"Please," she hissed. "They don't care about the timeline. The minute you walked out on me you became the hero who went back to his family. To everyone else I was proof that karma is real. My own father looked me in the eye and said, ‘That's what you get for messing around with a married man.'"
He gaped at her. "That's obnoxious, Lauren. He should have never said that to you."
"How big of you to say so," she snapped, realizing with horror that she was about to cry. "You'd like to correct my father's behavior. And you want to make your thirteen-year-old apologize to me, too. That is hysterical. Because"-She gulped back her tears and looked him straight in the eye-"who's the only one who really harmed me?"
She knew her point hit home because his face went absolutely pale. "I am."
"Good guess! And two years later I'm still waiting for the only apology that ever mattered." Now her eyes were stinging and her throat was closing up. Lauren stood up in a hurry, but his giant body was in the freaking way. "Would you just . . . move," she whispered hoarsely.
He leaped out of the seat and into the aisle.
Without another glance at him Lauren exited the row and darted forward, into the bathroom at the front of the plane. It was-thank the sweet heavens-unoccupied. The moment the door clicked close, the tears came like a fountain. She yanked a paper towel from the holder and pressed it forcefully to her mouth.
Alone at last, Lauren clung one-handed to the grab bar and cried absolutely silently in the charter jet's bathroom.
SIX
"Beak-what the fuck, man? It's only an hour flight," Patrick O'Doul complained. "Sit still already."
Mike dragged his eyes off the bathroom door at the front of the jet and sat back. He tipped his head back and sighed. "I don't know if Lauren is okay."
"Yeah? I'm sure hanging around the team is hard for her. It would have to be."
"Not necessarily," Mike argued. "If she found a great guy and had a happy life, it wouldn't be hard at all. It's been two years, right? By now I should just be some hockey punk she used to date."
O'Doul made a little grunt of half-assed agreement. "Maybe. But can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"It's been two years, as you point out. When you look at Lauren, do you see just some girl you used to date?"
"No! No way. She's . . ." She's still the woman I love. "Oh, fuck."
"Yeah, exactly." And-damn him-O'Doul sounded a little smug, too.
"But, Jesus. I am really not worth the heartache."
O'Doul chuckled. "You're not my type, so it's kinda hard for me to say."
"She's still so angry," Mike admitted. "Maybe when she's not trapped on a jet with me, it's easier for her." That had to be true, right? For two years he'd assumed that she was in a better place than he was-that his sacrifice had been something she could grow to accept.
But the look on her face when he sat down beside her was pure devastation. "I fucked up with her," he admitted. "Big time."
"Today?"
He shook his head. Today was just a ripple effect.
"So you're saying you fucked up two years ago, and you're just figuring that out now? And I thought I was dumb."
Mike snorted. "You are, but I'm dumber. I thought we would all be okay, you know? I did what I had to do, but I handled it badly. I knew she'd be mad at me, and I couldn't stand to disappoint her. So I sort of went quiet at the end."
O'Doul gave him a sidelong glance. "You shut her out?"
"Yeah."
"Women hate that."
"Thanks for the update, captain, seeing as you're an expert these days."
O'Doul grinned. "I never broke anyone's heart."
"Uh-huh." It was true, but only because Ari was the first person he'd ever dated. And that relationship was about a month old. O'Doul would learn how fricking complicated it could all become.
"So why'd you do it?" the captain asked.
"Why did I shut her out? Panic, my man. Sheer and total." He closed his eyes and let himself remember the most painful time in his life. "It was two or three months after Kattenberger bought the team. Lauren and I were planning to move into the city together. The lease was coming up on my rental house, and Nate was moving the team to Brooklyn. Then Shelly got her diagnosis in February. It didn't seem like a big deal at first. Hell, I assumed she had manufactured a little extra drama around the whole thing."
He still remembered getting that phone call. He was in his car after practice, waiting outside the clubhouse office for Lauren to get off work. "I have something to tell you," his ex had said.
"Yeah? Make it quick." He'd been eyeing the door, watching for Lauren's shapely legs.
"I have . . ."
There had been a long silence, and he'd been annoyed. "What?"
"Ovarian cancer," she'd said in a big, breathy rush.
"What?" He didn't think it was possible that she'd just used the word "cancer." She wasn't quite thirty.
"It's bad, Mike," she'd said quietly. "I don't know what's going to happen." Her tone made his gut turn sideways.
But even after that, it had taken another couple months for him to understand how it would all play out.
O'Doul was waiting for him to finish the story. But now he didn't really feel like it. Too painful. "So, uh, nobody knew how sick Shelly was when I left Lauren."
"Except for Lauren, right?" O'Doul asked.
He shook his head slowly.
O'Doul's eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell her Shelly was terminal? That's insane."
"Is it? I had to take a wrecking ball to all our plans either way. I didn't want to make her feel sorry for me."
"You wanted her to . . . hate you instead?"
Yes. "Not exactly. But I had a choice-I could either be a martyr or an asshole. I thought it would be easier to get over the asshole than the martyr. And I wanted what was best for her."
O'Doul lifted his fingertips to his temples and rubbed. "That's complicated, man. Makes my head hurt just thinking about it."
"Yeah? How do you think mine feels?"
"I can't even imagine."
He eyed the door at the front of the plane again. Still closed.
Shit.
SEVEN
LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK
MARCH 2014
Mike lay panting in his bed, limbs splayed all over Lauren. He braced himself on an elbow so he wouldn't crush her, but he couldn't bring himself to move any farther away from her very naked, very well-fucked body.
A half hour ago he'd come home from the season's last big road trip. His suitcase was sitting just inside the bedroom door where he'd dropped it. On top of it rested a bunch of hydrangeas he'd picked up on his way home from LaGuardia.
He hadn't let Lauren put them in water yet. He'd pounced on her for a preliminary round of fast, energetic sex. Even if his body was spent, he couldn't stop admiring her beneath him. He pushed a lock of golden hair off her forehead and kissed the ivory skin he'd revealed. "What are you thinking about, baby?"
"Spreadsheets," she answered quickly.
"What?" he yelped, rolling to the side, taking her body with him. "Jesus fuck. Am I slipping? Spreadsheets, after that?"
Her laugh was a giggle. "Can I explain myself before you get offended?"
"Go for it." He cupped her perfect ass in his hand and gave it a friendly squeeze.
"I've been surfing the real estate listings in the city, right?"
"Right." They were supposed to look at a few later this week.
"Well. After that spectacular welcome I just received, I started wondering about all the fun we could have in our new place."
He made a noise of approval. "Okay. I like the sound of that. But what about the spreadsheets?"
"There are two places that look particularly good to me. One of them has a fireplace in the living room, which has some serious potential."
"Ah," he said, stroking his fingers up her back. "Like, bear skin rug sort of potential?"
"I'm not doing it on a dead bear. Maybe a wool rug, though."
He laughed, and it shook both of them, so he wrapped his arms around her to hold on tight. "Okay. Tell me about the other one."
"The other place has a terrace. That's a real luxury for Manhattan. I could even grow a few hydrangeas."
"Do I get a vote? Because I'm going to pick fireplace fucking. We can buy hydrangeas at the flower shop."
"The terrace has a hot tub."
"Oh."
"Oh," she mimicked, giving his arm a squeeze. "I thought you'd like that. For your weary muscles."