by Lynda Aicher
Plus, there was Samantha to consider. Samantha, who’d shown up yesterday at the rink to check on him. That right there said she still cared. And the kiss—fucking hot as hell. He wet his lips, the soft touch of hers smoothing through him to torment him with what she withheld. He could change her mind, show her they had a chance. Find a way so she could still have her own goals. He was sure of it.
“Thanks,” Dylan said, decision made. “I appreciate that, but I’m good with the Glaciers.” He kept his game face on despite how he felt about Jeff’s proposed tactics.
“Are you sure? Nothing’s set until you sign it.”
He gave a firm nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Jeff shook his head and sat back, a cross between disappointment and regret on his face. That look wasn’t going to change Dylan’s mind. The man loved the wheeling and dance that went with a deal. It’d taken a few years before Dylan had learned to ignore the very charm Jeff employed during negotiations.
“I’ll let the Glaciers know.” He closed the file and shoved it across the table to Dylan. “This is your copy. Check it over, and I’ll set up a time later this week to close this.” He glanced at his watch then his phone, already sliding from the booth. “I have a stop to make before I catch my flight.”
That was just fine with Dylan. He had someplace he needed to be too.
*
Dylan bounded up the front stairs of the faded white craftsman and knocked on the door, the energy threading through him in a jittery rush of barely contained excitement. He lifted his face to the sun, the gorgeous mid-April weather a topper on his fantastic day.
He adjusted his cowboy hat and started to give another knock when the door swung open. A tall, dark-haired woman dressed in jeans and a bright gold T-shirt greeted him.
“Yes?” Her smile was welcoming.
“Is Samantha here?” He’d passed her car parked on the curb, but she could be on campus.
“Yeah.” She stepped back and motioned him into the house. “I’m Lacy, one of her housemates.”
“Hi.” He extended his hand, his southern politeness coming through when he really wanted to bolt into the house to hunt Samantha down. “Dylan.”
Her smile widened as she shook his hand. “She’s in her room.” She hesitated a second then waved him to follow. “I’ll show you.” She started up the stairs. “Hey, Sam,” she shouted. “You have a visitor.”
He was right on Lacy’s heels so he didn’t miss the “I’m not here” call that came down the hallway. Lacy looked over her shoulder and cringed. She didn’t stop though. He followed her down the short hall where she paused outside a closed door.
“Good luck,” she whispered before banging on the door.
“What?” Samantha’s irritated voice came through the door. It swung open a second later, a scowling Samantha framed in the doorway. “I’m busy.” Her gaze flew past Lacy to land on him.
He didn’t wait for her to say anything more. His overflowing adrenaline had him pushing past her housemate to scoop Samantha into a huge hug. “We did it,” he told her as he swung her around in a circle. His hat tumbled off his head when he tilted his head back to grin up at her. “We did it.”
“What?” There was laughter in her voice now, and he did another spin just to hear it again. “Put me down before you hurt yourself.” Her shove at his shoulder was only halfhearted though.
His heart was beating an obnoxious pace that threatened to pound right through his ribs. He set her down and immediately took her lips in a claiming kiss. He cupped her jaw and dove into her mouth to seek out the joy that was her. The comfort he found with her. In her.
She kissed him back, pushing in to take as much as he gave. Unlike the kiss at the rink, this one was heavy and deep with everything he wanted to share with her. God, he didn’t want to let her go even an inch for fear she’d tell him to leave.
Finally she shoved back, gasping for breath. He panted his own heavy need for air and rested his forehead on hers. “We did it,” he said again, softer this time.
“Did what?”
He dropped his hands and stepped back to pull the folded stack of papers from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I got the contract.” He waved the papers. “Six years, twenty-five mill!” Samantha had been there for him when he’d been at his lowest. She’d earned the right to celebrate with him.
Her smile stretched into a tight grin as she focused on the papers clasped in his hand. Her lapse was brief, a short hesitation of slow reaction that sucked the wind from him. “That’s great, Dylan.”
Her canned voice full of forced happiness cut him to his core. He took a numb step back, hand falling to his side, paper crushing in his fist. He caught everything in seemingly slow motion. The slight wrinkle over her brow. The hard grooves that framed her lips. And most of all, the sadness that pooled in her eyes despite her effort to hide it.
He’d seen that look too many times not to recognize it. It’d been etched into his memory since the day his dad died.
It was loss.
Shit. He shook his head to clear the impression. When that didn’t work, he scrubbed a hand over his face. The look was still imprinted in his mind.
He had everything Samantha wanted. His blind determination to win her over had left him deaf to what she’d been trying to tell him all along—he would always remind her of what she couldn’t have. In his rush to share his news, he’d stupidly ignored that.
Fuck. He stepped around her outstretched hand, his back to her. “That’s not how you really feel, is it?” He couldn’t stand to see her disappointment when he’d only wanted to celebrate. She’d been the first person he’d wanted to tell and now he questioned if he’d ever be able to share his hockey success with her. Any of it.
“Dylan.” Her note of annoyance scratched over his frustration to send a chill down his back. “I’m happy for you. Really. This is great.” The words were right, even if the enthusiasm wasn’t.
His gaze flew around the room as he tried to figure out if it was possible to fix their relationship. He’d been so certain up until now.
The powder-blue walls were bare, which made the small space seem cold. Boxes littered her bed, most filled with items from clothes to books to random stuff. The closet door was open, the rack and shelf empty. More boxes were stacked by the door, taped closed and labeled—kitchen, bath, gear.
He turned back to her as understanding dawned. “You’re leaving? Now?”
Her shoulders went back in incremental movements timed with the rise of her chin. “Yes.” The haughtiness of the tone included a challenge.
“When?” Maybe he had no right to demand answers, but damn it, they’d had something. He’d thought they’d meant something to each other. He loved her. Didn’t she get that?
“I leave in two days.” She swallowed.
The sucker punch from her was almost too much. He clamped his mouth closed to keep from spewing the reactionary thoughts plowing through his mind. How the fuck could she do this? Bail on them so completely? Leave without a word? Run when there was something here?
“Were you going to tell me?” he finally managed to get out around his aching jaw. His fingers dug into his hips where he clenched them.
She shifted her gaze to stare out the window behind him. “Yes.”
That screamed of a lie. “When? After you were gone?”
“No.” She glared at him. “I was going to call you.”
“Call?” He couldn’t grasp how wrong he’d been about her. Them. Everything. His stomach cramped around the mix of betrayal and hurt. “You’re moving across the fucking country and you were going to call to let me know?”
She closed her eyes, a deep breath lifting her chest. “We haven’t seen or talked to each other in over a month—until yesterday. We were over. Everything’s been said. The only thing that’s changed is my departure date.”
“Bullshit,” he said under his breath. “I’m calling bullshit on that. We might’ve parted for a bit, b
ut we never finished anything. At least have the balls to admit that.”
She snorted. “Right. I saw your damn list and I was nowhere on it. Your sole goal is hockey, and that’s fine. Great even. But I won’t be a second thought in your life.”
He jerked back, frowning. “What list?” He flashed back to that last day when she’d caught a glimpse of his notebook. “My Recovery Plan? Of course you’re not on that list.” Her mouth dropped open, widening with her eyes. “But I can show you the list two pages ahead of that one. The Samantha Plan is full of steps to win you over. Including securing my future—” he waved the contract, “—so I had something to offer you.”
Her mouth snapped shut, her irritation retreating behind disbelief. “Offer me?” Her soft question flirted with confusion.
She really didn’t get it. His shoulders dropped with the slow release of his breath. It’d all been so clear to him. Obviously. But somewhere along the way he’d forgotten to ensure she understood.
“Yes. Offer you,” he finally said. A sick swell of misunderstanding scratched at his chest and he waffled with the urge to gather her close. He hated seeing her hurt and somehow they kept doing that to each other. “If I didn’t heal right and the Glaciers dropped me, what would I have to give you?” he tried to explain. “Years scrambling in the affiliate leagues with the faint hope of getting a second shot with another team? And if that didn’t work, what then? You’re the star. The coach. The one with a dozen options after hockey. Me—hockey’s it. Maybe it’s stupid pride, but I wanted to be able to give you this.” He held the scrunched papers out, hoping she understood. She wasn’t a second thought. But he had to know his value in their relationship.
Her eyes gleamed bright before she squeezed them closed. She sucked in a breath, held it and slowly reopened her eyes. His heart was torn open and aching with how close yet far they were. Why couldn’t they get this right?
“I get it,” she said, her voice almost too low to hear. “But you missed the part where I liked you with or without hockey.” She sniffed. Glanced away. “I have my pride too. That’s what you need to understand. I can’t depend on you for my future.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need something of my own.” She pressed her palm over her chest in a plea for him to understand. “It’s the same as you. I wasn’t raised to be on the sideline. I need something of my own that I can be proud of.”
“I get that.” Honestly, he did, and he held her gaze imploring her to believe him. “What I don’t understand is why you’re running.” He leaned in, adamant about his point. “You ran away from hockey and now you’re running from everything that’s here. Friends, coaching, hockey. Me. Us.”
She closed her eyes, a defeated sigh gusting out. “Why does me going after my goals become running, where you going after your goals is defined as drive?” She opened her eyes, arms crossing over her chest, lip tucking between her teeth. “It’s that two-way street again where the same actions perpetrated by different genders is defined differently. I’m going after my career, the same as you. I’m sorry if you see that as running.”
They were arguing over goals and perceptions when neither had any bearing on his fucking heart. “Did it even cross your mind to talk to me about it? That maybe we could figure something out together?”
She blew out a breath and stared at the ground. Her hair fell forward to shield her face, but it didn’t hide the tight closure of her eyes. “So you could talk me out of leaving?” She looked up. “Because we both know you’re not going anywhere. You are clearly tied to Minneapolis, so the compromise would be on my side. Me giving up my dreams so you can have yours.”
“That’s how you see this?” He stepped close and finally dared to touch her. A tremble ran up his arm at first contact. Her cheek was so soft beneath his knuckles. The gentle glide over her skin a tease and a song. “A battle of dreams?”
Her lip quivered before she pressed her shoulders back, a resolve settling over her. “Not a battle but a solid conflict. There isn’t an easy answer.”
He had one. Maybe. “How about I love you. Does that answer anything?” Shit. His heart was a massive drum drowning out everything in his head except her. He’d sworn he wouldn’t risk the pain if there wasn’t a clear outcome, yet he doubted he could hurt any worse.
Her eyes went wide, the sky so blue in them he knew he would never lose sight of his home if she was with him. She blinked, swallowed and blinked again. “I—” She cleared her throat. “Love doesn’t fix things.” And another piece of his heart broke off to pierce in his chest.
Fuck. What kind of a response was that? Where was the hug and tears or the heartfelt return of affection? He shook his head. Of course she’d challenge his words. It was so her—and was one of the silly, contrary things that he fucking loved about her.
“You’re right,” he conceded. “But it can change things. Make burdens lighter or bonds stronger. It can—”
“Hurt and betray you too.” She heaved a sigh and laid a hand on his chest. The press of it soaked through his chest to gentle his heart while grinding the wound in deeper. “This thing between us, whether it’s love or friendship or both, won’t change if it’s right.”
His hope burst free for the first time since she’d winced at his news. She hadn’t said the exact words, but her eyes weren’t lying right now. The love was there, exactly like he remembered. Shining through in her actions and expressions.
“But forcing it could easily kill it,” she went on, earnest. “I don’t want to resent you or your career. You deserve better and until I can figure out where I belong again and find some peace with it, then I’m only going to keep on hurting you until you resent me.”
Fuck. This whole thing sucked. Why couldn’t he have it easy just once?
He needed to stop overthinking and simply follow through on what he’d been resisting. He slid his arms around her and pulled her in until she heated his front in a long press of memories, wants and misgivings. Her hold around his waist bound her to him, like the warmth of her breath on his neck and the scent of her shampoo. She simply fit—with him, his life, his habits and likes. The only thing that didn’t mesh was their dreams. And how fucked up was that?
He nuzzled his nose into her hair and savored every second of it. “Is there someplace closer you can get your degree from? Another school that won’t take you so far away?”
Her voice was muffled, low and pained when she answered. “There are. But,” she went on before he could jump on that, “they’re not as good as the one I’m in, and there’s no way of knowing if I’ll get into their programs.”
“And you’re set on that? No chance on coaching or doing something else you love?” He was scrambling now, digging for any way to make them work when there was so little he could offer in compromise.
“Coaching’s my dad’s thing. Hockey’s your thing. I need my thing.” Her voice rose on her last statement, the insistence punctuated by a note of frustration.
He had no comeback for that. Nor could he deny her. Not when it meant so much to her. He hugged her tighter, the resignation rising up to drown him. “I’d give you the world if I could, you know that, right?”
Her sniff tickled his neck and shivered down his chest. “And you know I need to get that world on my own, right?”
“I want to help.”
“I know, and thank you.” She eased back, her eyes shining pools when she looked up at him. “But if I can’t sort this out on my own then I’m afraid I’ll never get past it. It’s more than just the school or the degree. It’s about me letting go so I can move forward without the heavy, bitter weight of my resentment and envy.”
So there was nothing he could do. Except let her go.
Shit. Fuck. And damn it all to hell. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. She wasn’t supposed to leave. Not when everything was almost, finally right. “It’s going to hurt like hell to let you go,” he admitted, just barely holding in his plea for her to sta
y.
Yet beneath his pain and hurt, he also admired her for leaving. For knowing herself well enough to understand what she needed in order to heal. He wasn’t sure if he’d be so strong if their situations were reversed. If he’d simply give in to the now and worry about the future when it got there. And if the resentment turned to a bitterness that soured their love, it would be too late to fix it.
He cupped her face and showed her how much he loved her, how much he’d miss her in the kiss he pressed to her lips. He took it all in, let it relieve some of the ache and loss. Her soft hum was caught in their mouths, and he pushed in deeper, sweeping his tongue over hers in a dance that was just theirs alone.
It was goodbye and don’t forget that chased through his blood to bind with memories in a promise to hold strong. To give her this and hope she’d come back.
His erection grew, steady and hard in his jeans, and he ached to ease it. To have one last memory of sinking into her sweet body to hold him through her absence. He had no idea though if it would help or only hurt more.
She nipped his lip, sucked it into her mouth and soothed the sting with soft sounds and tender touches. Desire raged with longing, burning hot through his blood to fire his need until thoughts disappeared.
“I need you, Samantha,” he whispered against her lips before he trailed a line of kisses down her jaw. “One more time.” If that was all he could have, he couldn’t pass it up. “Just you and me and none of this stuff.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, ran his tongue around the shell, her head tilting to follow the line he drew. “Nothing but us. Now. Here.”
He backed away to stare into her eyes. Into the woman who held his heart and showed him what it was to love deep enough to risk the pain it could bring.
She searched him, eyes open windows to what she so often locked down. Her hand shook when she raised it to run her fingers down his jaw, featherlight and scorching deep.
