Chapter 19

Wade

The baby cries and cries. It's not happy that my mom is screaming at her daddy.

The man shouts back at my mom when she tries to grab the baby; a little girl.

"Don't do this. We're a family," Mom wails and falls to her knees in front of the big white house, soaking the skirt she's wearing.

The rain batters my shoulders, falling faster than the tears running down everyone's faces.

Moving closer, I squint, trying to make out the man's face who is holding the baby, but I can't. It's all fuzzy and blurred as if he's been rubbed out with an eraser.

Then the baby is waving at me, then I'm chasing her around a table.

And she's giggling.

We're happy, but the man pulls me away from her.

I'm falling into an abyss of darkness.

And there's a sound in the distance of a crowd laughing as the sounds and pictures melt into one another. I'm confused as the crowd morphs into people standing out on the street I was standing in, into an arena of fans manically laughing and booing me.

They are pointing, calling me names and there's a spotlight shining down on the faceless man who was holding the baby. "You're not my son," he roars. I want to ask him so many questions, but I can't speak. I have no voice and silently scream for help, but it never comes. No one can hear me as the laughter continues, swirling around me like a cyclone.

The rink is spinning and then I'm falling through the ice, into an ocean of water. The ice overhead cages me in and I'm punching it, trying to escape, but it's impossible. From below, someone grabs my legs and drags me deep, drowning me in the murky depths. I'm screaming, but I can't breathe and claw at my throat as crystal blue eyes pierce through the water.

"It's me, Wade." A man's face comes into view, changing from the faceless man into one I recognize instantly. I'd know him anywhere.

An odd calmness overwhelms me as a glimmer of something shiny catches my attention; a gold and enamel hockey pin.

"It's me, Wade," the man says again, his eyes changing from the same color as mine to black as he dissipates into a plume of blue smoke.

I'm screaming underwater, begging for him to come back, but I'm falling.

Deeper and deeper.

Until there's nothing but a whooshing sound in my ears and it grows louder and louder… and Gretchen appears. She's smiling, holding out her hand for me to take. "I"ve got you, Wade. Take my hand." But when I reach for her, my hand is covered in a greasy substance and I can't grab onto her… she's floating away and I'm roaring at her to grab hold of me, but my lungs are pierced with pain and she can't hear me…

Catapulting upward, I desperately try to control my breathing as I wake with a start.

Looking around, I realize I'm okay. I'm in my hotel suite and I'm fine. I fall backward onto the mattress again and punch the comforter, angry at the dream for making me feel completely out of control.

My heart batters against my rib cage as I run my hands down my face. I'm covered in sweat and feel slightly dizzy, which I do every time this happens.

"Fuck." It's the same recurring dream I've been having for years that somehow feels real.

And it never changes. Two men. A faceless man with a baby and one with blue eyes that visited my mom at the house when I was younger. My mom crying. Fans booing me. Falling through the ice. A gold hockey pin. Gretchen.

And always the same words from one man. You're not my son.

Then the other. It's me, Wade.

I wish I knew what all of it meant.

Maybe it doesn't mean anything, but part of me thinks it's a memory more than a dream. The white house in the dream feels real and I know I've seen it somewhere before, walked through it. It feels familiar. If only I could remember.

I make a mental note to tell Thomas about it. Maybe he can suggest some type of therapy to help me regain my memory or stop me from having the unsettling dream.

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound of someone knocking on my hotel suite door sounds a lot like my heart that continues to bang uncontrollably in my rib cage.

I roll my head to the side, pick up my phone off the nightstand, and check my screen with bleary eyes that are still a little fuzzy from sleep. Eight in the morning. I'm not expecting anyone, and I'm surprised how late I've slept today. I normally would have done a full hour's training by now to sweat out the alcohol I would have regretted consuming from the night before. However, having slept on the uncomfortable sofa on Friday night because Kali slept in my bed, I only got a few hours of sleep, and Saturday night, I tossed and turned all night, thinking about what we did at the axe throwing place.

A combination of barely any sleep for two nights and a game last night, which we won, I've slept like a log. I like feeling like I haven't been hit by a ton of bricks though. One of the many benefits of giving up liquor.

Thump, thump, thump.

Louder now, there's another knock at my door.

I leap out of bed and rush to open it. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." Maybe Ezra or Myles are coming to say goodbye before they leave, but we spoke after the game last night and I'm not expecting them.

I pull open the door. "Morning, motherfuc––" My words die in my throat. "Oh, shit." I'm stark bollock naked, at eight o'clock on a Monday morning in front of Kali fucking Roth. The most beautiful woman in the world to have ever graced a catwalk, and the woman I made come on Saturday night who I can't stop thinking about.

And now I'm naked in front of her. I'm kicking myself for not checking the peephole.

There's a moment where nothing happens between us. As if in slow motion, her eyes drop to my cock. She licks her lips, then flicks her gaze back up again, and it takes me a moment to engage my brain as time goes back to normal.

I quickly cover my cock and balls with both hands and hold the swing door open with my foot. "Shit, I thought you were someone else."

"Expecting company?" Her mouth pulls to the side, but she sounds disappointed.

"Yes. Fuck. No. No." I'm stuttering. "I thought it was either Ezra or Myles coming to say goodbye. They both leave today." I don't want her to think I'm inviting girls here.

Why not? Who the hell knows?

At this point, I'm balancing on a knife edge; do what's right, ignore my feelings, keep her and her expertise on my team, or do I ask Marcus to hire someone else for me, to save my sanity, or do what my heart, and cock, really want, which is her? Would Marcus fire her if we did? Does her contract state she can't have a sexual relationship with players? Fuck, why haven't I asked this before?

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Why are you still naked?"

"Shit." Good point. "I'll…" I point with my head in the direction of the bedroom and run to my room.

I feel the heat of her gaze on my back, so I smile over my shoulder to confirm if she's checking me out, and right enough, she is. Realizing I'm watching her, she inhales a sharp gasp, muttering something under her breath as she looks away and busies herself as the swing door closes automatically behind her as she steps fully into my suite.

I take a quick shower, brush my teeth, pull on a pair of black boxers, and nothing else because I'm ballsy like that, and step out into the living area.

"Well, at least now we've both seen each other naked we're even." That photograph of her hanging in her hallway… well, let's just say it was that, combined with her climax sounds she made the other night, that made me come quicker than I ever have in the shower on Sunday morning and again last night.

"That's dressed?" Kali draws an invisible line up and down my body, looking uncomfortable with my choice of clothing.

"Yup." Fuck it. I want to see what she does and if my nakedness makes her curious or uncomfortable. I move over to the kitchen and grab fruit from the fridge to make myself a smoothie. "Want one?" I point to the blender.

"Sure." Tentatively she sits on the other side of the small kitchen island, keeping her head down while staring at her phone. I don't think she is doing anything on it. She just can't bring herself to look at me.

Pulling off her black fitted blazer, she looks impeccable today in another pair of high-waisted jeans and a plain black fitted tee. She pulls off chic and casual with ease and looks fucking hot in everything she wears. Better naked though. I know this now I"ve seen that photo of her in her house.

"I've posted stories, posts to your feed, and videos of our day on Saturday with Rory and from your game last night." Her fingers fly across her screen.

"You were there last night?"

"Yes," she mumbles.

"Where were you sitting?" I didn't see her, and she didn't seek me out, which is unusual. For the past two weeks, she's attended every game and has been the first person I speak to as soon as I come off the ice with instructions on press expectations, who I'm to speak to, and who to take photos with for socials. I often struggle to keep up with her busy business brain of ways to make me look good, although it's kind of a turn on.

Not a turn on.

It's nice. Fine. Good. She's just doing her job.

"I was just hovering. Stayed for the first two periods." She continues to focus on her phone.

"You didn't stay to watch us win?" Odd.

"You've won the last ten games. It's sort of inevitable at this point in the season, don't you think?"

She's not wrong. We're Stanley Cup winners after all.

"Okay." Still doesn't explain why she didn't stay until the end.

Was she ignoring me?

Feels like she was.

Is she embarrassed about Saturday night? If so, she shouldn't be.

We're both adults, and I explained why I couldn't kiss her, and she agreed, didn't she?

I replay the conversation in my mind.

Oh fuck, she didn't.

I explained, and then she didn't say anything.

I'm a dick. No wonder she didn't stick around last night.

Still staring at her phone, she shakes her head. "Have you seen what they are saying about us?"

"No."

She reads the headlines to me. "Is Eagles Defenseman, Wade Collins, 26, dating 34-year-old, ex-supermodel, Kali Roth?" And another. "Who is Kali Roth dating? Model linked to NHL player, Wade Collins." Turning the phone to let me see the screen, there's a photo of us at the nightclub together, dancing. Another one of us leaving the club and a few more of us shopping together and entering the axe throwing place. "They think we're dating."

"We look great together." I josh, trying to ease her worry lines.

"I'm getting fired is what this looks like."

"Stop worrying. They always make shit up." Like the time they said I was dating a Victoria's Secret model. They pulled that story out of their ass because it never happened. I've never met her. "Ignore it. You know as well as I do, they'll move on to someone else."

"I know. It's just…"

"Kali. Ignore it."

"Okay." Wiggling in her seat nervously, she says, "I've written several press releases and sent them to the tabloids. Five have picked up your story from Saturday with Rory and you've had…" Checking her figures, she takes her time to calculate. "…over seven thousand shares across all platforms. Plus, after the video of you buying Rory's birthday presents, I"ve had a request for you to be a guest star on Play On, the sports trivia show in a few weeks. Someone has pulled out and they want you. I checked your schedule and you're not playing the day before or the day of filming, so I said yes. Thought we could tie in your photoshoot with Calvin Klein at the same time as they are both in Los Angeles." Pulling another phone out of her leather purse of a designer I've never heard of before; she frowns at whatever she reads on the screen. She's got three phones. Fuck knows how she keeps up with the notifications.

"You've been busy."

"Couldn't sleep, stayed up most of Saturday and Sunday writing press releases and taught myself how to edit video clips using a new piece of software. I posted one to your main feed of you playing hockey. Dozens of clips of you in time to music. Pretty cool actually."

That does sound cool.I gave Kali access to all of my social media. It takes the pressure off me, and I like not having to think about it. I'll need to check my apps to see how well everything she's doing is being received.

"I'll take a look. Why couldn't you sleep?"

Continuing to mess with her phones, she replies, "Don't want to talk about it."

"I would have thought having been a model that you would have seen hundreds of naked men during your career," I tease. "Be accustomed to it."

"You're spicy this morning." She looks up at me and away again.

"You're in my room this morning."

"Well, our appointments are on the calendar. Lola told me she printed them off for you. I wanted to get here before Emmanuel, your stylist, arrived." She checks the time on her phone. "He'll be here in ten minutes to measure you up for a tuxedo for Friday night's gala, and he's bringing you a whole new wardrobe of clothing that you are being sponsored for, which reminds me, I'll record some footage later of you wearing them, and then we are meeting the realtor at eleven to take you house hunting."

Shit, I forgot.Before I went to sleep last night, I made a different plan to hit the gym today, then shoot down to our training facility to meet Jordy for a two-hour speed training session.

"I promise to have you back by four o'clock at the latest."

"That'll work." I'll text Jordy and meet him later, then visit Gretchen's grave afterward if it's not too late.

I throw a banana, strawberries, some pineapple, and a huge dollop of Greek yogurt into the blender, then fill the rest with coconut water.

"You can pump iron and spin around the rink after our appointments," she says.

I narrow my gaze, hit the button on the smoothie maker, and wait for it to do its job. It whirls and whizzes loudly, not allowing for conversation. When it's finished, I ask, "Spin around the rink? Is that what you think I do?" I want to laugh. It's the best description I've ever heard.

"Yup. You're technically a figure skater, minus the sequins and dancing to the music." She's yet to look my way, but I can tell from the sarcastic tone in her voice and a sly smile she's trying to conceal that she's screwing with me. "I'm sorry I'm being rude. You are a super-talented hockey player. You score a few goals now and again. Fight a bit, growl a lot, gloves come off, helmet thrown, you can be a bit scrappy. Did that describe your job better?"

"And I'm the one that's spicy this morning?" I point to my bare chest, and she finally looks at me, then drops her head as if in shame. "Why can't you look at me?" Remaining silent, she ignores my question, so I ask again, "Why couldn't you sleep?"

She slaps the phone she's currently working on down on top of the kitchen island then proceeds to jump down my throat, "Because I can't stop thinking about what we did on Saturday, and I can't look at you without… feeling things." Her confession feels like one she's been desperate to get off her chest and her words trail off so quietly toward the end I can barely hear her. "Which is completely unprofessional of me. And I'm sorry about the other night. I feel awkward about what happened between us," she whispers in a room where there are only two of us.

I can't think of how to reply to that.

"I'm a professional businesswoman, and business for me is just… business. With you it's… Complicated." Sounding exasperating and pissed off all at once, her shoulders sag.

"Kali, look at me." I abandon the smoothie making and move around the island to stand next to her. When she doesn't turn, I grab her stool and yank it, forcing her to face me. She lets out a small squeal as I jerk her closer, the stool scraping loudly across the wooden floor beneath.

I dip down and hold her gaze, trying my best to ease her anxiety. "I never want you to feel awkward around me."

"I know but…"

"But nothing. You're here to do a job. I get that. We'll spend the hockey season together and then we go our separate ways. Nothing more, nothing less. What happened between us, as incredible as it was, was a onetime thing. I fucked up." I'm always fucking up; she'll get used to it after a while. "So, we move on, we forget about it." I don't want to do that, but it needs to be said, and I need her to agree this time.

"I messed up and crossed a line with you the other night too. I'm sorry." Apologetic big dark chocolate eyes plead with me to forgive her, and I take a moment longer than I should to bathe in her beauty. She's fucking gorgeous and makes my heart beat out of my chest every time she looks at me. That never happened with Amelia.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I shouldn't be asking, but I do. "Feeling things?" I ask what she meant by that. "Explain."

She fiddles with her fingers in her lap. "I feel a connection."

"A connection?"

"A spark."

"A spark?"

She looks annoyed that I am repeating her words like a stunned parrot.

"Do you feel it, Wade?"

I grab her hand, and she inhales a sharp breath when I place her palm over my now hard cock. "I think that answers your question. My cock likes you. A lot." Shouldn't have done that and it's not just my cock that likes her, my entire body does and my heart beats in my chest like a mariachi band every time she's near. I swear my brain already thinks she's mine because it can't stop thinking about her. I want her morning smiles, vacations, and to set that fucking giggle she does when she laughs at her own jokes as my ringtone. I'm addicted to everything about her.

And that heart of hers is so fucking kind. When I'm with her she makes everything feel better. She makes me feel better and lighter. Happy.

My dick grows harder. I really shouldn't have placed her hand on it.

"Oh." I have a sneaky suspicion that Kali isn't used to someone like me. I'm up front, direct about what I want, and if I want something, I get it. She's an exception to the rule. I can't have her and can't take what I so desperately want.

I try hard to engage my logical brain. "If I want to keep my job, I need to stay focused, Kali. We have a job to do." I groan when she rubs my length over my boxers. "Fuck that's good." I buck my hips and roll into her touch as my resistance dissolves.

"Focus," Kali murmurs, her grip tightening around my shaft as she moves off the barstool and stands.

I rest my forehead on hers and close my eyes. "Focus," I growl, finding it difficult to do so.

Hooking her fingers inside the elasticated waistband on my boxers, she eases them down, allowing my cock to spring free. I help her, tugging them the rest of the way so they pool at my ankles.

"We shouldn't be doing this." The words quietly fall from her lips as she wraps her hand around my shaft and slowly moves her fist up and down, pumping with the perfect amount of pressure.

"We shouldn't." My voice is heavy with lust.

"Definitely not."

The way she's stroking me feels so fucking good, and I grab onto her hips and dig my fingertips into her denim-covered flesh.

"We should stop." I groan, not meaning a word of it. "I'm no good for you. I'm a fuck up. I…" I can't concentrate when she's stroking me with her soft hands. "Fuck yeah, just like that, baby." I peel open my eyelids to discover she's watching me. Her breath ghosting my face as we stand forehead to forehead.

I drop my gaze and watch as she smears the precum that's leaking like a tap from my slit over the head of my cock. "I'm so fucking hard for you, Kali." My balls tighten as she touches me, pleasure flooding every inch of my body.

"You have a beautiful cock, Wade." Rubbing her thumb over my slit down the thick vein of my shaft, she does this over and over again, teasing me.

She lifts her thumb to her mouth and licks the precum from it. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks every last drop, and I get a visual of what she would look like doing that to my cock.

"Tastes good." She hums.

"Fucking hell, Kali."

She goes back to stroking me up and down with a firm hold, which I love. Just another few strokes. That's all… then we'll stop…

With her other hand, she cups my balls, squeezes them a little, then gives them a tug. Fuck being gentle. I want her to squeeze my cock until I'm roaring her fucking name. It's been so long since a woman I care about has touched me. I might come in thirty seconds.

It suddenly dawns on me that I care about her. A lot. More than I want to.

More than I should.

"We should stop," I say again, not sounding one bit sincere as I stare at her.

Our chests move in and out at the same time, breath for breath, our mouths dropped open in pleasure.

Two more strokes, then I'll stop her…

"I want you to fuck my mouth." She blows my brain into tiny pieces with those seven words, and any shred of logical reasoning flies out of the window.

Fuck it.

"On your knees." I step back and point to the floor as I grip hold of my cock, squeezing hard to calm the orgasm that is already threatening to explode. "Put that sexy tongue of yours to work."