Sean raised a to-go cup and swallowed the last cold dregs of his Starbucks. He glanced at his watch, then tossed his duffel on one of two twin berths inside the private cabin of the Northern Adventure. Earlier, he’d scrambled to book passage aboard the ten-thousand-ton ferry and had to bust his ass to board before the boat left on its daily route across the Hecate Strait.

The last time he’d seen Lexie, she’d been wrapped up in hotel sheets with drowsy eyes and a satisfied smile. The last time he’d talked to her, he’d told her he’d pick her up in the morning on his way to the dock. Where Jimmy and the Sea Hopper would be waiting to take them home.

It was cold inside the cabin but not enough to see his breath. He set the cup on the nightstand between the beds, then pulled his Oilers ball cap from his head and tossed it next to the empty cup. Eight fucking hours. He had eight hours to kill until the ferry docked in Prince Rupert. If the ferry docked on time, and if everything went according to plan, he’d have enough time to catch his flight to Vancouver. In Vancouver, he had a four-hour delay before his final flight to Seattle.

Fourteen fucking hours. Instead of the three-hour trip aboard the Sea Hopper, it was going to take him all damn day to get home. He had Jimmy Pagnotta to thank for the abrupt change to his travel plans. The pilot had called him just before Sean had stepped into the shower at his mother’s house. “I’m at the dock in Seattle. Just about to take off. The press is camped out in the office down here,” he warned. “Just thought you should know.”

Yeah, swarming press was something he wanted to know about. Especially when it involved a certain runaway bride with the last name Kowalsky. Jimmy hadn’t come right out and admitted that he had something to do with tipping off the media, but only a few people knew where Lexie was hiding out and when she would return. One of those was the Gettin’ Hitched bride herself. Of course her parents knew, but they would never leak information about their daughter. There was the crazy MINI Cooper driver, but he doubted someone who had gone to so much trouble to help Lexie would rat her out. He hadn’t tipped off anyone, and while he could never completely vouch for his mother, he could almost guarantee that she wouldn’t call anyone until he was off the island.

Sean threw his coat on the spare berth, then sat on the edge of the bed. He wore the same pullover and thermal sweats of the day before, and he bent over and tied his cross trainers. He didn’t need the hassle of the world knowing he’d spent the last two days with the Gettin’ Hitched bride. He’d always avoided that kind of gossipy attention, and he for damn sure didn’t want questions fired at him like a line of pucks on the centerline. Especially fired at him from her father.

He and the coach tolerated each other. He respected John’s legendary career, and Kowalsky respected Sean’s legendary talent. Until Lexie had told him that John thought he was a nancy-pants with a girly flow, he’d thought they’d come to some mutual understanding. Found common ground and were . . . he didn’t know. “Friends” would be stretching it.

Sean turned up the thermostat and crawled between the sheets wearing his clothes. He’d slept very little the past few days, and last night not at all. Being around his mother always brought back memories he wished like hell he could forget, but they rushed him at night when the rest of the world grew still. There was no turning them off, no stillness. Just his brain bouncing from one random memory to the next, bringing the same knot of anxiety he’d felt as a kid.

Until the age of ten when he and his mother had moved from Sandspit to live with Uncle Abe, he hadn’t known how other people lived. He’d had some idea, of course, that other kids’ mothers weren’t sick all the time. Once he’d started school and made a few friends, he’d noticed how different his life was, and that other mothers weren’t living “on borrowed time,” only to have miraculous recoveries. Geraldine had experienced so many miracles, Sean had lost count.

Until the age of ten, he’d lived in fear of waking up and finding his mother dead. He’d lain awake at night wondering what would happen to him and where he would live once she died, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst were the times she was actually okay. When the crazy roller-coaster ride stopped. Those spaces in time when she’d cook meals, wash clothes, and take long walks with him. When they’d talk about his dad or his school or how many years it would take for him to walk to the moon. It was those times that he loved her so deeply his heart hurt with joy. It was those times that he felt safe and secure. It was those times that made him hate her for tricking him again. Those times gave him hope. This time, this time things would be different. Then she inevitably snatched the good times away, crushing his hopes and pulling him on her chaos roller coaster again.

That all changed when they moved to Edmonton and he could just be a kid. His uncle provided the stability that he’d never had, and he’d introduced him to hockey. The first time he’d strapped on a pair of his uncle’s old skates, he’d been hooked. Like a lot of Canadian boys, he’d played shinny hockey in backyard rinks and frozen ponds. He’d played peewee and midget and, at the age of sixteen, been big enough and had the skills to play in the major junior league for three years before he’d been picked up by Calgary in the second round of the NHL drafts. He’d lived in Calgary, Detroit, Pittsburgh, and now Seattle. He’d spent most of the past nine years in hotel rooms and arenas. It was often hectic and high-energy but never chaotic.

That’s the way he liked it. He kept thousands of miles between himself and chaos, thousands of miles between himself and drama.

Until now.

Sean rolled onto his back and stuffed one hand beneath his pillow. This time drama would arrive several hours ahead of him. Drama in the form of a tall blonde with a smoking smile and hot body. Lexie was a walking fantasy. A tall, thin fantasy with soft bouncy parts when she walked. Or ran. Or rode him like the queen of the Calgary Stampede.

His free hand slid beneath the quilt and he adjusted himself through his pants. Having sex with Lexie hadn’t been part of his plan. Of course, her jumping aboard the Sea Hopper hadn’t been in the plan, either. A whirl of white satin, sparkly shoes, and chaos, it hadn’t been in his plan to undress her and brush her soft skin with the tips of his fingers. Sean was used to changing it up on the fly. He could read a play seconds before it happened in front of him and make adjustments. He saw patterns and stayed one step ahead, anticipating his next move.

He never saw Lexie coming. He hadn’t misread the fear and apprehension in her blue eyes. He saw the vulnerable quiver at the corner of her full mouth, but he’d failed to adjust or anticipate the touch of her hands or the taste of her lips. He hadn’t stayed one step ahead of her drama, and his next move had been a mistake. A big mistake that had landed him in bed at the Harbor Inn. A bad mistake that had felt so good. So good, if he’d had more condoms, he would have repeated the mistake a few more times. He’d tried to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible, running his hands over the soft skin of her belly and between her thighs. She’d been so responsive he hadn’t had to guess where to touch her to hear her moan, or where to put his mouth to make her arch her back and whisper his name in a lusty breath. He hadn’t had to wonder what she’d felt as he’d slid into her hot body. She moaned and writhed and had so many orgasms he’d lost count. Drawing him in even more with each pulse and squeeze of her body. Just as he finally let himself join her, she’d yelled at him to keep hitting her sweet spot and he’d been all too happy to oblige. She’d told him he was good, great, wonderful, then she’d called him a cement head, of all things.

Sean frowned. He wasn’t a cement head. He played smart hockey. Everyone knew that. He knew the right position at the right time, and he knew the right thing to do with a puck in any situation.

He wasn’t a cement head, but it was like Lexie had hit him with a brick. While he’d like to blame her for last night, he wasn’t that big an asshole. He’d walked into that hotel room last night knowing it wasn’t right. Not in the least. He should have told her that he was the nancy-pants her dad bitched about before she got naked with him. She should have been informed before she’d made that decision.

He still wasn’t quite sure how the secret—which was more of an omission—had snowballed into an avalanche. Each time he’d meant to tell her, the timing hadn’t seemed right. Not the first night, the second, or the third. When he’d left her asleep in the hotel room this morning, he’d decided to tell her on the long plane ride back to Seattle.

Now here he was on a ferry in the Hecate Strait, and she was headed home by now on the Sea Hopper. He hadn’t returned to the hotel this morning as he’d planned, and he didn’t feel good about that. She’d deserved better, and once he was home, he’d find her and apologize. No excuses. No distractions. No putting it off until the right moment. She was a nice woman. Once he’d looked past the pretty face, big boobs, and Gettin’ Hitched bride fiasco, she was a smart girl. Not just because she had an apparently successful dog clothes business, but because she had the ability to walk into a room, size up a woman under an afghan eyesore and stupid gel cap, and know exactly how to handle her. Lexie had said it was an inherited talent. Uncle Abe’d had that talent, too. If it was something that really was inherited, it clearly skipped a generation with Sean.

Sean thought about Lexie and Jimmy chatting via the headset. He wondered how long before the topic of him came up and she learned exactly who Sean was. He imagined she’d get real angry. She’d probably hate him. He didn’t blame her.

He was a fucking asshole.

Sean stacked his hands behind his head and stared up at a water spot on the white ceiling. He wondered what John Kowalsky would think when he learned that Sean had spent time with Lexie in Sandspit. The coach would learn about it whether he or Lexie told him, and it wasn’t like Sean had really kidnapped Lexie from her wedding. They just ended up on the same seaplane. John should probably thank him for helping his little girl. Sean just hoped like hell the coach never learned he helped her out of her clothes—twice.

John would have a lot to say when he found out Sean had stripped his little girl naked. If Sean had anything to say about it, John Kowalsky would never find out, but he didn’t have anything to say about it. When and where and how the news got delivered was up to Lexie, and Sean hated that he had no control over the situation. All he could do was wait for the axe to fall.

Ten miles into the Hecate Strait, the gentle roll of the waves rocked him into a deep sleep and he awoke as the ferry docked in the port of Prince Rupert. Rain hit the starboard porthole as Sean shoved his feet into his shoes and laced them up. He grabbed his coat, duffel, and ball cap, and made his way down the hall to the exit. He’d been born in Prince Rupert but didn’t recall living there. As a very young child, he and his mother had moved to Sandspit with Ed Brown. He didn’t recall much of Ed Brown, either. Other than that after his mother divorced Ed, she’d immediately caught the bird flu.

Fat drops of rain hit Sean’s face and he pulled the hood of his coat over his head. Vehicles drove from the open hull as he moved down the gangplank toward the terminal. Before he’d left Sandspit, he’d been given the number of a taxi service, and he pulled out his phone. Within fifteen minutes, he was on his way to the airport on Digby Island. Forty minutes later, he relaxed in a third-row seat on the double-prop airplane. Well, “relaxed” might be a stretch. There was no relaxing in the cramped seat, and he slid one of his long legs on the aisle side of the seat in front of him. “Loosening up” might be a better phrase. The more miles he put between him and his mother, the more he felt himself unwind. He could honestly say he loved his mother. He did, but he couldn’t be around her for long before she drained him like a cheap flashlight. While his energy faded, she didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, it never bothered her. She’d never taken responsibility for anything, and the older Sean got, the colder his feelings got, too.

The stewardess set a little bottle of water and a tiny bag of peanuts on the tray in front of Sean. He was starving and figured that he’d plant his ass in a sports bar at YVR.

Past girlfriends had called him cold and distant—among other things. It was more than likely true. He was twenty-seven, and the closest he ever got to the warm and fuzzies for a woman was in bed. Out of bed, he didn’t want to take on the responsibility of anyone else.

Just himself—and his mother. He made sure she had plenty of money. He’d had the house she’d wanted moved to the place she’d wanted it. He’d bought her the Subaru and had it shipped from Prince Albert. He visited her whenever she was at death’s door. He did what he could for her, but they’d never been close.

Sean ripped open the bag of peanuts and dumped them in his mouth. He’d been close to only one person, and that had been his uncle. Abe had been his father figure and had changed his life. If not for his uncle, Sean didn’t know where he’d be today. If not for hockey, he’d probably be in a mental institution somewhere banging his head against a wall to dull the pain.

He opened the water and drained the small bottle. Sean had good relationships with his friends. At least he thought he did, but those relationships weren’t family. There’d been only one person in his life that he’d ever considered family. One person who’d looked out for him. One person he’d been able to talk to about anything, and when his uncle had died, Sean cried like a little girl. With the old man gone, the feeling of family was gone, too.

The twin-prop Air Canada circled the Vancouver airport several times before landing. The closer the airplane taxied to the gate, the more energy Sean felt flow through him. By the time he found Canucks Bar and Grill, it practically snapped from his fingertips. Electric posters of Henrik Sedin and Brandon Sutter greeted him as he moved to the hostess stand. The restaurant’s motto was “We Are All Canucks,” and he pulled his cap lower on his forehead. Not all of them were Canucks, and he felt a bit like a traitor. He took a seat at the bar and quickly ordered a rib eye, grilled vegetables, and water with a slice of lemon. The service was great and the food was better. Five televisions hung above the bar; two of them ran the Bruins versus the Jets in Winnipeg, and two showed the Giants/Packers NFC game. The fifth, CNN.

Even though the sound was off, Sean could practically hear the slap of sticks hitting the ice and the grunts as McQuid caught Ehlers in the corner and brutally checked him into the boards. In the third period, Marchand rocked a one-timer into Hellebuyck’s five-hole and lit the lamp.

That, he thought as he cut into his steak, was something that made his heart thump. A laser shot in the five-hole filled him up with so much electricity, it always felt like his hair would singe. Putting points on the board had never felt like a responsibility to him. It was fun. He got off on it. He was one of the best shooters in the NHL. Putting the puck in the net was a challenge, one that he would gladly shoulder.

The bartender recognized him and gave him a beer on the house. Sean might not play for the Canucks, but he was a Canuck by birth and had played for Edmonton at one time. The two men shot the shit for a few minutes until the other man left to mix martinis.

On the two TVs, a Bud Light commercial interrupted the Bruins/Jets game, and Sean glanced at CNN as he shoved a big piece of meat into his mouth. The closed caption rolled down the screen as three commentators discussed plastic bottles floating up onto a California beach. One second the screen was filled with white plastic, and in the next, the news feed cut to a long dock. A familiar green seaplane bobbing at the end.

KING 5 is at the scene. While the captions rolled, the door to the seaplane opened and someone jumped out. Even if the woman wasn’t wearing yoga sweats and his brown shirt, the fish hat was a dead giveaway. At first it didn’t appear as if Lexie spotted the cameras and news crew. Her attention was directed at her phone, and she didn’t notice the media crosshairs on her forehead. Then suddenly she looked up, and her eyes rounded like those of a deer caught in the headlights.

The morning sun sparkled in the pumps she’d worn the first night he’d met her. For a split second, Sean wondered what she’d done with her boots, but then all hell broke loose.

Lexie? Miss Kowalsky, can you tell us where you’ve been? the closed caption read.

Blond hair beneath her fish hat flew about her head as she blew past the reporters. Her long legs chewed up the dock, her breasts bounced like soccer balls inside his shirt, and he thought for sure she’d fall and break an ankle.

Sean cut into his steak and thanked God he wasn’t in the middle of the chaos. Like the closed caption on the television, two thoughts scrolled through his mind.

First, she shouldn’t run like that. It looked painful and she could hurt herself.

Second, fourteen hours didn’t seem all that bad. He shoved a bite of steak in his mouth and reached for his Stella. From where he sat, a four-hour layover in Vancouver seemed like he’d dodged a bullet.