Oh my God. I had no idea. How did I not know this?

  “I’m stunned.”

  “Why? Because your old man had lovers or because—”

  “Because I had zero clue, Dad. None. You had this secret life as a gigolo, and here I was feeling sorry for you for devoting yourself to your family.” I laugh.

  “Hardly the gigolo, but you and your sisters’ well-being was more important to me.” His smile warms my heart as much as his words do. “What else do you have milling about in that mind of yours?”

  “Did you ever love any of them?”

  “A few, yes. Not in the same way I loved your mom. I mean, look at what she and I created together.” His eyes fill with tears. “You and your sisters and this agency, but yes, I think I may have loved one or two.”

  “I don’t even know what to say. My mind is blown.”

  “Why?”

  “Weren’t you scared to be hurt? Weren’t you . . .” My voice fades off.

  “Ah,” he says, his fingers steepled in front of him, as if I finally got to the point he was waiting for me to get to.

  “Ah, what?”

  “Part of putting yourself out there, Dekker, is opening yourself up to getting hurt.”

  I stare at him for a beat and try to figure out how to put the jumble in my head at peace and turn the last key in the lock chained around my heart.

  “Not that kind of hurt . . . the kind . . .” My eyes well with tears I attempt to blink away as my dad rises from his chair and moves toward the seat next to me. He turns my chair to face him like he used to do when I was a little girl, about to get a scolding or be taught a life lesson.

  “The kind where the person dies and your insides feel like they’re broken and your heart will never recover let alone beat again?”

  I don’t trust myself to speak. His words are too damn close to the truth, so I nod and when I do, the first tear slips over.

  “It’s always there in the back of your mind, because that’s a pain someone never forgets, but Dekk, finding someone to love again is how you know you’re not broken. It’s how you know your heart can still beat again. It’s the cure and the demise all at the same time. To be able to love again means you’re still alive.”

  He reaches out and wipes a tear off my face like he did when I was a kid, his hands still feel so big even now that I’m older. I lean my cheek into his hand as his eyes meet mine. “Love is powerful, Dekker. It’s why you’re here. It’s why you try so hard to please me. It’s why you fight doggedly with your sisters. But it’s also so very powerful when you find the one you want to give it to. Don’t ever be afraid. You can’t give half a heart, that’s equivalent to giving someone your broken heart. No, you have to give them all of it and trust that they’ll hold on to it and protect it.”

  The knock on the door shocks both of us apart to turn to look toward the interruption. “Come in,” my father says.

  And the shock that floods through me when Hunter opens the door and peeks his head in. “Mr. Kincade. Hi. Sorry for the interruption. I wanted to see if Dekker was free for lunch.”

  “No need to be sorry,” my dad says. I wait for the shift from doting father to savvy agent as he crosses the distance toward Hunter to shake his hand. But it never happens. Instead he shakes Hunter’s hand and pats the side of his shoulder. “Looking good out there. First round down, second starting, what? Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hunter nods. “We’re headed to the airport in a few hours.”

  “Good luck, son. You’re going to need it.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  My father looks back to me with something I can’t read before nodding to Hunter and leaving the conference room.

  I’m left to stare at Hunter as he leans against the shut door behind him and meets my eyes. He has a dark blue Henley on with jeans. His hair is styled and his grin is wide, and I’m sure the emotions I just shared with my dad are sitting on my sleeve for him to see.

  For him to decipher.

  For him to realize.

  “You’ve got a lot of balls showing up here.” I laugh as I close the distance toward him.

  He shrugs. “Agents are a dime a dozen.”

  “Then switching agents should be no big deal,” I tease and then am more than surprised when he tugs against my waist to pull me in for a soft kiss that steals my breath and incites my pulse.

  “Hi,” he says when he leans back.

  “Hi.” I’m breathless and my knees feel like rubber. How does he do that so damn easily?

  “You look pretty.” He fingers the lapel of my blazer. “Very I’m going to bust your balls right after I suck them pretty.”

  “Jesus,” I bark out and laugh. “Only with you, Maddox. Only with you.”

  “Good to know.” His hand slides down my torso and rests on my hip. “I thought you might want to catch a quick lunch before I head out.”

  I shouldn’t feel overwhelmed by the gesture as it’s quite simple, but he came here to ask me, knowing my family would see him, and that means he doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

  The panic I expect to ricochet through me like normal, doesn’t flutter to life. No. It’s too busy being soothed by my father’s words and by the touch of the man whose hands are framing my cheeks.

  “Lunch?”

  “Yes, that meal between breakfast and dinner,” he says as I stare at him, this feeling so very normal for us. “I’m hungry. I’m sure you’re hungry . . . so, lunch.”

  “I’d love that. Thank you for asking.” I take the initiative and press another kiss to his lips. “Be prepared for the shit my sisters are going to give you when we walk out of this door.”

  His grin is lightning quick and does things to my insides that shouldn’t be legal. “I already got some, but you know as well as I do”—he winks—“I give just as good as I get.”

  I laugh as we open the door and Lennox is right there with her phone. “Do you mind taking a selfie with me? I think it’d be awesome to show you here at the offices on Instagram,” she asks with a saccharine-sweet smile.

  “Len,” I warn as Hunter looks amused and confused.

  “I can see the caption now. Hockey great, Hunter Maddox, touring the KSM offices.” She holds her hands up as if she’s reading it on a marquis.

  “C’mon—”

  “No, you c’mon, Dekk. You know Fuckface would croak if he saw Hunter here.”

  “Fuckface?” Hunter asks and then laughs when he realizes who she means. “You mean Sanderson?”

  “Yes. Fuckface,” Lennox reiterates, and I push her playfully away.

  “I take it you met Lennox?” I ask as I tug on his hand to pull him toward the door.

  “I met them all, yes,” he says, and I’m not sure if I should be scared I wasn’t here when they did.

  “I guess that’s our answer,” Chase murmurs as I walk past her. I can only assume she’s referring to their assumption that something more is going on between Hunter and me.

  I’m just about to give a smart-ass comeback when I catch my father’s eye in the back corner of the office. He’s sitting with his arms crossed and the softest smile on his lips as his eyes hold mine. He gives the slightest of nods—almost as if it’s approval—and my feet falter for the briefest of seconds as I hear him loud and clear.

  Giving half a heart is akin to giving someone a broken heart . . . so give them your whole one instead.

  HUNTER

  Dad: Not horrible. Some of the best hockey I’ve seen you play, but there’s still major room for improvement. You’ll fall short if you keep that up. No doubt.

  Dekker: Get off that road and come home to me. I’ll show you just how damn proud I am of the way you played tonight. You were on fire.

  “NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING about, Maddox.” I look up from my phone to see Sanderson bearing down on me on the far side of the LumberJacks’ locker room. My gloves are off, my pads still on, and fuck if I haven’t had time to take a seat before I have to talk to him. “You were a fucking lunatic out there. Way to go, man.”

  He goes to high-five me and I just stare at his hand and leave him hanging. Funny how the high fives are flying now. Interesting how I can see our relationship more clearly—when I’m good, we’re good. When I’m troubled, he’s with management and filled with threats. I get it’s a business, but I’m finding more and more I need the people around me who care more about me when I’m at the bottom than when I’m at the top.

  “Is there a problem?” he asks.

  “No problem.” I shake my head. “Just tired and hungry and ready to get home. It’s been a long battle, and I’m ready to win the next two on our turf in front of a home crowd.”

  “You keep that shit up, you’re going to have deals pouring in. I already have five messages on my phone.”

  “Great. I’ve got to hit the showers.” I take everything he has with a grain of salt these days but nod, trying to give him the hint I’m not in the mood. He starts to walk away when I realize something. “Hey, Finn?”

  “What’s that?”

  “No negotiations about anything during the playoffs.”

  “Come again?” he says as he takes a step back toward me, his hand curved around his ear as if he didn’t hear me.

  “I said hold off the phone calls and negotiations about endorsements. My game is dialed. Shit is sitting right in the universe. I don’t want to jinx anything.”

  “I feel you on that. Not a problem. I’ll send over who’s interested but nothing else. You’re focused on the Cup. I get it. I like the way you’re thinking.”

  And when he walks away, I wonder if he’ll still like the way I’m thinking when all is said and done.

  It’s late and freezing as I stand in the lot of the arena and wait for the rest of the guys to load the bus that will take us back to the airport with my cell to my ear.

  “Hey.” She sounds half asleep. Sexy. Like home.

  How did her voice become the first thing I wanted to hear after every game? When did it start drowning out everyone else’s?

  “Did I wake you?”

  Her sleep-drugged chuckle brings a smile to my face. “I fell asleep going over contracts.” She shuffles papers, and I can picture her snuggling into that big blanket on her couch with SportsCenter on mute, and an empty glass of wine on the table next to her. Papers will be spread everywhere and her laptop will be half-charged on the pillow beside her.

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “You gave me more than enough excitement tonight, thank you very much.” She pauses. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play this well. You guys are like a well-oiled machine. It was so much fun to watch.”

  “We’ve still got two games to win before we can celebrate anything,” I say holding up my finger to Jünger who’s waving me over.

  “I’m all for celebrating every victory, no matter how big or how small.”

  “You are, are you?”

  Her seductive chuckle vibrates through the line. “I’ll show you just how much when you get home.”

  My balls tighten at the thought. Will I ever get enough of her? The prissy business side, the stubborn softer side, and the vixen I hope no one else knows about?

  I hope not.

  Because hell if I’ve ever felt at peace like this. I’ve still got a long way to go, but this—she—is definitely a really good start.

  “I’ll tell the pilot to hurry.”

  Her laughter is all I hear as I end the call and head toward the bus.

  DEKKER

  ALL I CAN DO IS laugh.

  All I can do is hope he feels the same way.

  DEKKER

  HUNTER’S SITTING AT THE KITCHEN table with the soft glow of the overhead fixture the only light in the room. He’s slumped in his seat, but his attention is completely fixed on the laptop in front of him.

  He’s exhausted. I can see it in his eyes, in his posture, in the way he crashed when he hit the pillow earlier tonight.

  So why’s he up now?

  This second round of playoffs has been grueling for him. With Finch out from a blown knee and Katz limping to the finish, if the Jacks can clinch a spot in the finals tomorrow, they’ll have a few extra days rest while the other series still has at least two games left.

  Regardless, the pressure on Hunter is tenfold, whether it’s self-inflicted or not.

  Not wanting to disturb him, but also wanting to be near him, I stand where I am at the bottom of the stairs and look around the common area of his house. Where my place is orderly and every piece has its place, his is an array of mismatched things that don’t look cluttered when they should, and that shouldn’t fit together, but do.

  Kind of like us.

  “Hey,” he murmurs and pulls my attention to him.

  “What are you doing up?” I ask as I move toward him. “You’re exhausted.”

  “Can’t sleep.” He smiles as I lean my butt against the table so I can face him. My love for him is growing each and every day in ways I’m not sure I could ever have imagined. “Trying to crack their defense.” His hand flicks to his laptop where he’s watching film of the Eagles. “It looks so simple watching it but when you’re on the ice, when you’re bearing down on it, it feels fucking formidable.”

  “You’re pretty formidable yourself, Maddox.”

  “I didn’t feel like it last night.”

  I run my fingers through his hair and he lets his head fall back with a sigh. His eyes close, and I can see the wear and tear from his need and will and want and drive for this to happen.

  I know it’s for him, but I also know it’s for Jonah too.

  “You’re too hard on yourself,” I murmur, and lean over and press a kiss to his lips. His body jolts with awareness and his eyes flutter open. “You know, you said your dad used to train you hard for hours and hours. Does he know the game as much as you do? Would he have insight you can’t see being so close to the ice? Would he have any suggestions for you on how to break the defense?”

  I’m not sure how he’ll take my question, but a part of me feels like this fence needs to be mended if it can be for him to heal and move forward.

  “Not an option.” He moves the laptop out of the way and then uses his hands to guide my hips so I stand before him, his hands dipping beneath the hem of my shirt. “How about you sit right here and let me taste you.”

  Well, that’s a change of topic if I’ve ever seen one. I thought he might be angry at my suggestion or stalk off and go to bed, but this? This is definitely him deflecting, and who am I to tell him no? Hell no. Not with a tongue like Hunter’s.

  I scoot up on his table, my bare ass feeling the chill of the wood beneath me, lean back on one of my hands, and spread my thighs.

  That sigh. That smile. I’m thinking that sex might tire him out, relax him, and get him to sleep.

  “You need some inspiration, huh?” I murmur as our eyes hold and I slide my finger down between my slit. A moan falls from my lips as my eyes close. My head falls back when I rub the pad of my finger on my clit and down to find myself already wet for him.

  His groan matches how I feel sitting here, bared to him and so very aroused.

  “Inspiration?” he asks, his eyelids falling heavy with desire as one hand reaches out and squeezes the tops of my thigh.

  “Mm-hmm.” The lazy friction mixed with his hands on me and his eyes a reflection of his own desire, is extremely arousing. Even more so is feeling comfortable to do this in front of him, the vulnerability of it only making it seem so much more.

  “First little victories and now inspiration?” His smile widens.

  “At your service,” I murmur and sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “Inspiration comes in so many different places.”

  “Like here?” he asks, and I suck in a breath when Hunter’s thumbs slide up and down the side of my sex. It’s a hint of touch, but I feel it in every nerve all the way to my toes. “Or here?” His fingers push my hand out of the way and part me so the cool night air hits my most intimate parts.

  Hunter looks up at me, a devilish grin on his lips and unmistakable desire in his eyes. They hold mine on the slow descent of his head between my thighs. “I’m thinking right here is an even better place.”

  And when his mouth touches me, when the warmth of his lips close over my clit, and then the heat of his tongue slides down its path to my core, when his fingers join the mix in an all-out sensual assault, all I can do is brace myself on the table behind me and let him find all the inspiration he needs.

  DEKKER

  HUNTER DANCES DOWN THE ICE like a man clawing his way out of hell.

  The clock counting down to the end of the game reads thirty seconds.

  He weaves around one defender, then the next.

  Twenty seconds.

  He chases down the opposition, the forward heading straight for the goal unopposed by any teammate.

  Ten seconds.

  He swings his stick back for the shot toward the open net. Katz had tripped getting back to defend his goal and this is do or die. The opposition scores, and we’re into overtime. They don’t, and the Jacks go to the finals.

  Five seconds.

  Hunter dives across the ice the same time the puck flies. His body blocks it—a visible punch to his abdomen when it hits.

  The buzzer sounds and LumberJacks Arena goes insane. The noise, the music, the cheering—they’re like a symphony of chaos that has never sounded more beautiful.

  But even better is the sight of Hunter being picked up by his teammates and celebrated. Tears blur my eyes and my heart soars into a dimension I never knew was possible.

  It takes a second for me to catch on to what the crowd is chanting. It starts low and then becomes the heartbeat of the arena. Mad-dox. Mad-dox.

  I think it takes even longer for the team on the ice to hear it because when they do, they slowly lower him to his feet, and one by one, they skate back a step and let Hunter have the limelight he hates.

  But something about the moment is so poignant to me. To see Hunter standing center ice looking around with an incredulity on his face I could never put words to, hearing it. Taking it in.