the stereotypes I’d pigeonholed him into, that wasn’t it. He was a man who played hard, loved hard, and lived life to the fullest. I’d been privileged to experience his brand of living life for seven months.
“Goodbye, Kaden,” I whispered into the dark night as the light turned green. Accelerating down the block, I steered my compact car onto the northbound freeway, having no idea where I was going, only that my heart was breaking.
Kaden and I had the beginnings of something special, but I’d never find out how special. All I had were my memories to keep me warm at night. My life didn’t allow for relationships or friendships. Only fear and constant looking over my shoulder.
Kaden was better off without me, but I’d never forget him and the joy he brought into my dark life.
Chapter One
Have To Find Her
I leaped out of my car and hurried down the sidewalk to intercept the woman in front of me, certain it was Lanie. My heart squeezed so hard pain shot through me. I gripped my car keys, fearing for a moment I was having a heart attack.
More like a broken heart attack.
The object of my attention stopped at the corner, oblivious to my distress. She turned her head slightly and everything within me sank to the depths of despair once again.
It wasn’t her.
Of course it wasn’t her. She was gone, disappearing into the wind as if she never existed except in the memories imprinted on my heart and my soul.
Not only was my career teetering precariously on the edge of a precipice but I was seeing things. Yeah, seriously, seeing things. I was seeing things I wanted to see, and I hated myself for being such a wuss.
She’d left me without the courtesy of a goodbye note or text or even a fuck you.
Nothing.
Three weeks ago, she’d disappeared into the ether. My inability to handle her disappearance had landed me in a precarious position with my team, a position no rookie could afford to be in. We were all expendable, even the biggest superstar, a status that I didn’t qualify for.
I was a good player with the talent to become one of the best defenders in the league, if I still had a job after the stunt I’d pulled. And all over a broken heart. Any professional athlete knew you separated your personal life from your professional life. I’d let my personal woes override my professional responsibilities. I still wasn’t certain what price I’d be forced to pay.
My one joy right now was cooking, and I’d had to increase my workout regimen to keep from putting on weight. I loved to cook, always had. I’d grown up in a rambunctious family with two working parents. I’d learned early in life, if I wanted to eat something beyond meat and potatoes, I’d need to cook it myself. My sibs tolerated my early attempts at cooking and were coerced into being my guinea pigs, which they still bitched about to this day.
Life was not working out the way I’d imagined, and I discovered I had less control over things than I’d once arrogantly assumed. I’d cast myself as a high-profile celebrity athlete with a movie star on my arm and loads of money in the bank. I was a materialistic guy, and I wasn’t ashamed of it.
This season was my first step in that direction. I was a defenseman from Detroit, six foot two, and 210 pounds of pure muscle. I got invited to rookie camp for the Seattle Sockeyes and made the team on the second line. I was on my way to fame and fortune, or so I thought.
I’ve always been sure of myself and knew where I was going and what I wanted.
Until now.
My first season in the big leagues and I’d fucked up hugely. Now my future was one big black hole. My vision of fame and fortune was seriously in jeopardy.
I hadn’t spoken with the team since I’d been suspended, along with two teammates, for instigating a drunken brawl in a local Seattle bar. My agent had reached out to them multiple times, but the GM refused to discuss my future with the team until after the playoffs, which had ended a week ago. Yet we’d heard crickets.
It wasn’t a good sign.
Now I was ready to face further punishment for my stupidity and to look for her—the woman whose disappearance pushed me over the edge.
I’d reached two conclusions during these three weeks of exile. One, I was