Epilogue

brIXTON - ONE YEAR LATER

“ Y ou look so nervous,” Mandee Hartley says with a conspiratorial smile lifting her lips. She gives my arm a squeeze. “There are a lot of people out there waiting for you to walk on that stage for your opening night.”

I grin back at her. “Eh, crowds don’t intimidate me. Only one person out there matters.”

It’s been a year since Sam and I collided into each other’s lives for the second time. I still can’t believe everything that’s happened since that night in the bar. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to remember that I’m actually a co-habitant in this blissful bubble we’ve created.

I moved into his apartment in Oakland after the shooting. He wanted to keep me close while I healed, and then he wouldn’t let me leave.

Not that I tried.

We’ve been inseparable ever since then.

I went to every one of his games once he was cleared to play and cheered the loudest. And he was with me for every recording session with the guys. We took road trips up and down the California coast to record new tracks from our album and made pit stops along the way at different hospitals to cheer up the kids with some music and fun. Between Chase and the label, we made connections with a bunch of hospitals in the state and arranged for lots of surprise drop-ins.

I can’t get enough of the feeling it brings me to put smiles on these kids’ faces. It’s incredible to be able to give them even just a little bit of happiness and a memory they’ll cherish for as long as they can.

I run my fingers through my hair and mess it up. My signature just-fucked look.

Mandee paces the floor behind me, and I chuckle.

“You sure you’re not going up there?”

She laughs nervously, wringing her hands together when the door opens. Sam, Chase, and Bill walk into the dressing room, all smiles.

After my brush with death, we had a whole come to Jesus moment. I told them I loved their son and that even though I may have been a train wreck before him, there was no way I was gonna make the same mistakes again. And it took time for them to trust, which I get.

And now, they practically run my fan club. It’s nice to feel like part of their family. It does suck that I feel more comfortable with people I’ve only known for a short time than with my own father, but we all make choices. Maybe someday, my father and I will reconcile. We’ve seen each other over the past year, every few months at Allie’s for some occasion or other. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not horrible either. Each time gets easier and Sam tries too. Deep down, I know he wants me to rekindle something with my dad because his own relationship with his father is so special to him. He wants that for me, too.

Maybe someday.

My breath hitches when I catch Sam’s eye in the mirror. He’s dressed in all black, and with his dark hair, bronze skin, and heated gaze, he makes me want to strip down and bend over the arm of the couch.

We exchange a secret smile and I know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yep.”

There’s a knock at the door and Tyler pokes his head inside. “It’s time.” Then he winks at me. “Let’s roll.”

I give him a little nod and fix the sides of my black shirt.

“Are there enough holes in your jeans?” Sam asks me, staring at my legs.

“Easy access for later,” I murmur so only he can hear me.

Sam’s dad shakes my hand and brings me in for a quick hug when I walk out. Mandee’s eyes are wet with tears. I lace my fingers with Sam’s and walk with him backstage. There’s a chair set up right behind the curtain. Mandee and Bill wave, and Ben is waiting to escort them to their seats in the front row. They don’t usually stay close to the stage, but tonight is a special night.

Lane swoops down on us. “Every fucking song, bro. I can’t believe it!”

Tonight is the opening show for the Unbreakable tour, and four songs off our new album are sitting at the top of the charts. It’s unheard of for the label, to have a band with that many hits at one time.

But each one we’ve released has gone viral almost immediately.

It’s like each one was sprinkled with some magical music fairy dust.

Okay, maybe that fairy dust shit is the influence of my three-year-old niece, but you get the picture.

Aiden and Dak jog over to us. “Full house. Let’s rock this thing.”

I guide Sam toward the chair. “Hang here, okay?”

“Why?” He waggles his eyebrows. “I love your ass, but I’d rather see you from the front when you perform.”

“Don’t worry. I promise your view will be perfect.” I give him a wink and Tyler gives me a thumbs up behind Sam’s back.

We usually run on stage and slam on our guitars to introduce the first song.

But tonight, I’m doing things a little bit backward.

We run onto the stage and the Sun Arena practically shakes from the screaming.

Best fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

I grab the microphone off the stand and hold it to my lips.

“What’s up, Oakland,” I bellow. “This is a really special night for us. You wanna know why?”

Deafening cheers make my ears ring.

“It’s because of you. The fans who made our music fucking rocket. And tonight we wanna sing you all a little song called Love-Hate.” I smile when the crowd goes absolutely fucking nuts. “My boyfriend Sam Hartley was the inspiration for this song. And you guys made it a number one hit!”

The music erupts around us, sucking us deep into the moment. And like always, the words make my heart dance and sing just as hard and just as loud as I do into the mic.

Couldn’t look you in the face or listen to your voice

Didn’t like the words you said, would have left given the choice

But something shifted, don’t know how or when

Now I am falling very hard for you my friend

From hate to want, loathe to desir e

You set my heart on fire

Never knew that love could be so real

From the anger to the passion I now feel

It knocked me over, I am upside down

Who knew something that started bad could turn around?

Everything you did would make me mad

Suddenly, missing you makes me sad

The sound of your laugh, the glint in your eye

Your heart has a beauty I can’t deny

Now you are all I want, a smile from a frown

you’ve turned my world upside down

They say there’s not much difference between love and hate

To go from one to the other is the magic of fate

No more change, the world seems right

Moved from the darkness to the light

From enemies to lovers, this can’t be wrong

We are writing our own love song

Together forever our hearts beat strong

With you is where I belong

I look around at the audience once I stop singing. “What would you say if I brought out the man who sparked those words?”

The audience jumps and claps.

“I thought you might like that.” Exchanging a secret smile with Mandee and Bill down below, I snap my fingers and a big spotlight hits Sam where he sits. Shock seeps into his expression. I walk over to him and hold out my hand .

He stands up slowly like he’s gonna be Punk’d or something.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hisses.

“Trust me. I know it takes a lot, but it’ll be worth it.”

His lips lift. “It has been so far.”

I give his hand a little squeeze and walk him to the center of the stage. I clench my hand tight around the mic. “Three years ago, on the hardest night of my life, I met the guy of my dreams. But my brother had just died and my head was a mess. I resisted playing here at the Sun Arena because of what happened on that night. The last time I played here, I found my guy again. And I knew he’d been sent to me.”

I pause for a second. “But I was stupid. Did a lot of dumb things. I thought I lost him. And then I almost died. I learned a really important lesson after that. Life is so fucking short, you can’t waste a second of it.”

I look at Sam. “I know I won’t ever again. And tonight, I want to create a new memory, a happy one, right here at the Sun Arena because I believe with my whole heart this guy was always meant to be here with me.”

Dropping to my knee, I stare up at Sam. “I fucking love you, Sam Hartley. I always did and I always will. Will you marry me?”

He falls to his knees in front of me. “Fuck, yes.” And then he grabs me by both sides of my face and crushes his lips to mine.

For a second, I forget that there are hundreds of thousands of people watching us, in person and online.

Not that I’ve never been opposed to voyeurism.

We reluctantly pull the slightest bit away from each other, our gazes still locked, the scorching heat of his eyes on me melts my bones.

“You set my heart on fire,” he whispers.

“And with you is where I belong,” I murmur against his lips. “Now and forever.”

I hope you loved reading the red Zone Series as much as I loved writing it! And now Jack Larson is back to get his HEA in PUCK LUST, which will be a spin-off hockey romance series filled with the steamy, spicy, and forbidden vibes we all crave. Age gap, hate to love, broken and brooding hockey player…YUM!!!

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Check out chapter one ? —

Chapter One

Jack

I take off down the ice in pursuit of the puck. It’s the final minute of the third period, the score tied two-two. My leg muscles burn, a thick stream of sweat icing under my jersey. I dart past Van Buren, one of the opposing forwards on the New York Renegades, to gain possession of the puck in their defensive zone.

“You got something to prove tonight, Larson?” he jeers, rushing at me. “Since you can’t stop shitting the bed every time you take the ice?”

I grit my teeth, biting down hard on the plastic mouth guard. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my teammates positioned on the ice, ready for me to make the pass. But that dickhead Van Buren got in my head. Basically because he just said what everyone in the arena is thinking right now.

Do I have something to prove?

Fuck, yeah, I do .

Not that I should. I’m the star fucking forward for the Oakland Raptors. They paid me an insane amount of money to leave New York but it wasn’t the money that tempted me.

It was my ex, Sam Hartley, tight end for the Oakland Saints. We’d dated for years and when I left for New York, things fizzled because neither of us was a fan of the long distance thing.

But I never really got over him. Sure, I got over plenty of other guys to help me deal with the loss but none of them ever filled the void. So when I got the offer, I took it, figuring being close to Sam again would fix what had been broken.

Except it didn’t. I was too late.

But that’s not even the worst part.

I have a clear shot to Masterson. And since Van Buren is practically on top of me, I know I should pass the puck now.

That’s what everyone expects.

That I’ll make the right move and redeem myself for all the other shitty games I’ve been playing since the news broke.

But fuck that.

Vam Buren’s voice rattles my brain. He said what everyone else is thinking. So I don’t make the pass.

I turn my gaze toward the line of Renegades barreling toward me. All I have to do is break through the line and score the winning goal.

As I try to deke past the first defender, one of the players shoulder checks me, knocking me off-balance. One of the New York defensemen intercepts it at the blue line and shoots the puck to their center.

Son of a bitch.

I skate toward him, but the wall of players blocks me.

New York takes the shot. The puck sails through the air. Tate, our goalie, makes a diving catch, blocking the puck. But one of the New York centers is waiting to take a quick wrist shot that beats Tate glove-side.

And New York scores with just two seconds left on the clock.

The buzzer blares out.

I drop to my knee on the ice with a deep sigh, pressing my gloved hand to the sides of my helmet. They don’t do shit to block out the roaring boos from the crowd.

“Go back to New York. Fuck up their record,” an Oakland fan yells.

“Nah, you guys keep him. Let him keep sucking ass out here!”

I get up from the ice without bothering to look at the assholes harassing me. I deserve it. Shoulders slumping, I skate toward the edge of the ice, trying in vain to block out the annoying as fuck voices swarming my ears.

My nerves stretch a little bit more when I pass the Renegades celebrating their win. And judging by the huge shit eating grin on Van Buren’s face, it wasn’t just a win against Oakland that they’re celebrating. It’s beating me . I was a fucking star on that team. I owned the ice at Madison Square Garden. The guys were rightfully pissed when I decided to leave. I’d taken them to the championships our last season together and the hope was that we’d make it to the Stanley Cup finals this season.

Then I signed with Oakland.

And if it wasn’t bad enough that I was leaving New York, going to our biggest rival was like forcing them all to eat shit pie and ask for seconds.

The worst betrayal ever.

New York fans hate me, my old teammates hate me, and I can’t seem to get my fucking head on straight. Tonight, I took a chance to claw myself out of the rut I created, but goddamn, was it a stupid one. And it cost us the game.

I can just predict the news headlines.

Except they’ll all be wrong.

Because nobody knows the real reason behind my half-assed playing.

I’ve tried for weeks to get out of my head but the past is back to haunt me.

Just like I always knew it would be.

I just had no idea how far or hard I’d fall when it came knocking.

Coach Enver turns toward me, his bright red face pinched with anger. “My office. Ten minutes.”

I nod, not even bothering to make eye contact with the guys because I don’t want to be faced with the truth.

They all resent me for signing. I have no love for Oakland and they all think I followed the money.

That’s only part true.

Masterson corners me before I can even make it into the locker room.

“Listen, hotshot,” Masterson hisses, backing me against the cinderblock wall. “We don’t give a fuck that you were a god back in New York. Out here, we don’t hang our teammates out to dry because we wanna take the spotlight. That’s not how we work as a team. And if you don’t like that, fuck off. Because from what I can see, you’re all hype, man. Nothing special about you, except maybe your ex. But even he doesn’t wanna be bothered with you now.”

Tate shows up and pulls Masterson away from me. “Come on, enough.”

But he doesn’t look at me.

I fucked him tonight. I fucked them all.

I pull off my helmet and scrape a hand down the front of my face. Masterson stalks through the doors and Tate just shakes his head at me.

How the hell am I supposed to go in there and face them all right now?

Using the sleeve of my jersey, I mop my sweaty forehead, pushing back the hair hanging around my face.

I’ve got ten minutes before Coach is gonna lash my ass with some of his famous flaming rhetoric. With a look at the double doors leading into the locker room, I head down the dimly lit tunnel, my blade guards thumping against the cement floor.

It’ll be at least forty-five minutes before the guys get in their warm-downs and showers. By that time, Coach will hopefully have finished chewing me out and I can get on with the rest of my shitty night.

Alone.

I slink down the darkened corridor, gripping the back of my neck. It doesn’t do a damn thing to ease the tension lodged at the base of my skull. I slam my hockey stick against the wall with a loud grunt and immediately regret it.

“Jack,” a female voice calls out.

Fuuuuck.

High heels clack on the floor behind me. “Jack, do you have anything to say about the news about Sam Hartley and Brixton Scott?” she asks breathlessly, stopping right in front of me.

More footsteps follow. Camera shutters snap, flashes pop.

My jaw tenses. And now I’m surrounded.

“No comment,” I hiss.

“I think the people of Oakland want a little more than that,” a male voice says with a smirk curling his lips. “Since you’ve done a great job of destroying their record this season.”

My eyes spit fire at the cocksucker in front of me. “It’s a team sport,” I growl. “There are six of us out there at any one time. The team’s record is the team’s record.”

“Sure seemed like there was an ‘I’ in team tonight,” he continues, fanning the fire he just lit. “Are you going to blame tonight’s loss on the team when it was your decision that cost the Raptors the game?”

Blood rushes between my ears, my fingers wrapping tighter around my stick.

“Excuse me, everyone.”

My head jerks to my left and for a split second, I forget the real reason why there’s a noose wrapped so tight around my neck, why my career is now about eight minutes away from total implosion.

A tall, dark haired guy, about thirty-five, pushes past the press vultures and stops next to me. A powerful whiff of Chanel Bleu fills my lungs and a barrage of X-rated fantasies blow up the sarcastic response I had on deck for the reporter.

I don’t know who the hell this guy is but fuck me, I want to grab hold of his thick hair and fist it while I devour his perfect lips.

“I think we’re done with questions for tonight. You’ll have your chance to talk to the coaches at the press conference later,” he says in a voice so smooth, I can almost feel it drizzle over my skin like an erotic balm.

He flashes a smile that temporarily blinds me, it’s so bright. Then he takes me by the arm and guides me away from the crowd. A long minute passes before I can find my voice.

I shake off his hand and turn to glare at him even though I really want to fall onto my knees right here in front of him. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me.”

“Because you were doing such a great job of it yourself,” he says, the deep timbre humming against my ear .

“Why don’t you go be a knight in shining armor for someone who gives a fuck?” I shoot back. “And don’t fucking touch me like that again. I don’t need a babysitter.”

His lips press together, his deep-set green eyes sparking the kind of hunger that I’ve closed myself off to since Sam and I ended things. A strand of dark hair falls over one of his eyes and he sweeps it back from his face before taking a step toward me.

His scent clouds the air, choking me with a twisted mixture of desire and disdain.

But the way my skin prickles under his heated stare makes it damn clear which one is winning out.

He slaps one of his hands against the wall, blocking any escape I may have. My heart thrashes, the electricity crackling in the air between us strong enough to make both of us spontaneously combust.

And then…

“If circumstances were different, trust that you’d be begging me to touch you again.” His lips curl into a knowing smile that makes my bones melt. “And as for who I am, just call me God. Because I’m the only one with the power to save you right now, Larson.”

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