailed a smile on her face and kept on beaming at him. Mom had put up with thirty years of scowls and indifference before finally walking out three months ago. Someone needed to hold the remnants of their family together. Even if the remnants were not cooperating.
Dad gaped at her. “After the game.” He jabbed his Molson at the bowl. “Get me some more chips, won’t you?”
“Who’s playing?” She liked hockey. Kind of. She used to like it more.
The ad break ended, and Dad went back to the television.
Elizabeth watched the game for a second. There you had it. She should have known which game had Dad glued to the television.
“Oh, look.” Jane lounged against the doorjamb and glanced at the television before going back to her phone. “It’s the son he’d like to have.”
Number ten for the Ottawa Titans hit the ice, and Dad straightened in his chair. “Come on, Sam, son. Show them how it’s done.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands tog
ether. “Sam will get the job done.”
It was bigger than Elizabeth, positively Pavlovian. The sight of that number with Stone printed above it and she wanted to swear. Also the reason she used to like hockey more. “Dick,” she whispered.
“Elizabeth.” Jane gave her a theatrical gape. “Aitch-ee-double hockey sticks, did you use the dee word?”
Elizabeth blushed. Somebody had to set the example for Jane on swearing, but Sam was totally a dick.
“Do you mind?” Dad glanced over his shoulder. “I’m watching the game here.”
“Sorry.” Smile stuck in place, Elizabeth headed back into the kitchen. She wanted them all to sit down, chat over dinner, behave like a family, and not three people regretting they shared DNA.
“Go, Sam!” Dad yelled, leaning so forward in his lounger, the footrest snapped back down. “Yes, Sam, yes!”
Apparently women from here to California screamed much the same on a regular basis. Elizabeth snickered into the carrots. Not that she kept track, but last she’d heard Sam was dating some former Disney, now turned screen vamp, movie star.
Elizabeth watched the game through the doorway. If Sam was playing, then that meant Craig Dawson was also on the ice. Dark brown hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, chiseled jaw and sensual mouth, the six three of power packed muscle and sinew that made up Craig Dawson made up for having to watch Sam.
The camera zoomed in on Sam in a faceoff. Intense blue eyes blazed over his faceguard at his opponent. The puck dropped. Sam won the faceoff and snapped the puck to Dawson. Opposing defense converged on him. Dawson took a rattling slam into the boards.
Dad groaned.
But Dawson kept the puck and passed to Sam. Sam took it up the ice and even Elizabeth had to admit Sam Stone on ice was a beautiful thing to behold. The quickest forward in the league, with a magical pair of hands that could find the back of the net through the eye of a needle.
In this garden, Sam had worked on that shot. Her dad still hadn’t recovered from the glory of her Sparkly Fairy Play Palace dying under the relentless assault of puck after puck fired at it from Sam as a boy.
On screen, Sam powered a shot from the hashtags and lit the lamp.
“Yes!” Dad leaped out of his lounger. “Goal.” He turned to her with a grin. “What did I tell you?”
“That you wanted another beer?”
“Eh?” Dad looked momentarily confused. “No, that Sam would sort them all out.”
“Oh, right.” At least her play palace hadn’t collapsed in vain.
At the time Dad had stared at her aghast as she sobbed over the demise of her play palace and asked where else she thought Sam could practice.
Whelp! There you had it. A career in the hockey league demanded sacrifice. Her play palace had died at the altar of Sam’s hockey career, along with her Celebration Two Thousand Barbie (head used in lieu of a puck), Chester the stuffed raccoon (another puck substitute) and her favorite Kim Possible T-shirt (ripped to shreds to tape a stick handle).
After all, a boy with Sam’s talent couldn’t be expected to adhere to the same rules of behavior as any other child. To be fair, his mother had done her best. But as a single mother, Danica had often been working.
Dad had been more than happy to step into the breach once Sam’s mad hockey skills had made an appearance. The same good old Dad who flapped his hand at the coffee table. “Where are my chips?”
No way she was filling the chip bowl. Not when she’d spent all this time getting dinner ready. Of course, her surge into assertiveness would be more effective if she wasn’t playing proxy little woman in the kitchen.
“Chips!” Dad hollered. “Also gimme some dip with them.”
No. Only two letters that when strung together made a helluva impact. “Right away.”
Dammit. The same two letters that hardly ever found their way out of her mouth.
“Beth.” Winsome expression on her face, Jane sidled into the kitchen. No had been the first word Jane spoke and she was still proficient at it.
Jane’s expression warned Elizabeth it was time to practice her new word.
“Beth.” Jane wrinkled her nose in a way that took Elizabeth right back to what a gorgeous baby she’d been. Ten years Elizabeth’s junior and so pretty and sweet and cute. Other girls had made do with doll pretend babies, she’d had Jane. “While you’re here, can you iron my new shirt for me?”
Elizabeth gave it her all. “No.”
“What?” Jane blinked at her.
She wavered under the crestfallen beam of Jane’s huge green eyes. “I don’t have time. I need to finish dinner and get back to my apartment. I have things to do.”
Jane’s gaze grew wounded. “What things?”
“The retirement center.” Elizabeth faltered. “They need a new bus and I’m helping them fundraise. Plus I have a women’s auxiliary meeting this week and the Humane Society is relying on me—”
“But those things are for strangers and you know I can’t iron.” Jane’s mouth turned upside down. “Mom always used to do the ironing for me.” Tears welled in Jane’s eyes. “I miss her so much.”
No backbone. She had no backbone because Elizabeth’s mouth opened and what came out? The same thing that always came out. “Sure, Janey. Put it in the laundry and I’ll do it before I go.”
“Thanks.” The sun shone behind Jane’s momentary rainstorm. She snatched her coat off the peg by the back door and shrugged into it. “See you later.”
“But dinner is almost ready.” Elizabeth stared at her beautiful roast, currently nestled between crispy skinned, golden roasted potatoes. She had green beans and carrots to go with it. Maybe Dad would open a bottle of red, and it would feel like home again.
Jane wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I’m not staying. I’m a vegetarian anyway.”
“Since when?”
“Jesus, Elizabeth.” Jane snorted. “Since forever.” Eyes glued to her phone, she sauntered out of the kitchen. “And dad wants another beer.”
The door slammed behind her.
“No!” Dad’s agonized shriek sent Elizabeth running.
Standing, he was pale with sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Dad?” Elizabeth crept closer. “Are you all right? Tightness of chest? Nausea? Difficulty breathing?”
“S-Sam.” Dad wagged his hand at the television.
Elizabeth turned and caught the replay.
Sam shot across the ice and connected with an opposing player. The same player who had taken Dawson to the boards.
Sam’s shoulder slammed into the player’s jaw. Mouthguard, spit and a spray of bright red blood arced through the air. Oh boy, that wasn’t good.
Don Cherry appeared on the screen, dressed in his signature eighties living-room-curtains suit, this one shocking pink with palm trees on it. By contrast the immaculately dressed man next to him looked straight off the pages of GQ.
“In my book, that’s a dirty check,” Don said, stabbing his blunt forefinger into the shiny desk surface.
“This is not the hockey of today,” said GQ man. “We’re looking at a major for that, at least. I’m even thinking the league is going to have something to say.”
“Shut up, Gracie,” Dad howled at the screen. “That was a legitimate hit. A legal hit.”
“No doubt about it.” His name, Marc Gracie, popped up beneath him. “Stone has gone too far this time. And this from a player who makes too far part of his game plan.”
“You know nothing.” Dad slashed the air with his hand. “Nothing.”
The screen went back to another replay of the hit.
“See there,” Marc Gracie spoke over the footage. “Stop it there.”
The picture froze on the moment Sam made contact. Sam’s shoulder slammed into the other player’s jaw.
“And that, my friends, is an illegal hit.” Gracie sounded delighted about it. “Stone has wriggled out of this hit too many times now.”
“Shoulder first.” Dad shook with anger. “It was a sho
ulder check. Stupid shit dipped his head and got it on the jaw. Sam did nothing. Nothing.”
The slo-mo footage rolled across the screen another time.
Nope, Elizabeth was going to have to disagree with the parental unit on this one. Sam had cleaned that player’s clock for him.
Bam! Elizabeth flinched. That had to hurt. The footage rolled forward to the player hitting the ice like a felled tree. The referee blew the penalty and chaos broke out on the ice.
Two of the downed player’s teammates surged for Sam.
Helmets dropped, gloves hit the ice, and fists went flying.
Gracie appeared back on the screen and smirked. “Sam Stone has done it this time. Can anybody say league suspension?”
Don Cherry nodded his agreement. “You put a hockey stick in the hands of a thug, he’s still just a thug.”
“N-o-o.” Dad folded into his lounger and dropped his head in his hands. His shoulders shook. “You can’t do this to me.”
“Pretty sure that line belongs to that poor guy being helped off the ice.” Elizabeth read his name off the back of his jersey. “Karlov.”
Dad turned on her, eyes gleaming wrathfully. “Karlov’s a girl. Nothing but a girl.”
“Isn’t he lucky.” Feminism came to die at her father’s feet. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen.”
Springing to his feet, Dad glowered at her. “What are you talking about? How the hell do you expect me to eat now?”
Chapter 2
Elizabeth’s cell woke her, and she fumbled for it and hit Answer.
Mom’s voice dragged her out of sleep lethargy. “Elizabeth, are you awake?”
She was now. Coffee sounded like a great thing to do and she stumbled out of bed. “Hey, Mom. How’s Paris?”
“We’re in Amsterdam now and it’s lovely. I wish you were here to see it, Elizabeth. They have all these cute houses packed together and everybody rides bicycles, and oh, Danica and I are off to see the tulips tomorrow.”
“That’s awesome.” Mom sounded happy, a lightness to her voice that hadn’t been there in a long time.
“But now we might not get there.” Mom’s voice hitched. “Elizabeth, love, I hate to ask this of you. You already do so much for other people. Only...”
Mom really wouldn’t ask if she had an alternative. “What?”
