The sun was well past set and I was tipsy. I definitely didn’t feel sober enough to drive. “Stay and have dessert with me,” I said, placing a very intentional hand on his arm.

I really liked the way he grinned. It made me happy when I made him happy.

“I’m a chocolate man.”

“Chocolate is my favorite,” I whispered for some reason. Must be the alcohol. It wasn’t like chocolate was a secret or some kind of conspiracy.

We moved from the bar to a quiet corner booth and ordered two decadent desserts while I emptied a glass of water. “Your family sure can drink some wine.” I always thought I had a decent tolerance but without even thinking I’d gone just past my limit.

I blamed Jack and his suggestions.

“We buy it by the case for the holidays.”

“I’m sure you do.”

The dim lighting in the bar made all of this feel much more intimate than dinner. Of course there was also the fact that we were alone, but also this sense that somewhere over the course of the meal I’d gotten to know a new side of Erik. The family man who could have a little fun while still maintaining a watchful eye on his siblings.

“Are you feeling more comfortable around me, Zoe?” he asked as he pushed his mostly full glass of water around the table. It was like he wanted to be doing something else with those hands so instead he was keeping them busy with anything he could.

“Yes. That’s part of why I wanted to have dessert.”

He let go of the glass and sat back, his full attention on me. “What do you want to ask me?”

I decided somewhere around the third glass of wine that the adult thing to do was just talk to Erik. Go straight to the source of my secret discomfort for answers.

“They call you Bear.” My nerves rattled to life.

His chin rose a fraction of an inch as he studied me intensely. Really, really intensely. Like he was trying to dig into my brain and understand what my four words really meant.

“Are you asking why they call me Bear?”

I guess I really hadn’t asked a question, had I? “I’d like to hear it from you. Yes.”

The air felt heavier with my words hanging around us. I didn’t sense any friction from Erik, though. Just concern. “I’m not the best player on the team,” he said carefully. “I already told you that when they called me up from the minors I didn’t expect to stay. I’m not . . . I’m not a superstar, I guess you’d say. But teams at this level don’t need ten stars. They need a team that works well together. That means having a mix of talents.”

He paused as the desserts arrived. The waiter sensed he was interrupting a conversation because he only asked if we needed anything else and then hightailed it out of there.

“What’s your talent, Erik?” He might not be a “superstar” but he was good. Very good. The Mantas didn’t keep him around because he was pretty.

Although he was definitely good looking.

He picked up the spoon and dug into his chocolate mousse, offering it to me.

I stared at that spoonful of chocolate and whipped cream realizing this little gesture said quite a lot about Erik. He didn’t pounce on his dessert. He thought of me first. He did the same at dinner. Always pouring wine for everyone else before refilling his glass. He made sure there was enough pasta. He gave his sister the last piece of bread.

Erik was generous and thoughtful. Possibly to a fault. Maybe it was part of his upbringing—taking care of his family made up the fabric of his being. I wanted to learn so much more about this part of him.

“Thank you.” I took the spoon and tasted the mousse. The flavor exploded over my tongue, the chocolate dark and rich, not overpowered by sugar. Then the cream melted and blended, creating the most pleasurable response in my body. I was probably always going to think of Erik, chocolate, and pleasure because of this.

When I pushed my bowl toward him, offering him a bite, he grinned, then took a forkful of cake. We traded bites like this several times before he finally replied to my question.

“I knew if I wanted to have a shot at staying on the team I needed to give them something they needed. Something that was killing their ability to win games was the disorganization. The Mantas had no leader. They’d done an excellent job of recruiting raw talent.”

“But like you said, talent doesn’t make a team.”

“Exactly. I’m good at managing personalities and putting out fires. I’m good at telling people what to do and backing it up with consequences. I’m a steady player. I don’t hit home runs every time I’m at bat, but I can put the ball where it needs to go. Second is my base. I play it well. I’m consistent, they don’t have to worry about me, and I provide our team with unity. That’s my talent.”

He had no idea how unique it was. Spending time with him, seeing his reactions and the way his face drew up when he spoke about himself, hearing how often he put down his talent as a ballplayer, I realized he was more critical of himself than anyone else.

“That’s a pretty impressive talent, Erik.”

He shook his head and shoved another bite of cake into his beautiful mouth. The same mouth I hadn’t resisted kissing just a few weeks ago.

“It’s advice from Harrison Ford. ‘Work hard and find a way to be useful.’ I had a goal. I wanted to stay. I found a way to be useful. I’m not sure that’s a talent so much as it is desperation.”

He was so wrong about that. “Leadership does not come naturally to most people. Especially not good leadership. And dedication to your work is another lost art these days. I’d say you are very talented indeed.”

He frowned, taking his time devouring the last bite of chocolate mousse. I wondered, as I studied the different emotions crossing his face, if Erik was so focused on his skills as a ballplayer that he completely missed the bigger picture.

I got it. I so got it. Writers were the same way. Good writing didn’t necessarily translate to success. Many of the most financially successful writers weren’t the best at the craft but were great storytellers hitting the market with the right kind of story at the right time. A lot of my writer friends, myself included, often became so fixated on whether our writing was any good that we lost sight of the more important factor: whether our stories connected with the reader.

Sometimes it took an outsider to knock sense in us. Maybe ballplayers weren’t all that different.

“You’re still here five years later. I’d say you’re doing something right.”

He nodded. “I love it. I like feeling needed.” He shrugged. “Time at the top is limited and I’m trying to make the most of it all.”

“The city loves you. You’re not going anywhere.”

He groaned. “Those commercials are killing me. I hate seeing my face on my television every morning.”

He genuinely looked uncomfortable so—naturally—I decided to make it worse. “You’re not just the Papa Bear of the team, you know. The whole city looks up to you like their favorite big brother.”

There was a reason he was the star of the favorite morning television commercial: he made people feel safe and happy.

He made me feel safe and happy.

Which brought me back to my question. “Do you have an anger problem?”

He reared back, blinking. “What? No. Why?”

“Bear. They say you have this ugly, angry side. That you scare the piss out of people when you get angry.” I slid my hand under the table so he couldn’t see it shaking.

He turned white as a sheet. “No.” He shook his head. “God, no.” Then his shoulders dropped. “This is why you don’t want to be around me.”

“No. That’s unrelated. But I do need to understand this part of you if we’re going to spend time together. It’s also important.”

“Okay.” He nodded several times then pushed back the dishes, suddenly becoming very serious and business-like. He stared down at his hands for several seconds, formulating his response. “I’m firm. I do not put up with shit and when someone crosses a line I make it well known that I will make them move back across that line. I can be scary when I’m making a point and I damn well will hurt someone who hurts anyone I love,” my heart hammered as he paused long enough to meet my gaze, holding it for several beats before he finished his sentence, “but I do not have an anger problem.”

If he were in one of my books he’d be labeled an alpha. A leader. A defender. A protector. That was exactly who Erik Cassidy was. Not an alpha-hole—an asshole pretending to be in charge while treating everyone around him like garbage—but a true leader.

Meaning (and this was the key to everything) Erik was nothing like Tony.

“Family is everything to me, Zoe.” He scooted closer. “Everything. My blood family, our larger family, my team, my friends.” He tentatively slid his hand across the bench to touch my fingers. “Even you. I consider you all my family. I’d die if I was ever the cause of pain to any of you because my family is my entire reason for living.”

I tangled my fingers with his. Not quite holding hands. More searching than that. I let Tony ruin so much for me. These tiny gestures, these connections, should be lovely, not monumental. Every moment with Erik was a new lesson for me.

“Have you ever gone too far? Done something you regretted?”

“I beat the shit out of Belle’s ex,” he said with a shrug and a frown. “The bastard was hurting her so I hurt him. I don’t regret it.”

“I can’t believe you just told me that.” Here I was asking him to confess to an anger problem and one of the first things he did was tell me he beat the crap out of someone?

At least now I understood what happened at the end of dinner.

Riley was jealous that it was Erik who avenged Belle and got to be her hero.

“You need to know everything if you’re going to trust me.” He tugged my fingers until I met his gaze. “I have been violent a time or two but I am not a violent person. I don’t hold in emotions until I explode. I’m not a loose cannon. When I react it is with purpose and usually in kind.”

The rational part of my brain heard him and cheered, but the woman inside me who let a man use his size and strength to intimidate me, wanted to run.

“That scares me.”

He let out a strangled sigh. “It rips me up to hear that.”

Which ripped me up in return. He was so patient. So understanding. “I left a bad relationship when I came to Tampa.”

“And now that we’ve spent time together you’re thinking you should keep avoiding me.”

No. Yes? I really didn’t know anymore. My fears were complicated.

But Erik just might be the most wonderful kind of complication.

“I’m confused and scared.”

I stared at our fingers.

Connected.

Neither one of us pulling away.

I wanted this. I wanted him. And I think . . . no, I was pretty damn sure . . . he wanted exactly the same thing. And that terrified me. Letting someone else get that close to me again, allowing them to have access to my heart, trusting them to not hurt me . . . as long as Erik and I stayed apart I didn’t have to think about any of this. But he stumbled into my life and I couldn’t ignore him any longer.

I just couldn’t.

“Would it help to know that you scare me too?” he whispered.

I looked up and found him waiting for me, his eyes locked and pleading for me to hear him out.

“I scare you?” How was that possible?

“The things I’d do for you, they scare me.” I couldn’t look away from the intensity in his gaze. “I told you how I feel about my family, the lengths I go to keep them happy. I already feel that strongly about you and we’ve barely gotten started.” His voice wavered at the end.

It sent my head spinning. “Erik . . . ”

“I can’t help the way I feel, Zoe. You make me feel things when you’re around. Fuck, even when you’re not around.” He slid even closer, pulling my hands onto his thigh. “I like it but it scares me because I don’t really know you yet. I’m worried you’ll never let me know you.”

Trust. Honesty. We both wanted the same thing and couldn’t have one without the other. “You’ve been so honest with me, Erik. I want to be able to return the favor. I do.”

His gaze dropped to our hands again. “Why don’t you talk about him? Because it hurts?”

“Because I just can’t. I want that part of my life to . . . not exist.” I would set it on fire if I could. Watch the flames erase Tony from my life, then take the cold ashes and dump them in the middle of the ocean.

“But it does exist. It’s part of who you are. I like who you are.”

I yanked my hand free and pushed away, needing breathing room because he was forcing me think about the exact things I’d just told him I wanted to forget. The memories were all still so vivid. That was part of why I didn’t give them space in my life. It was as if I were right back in our condo in Texas.

Suffocating and hurting.

“I was stupid, okay.” I closed my eyes and held up my hands, trying and failing to force the feelings back. “I was not naïve or unaware—just plain stupid. I’m embarrassed.” So embarrassed that I found it hard to function when I thought about it. When I looked back at my years with Tony all I saw was how dumb I’d been to ever start a relationship with him, let alone stay with him for five horrible years.

Years I’d never get back.

So I did my best each and every day to be the woman I should have been and to erase that part of my life from existence.

Erik stayed where he was even though I could see the way his muscles tensed under his shirt. He gave me a few moments to calm down and, maybe, to give himself some space to calm down too. My emotions seemed to affect him quite a bit.

“I can’t tell you how to feel,” he said after a minute. “I know I can’t make you see what I see, but I really wish you could. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. You write books that move people so much they’re making a movie franchise out of them. We all make mistakes and if we’re lucky those mistakes teach us how to be better. I really hope one day you stop seeing something that made you who you are as something to hide.”

“You don’t get it,” I gritted out between my teeth, my jaw clamped so hard it hurt. Why couldn’t he see?

“Then make me understand. I need to understand why you say these things about yourself, Zo. It’s so wrong.”

It wasn’t wrong. It was the truth. A truth I needed to disappear. I would never acknowledge that something good came from Tony. I needed Erik to get this through his head and there was only one way to do that. I had to open my wounds and give him a look inside the mess. So I took a breath and dove into the darkness I spent so much time avoiding.

“I fell for the good guy act. Hook, line, and sinker. And when I found out the truth, I held on tighter.”