Wade: Haha, very funny. Seriously, when will you be here?
Bree: Not kidding. Walk outside.
I take a beat to assess my situation, like when I see an opponent flying my way with the puck, and I have a split second to decide to go right or left, up or down. My hair’s still wet from my shower, and I’m partially dressed. A bunch of half-naked hockey players surround me, and my best friend has suddenly shown up on my doorstep after a year of silence.
What’s my move?
After tugging on a clean T-shirt, I push my feet into my slides and take off toward the door. That same feeling I get when I’m in the crease, moving as fast as I can to block shot after shot, attempts to overwhelm me. It’s like I’m watching myself in slow motion, frustrated that I can’t move faster.
Like a madman, I rush out of the locker room, heart pounding and head swimming. I’m in so deep, I barely register Jammer’s booming voice shouting after me or the smack of multiple feet sounding down the hallway behind me.
All I can think about is holding her in my arms when she hugs me. Because Bree, as they say, is a hugger.
And she has never, in all the years I’ve known her, felt like a sister to me. Far from it.
And then it dawns on me. One thing definitely hasn’t changed.
I’m still in love with Aubrey Sutton.
Chapter Two
BREE
I know I’m impulsive. Always have been and clearly, still am. I mean, who loads up their car and a small U-Haul with everything they own—or will fit—and drives from Texas to Florida without having a plan?
Apparently, I do.
I’m not making excuses. Just pointing out that extenuating circumstances are at play here—ones I’d rather not think about at the moment. Let’s just say I ran out of options, needed to get out of Cedar Park fast, and going home would have meant admitting defeat. Not that I really have a home since my parents sold our ranch right after I started college, and now live in a small craftsman-style house in Austin. They don’t even have a dog.
When Wade texted me about a PR position with the Florida Sun Kings, I jumped on it. After months of agonizing over what I was going to do, the universe finally cut me some slack.
Not only did I have a new job, but I could leave behind the dumpster fire my life had turned into and start fresh.
Did it matter that I hadn’t thought things through, like where I would live? Not really.
As long as I stayed in Texas, my ex would constantly try to run my career or ruin it if I didn’t comply with his ever-growing list of demands in managing his social media presence.
How did I let a pretty face from my past manipulate me like that?
I know—because I believe in the innate goodness that exists in everyone. I really do. But I guess my Spidey sense didn’t work when it came to Chase Langston. I knew he and Wade were rivals when they were coming up through junior league together. I attended Wade’s games back then and interacted with Chase occasionally. He came across as a decent guy, and despite their intense rivalry on the ice, he and Wade acted like they were okay with each other once the skates came off.
So when our paths crossed again while I was doing PR for the Texas Stars, it seemed almost providential. As Nana Pierce often says, “Pay attention to the ones who cross your path more than once.”
Did I mention I think of Wade’s grandmother as mine? Or I should say, she always made me feel that way. She pretty much claimed me as one of her own the minute she found out I didn’t have grandparents. And that woman… She makes the best chocolate chip cookies on the planet.
But back to Chase—I really thought he was ‘The One’ in the beginning. Until it became clear he wasn’t. That he’d only used me and my PR skills to catch more attention from their affiliate team, the Dallas Stars. The NHL was always his end game, and I was simply a tool to get him there.
I lean against my old 4Runner—aka Big Blue—as the back of my neck heats from both the blinding Florida sun and the swirl of thoughts in my head. The cloudless azure sky almost matches her faded paint.
After checking if Wade replied to my last text, which he hasn’t, I tug the band off my wrist and pull my hair up into amessy bun. Maybe this was a bad idea. I should have called him before I left, or at least from the road.
And then, I see him—Wade—flying through the arena door. He jogs toward me, his expression stern at first, but when he sees me, that lopsided grin I know so well splits his face.
A flood of memories hits me as I launch off my car and take a step forward.
Racing our horses across open pastures to the old knurled oak at one end and then sitting in the shade of the branches to munch on the snacks we stole from the pantry and stowed in Wade’s tattered saddlebag. Then we’d race home, the winner getting to watch the loser remove tack and groom the horses while they sipped iced tea and gobbled down one—or two—of Nana’s famous chocolate chip cookies.
Or the smell of her freshly baked bread, cooling on the kitchen counter. One loaf always wound up sliced and buttered while still warm, but she always had an extra, packaged and ready for me to take home to my parents.
