“I know.”

  “You know, you still haven’t seen my new place. You could drop by with a bottle of wine, or something.”

  A smile tipped his lips. “Yeah, I got you, Sash. Call you later.”

  I could only watch as Fox lumbered to his car. I hoped he would be ok. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could watch the disappointment sink into him. I hoped that something happened for him soon. He deserved it.

  Without Fox, my choices were to either go home or to the office. Before I even pondered my options, I knew where I was going. The office, because the longer I could put off the impending confrontation with Ryan, the better.

  2

  Sasha

  I could only avoid going home for so long. It was after 8 o’clock, and there was barely anyone on the news floor. I loved my internship at TVN and I knew how lucky I was to have it. So many other students had been declined. I still wasn’t sure how I got accepted, but I was making the most of it.

  My mentor, Ida Bailey, spotted me at my desk. “Hey Sasha, I’m glad to still find you here. Do you have a sec to talk about your proposal?”

  I loved that Ida hadn’t questioned me about being there so late. Long after most of the other interns and experienced news crew had cleared out, I could usually be found at my desk.

  “Sure,” I replied, feeling pleased.

  “So far, what I’ve seen looks great. Let’s talk in more detail in the morning, okay? I want you to come prepped with the sources you want to use, and the research you’ve already compiled. At this point, though, I’m very satisfied. You could really spread your wings, here. Make an impact.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “Well then, you should head on out for the night. Don’t you have a boyfriend to go home to?”

  The question made my gut curl in on itself. “Uh, yeah, I was just packing up my things.”

  Maybe I could track Fox down and help him drown his sorrows. Right now, that was a far more appealing prospect than going home. I checked the clock again; it was 8:30. I couldn’t avoid it forever, but right now I had work to do. That story proposal was my ticket to my future.

  Fox

  * * *

  Shit, I was drunk. At this point, I was no longer looking at the line items on my tab. The more I drank, the more I kicked myself for not having chosen the college track. I was twenty-one. I would have been in my junior or senior year by now. College hockey wasn’t as nationally prominent as college football or basketball, but I would have had broader exposure. Not to mention an education that would have left me with a degree to fall back on.

  As it was, I would only be able to stick it out a few more years in the minor leagues before any chance at the majors would vanish. How long had it been since any of the teams had called up anyone over the age of twenty-five who wasn’t just playing in the minors as part of an injury-recovery stint?

  There were only four years between me and the point at which I’d effectively be washed up. And worse than a has-been, I’d be a never-has-been-and-never-will-be. After twenty-five, how many years would I even be allowed to remain in the minor leagues? I’d need to find something else to do.

  As if there was anything for me outside of playing hockey. If I didn’t make it or come up with an alternative plan, I’d have to cave and rely on my trust fund for everything until I could figure my life out. There wasn’t enough money in the fund for me to live off of it indefinitely. Even the Coulter name didn’t come with unlimited funds. The millions would run out eventually. Then what will you do?

  So far my father hadn’t extended an offer for me to work for Legacy Sports, the family’s sports equipment retail company. Bryce had been invited following his knee injury, but had vehemently rebelled against being encouraged in that direction. Echo had spent time working for the company, coordinating their charity efforts, before she, too, quit with an unexpected flourish. Dax hadn’t done anything in the company’s administration, but the store had been able to capitalize on his popularity as an NFL player.

  What did it say that my father hadn’t even bothered to ask me about joining the company and keeping things in the family? Not that I would accept if the old man ever did make such an offer. I had zero interest in being stuck in a boardroom or learning what to do about missed shipments, vendor relations, or managing any sort of staff.

  But given my father’s recent health concerns, there had been more talk about the company’s future, should he need to take time off or retire altogether. And to the best of my knowledge, my name was never a part of any discussion.

  The answers I came up with only drove me to drink more.

  If things didn’t change quickly, I’d be up a creek with no paddle. It might be time to sit down with my unofficial career consultant.

  I smiled to myself. Sasha Tenison had been as much a fixture in my life as hockey was. Our grandfathers had played football together, and our families had been close ever since. She’d been a whiz in school and had saved my academic ass more than once. Although she liked to point out that I understood things best when I read the assignments on time. I just didn’t have the time or inclination for those kinds of homework assignments. Hockey practices and games held most of my focus.

  It was all well and good for Sasha. She’d wanted to be in journalism and had been one of the anchors for their high school’s morning announcements. She’d even been on local San Diego television.

  We’d been like oil and water, but as thick as thieves in spite of that fact. No matter what, she was always there for me. And I was there for her. It’s just how it was. Things had been strained lately because of her boyfriend, but the guy was a douche and I was just waiting for the day I needed to turn up at her place with wine, a tub of ice-cream, and cheesy sci-fi movies. Ryan was temporary; I was forever.

  The evening had long ago reached a point where the bartender asked for my car keys, leaving me with limited mobility. I could call a cab, but imagining the look on my parents’ faces when I rolled home lacked a certain appeal.

  My friends would be equally shitfaced by this time, and had likely figured out that I wouldn’t be joining them as the preseason began. Depending on how much they had drunk, they would either be overly sympathetic and reassuring, or they would give me a good ribbing over the whole thing. I wasn’t sufficiently in control of my limbs to feel confident of being able to withstand either treatment without taking a swing at someone.

  It took a few minutes for me to figure out if I knew of anyone else in the area who might be willing to let me crash on their couch until I sobered up. Maybe I just had Sasha on my mind, but a part of me wanted to see her. Because you’re a glutton for punishment. No. We were friends. It was just Sasha. We’d been friends forever. I sucked at trying to convince myself I didn’t have it bad for her. Usually, I didn’t care too much who she dated. But this last asshole—it required all of my strength not to flatten the dude.

  My fingers refused to cooperate as I navigated to the favorites on my contact list. She didn’t answer, but I could find her place. It wasn’t far. I’d just never done it wasted before. But likely that was because she’d moved there only two months ago. A drunken visit was inevitable. But what would Ryan think? Shit. Dude was not a fan. And as much as I hated him, I didn’t want to make problems for Sasha.

  But fuck it. I should have taken her up on her offer to go drinking. I ordered a bottle of vodka to go. After all, I would need a proper can-I-crash-on-your-couch gift. And Ryan was more likely to not give Sasha grief about me showing up if I brought liquor. At least, I hoped so. Because as alarming as it was to think about, I had nowhere else to go.

  3

  Sasha

  I rubbed my temples as I tried desperately not to throw something.

  “Is it so bad that I want to spend more time with my girlfriend?”

  I dragged in a deep breath and prayed for calm. “No, it’s not a bad thing, but it would be nice if just once you supported me.”

  Moving in with my boyfriend was supposed to help our relationship. Ryan had been complaining about how much time I spent working at my internship, on my classwork, and at the restaurant.

  “I do support you. I just didn’t expect you to take me for granted.”

  I took a deep breath and then another. Take him for granted. Take him for—I was pretty sure he didn't know what the hell that meant.

  “You mean like the several times I’ve covered for you at work when you’ve been too hungover to go in? Or the times you’ve left your wallet and asked me to go fetch it between class and work and the restaurant just so you didn’t have to leave work? Or the times I make you dinner and you don't even bother to call and let me know that you’re going out with your friends?”

  “Shit, are you seriously still mad about that? It happened a couple of times.”

  I threw up my hands. “It’s happened twice this week alone.”

  This was an old argument. He’d been complaining since the beginning of our relationship that I didn’t make enough time for him. So when he floated the idea of moving in together, I’d jumped at the chance, believing it would help the situation. More like help me need therapy.

  How could he complain we weren’t together enough if we were sharing a bed every night, and eating breakfast together? If I sat next to him on the couch most evenings while I studied for my exams and he watched his reality TV shows? Apparently, Ryan was going for a medal in complaining.

  Somehow, being around each other so much had only made Ryan’s complaining and jealousy worse, and I had run out of energy and patience to deal with him.

  “You’re at the news studio more than I am, and I work there full time,” he yelled at me.

  I refrained from pointing out that my internship in story development, with the promise of researching, writing, and filming my own segments, was a higher level than the editing booth. Ryan helped record the journalists’ voiceovers and spliced them together for the video editors to sync up with the final cut of the story. One-upping him would not be helpful.

  “There’s no way you should be there so much unless there’s something else that’s keeping you there,” Ryan said with growing indignation. “Or maybe I should say…someone.”

  I blinked at him. Then blinked again. “Someone?” I repeated, his implication sinking in and feeding the fury in my chest. “Yes. There’s someone keeping me there—me. I keep myself there. This internship is everything I’ve wanted to do with my life. If I stick with it and put as much of myself into it as I can, then I could make my career. If my internship goes well enough, they could hire me full time when I graduate. Do you not appreciate how important that is or why I might be so dedicated to my work?”

  “You don’t need to have your master’s degree to work there,” Ryan emphasized. “I don’t. You could already be working there full-time and getting paid for it.”

  “I pay my own way around here, and don’t you forget it,” I spat back at him.

  “Yeah, by waiting tables and working even more hours when you could be doing something more worthwhile with your time.”

  “You mean waiting on you, instead? Is that what you want me around here for? So you don’t have to do your own laundry or cook your own meals? Newsflash, Ryan, that wasn’t going to happen anyway. I’m not your mother or your babysitter. It’s not my job to take care of you.”

  His face went red, and a twitch above his right eye appeared, making his brow leap spastically.

  “Or are you more worried about how it looks to have me working there more hours and so much harder than you do? You just don’t like the fact that your intern girlfriend is making you look, what…lazy? Unaccomplished?” Oh, shit. Too late to call that back.

  He glared at me. “I think you’re using your pretty face and ass to make me look like the fool who can’t see when he’s being cheated on,” Ryan sneered.

  My palms itched at my sides with the urge, the need, to slap him. Instead I gritted my teeth. That was not going to solve my problem, no matter how satisfying it might be. And in a physical confrontation, I was at a distinct disadvantage. He’d never touched me like that, but he liked to use his size to crowd and intimidate me sometimes. I might be fit, but he still weighed more than I did and was taller. I wasn’t sure if I was quicker, but I didn’t want to have to find out.

  “Get out,” I said with quiet force. “We’re done. I want you out of my apartment.”

  “It’s our apartment,” Ryan reminded me.

  “It’s my name on the lease. I will call the cops and have you removed if I have to. I am done with your paranoia. I’m done with your whining and with your self-centered…assholery.” I swept around the room and picked up his scattered things off the coffee table and the counter and the sofa, throwing them into a pile for him to take. His sweatshirt, an orphaned sock, the empty case to one of his video games. I ushered him toward the door.

  “It’s McAllister, isn’t it?” Ryan sneered, as he made no move to retrieve his things. “He’s always staring at your tits. He’d probably promote you to the anchor desk if you gave him a blowjob. Or maybe you have. Maybe he’s holding out for more. You know, you really don’t have to work as hard as you pretend to. You could easily leverage that face of yours into a career.”

  “That’s all I’ve ever been to you, isn’t it? A pretty face you could parade around the office and piss on to show I was yours,” I said, fighting the lump in my throat. “You never actually cared about me at all. You just wanted to make sure no one else had me. Well you can fuck off. I’m done stroking your ego and your limp dick. You can go back to stroking it for yourself. Lord knows, you’re more than capable.”

  “Guess you’ve found someone else’s ego to stroke.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “You should really stop talking now,” I advised as I went to answer it.

  “I’m only just starting, babe,” he called back.

  I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath before I pulled the door open. Fox fell into the apartment, a bottle of vodka rolling across the floor and into the kitchen.

  “Whoa,” he said, chuckling as he pushed himself onto his knees. I reached down and took hold of his arm to help pull him up. “Sorry about that,” he slurred. “Thought it was the wall I was leaning against.”

  “Fox? What are you doing here?” I asked, confused and embarrassed. Of course my best friend would show up here, just as I was breaking up with Ryan.

  “As you can see, I’m drunk.” He swayed a little. “Any chance you can let your loser of a bestie crash on your couch? I even brought vodka.” Fox dropped back to his knees to search for the wayward bottle.

  “I knew it. You’ve been fucking Fox behind my back, then?” Ryan accused.

  Though Fox was preoccupied when Ryan said it, I noticed that he perked up when the words sank in. “What the fuck? Have you lost your mind, dude?” he asked, reaching for the wall and pulling himself to his feet again.

  “Fox, leave it,” I interjected. “Ryan was just leaving—weren’t you, Ryan?”

  “The hell I am,” he insisted. “I live here, and I’m not about to walk out so you can turn around and fuck your friend just to get back at me.”

  “I’ve already told you, Ryan, I’m done with you. Dumping you, breaking up with you, kicking you to the curb. Pick one.” I added, “If you don’t want to pack your things now, I can do it and leave them for you to pick up later. In the meantime, just get out!”

  But Ryan ignored me and focused entirely on Fox, who was blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision.

  “I know what you’ve been up to,” Ryan said slowly to Fox. “Behind my back. I should have known better than to trust you. No way you two were just friends. Sasha’s always talking about you. I knew something was up.” He sneered. “A fucking Coulter. But you’re not one of the famous ones, are you? Is this what you’re doing, instead? Going after other guys’ girls with your…stick? You know,” he said, turning to me again, “you’ll be needing a sugar daddy to help you pay the rent on this place without me. Maybe you should start your interviews with this one, here.”

  Fox looked Ryan up and down, then leaned to the side to eye me. “How did you decide on this prick, again?”

  “I’m a better choice than a has-been.” Ryan grabbed hold of my arm and gripped tight.

  I winced. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  “You’re seriously fucking this loser? I have fucking given you every—”

  But he didn't get to finish. One second he was getting in my face and gripping me so tightly I was sure he was going to leave bruises, and the next I was free and he was staggering back and howling in pain.

  As a goalie, I’d rarely seen Fox engage in the fistfights that were as much a part of hockey as the ice the players skated on, but even falling-down drunk he had better technique and aim than Ryan did.

  The first hit made Ryan double over. Ryan swung wildly, just grazing Fox’s cheek. Fox’s second hit, though--that was the money shot. Fox didn’t hit him hard enough to break his nose, but there was enough power behind it to make blood pour over Ryan’s lip and into his mouth, staining his teeth and chin. Ryan groaned and clutched his hands to his face. “Son of a bitch! I should sue you for this!”

  “No one’s suing anyone, Ryan,” I said, stepping between the two of them. “Now get the hell out of my apartment. I’ll pack your things and leave the boxes outside the door for you to pick up later. Let me get you a cloth for your nose and then you can be on your way. I’m sure Jeff will let you crash with him until you find a place of your own.”

  I didn’t even leave the entryway. Instead, I reached through the pass-through window into the kitchen and grabbed a dishrag off the faucet, holding it for Ryan to press to his nose.