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Chapter one

Sebastian

I’m walking down the hallway where the Storm’s marketing and public relations offices are after a meeting with the social media team about content they want me to be part of. I’d much rather they chose another guy to be in their videos, because I always feel silly being part of their skits or answering whatever question they come up with. It’s always something random like, “Would you rather fight a hundred duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?” Neither. I’d want to fight neither. But I can’t say that.

Then there’s the comments on the videos—people discussing my looks, my British accent, if I’m single or taken, just all the things. I hate it.

If I’m going to be talked about online, I’d rather it be for my hockey playing skills or how much I contribute to the team. But I grin and do as I’m asked, which includes taking part in these skits next week.

I’m hoping doing them means I’ll be excused from future social media content, at least for the rest of the season.

I stifle a yawn. It’s been a long day filled with morning practice, video review with the rest of the defensemen, team meetings, and then this meeting. I’m ready to get home, eat dinner, and probably pass out in bed. And people think being a professional athlete is glamorous. It’s not. Well, maybe for the younger guys, but since turning thirty, two years ago, I’ve found that each season it becomes harder and harder to recover from games, hits, and injuries. I take all the downtime and rest I can get. Especially since it’s January and we’re halfway through the season.

As I’m about to turn the corner by the elevators, I hear the unmistakable sound of someone crying. I pause, trying to figure out where it’s coming from because it’s after five, and pretty much everyone is gone already since we don’t have a game tonight.

That’s when I notice the light is on in the PR and marketing director’s office. Long strides carry me to the entrance of her office, to the woman I’ve pined over basically since I joined the team and met her at the beginning of last season. My eyes widen at the sight of her hunched over her desk, shoulders shaking.

“Sutton, love. What’s wrong?” My legs eat up the distance until I’m standing next to her desk. When she doesn’t respond, I kneel down. “Love, you’re going to have to talk to me so I can help you.”

She lifts her head, green eyes rimmed with red. “Go away. Please.” The last word comes out in a whisper.

“No can do. You’re upset.” I’m not saying this because she’s the woman I have feelings for, but because I cannot, in good conscience, leave without finding out what’s going on, without trying to help.

“Please,” she repeats, swiping at the tears running down her cheeks.

“No.” I pull the guest chair around the desk and take a seat next to her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m homeless.” She begins crying again, and my heart cracks.

It takes everything in me not to gather her into my arms. But I can’t. We’re not together. She’s turned me down many times, much to my chagrin. Instead, I clench my fists at my side, hoping that maybe I misunderstood her.

“Come again, love.”

“I don’t have a home. The condo above me, their bathroom flooded last night. It was a mess. I was getting ready for bed, and all of a sudden there was this loud bang. The ceiling above my tub was gushing water. Thankfully, they were able to shut the water off, but the ceiling is ruined in my bathroom. My shower isn’t usable,” she rambles out between sobs.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.” She hiccups a sob. “My landlord came out this morning to take a look at it and put in a claim with his insurance. Even I could tell it won’t be a quick fix. He thinks they’ll need to gut the bathroom to dry it out first. But nothing can be done until upstairs fixes whatever is leaking. And of course wait for the insurance company to do their thing. So here I am. Homeless. What a great fucking way to start the new year.” She shakes her head, pushing the strands of light brown hair that have come free of her bun out of her face.

“Can you stay with Ansley?” I know she and Ansley, the team’s rink side reporter, are good friends.

She blows out a breath. “Ans lives in a studio apartment, so she’s out. I can’t exactly ask Becca or Hadley either. I’m not going to encroach on either of them. They barely get to see their partners with y’all’s schedule. I’m not going to make it worse.”

Becca, our team’s physical therapist, is dating and lives with our goalie Holt, one of my friends, and his almost year-and-a-half-old daughter, Hazel. And Hadley is engaged to my usual defense partner, Wes.

So the safe options, a.k.a. the women she’s friends with who work for or are associated with the team, are out.

“You can stay with me.” The words are out before I can stop them, not that I want to. I’ve got plenty of room in my three-bedroom condo. I’ll have to do something about not having an actual guest bed, but she can sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll take the couch or the floor. Hell, I don’t care. I’ll buy a bedroom set for my guest room in the morning. I’ve been meaning to, now I have a reason.

She lifts her head up. “I can’t do that. We’re talking months, not a few days or a couple of weeks.”

“It’s fine. I’m gone a lot anyway. You’ll have the place to yourself.”

“It’s too much.”

It’s not enough.

“If it’ll make you feel better, how about just for tonight?” Although I vow to try to convince her to stay longer, for however long she needs to. “I’ll help you figure out a more permanent solution tomorrow.” Or you could stay with me.