31. Braxton

I was dying to get back to Dakota after eleven days spent on the road. The Comets had hit all three teams in California—the Bridgers, the Cougars, and the Surf—and then done a stint in the desert to play the Las Vegas Luck and the Phoenix Pythons.

Our trip to the Caribbean had been incredible, and it sucked that we had to leave the day after our return. I couldn't wait to curl up with her this afternoon on a well-deserved day off.

It was daybreak when the team plane landed in Hartford, and even though I'd showered post-game in Phoenix, I needed to stop by my place for fresh clothes. Once I got to Dakota's place, I wasn't leaving for a solid twenty-four hours.

I didn't care what we did so long as we were together. Maybe we'd have a lazy day watching movies in her bedroom, making love when the mood struck, and ordering take-out for every meal. Sounded like a perfect day.

Honestly, every day with Dakota was perfect, each one better than the last.

Running into the house I shared with Levi and Blake, I bounded up the stairs, throwing whatever clean clothes I could find into a duffle bag. Most nights the team was home, I spent at her place, so I threw in more than what I would need for one day. The team was home for a week, and I wasn't going to waste a second of the time we had together before I had to leave again.

Jogging down the steps, I stopped in the kitchen to grab an iced coffee from the fridge. Usually, I could sleep on a red-eye flight back from the West Coast, but I was so amped up at the prospect of getting back to my girl that I'd stayed awake. The exhaustion was beginning to hit now, and I didn't want to spend the first few hours of our reunion passed out on her couch.

Turning, I about jumped out of my skin when I found Levi perched on a stool at the kitchen island, reading a book.

"Fuck!" I shouted, throwing a hand over my racing heart. "Where did you come from?"

Peering over the pages, he scoffed. "Been here the whole time. Not my fault you're unaware of your surroundings."

I plucked at the cover of the book he held. "Didn't take you for the type to read. I mean, do you even know how?"

Closing the book, he laid it down on the island. A smirk tugged at his lips. "Funny thing about books," he mused. "Sometimes, the right story can really suck you in."

"Uh-huh." Whatever he was getting at, I wasn't in the mood. My girl was waiting for me.

Rolling my eyes at Levi, I was halfway out of the kitchen when he called out, "You might want to check this one out for yourself. If I didn't know better, I'd say this hero was you."

Pausing my steps, I turned around slowly. "What are you talking about?"

Levi thumbed the pages. "Oh, you know. The much younger brother of a hockey legend, suffering from imposter syndrome." He shrugged. "I mean, that could be anyone, right? And I might be inclined to believe it was a random creative coincidence, but . . ."

There was a buzzing in my ears, and fear pierced my heart. "Spit it out." My words were barely audible.

A wicked grin curved on Levi's face. "They play for the same team."

The floor dropped out from beneath my feet. I was free-falling, my mind grasping at anything that would tell me my worst fears weren't being realized. That yet another woman had taken advantage of me. That I'd fallen in love with someone whose only aim was to use me for personal gain.

Sliding off the stool, Levi patted the book's cover. "I'll just leave this here in case you want to take a peek."

He was gone, and I was left standing there, speechless, having a showdown with a book.

Blood rushed in my ears, and I closed my eyes, trying to center myself.

No. There's no way Dakota would do this.

I pursued her. She wanted nothing to do with me.

She loves me, and I love her.

We talked about a future together.

She stood up to my mom, trying to protect me.

She gave me her virginity.

There's no way any of that was fake.

Taking a deep breath, I blew it out slowly before opening my eyes. Stepping forward, I reached for the book. The only way I would find out if Dakota had betrayed me was by seeing what was inside for myself. Levi lived to stir up shit. He was probably just trying to tear me and Dakota apart for sport. That would be right up his alley. He was still pissy that I'd stolen his spot on the top line, not believing I had nothing to do with that call.

Settling in, I opened to the first page, more confident everything would be fine.

Two hours later, my world had fallen apart.

I skimmed through most of the dialogue, searching for words and clues that would give hints that this was truly my story.

And truthfully, I might have been able to overlook the basic plot. Surely, I wasn't the first guy to be overshadowed by a more successful older sibling. No, it was the intimate scenes that stood out, rattling me to the core.

There was no denying this was us—me and Dakota.

In print was the story of our love—or at least, what I thought had been love—in vivid detail.

Me getting on my knees, eating her out in her living room.

Her riding me in the moonlight beside a frozen lake.

And most damning of all—sex in the penalty box and my visceral reaction to her scent the following game.

Our most private moments were on public display for the world to read while laying bare my deepest insecurities.

My heart bled out from the knife shoved into it by the one person I thought I could trust.

Flipping the pages, I stared at the cover, scoffing when I read the book's title—Sticks and Shadows. I was sure she meant my complicated relationship with Jaxon, but in reality, she was the one lurking in the shadows, hiding her true motives.

And I was the fool she'd played.

My gaze honed in on the author's name, D.D. Morgan, and memories—snippets of conversations—flashed before my eyes.

"I see you've met Double D."

"My mom, Morgan, met Hank in college."

Even though I knew it was Dakota beyond a shadow of a doubt, I went down the rabbit hole on my phone.

I cringed.

Great. I would probably never be able to think or hear the word shadow again without feeling a stab of pain at her betrayal.

Not only did a quick internet search confirm the author was the woman I'd fallen head over heels in love with over the past several months, but it also informed me that the book—which had only been released earlier in the week—was now a bestseller. I didn't know much about the publishing industry, but I could imagine you had to sell a shit-ton of books to earn that distinction.

The initial shock had worn off, and rage simmered beneath my skin.

How many people were privy to my private struggles made public?

That question paled in comparison to the one burning at the back of my brain.

Did she think she was going to get away with this? To keep living the lie at my side?

I couldn't take it anymore. Shoving off the stool, it clattered to the ground as I stormed to the front door, grabbing my keys on the way.

There was only one person who could answer those questions.

Pulling up in front of the house Dakota shared with Bristol, I'd grown so aggravated on the drive that my chest was heaving. Black spots danced in my vision, and I dropped my forehead onto the steering wheel, closing my eyes and willing my breathing to regulate.

Confident I'd settled down enough, I snagged the paperback off my passenger seat and exited the vehicle. On the walk to the front door, I dragged my feet. It was as if I was headed toward the executioner's block. Except it wouldn't be my head laid down to be severed from my body; it would be the connection I'd once thought Dakota and I shared that would split in two.

The last thing I wanted to do was see her beautiful face and be reminded that our time together was a lie, but it had to be done. I wasn't a coward who could send a break-up text or, worse yet, ghost her. Besides, I needed answers. I needed to know why.

Raising a fist, I knocked on the door and waited.

This was the beginning of the end.

The door swung open, and Dakota immediately threw her arms around my waist and buried her face into my chest. I stood there, frozen, a stiff board, as she whispered, "I missed you so much!"

I was a grown man, and my heart was breaking. I thought what we had was real. She'd put on a hell of an act.

God, I was such a fool.

Eventually, Dakota noticed I wasn't hugging her back and peered up at me, a question in her eyes. But whatever she saw in mine had her taking a step back.

Good. I needed the breathing room.

Bringing the book forward, I waved it around, the pages flapping as I demanded, "Care to explain this?"

My words were harsh, and she flinched. When her eyes focused on the item I held, the color drained from her face, signaling her guilt.

"Where-where did you get that?" Dakota stammered.

I scoffed. "I don't think you're in any position to be asking questions."

"Braxton, I don't understand." Her beautiful eyes filled with tears.

"You don't understand? That's interesting because you wrote it!" My temper flared. I was losing control far more quickly than I imagined I would.

Gaze dropping to the floor, her sniffles hung in the heavy silence that stretched between us.

"Do you deny it?" I challenged.

"No," Dakota whispered softly. Eyelashes fluttering, she peered up at me. "Please, Braxton."

I shook my head sharply, putting up my walls. Seeing her cry shattered my heart, but I couldn't cave, couldn't afford to have her spin a story that would have me forgiving her and pretending like she didn't tear my fucking heart out of my chest with her actions.

When I threw the book on the ground with force, she jumped at the bang, but it got her attention. "This"—I pointed to where it lay—"is a complete violation of my privacy, and I didn't give consent for you to use my life to peddle your books!"

Tears streaked down her face, and her voice was thick in her reply. "It's loosely inspired."

"Loosely inspired," I said the words with a scoff, my fingers forming air quotes. "Since words seem to be your weapons of choice, I have a few for you." Using my finger, I ticked them off. "How about . . . Deceitful. Scheming. Let's not forget illegal. I don't give a shit what disclaimer you put at the front about all likenesses to real people, dead or alive, being coincidental. We both know that's bullshit, don't we, sweetheart?" That word rolled off my tongue with such disdain that it sounded foreign to my ears.

"I—" Her voice broke. "I wanted to share our love story. It was so beautiful. I didn't think—"

I cut her off. "That's your excuse? Doesn't really track, considering it wasn't mentioned once that I took your virginity. Or the sob story about your daddy issues. No, you made sure to use my pain, omitting your own. So, don't give me lip service about wanting to immortalize our love. You never loved me."

She reached for me, but I stepped away enough that her hand only caught air.

I was reaching my limit quickly with her playing the victim.

"If my teammate could figure it out, you think other people won't? Your face is on your goddamn website, for fuck's sake!" I roared, and the volume of her sobs increased. "How long before people put two and two together that my girlfriend wrote a fictional story that sounds a hell of a lot like my life?!" My voice darkened. "You fucked up big time with those personal tidbits. Won't be long before our little ‘sin bin' performance is discovered and plastered all over the internet. Or maybe that was your plan all along. A little bonus content, if you will, for your bestseller. A hook to land a movie deal."

"No." Dakota shook her head violently.

I went numb. Her theatrics no longer had the power to affect me. She was just another conniving bitch who'd fucked me over.

"You know, I should've seen it coming. But I was too focused on earning your trust that I wasn't watching my back for you to break mine."

That's when she collapsed into a heap on the floor, visibly shaking with the force of her sobs.

I was done. I couldn't stand to look at her a moment longer.

Turning on my heel, I stalked toward my car as her cries echoed behind me.

I'd always thought draft day had been the worst day of my life, but I was wrong. Today would forever be burned in my memory as the day I lost everything.

Storming into the practice rink, I was a man on a mission. Even when the players were given the day off, the management staff was hard at work, and they held permanent offices at this rink where the team had their day-to-day activities versus the arena.

Not bothering to knock, I waltzed into our general manager's office. Ted Brinks looked up in surprise.

I wasn't his biggest fan. Not for the way he'd catered to Jaxon's request that they save me from the humiliation of going undrafted but because his sense of nostalgia was handicapping the Comets.

The championship only made it worse.

Brinks was in the bad habit of trying to keep the aging core together, even when it was time to let guys go and bring in fresh talent. His management style would hurt the team in a decade, with few prospects to keep them competitive.

Their odds of landing a second generational talent after the team hit rock bottom were slim to none. The Comets' best years would be behind them before they knew it if he couldn't pull his head out of his ass.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Slate?!" he screamed at my sudden intrusion. He was in his late sixties and normally ruddy-faced due to aging, but the color deepened to one closer resembling purple.

"I want out."

Brinks paused for a minute, trying to figure out what I was saying. "What do you mean you want out?"

"Trade me. Today." I was done with games, which was ironic, considering I played one for a living.

"You're out of your goddamn mind!" he shot back.

Stepping up to his desk, I splayed both hands across it, leaning in so he knew I was serious. "You have two options. You either trade me, or I stop showing up. I don't care that I'll be in breach of contract, so don't test me. At least with a trade, you'll get something for your trouble. Either way, I've played my last game for the Comets."

Narrowing his eyes, Brinks said, "Can't guarantee you'll go to a championship contender. Beggars can't be choosers."

"I don't care where you send me. Call my agent and get it done." I turned to leave but threw over my shoulder, "Shouldn't be too hard to get rid of a seventh-round Jaxon Slate knockoff."

My last stop on my way out of the building was to grab my gear in the team locker room. I wasn't coming back to answer questions from my former teammates when the trade went through.

As the practice rink faded in the rear-view mirror, knowing I would never set foot inside it again, I was able to take a deep breath.

It was finally time for me to get my fresh start.