Taming Beckett: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 1)

by G. K. Brady

  White pom-poms pulsed in the background to the roar of the cheering crowd as the players lined up for the first puck drop. Paige blew out a breath, grateful to turn her attention elsewhere. That way she could ignore the budding fear that she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.

  “Time to watch the game, Gwenn,” she growled. Sheesh. Sometimes she loved that Gwenn knew her so well, but at other times it bugged the crap out of her.

  They watched together and didn’t discuss Beckett unless it was to marvel at a hit or a solid defensive play. He worked in the top-four rotation, quarterbacked the power play, and took shifts on the penalty kill, logging almost twenty-two minutes. Paige’s heart galloped whenever he took the ice. He was a beast; he played his heart out.

  But it wasn’t enough, and the Flyers were eliminated.

  A while later, Paige screwed up her courage and sent him a text. Sorry about the loss. His reply was swift and curt: Thx.

  She searched her brain for another attempt. Must sting. Am I sending this 2 soon?

  Or 2 late, came his next reply.

  The rebuke sank its fangs into her heavy heart. Let him lick his wounds. She checked her phone frequently, but heard nothing more from him that night.

  Or the following week.

  Or the week after that.

  Paige floated Beckett a few texts that month, hopeful he’d come roaring back into her life, but his answers, when he sent them, were as terse as the final night of his season. How r u? she ventured once. Ok illuminated her screen countless hours later. Still in Philly? was met with No, while Where r u? got no response whatever. Eventually, she stopped—his monosyllabic retorts hurt worse than his silence. Nonetheless, he occupied her waking and dreaming thoughts. Was he in Denver? Wouldn’t he have called her? Not if he’s with someone else.

  Questions and doubts gnawed at her until she couldn’t stand not knowing, so one evening she picked up her phone and stared at it, channeling her courage. Sucking in a breath, she swiped his number and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart jackhammered her ribs. Please answer, please answer, please answer.

  It went to voicemail.

  “Um, hi, Beck. It’s Andie. I haven’t heard from you, so I thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.”

  She cleared her sticky throat. “I, ah, want to … to apologize for … for being unfair to you. I misjudged you. I didn’t listen. Friends don’t do that. I didn’t trust you—or myself—when I should have. I want …”

  I want to pull you close. I want your big body folded all around me, holding me, where it’s safe and warm. Where I feel cherished. Where I can let myself go.

  There’d been a time when she couldn’t have admitted any of it aloud—especially to him. Was that pride? But he was the one. She got that now. And he was gone. Screw pride.

  “Oh, Beck. It’s probably too late, but I’ll say it anyway. I love you. So much. You take my breath away. No one’s ever made me feel the way you do. I know now you’re what I’ve been looking for my whole life. You’re Plan A and B. The whole alphabet. I never wanted to admit it before, admit that I’m just like every other woman who falls for you, but it’s true. I don’t care about holding back anymore, about ‘proper’ timelines. To hell with it all.” Her breath hitched, and she paused to fight the quaver in her voice. “You’re my heart, Beck. I made a huge mistake, and I miss you. Every second of every day.”

  She tossed back water, soothing her parched mouth. “I would do anything to make it up to you, to hear you say you forgive me.”

  A little sob escaped her, and a recorded voice told her she was about to run out of message space. “I have so much to say to you, and I hope you’ll call so I can tell you. But if I don’t hear back, I’ll understand. I’ll know I’m too late.”

  On pins and needles the rest of that night, clinging to her stubbornly silent phone, her hopes dwindled with each tick of the clock. When she awoke the next morning, she lunged for the device. Nothing.

  He’d given her his answer.

  Hollow, numb, she stared at the ceiling. This entire time, she thought she’d been safeguarding her heart, but all she’d accomplished in the end was to take the hammer and smash it herself.

  .~ * * * ~.

  “Where you headed, boss?” Katie asked the next morning as Paige pulled on her coat.

  “I’m picking up some sample books, then heading to the Clayton Street house.”

  A late spring snow had blanketed Denver overnight, and the sun had turned it into a giant glitter blanket. Paige parked across the street from her latest project, its clean lines swelling her with pride. She stood beside her truck, her face upturned like a daisy, taking in lungfuls of fresh, crisp air. For an instant, a peace that had eluded her for months touched her heart.

  She walked around her truck, crushing snow under her boots. It made a gratifying, squeaky noise. On her backseat lay stacked sample books of varying awkward shapes, and as she pulled them out, she balanced them in one arm. When she reached for the last one, one book slipped from the stack, and then another. With a muttered curse, she juggled the rest, but one stubborn volume leapt from her arms before she could corral it, and it skittered under the truck. She tossed the books onto the backseat only to wrestle with them again as their slick covers slid them precariously toward the open door.

  “Still can’t hold on to your books?” a voice rumbled behind her.

  Astonished, she whirled to face a broad chest covered in a navy sweater under a brown bomber jacket. She didn’t have to look up—but did anyway—to know Beckett towered over her. Her pulse took off at a gallop.

  “What are you doing here?” she yelped.

  He ducked under the truck and fished out the book, grabbed the other two, and arranged them across her seat. He shrugged. “Helping a friend.”

  Sunglasses perched on his head, his light blue eyes roamed over her, making her stomach somersault. She stomped her boots as though to rid them of snow, but it was to settle her insides.

  She looked back up at him, blurting, “The beard’s gone.”

  He rubbed his not-completely-shaved chin. I love that days-old scruff on him. So rugged … so masculine … so … He interrupted her mind’s meanderings. “That was for playoffs.”

  She nodded so hard her neck crunched. “And your hand? I saw you get slashed.” And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t part of any of it.

  He smirked. “Which time?”

  Dear God, this beautiful man, this Adonis who’d spent hours in her bed and professed to love her, who’d asked her to marry him, stood mere inches away, the mingled fragrance of Old Spice and him washing over her, and she couldn’t ground the butterflies flapping in her stomach. Speechless, all she could think of was reaching out and touching him.

  She crossed her arms to keep her fingers in check. “When did you get back?”

  “Right after our season ended. I’ve been splitting time between Denver and the mountain house.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to nowhere in particular.

  Wait. What? Her heart crashing to her knees, her glimmer of happiness drained from her body.

  “Oh. I thought you’d let me know you were in town.”

  “You made it pretty clear you wanted nothing to do with me.”

  “Did you … I left you a voicemail yesterday.”

  “I got it.” He stood motionless, a stone pillar, his face unreadable.

  She darted her eyes across the street to keep him from seeing the tears welling there and bit her lip hard to hold them in. He’s here to break it off for good. What an idiot I’ve been.

  “So what are you up to?” was about all she could muster.

  “Wrapping up a few details. I’m on my way back to the cabin.”

  “Going alone?” God, she was lame. She rushed to add, “That’s a nice place to recover.”

  “From all kinds of hurts.” He speared her with an ice-blue gaze.

  I’ve lost him.

  CHAPTER 31

  Hanging by a Moment<
br />
  Beckett stared at her, his battering heart physically hurting, unable to read what was in her mint-green eyes. She was all he’d thought about for weeks, stubbornly lurking in every corner of his mind, from her auburn waves to her little feet and every part in between—her soft lips, her delicate collarbones, her small hands and slender fingers, her secret tattoo. Her huge heart. He’d been haunted by memories of her touch, her laugh, her scent, and the extraordinary way he’d felt with her. How she had felt. Like no one else, ever. He needed her more than the air he breathed. And here she stood, so near he could pull her against him. Being this close blunted the hurt and had him questioning whether his asshole-self had gone too far.

  Staying away from her, not answering her, had just about killed him, but with his father’s most recent words bobbing like corks in his stewing brain, he’d found the will and pulled it off. Now he needed to steel himself just a little longer.

  A car rolled by, its tires splashing in the melting snow.

  Andie narrowed her gaze. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Katie.” He pointed across the street. “So this is the very first, honest-to-goodness Anderson Home built from the ground up? Is this one of those lots from New Year’s?”

  She broke out in a proud little grin. “It is. It’s a proprietary design I had built off-site. That’s why it went up so fast. It’s the first of six. What do you think?”

  For the first time since he’d parked, Beckett surveyed the structure. “Impressive. I like it. It’s for sale, right?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s not ready yet.” A frown of confusion bloomed on her face. “Um, so the Flyers aren’t extending your contract?”

  “Don’t know yet. Herb’s fielding calls from other interested NHL teams, but no matter where—or if—I sign, Colorado’s my home.” He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “So what about the finishes?”

  “Finishes? Oh! The house. I’ve got a design board.” Her cheeks were pink and shiny like apples.

  “Is everything you picked for this house what you’d pick if it were yours?”

  Her lovely mouth parted and closed a few times. “I suppose.”

  “And is this a house you’d live in?”

  “No. It’s too big for me.”

  “So sell it to me.”

  Her mouth opened and closed a few more times. He loved it when she got all tongue-tied. She looked like a very cute guppy.

  He grinned. “You probably need to know I can afford it.” He slipped on his glasses and pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, scanning it before handing it to her.

  A little storm brewed in the vertical slash between her knotted brows. As she studied the paper, her expression transformed to one of astonishment, and she glanced up at him. “This is legit?”

  His grin widened. “Yep. It’s amazing what paychecks and selling a business can do to a bank account. That doesn’t include settlement money from the restaurant and the Vegas shit-storm.” He cleared his throat, fighting his shortness of breath. “Anyway, instead of blowing it on old habits, I have some new ones I’m itching to try.”

  She handed his statement back with a wary look. “Such as?”

  He refolded the paper, slid off the glasses, and stowed both in his pocket. “For starters, adopting a pack of wolves at the sanctuary.”

  “What? Why wolves?”

  “They mate for life. Did you know that? Unlike tigers, who screw around all the time.” He looked down his nose at her. “I’m surprised you picked Tyrone. I’ve been watching him. That boy’s a player.”

  Her frown returned. “So you’ve visited the sanctuary?”

  “Oh yeah. A bunch of times. I took some peewee teams out there for fun. That’s how I got to know the wolves.”

  She shook her head as though trying to dislodge something. “Beckett, I—”

  He held up a finger. “Hang on. I’m not done with my list of new habits.” He began rocking on the balls of his feet. “A wife, kids, and a house big enough for all of us. Hell, throw in a dog too. This place looks like it has a decent yard.”

  “You’re getting married?” she squeaked.

  “Working on it.” Motion caught his eye. “Uh-oh. Here comes your bulldog.” Norm was chugging at them like a fully loaded freight train.

  Andie held up a hand as if she were a traffic cop. “It’s okay, Norm. I got this.”

  He stopped dead in his freight-train tracks and glowered at Beckett. “You sure, Smalls?”

  “I’ll holler if I need you.”

  He stood in the street for a moment as though frozen. From the side of his mouth, Beckett said, “I’m glad he’s got your back.”

  When Norm pivoted away, Andie squinted and wrinkled her nose, looking more confused by the second. “What do you mean?”

  Beckett arched an accusing eyebrow. “Well, you won’t let me have your back. You haven’t exactly been friendly.”

  She canted her head and inhaled. “No, I was awful to you. I’m appalled when I think of how I acted.” Her eyes fixed on his and began to brim. He almost melted. She whispered, “I’m so sorry, Beck. I realize …”

  He lit up inside.

  Yes! The old man was right!

  He’d grown closer to his dad this past month. In one of their many conversations, he’d asked what had made Mom finally give in. “I ignored her,” Dad had said. “Drove her crazy. Soon she was chasing me. Turns out she wanted me around after all.”

  Beckett took a steadying breath and squared his shoulders. “You realize what?” His voice was surprisingly calm, belying his struggle to contain the elation twisting around his jagged nerves. Running on pure adrenaline, he’d barely slept or eaten since he’d heard her message—the message now indelibly etched in his mental archives from all the times he’d replayed it.

  Andie looked away for an instant, then swung her eyes back to his. “I pushed you away, Beck. Now there’s a big hole in my heart you used to fill.”

  He fought down a whoop trying to escape his chest. “That message you left. You wanted to know if there was anything you could do.”

  Her eyes widened. “And?”

  He took one of her hands, folding it into his. “You can take me to that ball game like you promised. And there’s another promise I’d like to call in.”

  A few tears spilled down her cheek. “What’s that?”

  “You promised you’d go to Cooper and Emily’s wedding if we were both unattached. It’s just a few weeks away.” He flashed her his primo smile.

  One side of her mouth quirked. “I thought you were getting married?”

  “I am. Which is why I need your approval on this house, or any other damn house you want. Hell, it can be the house you’re in now.” He gathered her other hand and pinned her now-dancing eyes with his. “Andie, I don’t care where the house is as long as you’re in it with me. I’ll even give up playing pro, if that’s what it takes. And you don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to, although I’d hate to be outdone by my little brother. I want to fill that hole in your heart because I sure as hell have missed you.”

  The quirk curved into a smile. She glanced at their joined hands, then back into his eyes. “I would never dream of keeping you from playing. But help a clueless girl out here. What are you really asking me?”

  Still grasping her hands, he licked his suddenly dry lips and swallowed. “I’m asking you to take another chance, to trust in me, in us. I’m asking you to start a life with me now, today, as my best friend and partner. I’m asking you to come pick out rings, go to the justice of the peace or whoever the hell will marry us, sign the license or whatever crap it is friends do to become husband and wife, and drive to the cabin so we can lock ourselves away and get down to the good stuff—namely, lots of practice populating the planet with some little Millers … or Andersons … or Miller-Andersons.”

  She gave him an impish look. “I think that would be Anderson-Millers, if I’m not mistaken.”

&nbs
p; “Those too.”

  “Beckett Miller, you propose in the most … unexpected ways.”

  “Yeah, well, my attempt at Mr. Romance was an epic fail. I thought I’d cut to the chase and go straight for Mr. Married Miller.”

  She giggled through her tears. “Could we hole up someplace warm instead?”

  “Hell yes! Pack that white bathing suit, or better yet, nothing at all.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “You’re hopeless.” She rolled her eyes, but her tone was light, playful.

  “Nothing a tiger tamer can’t handle for the rest of her life. Or a koala.”

  Rising on tiptoe, she draped her arms around his neck. He pulled her close, burying his nose in her sweet-scented strands. “God, Andie, I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

  She pulled back and smiled at him. “And I love you too, Beck. More than I ever thought I could love anyone, and it scares the hell out of me.”

  “I’m right there with you. Let’s be scared together.” He brushed a slick of moisture from her cheeks. “So what do you say?”

  Her smile broadened, lighting up her face, showing off her glorious dimple. “I prefer ‘best friend and partner’ over ‘tiger tamer.’ And Beck?” She scrunched her nose. “I like your wild side as long as it’s a wolf-mated-for-life kinda wild.”

  “You’ve caged my heart, Andie, and I’m not going anywhere. This is for keeps.”

  She lifted her chin. “Please tell me this is the kissing part. That’s a habit I’d like to go back to.”

  “I like the sound of that, but I haven’t heard a definitive yes yet.” He cupped an ear.

  “No free samples?”

  “I don’t come cheap, Ms. Anderson.”

  “The best never do, Mr. Miller.” A laugh shook her shoulders. God, he loved that sound, and he loved that he was the cause of it. He’d make her laugh every day for the rest of his life.

  She reached up and cradled his jaw. “I’m trusting you with my heart, Beck. Yes.”

  Blood hammering through his body, he feathered his fingertip over her dimple. “I’ll guard it with my life.”