Chapter 3

"Why is it that the Gold like their ice cream so fucking much?" Delaney mutters from next to me.

Our company isn't strictly on hire for nights like these—not now that the dealer is behind bars for the rest of his life and the risk of any of the other threats have been investigated, dismissed, or eliminated—but when I hear from my sources that the Gold are going for ice cream—a-fucking-gain—I make sure I'm here.

Because I almost wasn't here in time before.

Because Matteo and Vivi and Logan?—

Well, I just make sure I'm fucking here, okay?

Tonight, one of my agents, Delaney, is with me, trailing along even though I offered to drop her at the complex.

"What else do I have to do?" she said when I offered, and...well, that's a feeling I understand.

What else do I have to do except lurk in the shadows and watch people live their lives?

It used to be that satisfied the itch in me—watching people have happiness, rooting for them to get through their shit, helping where I could, shifting a few pieces, ensuring they ran into each other, protecting the people they loved.

But, eventually, I started to buy into the bullshit that is this hockey team.

I started to believe that maybe enough time had passed and I could...

"It's bullshit."

The words coming out of my mouth, instead of staying in my head—where they fucking belong—display a dangerous breach of control.

Luckily, Delaney doesn't pick up on that.

Probably because her eyes are locked on the field.

Locked on a certain hockey player.

"It is bullshit," she mutters. "The empty calories alone in that soft serve. They're supposed to be professional athletes. Don't they have a meal plan to follow?"

"Cheat Days," I say, like that's an explanation.

And I suppose it is. Their dietician is a control freak who likes to plan things out months in advance—including Cheat Days that align so the guys and their families can get together like this.

The off-season is different, with the team scattering to their home countries or to the East Coast or Midwest to visit families, but a lot of the old-timers have long-term contracts that mean they've put down firm roots here in the Bay Area for the remainder of the year.

Their kids are in local schools, have friends who were born and raised here. Lives that are built around this area.

Thus, California has its hooks into them for ten months out of the year, and travel home is restricted to the small window after the playoffs and before training camp.

But the meal plan allows for that.

Because...planning.

And Rebecca's life is finding more efficient and healthy ways to fuel their bodies, so the off-season is sorted too.

Right along with nights at The Dairy.

"Ridiculous," Delaney mutters.

I disagree with her, but I don't say it out loud. Mostly because I used to be where she was.

Fresh out of the shit, searching for some peace, not understanding how in the fuck these people could possibly trust each other. A big family. Lots of personalities. Hardly any biology between them—though, God knows, biology doesn't mean shit.

Still, these people have it figured out.

And that's why I'm here.

Because that's a beautiful thing—I get that now—and it deserves to be protected.

"Have you ever eaten the ice cream here?" I ask, seeing a little boy run across the grass?—

No. Not a little boy. Seeing Matteo running across the grass. I tense, gaze searching, muscles going taut, remembering what happened the last time we were all here on a warm fall evening.

Remembering how I failed.

And how I'm going to make sure I don't, not fucking ever again.

Things need to fucking change.

I can't keep playing by the same fucked-up rules I erected around my life.

I need to do something different.

Which is why I ignore Delaney gaping at me as I step out of the shadows.

"The mint chocolate chip is pretty fucking good," I tell her as I turn toward the slender brunette—Lauren—who's walking next to a tall blond—Brit.

I might have fucked up my life over and over again, have disappointed the people who meant more to me than anything else, failed them time and again, failed them so intensely that I don't deserve what so many people on this field have found. I don't deserve happiness or another chance at love, or to even be a peripheral part of this family.

But Delaney does.

She deserves more. She deserves everything.

And so does Lauren.

And Brit.

Which is why I'm making the choice to not fuck around. I'm going to draw out the threat, flush the bastard who's haunted my life from the shadows.

And I'm going to make these women's lives better.

Then I'll slip away, will disappear back to where I belong.

The lonely darkness.

"Come on," I toss over my shoulder toward my newest agent, causing Delaney's mouth to fall open even more. "I'll buy you a cone."