Broken (Breakers Hockey Book 1)

by Elise Faber

  “Fuck,” she whispered after several long moments. “How the hell am I supposed to hike after that?”

  He froze.

  Then his shoulders started shaking.

  His laughter echoed off the tile, and it filled her, filled her with happiness, with . . . hope for the future.

  Her legs were trembling, long unused muscles protesting the physical activity after she and Luc had used up so much energy.

  But though she groused and groaned, she really enjoyed being outside.

  There was something about feeling the wind on her face, and whether it was that she was starting to get into better shape because of all the hikes they’d taken of late or because he’d taken pity on her and picked an easy path, she didn’t know.

  And didn’t care, she supposed.

  So long as she was with her best friend, her boyfriend, her . . . lover? God, that sounded weird, just as it was strange to have the label, the tone of that friendship shift into something different, something more.

  Probably not quite as much as it should.

  They’d been moving toward this, probably from the moment they’d first met, so while the names, trying to quantify what they’d become sounded odd to her brain, being with him, sleeping in his arms, having his body against hers, his mouth on hers, his cock inside her, all felt . . . weirdly enough, normal.

  Even though they’d leaped from friends to—yes—lovers.

  Their feet crunched quietly on the trail, the dirt and rocks shifting beneath the soles of their shoes. The trees had closed in around them, making the air cold and damp, almost clinging to her skin. She’d brought hiking clothes—leggings and a T-shirt, along with her ridiculously expensive boots and socks (both of which she’d invested in after their first hike had left her with blisters and aching feet for days), and a hoodie.

  But she’d pilfered Luc’s oversized sweatshirt not long after they’d begun, the chill seeping into her and the exertion of this trail not strenuous enough to have her peeling off layers like normal.

  Now she was safely ensconced in warm, male-scented cotton, its arms rolled up several times at the cuffs, and even then, they still fell past her fingertips, its hem teased her legs at mid-thigh. Luc had snagged her water bottle, storing it in the pocket of his backpack before they’d even left the parking lot, and aside from one stop to drink and rest, they’d been walking for what had to be close to an hour.

  “Was this a loop?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him, catching him staring at where the hem of his sweatshirt was brushing. “Or an out-and-back?”

  “Loop,” he said, his gaze slowly tracing up her body, no embarrassment for being caught staring in his eyes that matched the deep green of the trees surrounding them.

  Speaking of which— “Are we going to see anything besides trees?” she asked, another look back.

  Half of his mouth tipped up, flashing her a dimple. “Yup.”

  “You going to tell me?”

  “Nope.” The p sounding like a balloon popping.

  She waited for more of an explanation.

  Then wondered why she bothered. Luc wasn’t the type of man to be pushed into anything, and certainly not an explanation. When he wouldn’t budge, he wouldn’t budge. Luckily, that wasn’t too often, or she might want to throttle him.

  Okay, fine, when he pulled his whole gorgeous, dimpled, half-smile bullshit, keeping mum on all the revealing thoughts and secrets in his mind, she did want to throttle him.

  But she had other tools in her repertoire to draw from.

  Plus, he was quite tall.

  It would be really hard to reach that high up to get her hands around his neck.

  Slowing, she spun to face him, letting her eyes show exactly what other paraphernalia she had in her toolbox. His body came flush to hers, her palm resting on his chest. “Luc,” she murmured.

  He merely tapped her on the nose. “Behave,” he said, eyes dancing as he snagged her hand from where it rested above his heart, weaved their fingers together, and drew her forward again while she sputtered over the indignity of being tapped on the nose and told to behave.

  On. The. Nose. And. Behave.

  Like.

  Seriously?

  What the fuck was that?

  She opened her mouth to ask him precisely that, but no sooner had that question reached the tip of her tongue and his lips were on hers, his tongue was sliding home, trailing along hers as he kissed her into a pile of mush of damp earth like that which lined the edges of the trail.

  He broke away, leaving her chest heaving, the fingers of one hand having slipped beneath the hem of her sweatshirt to cup her ass. “Behave,” he said again.

  Then they were moving forward, her head spinning, her legs like jelly.

  “Remind me to never give you my sweatshirt again,” he said, right about the time her breathing had approached normal.

  Lexi frowned.

  His free hand dipped back underneath the sweatshirt. “Covers up the sweetest ass I’ve ever had the privilege to see.”

  “And touch, apparently,” she said with far more dry humor than she felt, considering the light caress was enough to nearly send her combusting all over again.

  Another glimpse of that dimple.

  Then his hand was out from beneath the sweatshirt, and he was tugging her forward again, up and over a small hill, and—

  Her breath caught.

  Not from his kiss or his body or the attraction, but from what she saw ahead of them.

  Luc let her stand there in a stupor, eyeing the most beautiful clearing she’d ever seen—almost perfectly round, wildflowers having sprung up around the circumference, springy green grass in the middle, a creek babbling just beyond the trees on the far side.

  “Come on,” he said, after a few minutes, her eyes taking in every detail.

  He brought her toward the clearing, guided her over the wildflowers so they didn’t trample them, then he tugged her into the center, pausing and pulling a blanket out of the backpack. A flick of his wrist had it spread on the grass; another had a thermos pulled from his bag.

  “Sit,” he ordered.

  She sat, and he plunked down next to her, the smell of coffee reaching her nose when he unscrewed the lid and poured her a cup.

  Then he pulled a container of chocolate-covered strawberries from the backpack.

  Romanced.

  Holy hell, was she being romanced.

  And she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t the best feeling ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Luc

  She waved goodbye, driving her little car down the street, and he wanted to chase after her, to demand that she stay at his place forever.

  But . . . they’d skipped quite a few steps already.

  And he’d had all day with her.

  And she’d come to him the night before.

  God, he’d never expected her to come to him. After two and a half fucking years of shoving everything down, after being absolutely terrified that she would run screaming for the hills when he’d first made a move, still waiting for some other shoe to drop—her realizing that it wasn’t him she wanted or that they were better as friends or that she just wasn’t interested in dating anyone right then.

  All would be valid reasons to not take this step.

  But she’d shown up anyway.

  And . . . it was the same as it always was between them, and different. Completely, utterly different . . . and better.

  So much better than he’d ever dreamed.

  Perfect.

  The woman was perfect.

  Okay, so he knew that was the hormones talking, knew that she, of course, wasn’t perfect, just like he was far from flawless. But she was perfect for him. So fucking funny and tough and smart and generous. He knew the person she was inside, knew that she had a light burning inside her. One that had guttered and nearly gone out because of that fucker, Caleb. And one that now burned bright again.

  Because of her.
Not him.

  Because she was so fucking strong.

  And he admired her so freaking much.

  Even if she was leaving him.

  Frowning, he turned back for the house, knowing that she probably needed the space, especially after their crazy jump into intimacy, but he’d wanted to have her stay. Which was completely a new phenomenon for him.

  After his divorce, he’d done the whole different bed every night thing—at least once his knee had recovered enough to do said bed-hopping. But he hadn’t done relationships, didn’t think he’d been cut out for them, even when he’d gotten tired of variety and stuck with one woman for longer than a night. Then his dealings with women had become two people searching for mutual satisfaction with neither party interested in a relationship.

  He hadn’t wanted to be vulnerable.

  Yet, with Lexi, he’d never been able to keep his distance.

  He’d been so desperate for any connection with her that he’d opened himself wide. Pathetic, probably, especially after he’d discovered she was married. Luc certainly wasn’t the romantic type—or hadn’t been, anyway—but if she’d been available, it would have been love at first sight.

  It was for him, he supposed.

  For Lexi . . . well, she’d certainly never given him any indication of being open to anything aside from friendship. He’d need to ask her one of these days.

  Making a mental note of that, he went into the house, locked up, and pulled out his computer, intending to get ready for the week. As always, there were dozens of emails, those that had piled up since he’d been ignoring his cell all day.

  Ignoring, except for the pictures he’d snapped of Lexi, and then the ones she’d snapped of him and her together.

  Selfies.

  He was taking selfies, and he was happy about it.

  But was it a selfie if it included another person in it? Or was it a doubly? An us-y? He dragged a hand over his face, knowing he was too fucking old to deduce the mysteries of young person lingo.

  Forty.

  Fucking forty. Almost forty-one.

  God, when he’d been twenty, forty had seemed so old, but today, he felt like he’d just begun living.

  “Romantic sap,” he muttered, deliberately thinking not about his love life and instead focusing on his emails, clearing the decks, making a few phone calls when an email response wouldn’t fly. About an hour later, he rolled his shoulders and neck, closing the browser and mentally shifting gears as he opened a password-secured spreadsheet.

  Things My Love Loves.

  The password was Lexi’s birthday. January 4th. Zero-one-zero-four.

  Such. A. Sap.

  But he didn’t give a fuck, not as he made a couple of notes, new things he’d discovered today—she wanted a candle that smelled like Christmas, she loved apple cider but hated eggnog (the latter of which he couldn’t believe he hadn’t known, considering they’d spent last Christmas together)—and then took a few minutes to study his list, wondering what he should do next.

  They didn’t have an official plan for another date, but she’d said she would see him the next day.

  Should he be planning something fancy and romantic? A nice dinner? A date that didn’t involve her hiking up a mountain? It was strange to feel caught flat-footed, usually he was so comfortable knowing everything about Lexi, his instincts and the fact that he paid attention driving him in their interactions.

  But . . . everything had changed for the better.

  And he was half-terrified he was going to fuck it up.

  Which was why, even though the sun was setting and he had a full day of work the next day, he continued studying that list, continued planning his next step. He harnessed that fear of ruining things between them and focused on the fact that he knew her, that they were good together.

  He’d given his players this same advice a dozen times.

  Don’t overthink it. Just keep your head down and continue moving forward.

  It wasn’t a magic pill. It didn’t completely alleviate the dread in his heart, the urge to dig his claws in and hold tight for fear of losing her.

  But it settled him enough so he could close the document, could head up to a bed that still smelled like Lexi.

  And yeah, maybe he held tight to the pillow that smelled like her as he fell asleep.

  More running.

  This time without a side of nearly getting run over.

  Which was why he noticed the car at the curb this time, the smell of bacon wafting into the front yard as he jogged up the walk and unlocked the door.

  He strode straight into the kitchen and smiled.

  Lexi was wearing a frilly apron, her hips moving to music he couldn’t hear, courtesy of the headphones she had stuck in her ears.

  Bacon and eggs, cheese and green onions.

  As he leaned on the wall that marked the entrance to the kitchen, he watched her dump the eggs into the pan, add big handfuls of cheese and bacon and onions, then deftly flipping the mixture and letting it cook before sliding it onto the plate.

  She turned, met his eyes as though she’d known he’d been there the whole time, just watching, and lifted an eyebrow. “You going to keep standing there?” she asked. “Or are you going to eat?”

  “I was enjoying the view,” he said, pushing off the wall and moving toward her.

  “We need to go dancing again,” she murmured, pushing the plate into his hands. “I promise to not drink so much, so I can actually remember all of it.”

  Chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her, spinning her so her back was against his chest. “It was a lot of me doing this.”

  She inhaled sharply, and he set the plate on the counter, before bringing his hand to her stomach and drawing her closer. “I think I like it when you hold me like this,” she murmured, hips arching back.

  “It was a love-hate for me.” He bent to kiss her jaw.

  “Why?” she asked, tilted her head to the side, giving him more access.

  “Because I loved having you close, and I hated having the rest of those fuckers in the bar looking at you.”

  She spun in his arms, brows raised, putting a few inches between them. “Possessive much?”

  A few inches too many.

  He clamped a hand on her hip, drew her to him, eliminating that space she’d created. “I spent two and a half years dreaming about a woman who belonged to someone else.” He crouched a little, so his gaze met hers. “Yeah, I’m feeling a lot possessive.”

  Her lips parted, and he couldn’t resist tasting her.

  Until she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him back a step.

  “Eat,” she ordered when he reached for her again, stepping back and grabbing the plate, handing it to him a second time.

  He might have ignored her order, if not for the fact that she’d already turned away, beginning to prep her own breakfast, and he didn’t want to delay her eating any further. Plus, the omelet smelled incredible, and his stomach was already growling. So, he sat down at the table, although he should have probably gone upstairs and showered instead of grinding all up against her like a sweaty asshole.

  God knew what he smelled like.

  “I like you sweaty,” she murmured, tossing a glance at him, adding at what was probably a surprised expression on his face—it was like she’d cherry-picked that thought straight out of his mind, “I know you, too, Luc.”

  A grin had him pushing out of his seat, crossing to her and looping his arms around her waist. Lexi didn’t retreat from his smelly ass. Instead, she drifted closer, rubbed her nose against the column of his throat.

  “And I like the way you smell after you exercise.” One hand cupped the side of his neck, drew him down for a short, blazing kiss, then she turned her head, running her mouth along his jaw, inhaling deeply.

  When she rotated back to the stove, he moved to open the utensil drawer . . . then froze when she cleared her throat.

  His eyes went to hers, and he grinned when she exten
ded a fork wrapped in a napkin, and he took it back to the table, knowing that if she kept feeding him breakfast, he was going to have to add some extra miles to his running routine. Hell, her saying she liked him sweaty had him willing to run his whole circuit again, just so she’d come close again and press her nose to his throat again.

  Both scenarios were totally worth it—the extra running and the sniffing.

  Dork, he thought.

  Biting back a laugh, he dug into his omelet.

  Then nearly moaned.

  The cheese was hot and melty, the bacon crispy, the green onions a nice bite to contrast with everything else. He’d pounded half of it before he made himself come up for air, and he saw that she was putting her own omelet on her plate.

  A few moments later, she was next to him.

  And they were eating breakfast together.

  Something they’d done a hundred times before, and yet something that was completely different from a week before.

  Lexi rested her palm on his thigh, smiled up at him.

  Different because they were dating.

  His mouth curved, pleasure in every cell.

  Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lexi

  She blinked her bleary eyes and logged off her computer, intending to walk down to Luc’s office to see if he wanted to do lunch.

  Before she so much as pushed out of her chair, her cell rang.

  She glanced at the screen, saw it was her dad, and then immediately remembered what date it was. These calls were like clockwork, once a month, from wherever he was.

  Lexi swiped to answer the call

  “Dad,” she said. “How are you?”

  The connection was bad, as it always was. Since her mom had passed nearly eight years before, her dad hadn’t been around much. Her mom had barely been in the ground before he’d sold her childhood home in Connecticut, bought an RV, and then spent most of his time floating around different states in the continental U.S.