5. I Owe You

Briar

My pulse is still pounding several blocks later. Is this what it's like to pull off a heist? My dad loves those kinds of movies so he made me watch all his old faves countless times when I was growing up.

Now, as I slow to a stop at a red light on the edge of Russian Hill, finally feeling like I'm far enough away from Madison and Steven the Cat Burglar that they aren't going to hop a trolley, catch up, and pound on the window of my car, I turn to the guy next to me.

Hollis, with his floppy hair that falls just past his ears, eternal laidback smile, and light, glowy skin, has given Donut to Gavin and is holding my backpack in his lap. Mrs. Frances Furbottom is still in the backpack, but she's settled into her rescuer and is now showing off her purring skills. As the adrenaline starts to wear off, I catch my breath. I'm a little curious about my three heroes.

I peer in the rearview mirror into the dark brown eyes of the Brit. "What happened with that guy in the hat? The one on the street talking to you?"

"Yeah, and where's the sushi?" Gavin asks from the backseat.

"Is that really the priority? Your fucking fish?" Hollis raises his eyebrows in his teammate's direction.

"No. It's the point," Gavin says firmly.

Rhys ignores them, answering with, "He thought I was the delivery guy from the other night. And he felt terrible that he'd forgotten to tip me. So he was apologizing."

Hollis barks out a laugh. "Apologizing?"

"And he tipped me a twenty," Rhys says, seeming amused.

"Did you keep it?" Gavin asks.

"He was insistent," Rhys says with a shrug.

Hollis shakes his head next to me. "Dude, that would only happen to you."

"Why would that only happen to him?" I ask as the light turns green and I go. I'm not even sure where we're headed—just away from the scene of my awful mistake of falling for a very bad man.

"His accent," Hollis says confidently. "Charms anyone. Probably even demonic cats."

I glance down at the pack in his lap. Hollis is scratching Frances's head through the fabric. "Seems you've got that skill too."

"Just a little hobby. I don't like to brag."

"Humble brag," Gavin coughs under his breath. Then he clears his throat. "But where's the sushi?"

"Gave it to the guy as a thanks," Rhys says.

Gavin's hazel eyes twinkle with mischief. I steal a glance at him in the rearview mirror. His wavy brown hair looks soft in the streetlights whooshing by and his cheekbones are sharp. Stubble lines his jaw.

"Told you sushi brought us good luck," he says, smug.

"You were right," Rhys grumbles, and as much as I'm amused by their camaraderie, I should figure out what's next in the night. Then, in my capsized life.

Like, say, where I'm going to live with my two rescue pets so I can manage my teaching gig with the Sea Dogs, the rival hockey team in the city, my classes at various fitness studios, and the app I want to launch.

But first things first. My father always taught me my manners.

"I can't thank you guys enough. You may be my rivals but tonight you're knights in shining armor. Can I give you a ride home or something?" I ask as I head toward the bay, the water sparkling in the starlight.

Gavin clears his throat, then asks with gentle concern, "I think the bigger question is—can we give you a place to stay?"

Embarrassment crawls up my chest. They saved my cat tonight, and now they're offering to put me up? Tempting as that is, they've done more than enough. While we're all friendly-ish—though I know Hollis the best since he's close with my friends' hockey-playing husbands—I don't want to take advantage of their kindness. I catch a quick glimpse of Gavin in the mirror. His eyes are earnest. Caring.

"I'm good. I'm staying with a friend," I say, lying, but I'll figure something out. "Besides, in a week I'm going to be at the Sunburst Summit Festival in Lucky Falls during All-Star Break. I have a booth-slash-tent thingy and I'm doing some classes."

"Nice. We'll be there too," Hollis offers.

"You will?"

Hollis gestures to the three of them. "We're hosting the obstacle course for our energy drink sponsor," he says.

"So tonight was training?" I ask.

"A dry run," Gavin says, as dry as the words.

"How'd we do?" Rhys asks.

"Ten out of ten," I say, then hum. "Though it was more like one million. You guys were amazing. You were heroes. Above and beyond."

At the light, I can tell Rhys's smile is crooked and pleased, then it's as if he tries to fight it off. Going a little stern, he says, "We'll get out at the corner. Let you get on with your night."

I almost don't want to say goodnight, but it's clearly time. I pull over and cut the engine.

"Listen, if you ever need a cat rescued, just call us," Rhys says, curling a hand over the seat I'm in, almost touching the back of my shoulder. "Little known service we provide."

"May I never need the three hockey stars to rescue another cat of mine from a terrible ex."

"But before we go, I need to know why she's named Frances Furbottom," Hollis says, unzipping the top of the bag and stroking the now tamed beast. Frances purrs loudly, offering her pretty chin for scratching. "There's gotta be a wild story behind that. Is Frances your grandma? Or was Frances a little old lady's cat? Oh wait. I bet a little old lady who made doilies had her first."

"Do you even know what a doily is?" Gavin barks from the backseat.

"Do you?" Hollis counters.

"Something little old ladies have," Gavin grumbles.

Hollis lifts a finger to make a point. "A small napkin. Or a decorative little mat, often made of lace."

"What are you—the dictionary?" Rhys asks, laughing.

"He did sound just like one," I say, smiling too. It feels good to smile after the drama of the last hour. And the drama to come when I try to get my life back in order.

May no one who watches my yoga videos ever know what a hot mess I am.

While petting the cat, Hollis turns back to me. "So did Frances Furbottom belong to a doily-making old lady?"

He seems so delighted by this story he's concocting that I almost hate to burst his bubble with the truth. But I blow out a breath and tell him anyway. "No," I say. "She just has a really furry butt."

The car is silent for several seconds. Then, the guys laugh and one by one make their way out of the car, with Gavin carefully setting Donut into a dog car seat he's somehow unearthed amidst the rubble of my garbage bag life. They stand by the passenger window, my three tall, strapping hockey rescue hunks who rose to the occasion.

They look good in the soft lamplight of the January evening. Rhys, who's tall and lean for a hockey guy, with dark hair that's nearly black and a trim beard the same shade. A slice of white skin splits his right eyebrow—probably one of many scars.

Gavin is the broadest of the bunch with a thick slab of a chest, barrels for arms, and a dusting of light brown stubble across the fair skin of his jawline.

Hollis is all California sunshine and muscles. Light freckles and dark blond hair, surfer style, like the ocean breeze always blows through it.

I know him the best of the three. But I think he also makes himself the most known. The others probably know me more as a rival since I work for the opposing team.

And now they've seen me at my worst.

My most helpless.

And frustrated.

And hurt.

I squirm a little under the spotlight. I really need to go. "Thanks again for the help." Donut barks in solidarity from the backseat. "I owe you guys one."

Hollis flashes the biggest smile of all and taps the open window. "Can't wait to call that one in."

They leave, walking the other way, and I drive into the night, desperately needing someplace to stay.

I fumble for my phone and hit the first number I find. "Any chance I could get into that rental a week early?"