Page 8

Hell, I am ashamed.

But it's been like this since I was a teenager. Our family has always struggled to make ends meet, and somewhere along the way, I became the one who was supposed to fix it.

I had the hockey career that was supposed to be the answer.

Instead, I'm the guy who's never quite been good enough to cash in.

And now the farm's bleeding out while I'm here, pretending a holiday tournament is going to save us.

"Hunter. You're on speaker," I say, shifting awkwardly in the driver's seat. "I have a passenger."

"A passenger?" I can practically hear the smile spreading across his stupid face. "What kind of passenger? Is it a woman?"

"Goodbye, Hunter."

"It's a woman. WILLIAM! Miles has a woman in the truck! Ma'am, whatever he's told you, he sleeps with a hockey stick and that's probably what's digging into your back—"

"GOODBYE, HUNTER."

"Ask her if she likes trees! We have thousands! She can have a discount—"

I stab the end-call button and the truck cab goes very, very quiet. Somewhere in the valley, Chilmore twinkles away, blissfully unaware of my humiliation.

Audrey takes a sip. “So, exactly how much are the Wildcards paying you for this tournament?”

I look at her. “That’s a rude question.”

“Your brother wasn’t exactly subtle. You need the money, right?”

"Alright." I turn to face her, ready to play at that game. “I'll answer your questions. But first, you answer mine. Why did you run from your wedding?”

She nearly spits out her mouthful of coffee. “That’s how we’re playing this?”

“You asked a financial question.”

“And what? You just automatically respond with emotional terrorism?! What happened to the gentlemanly lumberjack who offered me his coat?”

She gestures at my coat wrapped around her body, and my traitorous gaze drops to her chest.

The exposed nipple returns to my thoughts. Of course it fucking does.

It's the best goddamn nipple I've ever seen.

"Fine," I grunt. “No emotional terrorism, or whatever the fuck you just said. How about you just tell me what you do for work instead.”

Audrey turns the thermos between her palms. “I’m a liaison for an entertainment company. I keep celebrities on schedule, venues functioning and sponsors happy while everybody behaves as if arriving on time violates their artistic integrity.”

I frown. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It was, but I liked it. It was manageable.”

“Was?”

Her mouth tightens as she looks away. “Well, yeah. I don't think I'm going back…”

I look toward the sedan, where a wedding dress covers the back seat and her phone continues illuminating the entire cab every few minutes.

Audrey catches me looking. “No follow-up questions.”