Broken (Breakers Hockey Book 1)

by Elise Faber

  Well, fuck that.

  He didn’t owe her an explanation for why he’d disappeared. She was a grown woman and could take care of herself. And she certainly didn’t own him anything, not after everything that had happened that he hadn’t been here for.

  Monthly calls that lasted all of five minutes.

  That wasn’t a father’s love.

  She needed to get out of here.

  But her fucking keys were . . . just . . . out . . . of . . . reach. She’d need to either learn how to hotwire her car or maybe go Inspector Gadget and extend her fingers so she could grab them . . .

  A sigh.

  Or maybe . . . she just needed to step out of the car, put her feet onto the asphalt of the parking lot and see what her father wanted.

  Adulting.

  She hated it.

  Stifling a sigh, she slid out of the driver’s seat and turned to face her dad. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “I—” His gaze darted over her shoulder then back to hers, staring deep into her eyes with a set that was almost identical to her own. “Did you want to go somewhere to talk?”

  “You mean somewhere other than the empty parking lot with rain threatening?” she asked sarcastically.

  The first hint of humor in his brown eyes. “Yes, honey. I had hoped we’d talk somewhere without risk of getting poured on.”

  She resisted the urge to cross her arms. Just barely. “About what?”

  His gaze darted to the side again.

  And she decided that she didn’t want to have this conversation.

  “Now’s not a good time.”

  His face fell, and a bolt of guilt slid through her, but she buckled it down. What did she have to feel guilty for? He was the one who’d pushed her away for so long. And maybe it was a dick move, but she wanted to get to Luc’s. She wanted that comfort and security. She wanted to continue moving into Luc’s place, wanted to keep on making it her place, too.

  She was busy.

  She was . . . also avoiding whatever shadows were in her dad’s eyes.

  If he was looking for forgiveness, Lex didn’t think she had the strength to absolve him of anything, not at this moment, not after all this time, not after Caleb and everything she’d gone through the last six months. She was just finally getting her feet under her again. She’d just found a slice of happy.

  And what fucking right did her absentee father have to waltz back in?

  Adult. Adult.

  She was an adult.

  Inhaling, she tried to force herself to calm. He’d been grieving, and she didn’t need—

  A flicker of rage. Because, know what? Fuck that. Yes, she was an adult, had been an adult when he’d disappeared into his grief. But also, she’d still been his daughter, and she’d been grieving, too. She’d needed him, and he hadn’t been there.

  No one had.

  She’d pulled herself out and had dived headfirst into Caleb.

  If her dad had been around, maybe she would have seen through the act, realized Caleb’s love hadn’t been—

  And that wasn’t fair either.

  She needed to own her own shit. Not blame her failed relationship on her father. Just like it wasn’t her fault that Caleb was a serial cheater.

  “You’re moving?” her father asked, pulling her out of her own brain.

  She cleared her throat, turned back to her car, bending around the driver’s seat and reaching beneath it to snatch up the keys. Once they were in hand, she straightened. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m moving.”

  Silence.

  “Can I ask where?”

  “With my boyfriend,” she said.

  Eyes widening, his lips parting, but no sound came out for a long time. Then he said, “Is Caleb—”

  “I believe I mentioned I was getting a divorce during one of our calls,” she said, ice creeping through her veins. “Though, that you don’t remember certainly isn’t a surprise.”

  A raindrop plunked onto her shoulder.

  “Alexis.”

  “Lexi,” she corrected.

  “Can I ask who?”

  No. He couldn’t. “I should go,” she whispered.

  “Can I help you with carrying in the boxes?” he asked so softly she could barely hear him. “I could follow you to your new place.”

  Her lungs froze. “Thanks, but no.” She jingled the keys in her hand. “I need to—” She broke off at the flash of pain darting across his face, more guilt weaving through her. And even still, she couldn’t summon the words.

  “Go,” he whispered, nodding and stepping back. “Bye, honey.”

  That guilt struck again, stronger this time, and Lexi opened her mouth to say he could help her . . . right when the skies opened up.

  Her dad nudged her into her car. “Go, honey.”

  She sat down, legs buckling, the door closing before she had a chance to say anything else.

  And by the time she pushed her hair out of her face, got the keys in the ignition to run the wipers, her dad was gone.

  Good.

  That was what she wanted.

  But . . . she found herself searching the parking lot when she pulled out.

  Just to make sure she didn’t run him over.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Luc

  “Was that better than FaceTime Fun Time?” he asked, his heart still thundering in his chest, the sweat still coating both their bodies.

  “Hmm,” she murmured, rolling in his arms, her hand pressing to the spot over his heart, probably feeling it thundering under her palm. “I’m not going to commit to that.”

  He mock-gasped, flipping them so he was on top, his cock stirring even though he was a forty-year-old man who definitely shouldn’t be ready to go this quickly again.

  Especially when that last orgasm had threatened to blow his spine out.

  Her eyes were wide but filled with happiness, and for a moment, he couldn’t catch his breath. It wasn’t from any exertion on his part but instead from the impact of the breadth of his emotions. How did he feel this much for her? Literally how? He’d been in love with her for two years but unable to act on it, and now to be here, with her, with her in his life like this . . . it was just so much better than he’d ever imagined.

  “What is it?” she asked, her hand cupping his cheek.

  “Nothing,” he said, pushing down the sappy, too big for this early in their relationship emotions, and tickling up his hand up her side. “Except for the fact that you’re comparing my in-person sex skills to my phone sex skills.”

  She giggled and tried to squirm away, but he just let his hips fall heavier on hers.

  A gasp, a trace of heat in her eyes. “Already?”

  He nipped her bottom lip, smiled when she nipped back.

  It was late on Saturday night, actually almost very early on Sunday morning now. He’d come straight from the airport, hoping to see Lexi in that nurse’s outfit, but even more overjoyed when she’d been sitting up waiting for him, wearing one of his hoodies, the gray cotton dwarfing her frame, her hair piled on top of her head, the delicate lines of her face highlighted from the screen of her laptop as she’d sat at the kitchen island.

  She’d closed the laptop the moment he’d come through the door.

  Then had stood, and he’d seen that she wasn’t wearing any pants, the sweatshirt hitting her at mid-thigh.

  And no surprise, they’d ended up here about three-point-six seconds later.

  “Tell me about what you did today,” he said, running his hand up and down her side.

  “Worked.”

  “On a Saturday?” he asked.

  “Well, someone was all bossy about getting me moved into his house this week.”

  He rolled his eyes because their first-ever argument as a dating couple had been about her waiting until he’d gotten back so he could help her do exactly that.

  “So,” she said, “because of this extremely stubborn person”—he tweaked her nipple and she coughed, sq
uirmed—“stubborn female, I spent all week lugging around boxes.”

  “Well, at least you got your workouts in.” He bit back a smile and trailed his hand down her side. “You know what they say about women who just sit around and—”

  She caught his hand. “And you know what they say about men who dare to finish that statement.”

  He barked out a laugh, pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Save any of those boxes for me?”

  Humor glimmered in her eyes. “You saw the living room, didn’t you?”

  No, he hadn’t. He’d been too focused on that bare expanse of thigh in his kitchen, on their days apart.

  She patted his shoulder, a knowing smile on that kissable mouth. “Don’t worry. I’ll put you to work in the morning.”

  “Deal.”

  “Although . . .” She trailed off, lips curving.

  “Although?” he asked.

  “Maybe, I could put you to work now?”

  He grinned. “Again?”

  She nodded, eyes flicking down. “Since you’re . . . up.”

  Laughter in his chest, his throat, his bones and blood, and then his mouth. And from Lexi, when she kissed him, floating from her body to his.

  He pulled back. “Just so we’re clear . . . exactly how many boxes are there?”

  More laughter.

  More happiness.

  More love.

  Then he tugged her closer, pressed his lips to hers, and showed her just how up he was.

  “And then,” Lexi ordered, “that one goes there.”

  He paused, holding the planter aloft, waiting for her to change her mind. Again.

  “No, wait,” she said. “Put it over by the window.”

  Still, he paused, just in case there was a third change in direction. Which earned him a light swat . . . and then a peck on the cheek. “By the window,” she repeated.

  He lugged it to said window, the bright purple flowers catching the sunshine.

  But when he turned back, ready to grab one of the final two planters that she’d left just inside his front door (heavy as fuck, and it made him a little crazy that she’d thought it was a good idea for her to move them by herself from her place—but they would talk about her stubborn refusal to use him as a pack mule later), he saw she’d gone still, panic written into the lines of her face.

  “What?” he asked, immediately crossing to her.

  “Is it too much? Am I—too much—” She swallowed. “With the plants and the house and the taking over?”

  “No,” he said immediately, but he could see she didn’t believe him, so instead of returning to the other planters, he took her in his arms. “Have I given you any indication that it’s too much?”

  “No, but . . .”

  “But what?” he asked. “When have I ever not told you what I was thinking?”

  She frowned, tried to push out of his arms. “Um, seriously? How about the fact that you apparently were into me for the last few years?”

  “Into you is the mildest description of what I feel for you,” he said.

  Her lips parted on a shaky exhale, she stopped fighting to escape from his embrace. “I feel a lot for you, too,” she whispered. “But I—” She broke off, shook her head. Then took another breath and said, “I didn’t know my husband was cheating. I didn’t know you felt more for me than friendship. I didn’t know I felt more.”

  “Caleb is an asshole,” he snapped, and her eyes flared. “And neither of us were in a position—”

  “But why?” she exclaimed, interrupting him. “I knew I was close to you, knew you were my best friend, knew that I loved spending time with you.” Her voice dropped, shame in every word of her next question. “So, why did I never consider cheating with you? Why did I think I was so happy with Caleb? Even despite our problems, I thought we’d be together forever.”

  Some of these questions, he’d heard before. Some were new, were probably because she was with him now, and he knew it had to be bringing up insecurities, especially since they’d jumped into this pretty quickly. Some were old because although Caleb was out of the picture, those kinds of wounds didn’t just disappear. “You didn’t cheat because you’re a good person,” he said fiercely. “Same as I shut down all those feelings for you from the moment I found out you were married.”

  “Not all the feelings,” she murmured.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, genuinely confused.

  “I mean, if you’d truly shut everything down, you probably wouldn’t have been my friend, right?” She bit her lip, waited.

  He cupped her cheek. “Yes,” he admitted, knowing it was the truth. “It probably would have been easier if I could have just cut off all ties with you, rather than continuing to torture myself.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I knew from the moment I heard you laugh, I wanted to be the one to make you do it again and again.” He tugged lightly on her earlobe. “And the reality is I couldn’t have pictured a future without you in it. In any form.”

  She was quiet for a long time, golden-brown eyes on his, searching his for . . . something. “I felt that, too,” she whispered. “Not about the laughing, but . . .” She softened, ran her fingers over his jaw. “From the moment I met you, you fit into my life without effort. Like there was a line drawn from you to me, and maybe I was good at ignoring the attraction beneath until I was free to do so, but I knew from the first time we met that we were going to be in each other’s lives. Which”—she inhaled, released it slowly—“I get, sounds like complete and utter foolishness . . .”

  He stroked a finger down the soft silk of her cheek. “From one fool to the other then.”

  Her face gentled. “Exactly that.”

  I love you.

  The words were there.

  But not yet . . . not yet.

  He moved back to the pots. “Where does this one go?” he asked.

  Happy on her face. Joy in his heart. She was here in his life, his house, and that was enough.

  “By the fireplace—” He lifted, started to move that way. “Oh, wait, maybe by the couch—” He paused. “No, no, the stairs.” He waited until she nodded. “Yes, definitely the stairs.”

  He hauled it that way, started to set it down.

  “Or maybe—”

  He almost sighed, but the humor in her voice had him glancing up. “Now you’re just torturing me.”

  “No,” she said, eyes sparkling. “That’ll come later when I bust out the nurse’s outfit. Which,” she added, surveying the room, “I just realized you never explained to me why you have all that lingerie in your closet. Is there something you need to tell me? Something you need to confess?”

  Unbidden, heat rose to his cheeks.

  She gasped, lurched toward him. “Oh my God, there is,” she exclaimed, clasping his hands. “Tell me. Why do you have them?”

  “Well, I . . . um—”

  “Or . . . is it your kink?” She wrinkled her nose. “I mean, I guess I could get into it, if you like to dress up—”

  “They’re not mine.”

  “An old girlfriend’s?” A flicker of jealousy had him tempted to say, yes, just to see what she would do.

  In the end, he decided, “No,” was safer.

  “Hmm. Your sister’s?”

  He shuddered. “God, no.”

  “So, what?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and yeah, maybe he was being evasive, but it wasn’t a very exciting story, and—

  Her brows rose, teasing in her expression. “Right. So they’re not an old girlfriend’s, not your sister’s, and they wouldn’t fit you very well, would they?” she said, tapping her mouth with a finger. “Not with those broad shoulders of yours. Maybe we need to go shopping for your size—”

  “Lexi,” he warned when her eyes continued to dance. “I didn’t buy them. They were a gift.”

  “Oh?” she asked archly.

  He snagged her around the waist, hoisted her up, twisting so she was between him
and the wall. “Yes, oh,” he muttered. “The guys got it for me as a gag gift last year.”

  Those brows arched even higher.

  “Why would the team get you a gag gift of lingerie?”

  Okay, he was explaining this poorly.

  “It was the White Elephant party at Christmas time. You know, the one where everyone had to buy gag gifts. That was”—a wince—“the one I was stuck with.”

  Her eyes went wide. “And you . . . decided to keep it in your closet?”

  Yeah. No. He’d thought he’d thrown it away, but he’d also been pretty drunk. He remembered stumbling into the house . . . and that was pretty much it. “No,” he said. “But . . . I can’t say I’m sad I got to see you in it.”

  “Well, I have to admit, I am a little disappointed,” she said. “I saw the gift bag and new lingerie with the tags still on . . . and I thought it was for me.”

  “Should I rewind and lie, tell you I went shopping and they’re for you?”

  A little of the humor left her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t lie to me, okay?”

  He sucked in a breath through his nose, calling himself an idiot six ways to Sunday. “I won’t,” he promised. “Not ever.”

  Teeth nibbling at the corner of her bottom lip.

  “I swear, honey. Okay?”

  Those teeth released, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Now,” he said, leaning a little heavier against her, loving that the closer contact between their bodies chased the shadows from her gaze. “I think that pot looks perfect by the front door, don’t you?”

  “I—” she began.

  He shifted his hands to cup her ass then lifted her off the wall, started striding for the stairs, bounding up them.

  “I—”

  He dumped her on the bed, dropped down on top of her.

  Her hands came to his shoulders. “I think it looks perfect there, too,” she said, a little breathless. She tilted her head to the side, allowing him better access to her throat.

  And he forgot all about lingerie and plants.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Lexi

  “How did you hurt your knee?” she asked, Thursday during lunchtime. “You’ve never told me exactly what happened.”