Kylie

“Ky? You home?”

I flushed the toilet and struggled to get off the floor before Rocco found me and freaked out.

“Ugh,” I muttered under my breath as I trudged to the sink to brush my teeth and get the nasty taste out of my mouth.

After being out of town for eight long, never-ending days, Rocco was back home. I literally counted down the hours up until his return. Seriously, nothing made you appreciate having someone until you were sick and alone.

“Kylie?”

I glanced in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable and almost fell down. Oh my god, I looked awful. Like… like total crap! My complexion was sallow and my skin dull. I quickly ran my fingers through my tangled nest of hair and pinched my cheeks to give them color.

Yeah, no. Still looked like someone ran me over with a truck, then backed up and did it a couple more times for good measure.

I sighed. Total crap would have to do because… makeup? I didn’t have the energy. After a brief wobble and a pause to wait for the headrush to pass, I went hunting for Rocco.

Perfectly tailored in head to toe black, I found Rocco in the living room, looking like a movie star. He spun around and gaped at me. The “v” between his brows itself known and with a sinking feeling, I realized I hadn’t done enough to hide my impression of an extra on the set of The Walking Dead.

“Hey. You’re here,” I said lamely.

Rocco wasted no time confirming my thoughts.

“Jesus Christ, Ky. What the fuck happened to you? You look like hell.”

Beyond relieved to have him home, I laughed off his observation. “You're too kind.”

In two long strides, Rocco crossed the room and pulled me into an embrace, except it didn’t feel right. He didn’t wrap his arms around me or crush me against his chest. In fact, it was the opposite of one of his patented, bone-crushing hugs. Rocco held back, almost afraid if he squeezed to hard I would crack like an eggshell.

“You know what I mean,” he whispered in my ear. “God, Kylie. You said you were sick, but—”

“You didn't expect me to look sick.”

Rocco stepped back to look at my face. “Yeah. I guess so.” He reached up and ran his thumb across my cheekbone, eyes filled with worry. “You've lost weight and I can tell you haven't been getting enough sleep.” He traced the dark circles, so stark against my pale skin they looked like matching shiners.

Not in the mood to discuss the reason for my insomnia—i.e. Rocco’s gorgeous, unattainable teammate—I pulled back and wrapped my arms around my waist, as if I could physically hold the pieces of my heart together.

“I’ve been sick,” I snapped, annoyed Rocco was giving me grief when I'd spent the majority of the last eight days hunched over a toilet, yarking my guts out. “I’m sorry if I'm not the picture of health.”

“Don't do that,” Rocco said, seeing right through my attempt to push him away. He gestured toward the couch and sat. Reluctantly, I curled up on the other end and hugged my knees to my chest. Rocco turned sideways and draped an arm along the back of the sofa. “I feel like a shitty brother for not being here for you.” His eyes glistened aaaand here comes the guilt for putting that look on his face. “But I'm here now. Maybe…” He cocked his head and narrowed his gaze. “I think I should take you to the doctor.”

Oh hell no. The last thing I wanted was to wear half a sheet, sit my naked butt on an ice cold metal table, and let someone poke and prod my body to his or her heart’s content. I gave Rocco what I hoped was a casual shrug.

“Let's give it another day or so. I've been able to hold down small meals. I really don't think it's anything worth worrying over.”

“I always worry about you,” Rocco stated plainly. “I always will. You’re my sister.”

I reached out and gave Rocco’s hand a light squeeze. “I know. And I'm grateful to have you.”

It was the truth. Without Rocco I didn’t know how I would have made it that far, let alone the previous few challenging weeks. Nat's visit was great, but it was a cute little Care Bear Band-Aid slapped on top of a massive, gaping wound. After Nat flew home, I spent too much time thinking about what I’d never have, while wishing circumstances were different. Time spent remembering the way Seb stared into my eyes as he brought me to new heights of pleasure, the way his hands moved across my skin, his touch almost reverent.

The myriad of emotions was so big and so overwhelming, every time my mind turned down that road, I expected them to burst from my chest. To stop the downward spiral, I would conjure up the image of Seb’s hurt and confusion, written plainly on his handsome face, as I walked out his door for the last time.

Seb probably hated me. Thought I played him. Used him for sex. Which had been my intention… initially. When I realized I was falling for him, everything changed. I had to end it before I got in too deep. Only, Seb didn’t know any of that, because I didn’t tell him. Instead of confessing how I felt and facing rejection like a big girl, I shut him out, then ignored his repeated attempts to reach out.

If I were him, I’d hate me too. I did hate me. Hated what I did. Seb didn't deserve it. And it didn’t matter that he was a shameless man-whore who probably treated every woman he hooked up with the same way I treated him. That didn’t give me the right to discard him like yesterday’s garbage in a bid protect my heart.

“Why don't I heat up some soup and you pick out a movie,” Rocco said, his smile plastic, oblivious to my turmoil as he freaked out over my illness. “Like old times.”

I managed to return the smile. Like Rocco’s, it felt fake. “If you want it to be like old times, we need to have popcorn not soup.”

“Meh. I figured your stomach would do better with something that doesn’t have a gallon of fake butter dumped on it.”

Rocco stood and patted me on the head before he wandered into the kitchen. I listened to him bang around as he prepared dinner. Cabinets opened and closed and the microwave hummed as he heated up the soup. I scored the nearest throw pillow and held it to my midsection so I could curl around it. Maybe a movie would help keep my mind off Seb.

I snatched the remote off the end table and turned on the gigantic, hyper-masculine, eighty-thousand and something pixel, flat screen TV, and scrolled through the movie menu. Of course, my one-track mind refused to be derailed. I wondered what kind of movies Seb liked and chuckled when I read one of the titles, Die Hard. Based on the way he behaved on the ice, I’d bet Seb favored hard-core action.

Rocco handed me a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and sat down. I pushed start and heard the familiar opening music of the Bruce Willis flick.

What? So it reminded me of Seb? I guess I’m a martyr, because I seem to enjoy suffering. Grumpy and achy, I slurped my dinner and settled in for two hours of classic Hollywood shoot ‘em up entertainment.

Midway through, my thoughts drifted. Was that what it would it be like if Seb and I were a real couple? Would we cuddle on his couch, me in his arms so I could use his firm pecs as a backrest?

A barefoot, bloody, and battered Bruce Willis soared through the air with a fire hose tied around his waist and I almost burst into tears.

It was hopeless.

I was never going to get over Sebastien St. Clair.

Seb

I shouted a long string of obscenities in French and whipped my gloves across the changing room. Spitting curses left and right, I paced in front of the bench and fought to rein the urge to pummel something. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides.

“Fucking blind-ass referee,” I growled.

The rest of the team filed in and, for once, they did the smart thing and gave me a wide berth. Except that idiot, Evvy, who plopped his ass down on the nearest bench.

“Rough game, eh?”

I stopped short to squint at him. “Rough game?” I asked, incredulous as I took a step closer. “Rough game?” I repeated, bending over until I was up in Ev’s face. “A rough fucking game is getting tripped up or missing a shot,” I shouted. My nostrils flared as the familiar, comforting blanket of rage curled around my shoulders and my vision went red. “Getting four bullshit penalties and having Coach pull me from the game, a game we lost spectacularly by the way, isn’t a rough game, Ev. It’s a fucking nightmare! Colice de marde. Putain d’idiot arbitre.” Evvy knew enough French to get the gist. His eyes narrowed and his mouth pulled tight.

“Listen, I understand you’re pissed.” Ev spoke slow, enunciating each word. "But you need to stop yelling and you really need to get the fuck out of my face." His voice dropped an octave and got all growly. If Ev weren’t my best friend, I would have taken a swing at him. Instead, I blinked in surprise, because Evvy never gets angry.

I took too long and Ev had to repeat himself. “Step. The fuck. Back.” He looked at my hands and I copied him, surprised to find them balled up, my knuckles were white. I stood in a defensive stance I didn’t remember taking.

Thanks, mon pére, for programming me so that when I’m nice and pissed, I get ready to attack.

God, it would be so easy, such a relief, to lash out violently. And fuck, I wanted it. Craved the release. It had been weeks since I’d gotten laid. Since Kylie. Easily the longest I'd gone without sex since I discovered the joys of pussy behind the middle school with Gabriella LeBlanc.

Without a way to let out the intensifying fury—a result of my shitty game play due the undeserved and unexplained silent treatment from Kylie combined with mounting sexual frustration—I played one of the shittiest games of my career. Just thinking about it sent a hot flush racing up my neck and face, and my fists rose independently from my brain.

Ev’s eyes widened and I crowded closer. As a result, he didn't have enough room to stand. I watched his muscles tense as he braced for the blow. Ev was no pussy. If I hit him, he’d fight back, and it would hurt.

“St. Clair, you useless sack of shit! Get your ass in my goddamn office!”

Few things could have stopped me from taking that swing. Frank Vernon's vicious bark was one of them. The release valve opened, and the intense pressure rushed out, taking my anger along with it. I lowered my fists and gave Evvy a sheepish grin.

“Sorry man. It's just…” I gestured toward my head and spun a finger in circles next to my ear. “I’m all fucked up, and an asshole for taking it out on you.”

Ev nodded sharply, but didn’t say a word.

“Now, St. Clair!” I flinched and hurried into Coach’s office, gear and all, including my skates. “Shut the door and sit the fuck down.”

I did as ordered and wedged my body into a chair that was way too small to fit a hockey player in full game pads. No way would I bitch about it. Not with Coach glaring at me like he wished he could set me on fire and dance around my ashes. After my horrifying performance, I knew I was in for one hell of a chewing out and waited for the verbal lashing to begin.

Coach didn't disappoint. He sat, silent, and let me sweat. His rough, scarred hands folded on his desk amongst dozens of piles of paper and an assortment of dirty coffee mugs. I flushed and squirmed in my seat, or would have if I weren’t jammed in so tight it would take an industrial sized shoehorn to get me out. No one in my life made me feel like a disappointment the way Coach did. Fuck, not even my own father made me feel so small, but maybe that was because I was too busy getting the innocence beat out of me to worry about anything other than overwhelming, piss your pants terror.

“All right, St. Clair, I've had enough of your bullshit.” Coach’s jowls shook as he spoke. “You've been acting off for weeks.” Fuck, I thought I did a good job not letting my personal shit show. I started to say something, but Coach held up a hand and gave me a look that made me snap my mouth shut without further comment. “I didn't say anything because whatever you’re dealing with is, well, frankly, it’s none of my goddamn business.” Coach’s bushy caterpillar brows squinched in the middle and he glared at me. “Until it affects my team.” He stood and placed his palms flat on his desk, leaning toward me until his face was almost directly above mine. “Tonight, it affected my team. You affected my team!”

My cheeks blazed. I stared at a bloodstain on my left thigh and wondered if it was mine or one of the two guys I pummeled in the first period or the guy I pummeled in the third period. Or was it one in the second and two in the third?

“Now,” Coach sat back down and lowered his voice a few hundred decibels or so. “I don’t care what you got jammed up your lily-white Canadian ass that has you so screwed up, but you better take care of it, St. Clair. I won’t have a liability on the ice. You might be one of the highest scoring forwards in the league, but you keep acting like a goddamn monkey fucking a football and I'll scratch you from the lineup and let you ride the bench until your nuts freeze solid!”

Ouch!

When it seemed like Coach might be done whipping rocks at my head, I took a chance and glanced up. He raised his brows, suggesting it was my turn. Fuck. What was I supposed to say?

Sorry Coach, I can’t concentrate because I’m hung up on a chick?

I pictured Coach’s reaction and stifled a snort. No doubt that would go down about as well as a whore with busted knees. The only thing I could scrounge up was a pathetic, “I’m sorry.”

Coach V’s furry brows inched further up his broad expanse of forehead. “I'm sorry?” He repeated. “I’m fucking sorry? That's all you got for me?” Coach scoffed and leaned back in his chair, which—due to the daily torture of supporting two hundred forty or so pounds of hollering, angry, ex-hockey player—squeaked like he sat on a mouse, and folded his arms across his chest.

“I-I don't know what you want me to say,” I admitted. “Um, it won't happen again… uh, Coach?”

Jesus. The office was stifling. Were the walls closing in?

Coach stared as if trying to decide whether he should hit me or if I should ride the short bus. Eventually, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Get the fuck out of here, St. Clair.”

I couldn't stand fast enough. No really, with my pads on, when I stood, the chair came with me, fused to my ass. I shoved the arms. It popped free of my backside and clattered loudly when it hit the floor. I had one hand on the doorknob when Coach tossed out his parting words of wisdom.

“If you don't get your act together, not only will I bench you, I'll make you see the team therapist.”

I shuddered. Damn if the cranky old bastard didn't know exactly what to say to keep my ass in line. Therapy? Um, fuck no. I cleared my throat a couple times and replied without turning to look at Coach V. “That won't be necessary. I'll make sure of it.”

I took off, knowing I'd keep my word. During my time in lockup, I spent hours in therapy, talking out my “problems” until I was hoarse and my brain had liquefied to one step up from vegetable. None of it helped. All that time spent “reflecting” and I left juvie just as angry and fucked up as the day I went in.

By the time I got back to the changing room, everyone was gone. Except Ev. Dressed and showered, my best friend leaned against the wall near my space. Great. One more person to add to the shame pile.

“I already apologized, Evvy. Not sure what else you want from me.”

Ev stared at me like I was the biggest fuckstick on the planet. And maybe I was. What the hell did I know anymore?

“I don't want anything from you, Seb. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I cursed. More guilt. Seemed I brought a lot of that upon myself lately.

I didn’t want to argue, so I started to strip, eager to put some space between my long-suffering olfactory nerves and my rank, swampy hockey gear. “I’m good,” I said as I dropped the last pad, wrapped a towel around my waist, and headed for the showers.

“Wait.” Ev grabbed my arm as I walked by. “Dude, I know something’s up with you. Not to get all Dr. Phil, but you haven't been yourself.” He shook his head. “That's not entirely true. It's like you were better for a while. Kinda like a happier version of you.” Evvy grimaced. “But now you're back to being an angry son of a bitch. Angrier if that’s even possible. Just…if I can do anything to help—”

He didn’t mean to, but Ev’s little speech dredged up memories of Kylie and it pissed me off. I tore out of Cal’s grasp, ready to bite his head off, and caught myself. I was too fucking exhausted, being angry all the time, skin like an overinflated balloon, all tight and itchy, ready to pop at any second. It was time to pull the plug, let out the extra air, and stop being a miserable bastard all the damn time.

I gave Ev a wan smile and patted his arm. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the offer but there's not much you can do.”

He pushed off the wall and nodded. “I get it. Just… take care of yourself.” Ev lightly punched me in the shoulder and left.

I cranked the water to peel your skin off hot and stood under the spray as I wondered what to do next. When it came down to it, there was really only one viable option, because constantly pining over Kylie, fucking up my game and my head, sucked. I either had to confront her and get some answers or forget she ever existed and go back to burying myself in detached, meaningless sex with easy women.

I winced. The second option kind of made my stomach hurt.

It made the decision easy.

Kylie

“Kylie?”

Oh god. No, no, no.

Between the desperate ache in my heart for Seb, the need to hide my mental anguish from Rocco, and my stupid stomach, fine one minute, making me do the fifty-yard dash to the bathroom the next, the last thing I needed was to be around someone with a freaky, superhuman ability to suss out emotional issues.

“I’m okay, Piper,” I said from where I hunched over the toilet in one of the stalls at work.

“You don't sound okay. Besides, don’t think I haven’t noticed you've been getting sick a lot lately.”

I rolled my eyes. See? Like Rocco, Piper was too darn observant. I was convinced they were both X-Men and half expected Patrick Stewart to roll in from stage right whenever one of them entered a room.

I flushed, exited the stall, and washed my hands. A quick glance in the mirror and some of the tension left my body. For once I didn't look like I went fifty rounds with the porcelain god. A little pale, maybe a bit of sweat at my temples. I could live with that. I dried off my hands and headed for the door.

“Kylie…” Piper shifted to block the exit. “What's going on?”

“Nothing.”

Piper glared, her way of letting me know she thought my answer sucked. I huffed and threw my arms out.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ve been dealing with a bit of a nervous stomach. It’s no big deal. No fevers, no body aches, no chills, just my stomach.” The look Piper leveled reminded me yet again of Rocco, over-concerned and hovery, but all-knowing, like a mother hen-helicopter hybrid.

Piper frowned. “Kylie,” she leaned close and whispered, “have you thought that maybe you're, you know…” Piper gestured toward my stomach, “pregnant.”

The word landed on the top of my head like an atomic bomb and exploded, wiping out everything familiar, everything I thought I knew, and replacing it with the horrific, stark truth. I bit my lip and dredged up memories of the times Seb and I were intimate.

Reality hit, and it hit hard and fast, dropping a ten-ton bomb on my head and leaving behind the desolate, frigid remains of a nuclear winter.

“Oh my god.” I bent over and placed a hand on my stomach. "There was one time…" The night Seb held me against the wall and fucked me until my eyes rolled back in my head. The time I felt an emotional connection. The one that sent me into a panic and I ran.

“I think… I’m not sure. Oh, Jesus. There might have been once…” I frowned. “It’s possible… maybe we didn’t use protection.”

There was no might. No maybe. We didn't, and I couldn't believe it didn't occur to me until that moment. We were so caught up, the passion so fierce, stopping for a condom slipped both of our minds, and after… well, I can attest to the fact that when you're busy sobbing a river out of your eyes, the last thing on your mind is whether or not you used a condom during sex.

Piper gathered my shaky hands in hers and waited until the shellshock passed. “After work, together, we’ll go to the store and get a test. You shouldn't be alone, and I know you said you can't tell your brother.”

Oh my god! The room spun and I grew faint.

“Oh shit, Kylie!” Piper flung an arm around my waist and hauled me out of the bathroom. She dropped me on the couch in the employee lounge and hurried back with a cup of water. “Here, drink this.” I mechanically obeyed.

What would Rocco do when I told him? Me getting knocked up, unmarried and still in school would give him a coronary. Pull the pin and toss the grenade in his lap that Sebastien St. Clair is the father? Seb spending a month in the ICU at Grady was the best-case scenario.

A hysterical laugh burst free as I pictured Rocco's face when he found out his “sweet, innocent” little sister carried the spawn of Satan in her womb. The image of a baby with Seb's face and a tiny pair of red horns poking out from a full head of dark hair, waving a little pitchfork in his pudgy fist, popped into my head, and I laughed even harder. Tears trickled down my face and my abdominal muscles strained. Ten minutes later, the truth sank in and gradually, tears of laughter turned genuine, and hysterics morphed into hiccupping sobs.

“I can't be pregnant,” I whispered. “I just can’t.” I sniffed and rubbed my midsection.

Piper squatted next to the sofa. “And you might not be.”

A spark of hope flashed and I clung to it with both hands. Then I looked at Piper and the spark fizzled out. Even Piper didn’t believe what she was attempting to sell. That brought on a fresh round of tears.

“Oh, Kylie,” she said, “I'm so sorry.” Piper smoothed a hand over my hair as I wept. “I can't promise the perfect outcome, but everything will work out in the end.”

I was pretty sure I didn’t agree.

* * *

The sound of my heartbeat whooshing behind my ears drowned out Piper, who was calling out my name and pounding hard on the bathroom door. The moisture in my mouth evaporated. As a result, my tongue got stuck to the back of my teeth. I’m not sure if I tried to move, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t, rooted to the cold marble tiles beneath my feet. All because of the innocuous looking stick in my hands, white with a bright pink plus sign staring at me from its pee-stained window.

Time passed.

I have no idea how long I stood there, unblinking, but it must've been a while, because Piper picked the lock with a nail file. She tumbled in, file in hand, frazzled and wide-eyed.

Piper shuffled up next to me and peeked over my shoulder. I didn't look at her. I didn't have to. Seeing her pity would only shove me over the edge. It wouldn’t take much considering I was already clinging to the cliff above Crazytown by my fingertips, body dangling precariously, dangerously close to loosing my grip on sanity and going on a long, painful drop to the bottom.

“Oh, Kylie.” She gently pried the test from my hand and set it on the countertop, then guided me out of the bathroom and maneuvered me to sit on the bed. Piper joined me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I know this isn't what you wanted, but I stand by what I said. Everything will work out. It always does, even when it seems like it’s impossible for things to turn around and there's no light to show you the way.”

I took a deep breath and lifted my wobbly chin.

“You're right.” My voice shook, betraying my attempt to pretend I was fine. I plowed on, not that I had a choice. Hiding under my comforter for the next nine months would probably freak Rocco out. “I can do this.”

Piper smiled. “You can. And I'll help you anyway I can.”

I glanced away, feeling sheepish for asking. But she did offer. “Do you think, if I need you to, you might be able to be there when I tell Rocco?”

Piper giggled and gave me a light squeeze. “Of course I can.”

The road was going to be bumpy to downright rocky at times, but Piper made me believe I could get through it in one piece. That maybe the pregnancy wasn’t worst thing in the world to happen, as unexpected as it was. People had babies all the time, right? People with way fewer resources and money.

Then I remembered not only did I have to inform Rocco of his impending unclehood, I had to tell Sebastien he was going to be a father, and my blood went ice cold.

I dashed for the bathroom, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet just in time to lose the cup of tea I forced down at Piper’s insistence. I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth, then closed my eyes and rested my forehead on the edge of the toilet as fear gripped my lungs.

If the mere thought of telling Seb had me kneeling at the porcelain throne, what would happen when I had to stand in front of him, look him in the eye, and tell him I was pregnant? My empty stomach heaved again, working in vain as sore muscles clenched over and over until my vision blurred and I was gasping for breath.

When the misery ended, I tucked my body against the wall, arms wrapped around my legs, laid my cheek on my knees, and sniffed. Piper came in and sat next to me in silence, her intuition spot on. We both knew there was nothing she could say that would make a difference. Even if Piper—and Rocco if he didn’t toss me out in the street first—stayed by my side every step of the way, I essentially had to do it alone.

“I’m not ready to tell anyone yet,” I said.

“Understandable.”

Mentally drained, I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes. “You don't think it’s selfish? I mean, not telling Rocco or…” My heart stuttered. I couldn't bring myself to say his name. “Him right away?”

Piper drew up her own legs to mimic my pose. “I don't think there's a right or wrong way to handle this. It's difficult and emotional and you have a lot to work through and think about.” I forced myself to meet Piper’s gaze, and this time, instead of pity I saw sympathy and support and friendship. “You have to trust that when the time is right to say something, you'll know.”

My eyes began to leak. “I don't deserve a friend like you.”

Piper pulled a face. “That’s ridiculous. Everyone deserves a friend. Especially when times are tough and we’re too weak to carry on. We need a friend to pick us up and carry us to the other side.” She lifted her chin from her knees and took a deep breath. “I always thought that if I hadn’t isolated myself from everyone, if I could talk to someone I trusted when I went through my breakup and everything, maybe I would be in a better place. You know, mentally. Maybe I wouldn't doubt my judgment when it comes to men. Maybe I would finally be able to get over what happened and put myself out there to meet someone.”

I sniffed and let out a humorless laugh. “I’m so screwed.”

Piper tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

I laughed again. “You're way stronger than me, Piper. You had me fooled, because I thought you were past all that. If you don't have your shit together, I don't stand a chance in hell.”

She shook her head. “That's what makes the difficult times in our life beautiful, and what makes humans so resilient.” My gaze narrowed. Piper patted my knee. “Adversity, Ky. It forces people to do things they never thought possible. Overcome obstacles they believed were too big to conquer. Some people, like me, get crushed when the pressure turns up, but you…” Piper studied me with her intelligent, all-seeing eyes. “You’re different. You're a fighter. Right now you probably think I'm crazy. Right now, you feel weak and helpless and trapped with no way out. But if there's one thing I'm good at, it's reading people,” Piper gave me a serious look. “And you won't go down without a fight.”

She was right about one thing. I did feel weak and helpless and trapped. I tried to take her words to heart, even if I didn’t quite trust them. Piper was no dummy, though. If she believed in me, I had to think positive.

A wave of fatigue crashed over me. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was curl up in my bed, go to sleep, and turn off my brain for a little while.

After all, I had nine… er, eight, whole months to freak out.

Seb

“This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had,” I muttered as I walked back and forth on the busy sidewalk, dodging a constant flow of pedestrians. When I almost crashed into an old lady and sent her sprawling, she gave me a suspicious side-eye. Probably thought I was nuts. Maybe I was.

An arctic blast slapped me upside the head. The sting and burn from the glacial current was so strong it felt like a sandblaster ground off my top layer skin. The temperature was cold enough that my breath puffed out in front of me in little clouds of mist. Even under my thick knit cap my ears were steadily going numb. I huffed in disgust.

Some Canadian I am.

I glanced up at the gleaming tower of luxury condos, then checked the time on my phone. Two hours. I’d been stalking Kylie in twenty-something-degree weather for two hours. Creepy? Definitely. But she wouldn’t return my texts or calls and I couldn’t stop obsessing. I guess what I needed was closure, at least, I think that’s the bullshit term they use. I needed to know what I did to make her cut me completely out of her life.

The front door of the building opened and, just like every other time since I arrived, it swung ajar. Unlike those times, instead of someone other than Kylie stepping into view, I glimpsed a flash of blonde hair and my breath caught in my throat.

Kylie.

She exchanged a few quick words with the doorman and trotted down the short flight of stairs without noticing me yet. At the bottom, Kylie paused and her expression grew confused. Slowly, as if she knew I was there, Kylie turned her head in my direction. Her shocked gaze locked onto me and my body ached with longing, lust and loss and need and a bunch of other shit I didn’t want to think too hard about. The flash bang of desire crackled and popped. It flickered and burned, consuming me from the inside out until I was on fire. A myriad of unfamiliar feelings swelled until they crowded my lungs and made it difficult to get enough air.

Kylie glanced around and I held my breath. The soft skin of her throat flickered as her pulse leapt and she tensed up, like she was about to do a repeat of that awful night and pull a runner.

Too fucking bad I had no intention of letting her get away. I hurried to close the distance between us until we stood almost nose-to-nose, er, nose-to-chin. Less than a minute exposed to the cold air and Kylie's cheeks and nose turned a rosy shade of pink. Her eyes sparkled and the sun backlit her hair so it shone like a golden halo around her head. She was breathtaking. An angel.

Kylie shifted from foot to foot and I realized she probably wanted to know why I ambushed her.

“Hi.”

I wanted to smack myself. Jesus. Fucking smooth, St. Clair.

Kylie blinked. “Hi. Umm, w-what are you doing here?”

Again, her eyes darted around, as if she were avoiding looking at me. She seemed nervous, reminiscent of the moment before she took off and left me high and dry. Kylie twitched and fidgeted, and my internal alarm blared. Something was wrong, as if she felt guilty. Maybe for leaving. Or avoiding my calls. Or not answering my texts. Hell, maybe she should feel guilty.

“I, uh, I know you don't want to talk to me,” I stammered. “But, uh…” Fuck. I couldn’t form a sentence out to save my life. I rubbed the back of my neck just to have something to do. “Shit, this is awkward.” My arm fell back to my side and I gave Kylie my biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes. “Can you, I mean, can we talk? I only need a minute.” Kylie frowned, and I knew she was about to say no, so I pulled out something I never say to anyone. “Please?”

I saw the exact moment Kylie gave in. Her shoulders crumpled and she kind of shrank into herself. She appeared, I don't know, weary. I hated that I did that to her. I wanted to make Kylie laugh and smile and shout my name in ecstasy, not hunch over and get sad.

“There's a coffee shop at the end of the block.” Kylie jerked her head to the left.

I nodded. “Let's go.”

Neither of us spoke during the three-minutes it took to walk to the café. The silence was suffocating, like a heavy wool blanket tossed on my head, its weight smothering my mouth and nose. We stepped into the café, greeted by a much appreciated blast of warm air. My nose and ears burned as they thawed out.

“Why don't you sit and I'll get the drinks,” I suggested. “What do you like?”

See? More proof I was halfway off my damn rocker. Nothing made a lick of sense anymore. I didn’t know Kylie well enough to know how she took her coffee. Or if she even liked coffee. But I stood outside her home and pounced when she came out.

Fuck, I’m such a self-centered prick.

“Okay. A small coffee, please. Cream no sugar.”

A few minutes later I sat across from Kylie at a tiny two-seater table. Our knees kept accidentally bumping and I dug my fingers into my thigh to hold back a moan as my leg tingled and burned where we touched.

Kylie took a perfunctory sip of her drink and pushed it away.

“Does it not taste good?”

Kylie blushed and got flustered. “No. I mean, yes. It's good. I-I just forgot, I'm trying to lay off caffeine.”

“Oh.” I gave her a smile I hoped came across as a charming. I might be an asshole, but I could be a fucking charismatic bastard when I wanted to. “I could never do that. I’m so dependent, if I could, I'd walk around with a caffeine IV hooked up 24/7.”

She didn't laugh, but the corners of her lips twitched. The tiny, sort-of smile only lasted a fraction of a second. Still, I took it as a win. Once the moment passed, the uncomfortable silence stampeded back in and barreled into us, like that big fuck Calloway in a ballet class. It was this tangible thing that sat on the table and shoved us further apart.

Well screw that. I was sick and tired of being driven away.

“Listen,” I said. “If I did anything to hurt or offend you, I wanted to say I'm sorry.”

As she thought about what I said, Kylie tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, and chewed on it. A host of conflicting emotions slammed into me head on. Lust sent a rush of concentrated heat to my groin while intense longing flopped around inside my heart like a fish out of water.

I coughed and forced myself to stay on topic. “Um, I figured, you know, with the way you ran out of my place, I must've done something wrong.”

Kylie dropped her gaze to the table. The urge to keep talking, to fill the silence with chatter, was so strong I had to concentrate on keeping my mouth shut. After weeks of failed attempts, I had Kylie in close physical proximity. I wasn’t about to ruin it because she needed a little time to work out what she wanted to say. It was the most excruciating moment of my life. Like waiting for an axe to fall and chop off a chunk of my soul.

Finally, she looked up, eyes glistening with tears.

Fuck. Whatever I did was that bad?

“You didn't do anything, Seb.” Kylie sniffed and shook her head back and forth, lips pressed together. “It sounds like such a cliché.” She glanced back up at me. “But I swear, you did nothing wrong. It's all me.”

It’s not you, it’s me. Really.

My pulse stuttered, skipped a beat, then took off at a sprint, as if I topped it off with a shot of high-octane fuel. I figured I would get Kylie to talk to me, she’d explain what happened, tell me I acted like a jerk, that when I did XYZ it made her upset. I'd apologize, she’d forgive me, and everything would go back to how it was before.

“I don't understand,” I admitted.

“And I-I’m sorry… I can't tell you any more.” The moisture in her eyes overflowed in two damp trails that trickled down her cheeks. Without thinking, I reached out and used my thumb to wiped one away. Kylie’s breath hitched and her pupils dilated.

She still wanted me. The knowledge sent my heart soaring, yet only made me more confused. Her mixed messages were killing me.

“I know we can work something out,” I pushed. “I want to see you again.” With my arm still stretched across the table, I opened my hand and pressed my palm against the side of her face. Whether she knew it or not, Kylie leaned in to my touch and rubbed against my hand as if seeking comfort. “You said you wanted to stay with me, at my place that night,” I explained. “That’s what you said before you left. If you wanted to stay, then why leave? I don't understand. I didn't want you to go if that's what you thought.”

Kylie pulled back and left my arm hanging stupidly in midair. I tucked it into my lap. Her bottom lip trembled. “It's complicated, Seb. Just… trust me. We can't keep seeing each other.” With no further explanation, Kylie stood and I fucking panicked.

I jumped out of the chair and grabbed her arm. “Why are you doing this? What is so bad that you're willing to throw away something we both know is amazing?” She continued to shake her head. I crowded close to whisper in her ear and Kylie’s scent filled my nose. My eyelids drooped and my cock took interest. God I missed her. “Kylie, this isn't like me. I don't beg, and I swear, I've never been interested enough in a woman to do it, but I'm doing it now. For you. Please. I’m begging you not to leave. You're the first, the only, woman I've wanted this way. You're special and I don't know why because I hardly know you. That's what I'm asking for, the chance to know you.”

Kylie's voice was low and cracked periodically, like she was about to break down for real. “You're a good man, Sebastien St. Clair.” She stepped away and I let her go. “Goodbye.”

Once again, I watched Kylie walk out on me.

This time for good.