Prologue

 

The hot blonde rode me like she was a cowgirl and I was her bronco. She ground against me, her hips rocking back and forth, her huge boobs bouncing about as she went to town on my body. Sharp nails dug into my chest and she moaned loudly as another wave of pleasure overcame her.

“Oh, Jake.” Her head dropped back and there was more grinding. More bouncing breasts. More nails in my chest as she finally cried out, “I’m coming . . ”

It was an Oscar-worthy performance. I closed my eyes briefly, not feeling the connection. She whimpered and then moaned again, licking her lips and running her fingers across her big boobs.

When she collapsed against me, her warmth covered me like a blanket and it was all I needed. That, right there. The warmth. The closeness. The intimacy. She shifted along me and my orgasm was like an intergalactic attack on my brain. White light exploded across the darkness of my bourbon-soaked mind, filling and drugging me with pleasure.

But the connection and the bliss were short-lived. Once the ecstasy of the orgasm eddied away, the emptiness was waiting for me and I felt the all-too-familiar pangs of loneliness creep back in.

I pulled the blonde into my chest and wrapped my arms around her, wanting that fleeting feeling of warmth and comfort to stay. But within seconds she was moving against me suggestively, pressing her naked ass against my uninterested body and whimpering. I squeezed her tighter to me, hoping she would get the idea that I didn’t need any more porn from her tonight. That this was it. This was what I needed. But she took the gesture as encouragement and twisted around in my arms, her hand falling to my lower abs.

What was wrong with just wrapping your arms around someone and falling asleep buried in their warmth? Didn’t anyone want that anymore?

“I gotta sleep, babe,” I whispered.

Her fingers slid around me. “One more for the road?”

I groaned and closed my eyes. I was so tired. So damn tired. Not even her expert hands on my junk were able to stop my rapid descent into sleep.

 

*   *   *

 

It was an ice-cold sensation splashing across my face that ripped me out of the darkness sometime later. My eyes flew open and immediately landed on my best friend, Tyler, standing over me looking a mix of amused and pissed off. He held an empty bucket in his hand, water dripping from the lip.

“What the fuck, man?” I sat up and was surprised to see it was morning already. The top half of me was soaked with water and the moment the cool morning air hit my skin it prickled with goosebumps.

“Get the hell up, dude. We’re due at practice and if you don’t stop fucking around, Coach is going to fire your ass.”

Turning, I noticed the other side of the bed was empty. My date had skipped out on me—which was a good thing because mornings-after weren’t really my thing.

So why did seeing that empty spot next to me leave me feeling a little abandoned?

“What’s the time?” I asked, squinting as I tied to focus through my hangover. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and did nothing to ease the pain I felt knocking against my brain.

Tyler threw a discarded T-shirt at me. “It’s after eight, asshole. That’s what I’m saying. Practice has already started and we’re late.”

Oh, fuck!

I hadn’t meant to oversleep. Nothing was more important to me than my hockey. I sprang out of bed but another blade of pain cut through my brain. Damn bourbon and after-midnight sex. I knew better than partying the night before practice yet something in my fucked-up psyche was determined to break all my own rules.

“You’re such an asshole.” Tyler shook his head. “How much did you drink last night? You look like shit.”

“I love you, too,” I replied, grabbing my training gear from the closet.

“Um, dude, you might want to think about some pants. It’s way too early in the morning to see your junk.”

I looked down and I was completely naked.

“Right.” I shoved on a pair of sweats. “Do I have time to shower?” I asked as I pulled on last night’s T-shirt.

“You don’t have time to breathe. Kit’s outside in the car and she left the engine running. Let’s go.”

Kit was Tyler’s wife. They’d met in Chem class during our last year of high school and had been together ever since. Tyler was the settle down kind of guy and Kit had saved him from the rollercoaster ride of casual sex and the ever-increasing presence of puck bunnies during our journey into professional hockey.

Tyler and I were best friends. We were also teammates on one of the best teams in the NHL, the NYC Ice Cats.

I grabbed my hockey bag from the closet near the laundry.

“This shit has to stop, Jake. You’re already walking a thin line with Coach,” Tyler said. “We’ve got the playoffs coming up and if you don’t get your shit together you might just fuck it up for all of us.” He continued with his pep talk as he followed me through the house to the front door.  “I get why you’re acting out this way—I know this time of year is going to be hard for you. . .”

I stopped walking and swung around, ready to lash out at him for bringing that shit up, but I stopped myself from saying anything. Since my parents and kid sister were killed in a plane crash this time last year, I was brutally aware that Tyler and Kit were the only family I had left.

“You’re right and I’m sorry,” I said. The surge of loneliness and despair that swelled inside me was almost too much to bear. But instead of giving it reign, I adopted my most disarming smile and added, “No more late nights or being late for training.” I held up one hand as if I was swearing allegiance. “I promise.”

“And no more bourbon-fueled fuckfests.”

“No more bourbon-fueled fuckfests,” I agreed.

“And no more puck bunnies.”

“What—no!” I dropped my hand to my side.

But Tyler leaned forward and hoisted it back up. “Until after the playoffs.”

Dude had my balls in a vise.

Reluctantly, I agreed. “Okay, no more bunnies until after the playoffs.”

He let my hand drop back down.

“Good. Now get your ass moving before we both get fired.”

Feeling hungover as shit, I followed him to the gunmetal grey SUV waiting for us out front and climbed in the backseat. 

“Sorry, babe,” Tyler said sliding into the passenger seat. “The douche was still asleep.”

“The very lovable douche,” I said closing the door and leaning forward to kiss Kit on the cheek. “How are you, beautiful?”

“Late, because of your sorry ass,” she replied.

“Ahhh, but you love my ass,” I said, clicking my seatbelt into place. “Be honest, if Tyler wasn’t in the picture you’d be totally into me.”

“Oh, totally,” she replied with mock enthusiasm and then grinned at her husband.

Tyler reached over and sucker punched me in the thigh. “Douche.”

“So what was it last night? Some random hottie you picked up at the Old Bar? Or was it one of those puck bunnies?” Kit asked, easing out into traffic.

“Last I saw, he was leaving with one of the ice girls,” Tyler murmured to his wife.

Kit rolled her eyes. The ice girls were the hockey equivalent of cheerleaders. Hot chicks on skates.

And he was right. Last night’s girl was on an ice crew team—just not ours. She belonged to the Boston Winterhawks. And for the record she’d hit me up, not the other way round.

I shrugged. “What am I to do when this asshat already got the best girl in the world?” I said, leaning forward and punching Tyler in the shoulder.

“Keep talking like that and I might just forgive you for making me late for my appointment.” Kit winked at me in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t encourage him,” Tyler said.

“Like he needs any encouragement. He’s his own endless source of motivation.”

As we waited at the traffic lights, she rubbed her pregnant belly and I felt jealous as fuck. Don’t get me wrong—I was happy for Tyler. He was the best person in the world, as far as I was concerned. I was simply envious of what he had. A girl who loved him. A girl who celebrated with him during the good times and who propped him up on those shitty days when things got tough. She was always waiting for him, her arms reaching out to hold him at the end of the day. While I spent my nights with a bottle of bourbon and an endless stream of faceless women.

I know. Poor me.

Kit was also one of my best friends. The three of us had been friends since high school. I’d even taken her sister to the school prom but had proceeded to fuck that friendship up with my insatiable addiction to the puck bunnies who hung around the rink hoping for some action with the players. Puck bunnies were my crack. They were like groupies—ready and willing to do whatever it took to get close to a hockey player. And they took really good care of themselves just so they could take care of you.

But lately I’d been fucking up too much. Hitting the bourbon and the bunnies and losing sight of the game, which wasn’t good when we were a week out from playing for the Stanley Cup against those damn Californians. I didn’t know why I was falling off the rails. I wish I could put it down to being a twenty-nine-year-old guy and feeling restless, but lately I was starting to wonder if it was just because I was an asshole. And maybe the fact that God had taken my family out with one cast of his hand that had something to do with it—who knew?

After the accident, the world had waited for me to fall apart. So maybe this was it. Maybe this was my delayed reaction to losing my family. I mean, I was a mild-mannered guy and I tended to take everything in stride, but come on, losing your entire family in one fell swoop bought you a ticket to Crazytown.

When my family was killed I hadn’t fallen apart. Instead, I had thrown myself into my game. My career. My brand. I took on endorsement deal after endorsement deal until even I was sick of seeing my face on overpriced merchandise and inanimate objects. I joined charities, appeared on talk shows, participated in every relevant sporting event—hell, I was even a judge on the Miss New York City panel—just to keep busy. Just to keep one step ahead of my grief. Because I knew—just knew—that if I slowed down, if I had too much quiet time, then the heartache I felt swelling in my stomach would break the surface and consume me.

Maybe my days of outrunning my grief were coming to an end.

We arrived at the rink ten minutes late and bid Kit a fond farewell, which involved way too much tongue from Tyler.

“Dude, c’mon. You’re gonna knock her up again if you keep kissing her like that.”

Kit rolled her eyes at me, while Tyler made sure I got a decent look at his middle finger.

Inside the arena, the team was in the middle of a scrimmage on the ice. As we walked in Coach eyed us with censure, making sure I saw the disapproving headshake and look of annoyance. We skipped the lockers, put on our skates and gear at the benches, and were on the ice within a couple of minutes.

Heading toward my teammates on the ice, I could feel the hate radiating off our right winger, Ayton Salazar. His darks eyes latched onto mine and followed me as I skated over to center line.

Salazar had a real problem with me. A real problem. Call it a clash of personalities—like I had one and he didn’t.

Or maybe it was because I had nailed his girlfriend. Obviously not while he was with her. I mean, I could be an asshole as much as the next guy, but not that much. She’d ridden the Pennington pony way before she’d met him but it still irked him that I’d been down that well-ridden road before him.

I winked at him as I skated past, and if looks could kill I’d be dead a hundred times over.

The mood on the ice was tense. Being a week out from the final Stanley Cup playoff everyone was highly strung. We were up against the reigning champions, the Los Angeles Lynx. Last season they’d stolen the championship win from us in a badly played campaign where we’d choked and lady luck had handed them the win. We’d felt cut-off at the knees. This was our chance for redemption and no one wanted to blow it. Not even that dick, Salazar.

Within a second of Coach calling a scrimmage, I had the puck and Salazar shoved me into the boards, damn near knocking all the air out of my lungs. Shaking off the stars in my eyes, I flew across the ice in search of retaliation. My mind was clear. Adrenaline pumped through my body. Damn, I loved this game. Stealing the puck from another one of our D-men I started weaving in and out of my teammates.

Salazar seemed determined to press all my buttons; body checking me, pushing me into the boards, chasing me across the ice and stick checking me. He was looking for someone to throw a few cathartic punches into and if he pressed one more damn button, I was going to give him his chance.

I didn’t have to wait long. When he high-sticked me I threw down my stick and gloves.

“You got something to say to me, Salazar?”

Salazar dropped his stick on his way over to me. “Yeah. You’re a fucking asshole.”

I grinned and held out my arms. “You wanna play? I’m right here, buddy.”

Salazar flung off his gloves. “Let’s go, pretty boy.”

I grinned. Ready to put some punch into that smug look on his face. “You know, you’ve got a face I’ll never get tired of smashing.”

I went for him but Tyler and another teammate, Tex, stepped between us. Tyler drew me away, while Tex hustled Salazar in the other direction.

“C’mon, dude, it’s not worth it,” Tyler said to me.

I nodded but when I looked up at Salazar and realized he was still trash talking me I was overcome with a need to put my fist in his mouth.

“Keep chirping, motherfucker!” I mimicked his chatting with my fingers.

That’s when Salazar said it. That’s when he decided to go there. 

To fucking press my nuclear detonation button.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself, you motherfucking orphan!”

I saw red.

Blood. Fucking. Red.

Mild-mannered Jake was gone and it was written all over my face what I wanted to do to him. “Oh, now we gotta go!”

I went for Salazar but half the team, it seemed, swept in to separate us. They knew Salazar’s comment was uncalled for. Inappropriate. Insensitive. Spoken in fluent fucktard.

But all I could see was a whole lot of hockey players in the way of me and the asshole who’d just called me a fucking orphan. What? Because I’d fucked his girlfriend two or three years ago because she’d decided she wanted to bag herself a hockey player for the night? I nearly flew over half of them to get to the douchebag.

Tyler swooped in. “C’mon, buddy. He didn’t mean it. We’re all feeling on edge.”

Coach appeared next to me. “You need time?”

I shook my head. I didn’t need time off the ice. I needed to skate. It was the only thing that cleared my head.

“Fuck you,” I mouthed to Salazar before turning my back on him. His eyes were cold and menacing like a great white shark but I decided not to waste any more energy on the douche.

Practice resumed and it was fast paced. In a final scrimmage, Salazar came at me, slamming me into the boards and knocking the wind completely out of me. We both went down, but when he fell we got tangled and his legs kicked me backwards, flipping me up in the air.

My face smashed against the ice while my feet flew back.

Pain shot through my head and for a moment I was stunned. I saw the blood spurt across the ice. One frayed line of dark blood. My vision blurred but I managed to get to my knees. Everything went in slow motion and the sounds of the world around me went quiet. I saw Tyler’s eyes and they were wide as he struggled to get up from the ice. I didn’t know he’d fallen with me and Salazar. That was when I realized the trail of blood seeping into the ice didn’t belong to me. That it was spurting from a deep wound to the side of Tyler’s neck.

All instincts kicked in. Fear. Panic. Determination. Loyalty. Friendship. I slid over to him but he had collapsed to his knees and was grabbing at this throat. He had ripped his gloves from his hands to get a better grip on the wound and when I reached him, I did the same.

I pressed my fingers over the wound, trying to stop the blood flow. But there was just so much blood and it wasn’t stopping.

“Hold on, buddy,” I cried, desperately trying to hold his wound together.

But I couldn’t stop the flow of blood. It spurted out over my fingers and splattered the ice in ruby red. Tyler looked up at me with wide, terrified eyes as he grabbed at my shirt, silently begging me to save him.

It took less than a minute for Tyler to bleed out. And that was where his life ended. Right there on the ice. With a gaping wound to his neck put there by his best friend.

*   *   *