Chapter Twenty

A hard-core beat sounded in the darkness. Zach sat up quickly, reaching for his phone on the night table, hoping the guitar rift of Metallica’s “Whiskey in the Jar” didn’t wake Becky up. He glanced over to Becky’s side of the bed as he answered and frowned. She wasn’t there. His brow furrowed as he vaguely recalled talking to her—he looked at the clock. It was only 8:15 a.m. Must have been early.

“Zach?”

By the sounds of it, Tim had repeated his name a few times. Zach scratched his jaw, leaving his room naked to fetch a bottle of water from the fridge even as he spoke. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

“We have a charity street hockey game today with some college kids. I mentioned it to your agent, but she never got back to me.”

Zach’s laugh sounded hollow to his own ears as he tried to keep things light. For some reason, he felt a little off. He cleared his throat and took a swig of water. “She’s juggling details for my contract and a wedding, so I’m not surprised. Why didn’t you mention it on the cruise?”

“Honestly? I forgot what day it was scheduled. Madeline just reminded me.” Tenderness softened the coach’s tone. Nice that things were going so well between him and his woman, but it would be nice if he could pull his shit together.

That last thought aggravated Zach even more than the last-minute invite. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension coiled around his spine. Pull it together, Pearce. He inhaled slowly, nodding. “Sure, I’ll be there. What time?”

“Around ten?” Tim sighed. “Sorry about the short notice. I’ve been a bit distracted lately.”

“How come?”

“Madeline and I have been trying for a baby again. She’s taking fertility drugs, I’m watching the calendar, and—” Tim snorted. “You don’t need to hear this.”

“It’s all good, Coach.” Actually, it was great. Tim would make an amazing father, and the couple had been trying for years. But Zach couldn’t seem to work up any enthusiasm about it. You need a fucking cup of coffee. “Let me get ready and I’ll be right over. Where are we doing this?”

After getting directions, Zach hung up and went to fix himself some coffee. He’d downed a full cup, black, before his conversation with Becky came back clearly. She’d had to leave—hadn’t mentioned why. And he hadn’t questioned her because they had an agreement. She decided how he fit into her life. Which was fair. She had her daughter and her career. He had the game.

What they had came in the rare moments between.

That worked for him, but still . . . something about her leaving nagged at him. He’d known their scene could trigger things for her. If not right away, then possibly when she woke up. She’d promised to call, he remembered that clearly, and she was experienced enough as a sub to keep an eye out for a drop, but that wasn’t the same as him keeping an eye out for one. Why should she feel alone, uncertain, sad? He was right here.

Call her.

No. She’d gone because she had things to do. She spent enough time with Bower and Richter for one of them to notice if something was off. Of course, they wouldn’t know to look out for it.

He didn’t like the idea of going behind her back. He turned his phone in his hand for almost an hour to make sure he was doing the right thing before dialing. Becky’s independence could be an issue if she dropped and didn’t catch it in time. Better safe than sorry.

Richter answered on the first ring. “Pearce.”

“Yeah. How are things?” He went to the small desk in his living room, ruffling through the drawers for a cigar. Lighting it, he dropped into the high-backed wood chair and took a long drag. “How have Silver and the baby settled?”

“Amia is doing well. Silver . . . Silver will be fine.” Richter cleared his throat. “The girl thinks she has to handle everything on her own. Much like Becky. I assume she’s the reason you’re calling?”

“She is. We had a scene last night that might take longer to recover from than she expected.” He paused, feeling pride digging in its heels. Ignoring it. “Since she couldn’t stay, I hoped you could look out for her.”

Richter didn’t speak for what seemed like a very long time. Then he sighed. “I had a feeling she didn’t tell you. Rebecca asked for some time off—with all she’s put in setting things up for the Ice Girls’ show, Keane gave it to her. She called him earlier this morning, before her parents left so she could go with them to Gaspe.”

“Gaspe.” Zach blinked, sure he’d heard wrong. “She . . . did she say how long she’d be gone?”

“Two weeks. Maybe three. Keane doesn’t need her until right before training camp.”

Two weeks. Zach ran his tongue over his teeth, nodding slowly. “All right. Thanks, Boss.”

“Pearce—?”

Zach ended the call. His hand shook as he brought his cigar to his mouth. It was fine. Just fine. She needed time with her daughter. With her family.

She hadn’t told him.

Why though? Had she just wanted to get away from him? Nothing in her tone or actions this morning even hinted that, but why else would she go from having a busy day to taking off for weeks? In any normal relationship, a couple would discuss long absences beforehand.

That apparently wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. He pushed his chair back carefully, resisting the urge to throw it, and went to the kitchen for more coffee. The bitter liquid burnt his tongue as he gulped it down, but he hardly felt it.

What exactly is it that we have?

Something other than what he’d thought they did. Which didn’t change how far he’d pushed her. He wouldn’t have pushed her that far if he’d known . . . he snuffed out his cigar and went through his kitchen drawers, looking for—there. Clove cigarettes. The pack was still closed; he didn’t indulge in cigarettes often, but he wanted one now. He put the filter of the black cigarette between his lips, staring at the flame of his lighter as he lit the tip. Stupid to smoke this much this close to training camp—he couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt weighed down. His brain felt foggy. He had to snap out of it.

In his room, he changed into black jogging pants and a white Cobra T-shirt. He stuffed his phone and his cigarettes into a black knapsack with his wallet and a bottle of water. Grabbed his motorcycle helmet from his living room table. A glance in the hall mirror told him he needed to shave. He looked like shit.

And I give a fuck, why?

He was pissed. But not at Becky. At himself. There must have been clues, must have been something he’d done that had made her want to leave. And he hadn’t fucking caught it. What he’d done to her—his neck cracked as he rolled his head from side to side. Any Dom worth his leathers would have known she wasn’t ready. Would have realized it was too soon to fucking go there. A flogger and anal play. Damn it!

On the way to the school yard where the teams would play, Zach spotted the red flashing lights and cursed under his breath. On top of being an irresponsible Dom, he was being an irresponsible driver. At least 10 miles over the speed limit.

“License and registration,” the cop said, sounding bored.

“No fucking kidding.” Zach pulled his wallet out of his backpack. He handed his documents to the cop. “Just give me the ticket.”

The officer took off his sunglasses. “We gonna have a problem here, Mr . . .” He looked at Zach’s license and shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? I guess being a star athlete means that you don’t have to follow laws like everyone else, right? All the fucking money in the world—a ticket don’t mean shit.”

A car pulled up behind Zach’s bike. The officer’s hand went to his hip, close to his gun.

“Hey, Pearce!” Chicklet stepped out of the car. She frowned at the officer, then glanced over to the passenger side of the car. “Laura, I think one of our boys got himself in trouble rushing to the charity game.”

Laura came out from the other side. “Is there a problem here, Butler?”

Aw, fuck. Just haul me in. The last thing he needed was to be “saved” by a sub. She would hate him if she knew what he’d done.

“No, ma’am.” The officer’s lips thinned. “Unless you’re going to tell me not to give him a ticket because you’re in bed with the team.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Laura said tightly. “If he was going too fast, give him a ticket. If he did anything else, bring him in. I just hope you’re not taking this personally because your little sister is fucking one of the players. Which one is it this week? Brookmann?”

“You fucking bitch . . .” Butler hissed through his teeth, then went to his car, returning with a ticket which he slammed into Zach’s chest. “Try not to kill anyone, asshole.”

Once the cop was gone, Chicklet and Laura approached Zach, both looking concerned. Zach spotted Vanek, getting out of the backseat, and couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t ask.” He took off before they could, wishing the route was a little longer when he parked and saw them pulling into the lot behind him. He was in the fucking mood for a fight and he wasn’t sure why. His whole body was shaking. He wanted to break something.

He should have stayed home. Alone in a dark room with his thoughts of how much he’d fucked up. I should have called her.

Things only got worse when the game started. The teams were divided school yard-style and the dozen Cobras that had come were split evenly amongst the college kids. Late teens, early twenties, all the boys were overexcited about playing with the Cobras. Being downright obnoxious. And the younger Cobras weren’t behaving much better. Carter checked Zach, holding him against the brick wall as Vanek swiped the puck and dashed for the net. Zach growled when Carter wouldn’t back off. The crowd cheered as the puck hit the back of the net.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if we’re gonna make the playoffs. That was pathetic, dude!” Carter smirked and moved to join him team.

Zach latched on to the front of Carter’s shirt and slammed him into the wall. “Dude? I suggest you watch it, you smart-ass fucking twinkie. If you were my sub—”

“Jesus, Pearce.” Chicklet slapped her hand into Ramos’ chest a second before he could lunge for Zach, then pried Zach’s hand from Carter’s shirt. “Ramos, cool it. Carter, you open your mouth again and I’m gonna flog you myself. Pearce, take a walk.”

Ramos took a step back, but his eyes were hard as they met Zach’s. “We will speak again, hombre.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Ramos.” Tim stepped between them. He drew Ramos aside, speaking low.

Ramos’ expression softened suddenly. He caught Carter by the back of the neck and led him away. The rest of the team had banded together to distract the curious college boys, giving Zach some space. Which he badly needed.

I don’t need space. I need Becky. I have to find out if she’s all right.

“I’ve got it, Chicklet.” Tim patted Chicklet’s shoulder, nodding as she gave him a look Zach couldn’t read. He felt completely out of control. And when Tim turned to him, it seemed like the man knew it. “Go ahead, Pearce. Take a swing. Curse me out. I can’t promise I won’t bench you for half the season if you’re going to be an idiot about this, but if you’re itching for a fight, I’m right here.”

“I should go.” This had never happened to him. He was a loose cannon, and he had no right to force anyone to deal with him like this. He needed to be alone.

But Tim wouldn’t have it. “Dean told me Becky left.” Tim’s brow rose as Zach’s jaw ticked. “You two had a scene last night, right?”

“That’s none of your business, Coach.” Zach clenched his fists at his sides. And kept them there. What the fuck is wrong with you, Pearce? He loosened his fists, then went to his knapsack, which he’d dropped on a nearby bench. He pulled out a cigarette, groaning when he realized Tim had followed him. The other players had continued the game without them. Fans filled the lot, cheering from the sidelines with players’ wives and kids.

He grunted as Tim took the lighter from his shaky hands to light his cigarette. “Thanks.”

“Did you eat today?”

Zach frowned. Just the thought of food made him feel a little sick. “I had some coffee.”

Tim laughed. “We’d have words if you gave me that answer before a game. What would you say to a sub if they were behaving this way after a scene?”

“Coach, you can go fuck yourself. I’m fine.” Hell, since when did he talk to the coach like that? Tim was the best thing the team had ever had. Zach knew that. But he couldn’t stop lashing out. “Damn it. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” Tim shook his head and pulled out his phone. He pointed at the bench. “Sit down. And listen to me. There are benefits to being a switch. We aren’t expected to be perfect—”

“Believe me, I know I’m not perfect.” Zach’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at? I shouldn’t be here.”

“This is the best place for you. With your teammates.” Tim gave him a hard look when he opened his mouth to protest. “You would do the same for any one of them, Pearce. I wish I’d figured things out in time to do it for Callahan. Maybe he’d still be here.” He shook his head. “Just shut up and let me help you.”

Zach rolled his shoulders, not sure it mattered one way or another. He wanted to go home, where no one would have to put up with him being a complete asshole. He puffed at his cigarette, feeling the burn deep in his lungs, knowing he’d regret it when the trainers got to him.

Tim gave him a sideways glance as whomever he was calling answered. “The physical conditioner said you couldn’t get out in time to make the game, but we need you.” He paused. “More importantly, Zach needs you.”

The call didn’t last long. Whomever Tim had spoken to was coming.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was.

* * * *

Scott rolled his eyes as Stephan followed him down the hall, bitching as usual. His voice was thin with exertion as he struggled to keep up with Scott’s long strides.

“You’re not ready. You waited too long to get in good enough shape for training camp. It’s going to be brutal.”

“I’ve been through this before. Fuck, Stephan, by the way you talk I’ve been sitting on my ass all summer eating fucking nachos.” Scott patted his firm stomach. “I’m at the gym every day. I’m being a good boy and cutting back on the red meat. What else do you want from me?”

“Tell me what’s so important that you had to blow off your conditioning. People are watching everything you do. That trainer will report back to Keane. He’ll think you’re not serious about—”

Stopping short, Scott glared back at the little man, fed up of working his ass off and getting no fucking credit. Yeah, he’d earned people not thinking he took anything seriously, but when would his actions start to count for something? “I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in. Me and Sahara have smiled pretty for all the cameras. When I’m not posing for photos or getting kicked in the nuts by angry chicks with asshole boyfriends, I’m doing promo and charity gigs. I don’t have a life. But I do have friends. People that matter to me. If taking some time to be there for them means I’m not serious, then you and Keane can go rim each other in the middle of the Delgado Forum. There’s a lot I’ll give up for this team, but there’s got to be a limit.”

“Fine!” Stephan slapped his hand onto the glass door of the gym before Scott could touch it, shoving it open. “Tell me and I can make it work for you. That’s my job!”

No fucking way would he tell Stephan what was going on. Coach said Zach needed him. That was personal. Beyond his keeper’s payroll. But he had to give the man something. “You told me I needed to find a chick for the public to see me with, right?”

Stephan’s brow furrowed. “Right.”

“This isn’t about a chick.”

“Damn it. I can’t make this look good for you, Scott. The league barely managed to tolerate Pearce coming out.” Stephan’s expression was fit for a man who’d been told the world was about to go through a full-fledged zombie apocalypse. He took the car keys from Scott’s hand, waving him toward the passenger side as though he’d accepted that serving as a chauffeur was the best he could do at this point. “But he’s in a position to make some positive changes. You’re not.”

“And you’re repeating this to me why exactly?” Scott smirked as he dropped the passenger seat back far enough so he was almost lying down. He knew it irked Stephan when he looked sloppy and lazy, but hell, he had to have some fun! Besides, showing up to see Zach acting all worried wouldn’t do him much good. He’d use the drive and irritating Stephan as a way to tone things down a notch. “I promise, I won’t propose to him until after Keane offers me a contract.”

The man didn’t take the bait. Instead, Stephan cast him a sideways look as he pulled out. “You’re going to see Zach?”

“And if I am?”

Stephan shrugged. “You suddenly don’t look overly concerned. The shift in behavior is a little surprising. I assume it’s not serious?”

“It’s serious enough.” Scott brought one hand to the back of his neck, massaging the knots out of his muscles. Acting all relaxed wasn’t gonna be easy. “But I need to keep my cool.”

“I see.” Stephan’s lips curved up on one side as though he was considering something. “Perhaps some good news will help you both. I received a call while you were on the cruise from the YWCA, the organization that runs the Rose Campaign to end violence against women. They really appreciated your interview discussing what happened to your foster sister. They wanted to know if you’d like to get involved.”

Scott sat up, blinking. They wanted him? “Are you sure I’d be good for that? I mean, I’ll donate money and stuff, but I want to help the cause, not—”

“You’ll be perfect. Speaking of which, letting the Cobras know that you had a difficult childhood would probably serve you well.” Stephan sounded excited now, like he’d finally come up with a way to fix all of Scott’s problems. “People will be sympathetic. They’ll understand that you were just acting out because—”

Scott cut Stephan off with a sharp motion of his hand. Making up shit wasn’t a solution. “Stop right there, Steph. My childhood was fucking fine. You think I was drafted out of the fucking womb? Yeah, I was in foster care, but I’ve had support my whole life.”

“All right. It was just a suggestion.” Stephan sighed. “Your behavior sometimes indicates some kind of abuse, but—”

“Abuse?” He sucked his teeth, more than a little pissed that the man would throw a word like that out when he didn’t know shit about Scott’s past. And even if he did . . . No. Just no. “You’re joking, right?” Scott rolled his eyes at Stephan’s solemn look. “I was spoiled rotten. My foster mother gave me anything I wanted.” Everything. Scott tugged at the collar of his T-shirt—stupid thing was too tight around his neck. “My behavior is all me. I’m trying to fix it, but don’t make excuses for my shit.”

Eyes on the road, Stephan gave a curt nod. “Very well. I’m not a therapist in any case.”

“No kiddin’?” Scott straightened his seat, opening his door and jumping out before Stephan had finished parking. “You can use my car or bring it back to my place to grab your own. Whatever you want. I’ll catch a ride with Zach.”

“Okay. But, Scott?” Stephan waited for Scott to look at him before he continued. “Please use discretion, whatever you do. You have made progress and . . . How can I say this in a way you’ll understand?” His eyes hardened. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Gotcha.” Scott saluted, then spun on his runners, needing to get away from Stephan before the man decided they needed to have another heart-to-heart. He approached the lot behind the school at slow saunter. A rather large crowd surrounded the play. Reporters from local stations had cameras set up, locked on the game. The Cobras were putting on a pretty good show.

Sneakers slapped on pavement, but other than that the sounds weren’t much different than what you’d hear on the ice. Shouts from the men. The scrape of sticks, then the snap when they hit the orange ball being used as a puck. The way the guys played was like there were points on the line.

Carter hogged the puck, effortlessly looping around the college boys to take a shot on Ingerslov. Then he spotted Scott and tripped over his own big feet.

Guess he remembers. Scott chuckled, nodding at Tim as the coach waved him over. Two cute little Ice Girls cut him off, giggling and shoving cans for donations at him. He pulled out his wallet and stuffed a few twenties into the can. Then he made his way to the end of the lot, close to the back of the school, where grass and flower beds softened the harsh appearance of the school yard. Zach sat on a long, wooden bench, puffing at a black cigarette, filling the air around him with a pungent, spicy scent. Black butts littered the grass around his feet.

The man had sacrificed his lungs to whatever was eating at him. Scott clenched his jaw, his throat tight as he looked at Zach, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Zach was the strongest man he knew. Seeing him like this made Scott feel . . . powerless. What the hell could he say or do to make things better?

If anything, he’d probably make things worse.

Tim latched on to Scott’s arm and drew him back far enough that Zach couldn’t possibly hear them. “Ever heard of ‘top drop’?”

Scott arched a brow. “Yeah. At the club there was a big debate going on. Chicklet and Callahan were butting heads about it. She was saying Doms should prepare for it before a scene. Callahan seemed to think it was bullshit. A few of the other guys agreed with him. I didn’t have anything to add, so I stayed out of it.”

“So you have no opinion on the matter?”

“Not sure. I mean, I’ve never seen a sub drop, so I guess I could be an ass and say that’s not real either.” Scott knew he was being a bit of a jerk, but seeing all the Doms and subs on the team all in the loop, and knowing he didn’t fit in there either, got him feeling a bit defensive. “My opinion doesn’t mean much.”

Tim’s lips thinned. “My question was pretty straightforward. Why don’t you just give me an answer?”

Damn. All right then. “Doms are still human, right? I mean, Chicklet said sometimes she feels like she’s doing stuff most people think is messed up. She beats her subs. Makes one watch while she fucks the other. It’s not that hard to believe that a Dom would need a sub to say it’s all good after, right? I mean, a Dom is all about the subs during the scene. Looks out for them after. But . . .” Fuck. His muscles tensed as he glanced back at Zach. It was not okay with him for Zach to feel like he’d done something wrong. Where the fuck is Becky? “Who takes care of the Dom?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Tim let out a rough exhale. “Zach’s in a bad place. I called my brother to find out what was going on. Becky left. Zach asked Dean to keep an eye on her because they had an intense scene, and she’d taken off early this morning. This conversation happened at about eight a.m., so we’re talking really early. Dean had to tell Zach Becky had gone to Gaspe with her parents. The thing is, Zach was worried about her. Worried that she’d drop. I think he’s like the rest of the Doms that go to the club. They’re all concerned about their subs dropping but are too macho to admit to what they feel after a scene. Dean’s no better. I’m sure he’d spot it if Bower dropped, but there’s a lot of snuggling and talking after their scenes with Silver, so I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been an issue.”

“Are you telling me Becky just left Zach, like right after he . . . fuck, what did he do to her?” Scott felt a little sick. He’d seen enough scenes at the club to wonder if Zach didn’t deserve to feel like shit. If he’d used a whip on her, made her bleed—screw helping him get past the drop. Unless beating the crap out of him would help? “She’s in Gaspe? Maybe I should go see her. And maybe you called the wrong person. If he fucking beat her—”

“Damn it, Scott. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did call the wrong person.” Tim took a step back. “Do you know Zach at all? He’s not a sadist. And what if he was? Would that change how you feel about him?”

Scott inhaled sharply. He knew Zach. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about the man if Zach enjoyed drawing blood like Callahan. But that probably had more to do with how Scott felt about Becky. She wasn’t into that extreme. Or . . . he didn’t think she was.

Being into two people was complicated. How was he supposed to handle this? People at the club talked about trust a lot. Did he trust Zach?

On the ice? Absolutely. With Becky . . . he couldn’t just give that trust. But this was Zach. The man who’d pushed Scott away from Becky because Scott couldn’t be faithful. Couldn’t give her what she needed. Would Zach ever risk hurting Becky?

No fucking way. “You’re my coach. If anyone else asked me this shit, I’d tell them where to go. But . . . fuck! You’ve got my career in your hands, and I trust you. If I’m gonna be honest, I love Zach—” Scott swallowed. Had he really just said that? Did he mean it?

Yes. Great big fucking yes.

“Tell me what to do. I don’t really get this whole ‘top drop’ thing, but I don’t get sub drop either. And I’d be there for Becky if she was going through it. Damn, Zach doesn’t smoke this much. I get that as a coach you probably don’t think any of us should smoke at all, but Zach’s all about moderation. I’m not seeing that right now.”

“I wish I could tell you what to do, Demyan. And you’re right. In moderation, Pearce smoking cigars—and even cigarettes—isn’t any worse than the other men going to a fast food joint once a month. In my experience as a sub, a drop can make me feel off for a few hours. On a rare occasion, days. I don’t know the effects of a top drop long-term—if there are any. But right now, I’m concerned. That’s why I called.”

“Got it.” Scott knew he had been right about one thing back in the car. Going to Zach all serious wouldn’t do any good. He needed to handle this with his devil-may-care attitude. He swung at the coach with a feigned left jab, right hook when he noticed Zach watching. “Thanks, Coach.”

“No problem.” Tim threw a light punch that connected with Scott’s gut, laughing at Scott’s exaggerated grunt. “I heard that you’re going to be the new spokesman for the Rose Campaign. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah?” Scott grinned, his chest swelling as Tim gave him a look filled with something he couldn’t recall ever being aimed his way. Pride. Coming from the coach, it meant a lot. “I mean, it will be good for my image. But that’s not why I’m doing it.”

“I know.” Tim nudged Scott’s shoulder with his fist. “Now go get him, kid.”

Zach watched Scott as he approached, his expression more curious than defeated. He nodded in Tim’s direction as the coach headed back toward the play. “What was that all about?”

Scott dropped on the bench beside him, still grinning. “I got an offer to be the team’s spokesman for this anti-violence against women’s group.”

“Nice.” Zach brought a fresh cigarette to his lips, shook his head, then dropped it to the dirt to crush it under his heel. “I’m happy for you. It’ll be good for people to see what a good guy you are.”

“Yeah, well, I’m honored to get the offer, you know?” Scott ran his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t look happy though. What’s going on?”

“I’m sure Tim had some theories.”

“Yeah. Something about Becky leaving and you needing to snuggle.” Scott shrugged. “I’m good with that.”

Letting out a dry laugh, Zach dropped his head back. “Right. You? Snuggling?”

“Sure. But I want to get in on this game first.” Scott’s lips formed into a crooked smile as he stood. “I’m thinking we should play for something. The winner gets whatever he wants from the loser when we go back to your place.”

“Figures you’d make this about sex.”

“Who said anything about sex?” Scott asked lightly. “I win and we have a zombie marathon. And you’ve got to watch them all. Even the cheesy classics.”

Zach stared up at him, nodding slowly. He pushed off the bench, pulling Scott to him in a way that would look like a rough hug between friends to anyone watching. But the length of his firm body pressed against Scott’s, the way his gruff tone made Scott’s balls tighten, had nothing to do with friendship. “I win, you come to my place and you suck my cock. Then you spend the night.”

Easy enough. “Done.”

“I mean it, Scott.” Zach released him, his eyes hard. “No fucking disappearing in the morning.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, man.” Scott slapped Zach’s shoulder as they walked side by side back to where the other guys were resting up between periods. “And hey, I’m sure she had a good reason to take off. Don’t think the worst until you talk to her.”

“I’m not, it’s just . . .” Zach shook his head, his brows drawn together as though he couldn’t quite figure out what to think. “It’s all good. I just need to know she’s okay.”

“She’s fine. You didn’t do any . . . permanent damage, did you?” Scott hated to ask, but he needed to know what he was working with. “Accidents happen, and I get that. But if she left when she should have been in the hospital or something—”

“Damn it, Scott! You really think I’d do that to her?” Zach raked his fingers over the hair cut close to his scalp. “A scene can bring a sub to place that leaves them vulnerable. I’m not sure I spent enough time easing her out of that place.”

“What about a Dom? Do they go to that place?”

“No. The Dom’s in control.” Zach frowned at him. “Why do you ask?”

Scott shrugged. “Just wondered. You know I’m trying to learn stuff at the club. I might never be a Dom, but if I played with someone, and felt shitty after, would you tell me I shouldn’t?”

“Of course not.” Zach put his hand on Scott’s arm, stopping him before they were within hearing of the other men. “What are you getting at?”

An ice cream vendor ringing a bell and rolling his cart around the lot to tempt the kids passed. Scott waved to him, then jogged over to buy a couple of Häagen Dazs chocolate-covered bars. He brought them back to Zach, then handed him one.

“You get to be taken care of too.” Scott unwrapped his bar, lifting it toward Zach in mock cheers. “And I’m gonna do it, whether you like it or not.”

Zach took a big bite of his bar, crunching on the chocolate shell and licking his lips before inclining his head to Scott. He already looked a lot better than when Scott had shown up. He actually managed a smile by the time he finished his ice cream.

“Chocolate?”

“Yeah.” Scott smirked. “Thought pulling you into my lap wrapped up in a blanket might not be appropriate.”

The roar of Zach’s laugh had most of the men staring at them. The team was used to Zach being pretty reserved around them. But those who’d known what was going on looked relieved. Tim gave Scott a thumbs up. Even Chicklet smiled.

Scott left Zach to get ready to play, feeling damn good about himself. Zach was gonna be okay. And one way or another, they’d be together tonight.

Most importantly, Scott had finally done right by the man.

* * * *

Becky’s hair was a tangled mess under the motorcycle helmet, but she didn’t much care as Zach unbuckled it and tossed it down on the gravel by the bike’s wheels. She gasped as he bunched her hair in his fist, holding her still while he ravished her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth as he ripped open her leather vest. Her nipples hardened as the sun bathed them in heat.

Zach leaned back against the bike handles, slowly unzipping his leather pants. His dick jutted out, hard and proud as she rose up to take him into her body, shamelessly exposed with her black pleated skirt barely covering her thighs. He stretched her slick folds roughly as his hips jutted up and she arched her back, crying out. Letting him fuck her on his bike by the highway was so perfectly wicked. It made her feel young, wild, and free. She had nothing to worry about other than pleasing this man who could have her anytime. Anywhere.

“Look at those pretty tits.” Scott chuckled when she gaped at him, then leaned down to bring one breast up to his mouth. “You want both of us, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Becky kissed Scott as Zach rammed up into her body, completely lost in the sensations of the men’s hands and mouths and bodies. “Please!”

“Then you know what you have to do, pet.” Zach growled, wrapping one arm around her waist to ram her down hard. “Just forget everything else.”

“No! No, I can’t!” Becky woke, shoving the sheets away, slapping her hand over her mouth when she spotted Casey, sleeping peacefully beside her. Tears clung to her lashes as she pressed her face into her pillow. At least she hadn’t woken her daughter.

This wasn’t like her, this last minute decision to take the early morning flight to Gaspe with her parents, getting Casey up at 7:00 a.m. to make the trip. She’d packed in such a rush that she was sure she’d forgotten something. And what must Mr. Keane think of her calling so suddenly to tell him she wouldn’t be coming in for two weeks? She was lucky that he hadn’t fired her!

But she’d had no choice. Her relationship with Zach had become too much to handle without putting space between them to figure things out. She needed to spend time with her daughter. With her parents, who were the perfect example of how a good, strong relationship should function. God knows she hadn’t managed that in her own marriage.

Her nap had only served to make her feel more tired. Drained. She slipped from the guest bedroom, padding downstairs to the kitchen, smiling groggily at her mother who met her with a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

“Oh, honey.” Her mother shook her head, brushing Becky’s hair back to look into her eyes. “Maybe you should lie down for a bit longer. You’re so pale . . .”

Becky forced a smile to her lips. “Sleep won’t help, maman. I just need time out in the sun with Casey. I’ll bring her to the park later.”

“I see.” Her mother gave her a shrewd look. “There are parks in Dartmouth.”

“I know that.” Becky took a few sips of coffee and sighed. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Don’t you lie to me, mademoiselle. I spent weeks out there with you and your brother—”

“Are you upset that I came?”

“Of course not! You’re always welcome.” Pulling her into a hug, careful not to spill either of their coffees, her mother whispered, “but I know you. Before Patrick, you would face your troubles head-on. But ever since . . . it’s as though you must analyze everything and then lock away your emotions before making any decisions. As though the part of you that feels is something to be hidden. Maybe even ashamed of.”

Her mother was so wrong. She wasn’t ashamed of her emotions. And there was nothing wrong with considering her options before doing anything rash.

And leaving Zach like that? That wasn’t rash?

Just knowing she wouldn’t see him tomorrow, or the day after, or . . . a weak sound escaped her before she could stop it. This was wrong. Needing a man was so very wrong.

But she missed him already. And he’d be so hurt, so confused when he found out that she’d left. Guilt made it impossible to sleep well. Or even take in enough air when she breathed. Maybe, if she called him, spoke to him . . .

You’ll want to go home. You should go home!

Her mother’s grip tightened around her. “Talk to me, ma bichette.”

Bichette. Little doe. Becky let out a watery laugh. Her mother and Zach using the same endearment for her should feel weird, but it was just so right. As though Zach had known exactly who she was from the start. A little doe, trapped in a tunnel, not sure if the light at the end was the sun or a car coming to crush her. And because she couldn’t tell, she ran.

“I don’t know what to say.” She sniffed. She might not be sure of much, but she was absolutely certain of one thing. “I’ve felt off since Casey went to visit Patrick. There are so many distractions back home. I need it to be just the two of us for a little while.”

“All right. But, Rebecca?” Her mother’s tone was that special mixture of firmness and tenderness. The tone she’d used when Becky was little and slipped out of sight for a few moments, long enough to scare her mother to death. An “I love you, but don’t you ever do that again”. “Don’t hide. Not from me. What you went through with Patrick . . .” Her mother’s face crumpled. “I don’t understand how you put up with it. How you let him tear you down the way you did. I raised you to know your worth.”

“Maman, he cheated on me. And he had no respect for me. But something good came out of that hell of a marriage. I can’t regret what we had. It gave me Casey.”

“He taught you to feel alone. And you’re not.”

I am. But that’s my choice. The only one who should never feel alone was Casey. She was a child and she needed her mother. But Becky told her own mother what she needed to hear. “I know I’m not. I have you.”

Unconditionally. And she would give her own daughter no less.