1

Mid April

Ugly and threadbare, the patchwork sofa had never really gone with anything in the apartment, but Sahara Dionne still missed the big old thing. Funny, because she’d once playfully complained about the comfy eyesore to one of her roommates, but she’d found a new love for the sofa when she’d learned about the sentiment attached to it. The new, pale blue loveseat taking its place didn’t have the same character.

Actually, the whole apartment felt empty.

You’re the last woman standing, Sahara.

She laughed at her own dry humor, but it was close enough to the truth. Akira had moved out months ago, but Jami had still considered this her home until yesterday. She was engaged, and there was no point to her staying here any longer.

Not that she’d been here often, but now the move was official. All her things were gone.

And Sahara was alone.

She walked around the apartment, all the rooms bright with their big windows, but one room was completely empty. She could set up an exercise room or something, but she simply closed the door so she wouldn’t have to think that far ahead yet. The kitchen looked the same; the girls hadn’t taken any dishes or furniture from there, so Sahara curled up on the window seat Scott Demyan, her closest male friend and one of the players for the Dartmouth Cobras, had made for them. The teddy bear he’d gotten her for Valentine’s day—because, as he pointed out, guys could get gifts for their fake girlfriends—sat on the gold cushion by the window. She hugged the bear and opened Facebook on her phone.

Putting up a status report that was all depressing wouldn’t be good; she had too many followers since she was the alternate captain for the Cobras’ Ice Girls, but people liked her being real. So she typed in a little happy face, choosing her words carefully.

Got the place all to myself! So happy for Akira and Jami, they deserve the best—I better get invites to the weddings! Lol! Being single is cool though. So many hot boys to play with. How does a girl decide…not that I’m in a rush! Did you see Pischlar’s new tattoo? She added the picture he’d let her take the last time she saw him at the Delgado Forum. A phoenix that looked like it was rising from melting flesh over his ribs. She could almost feel the heat of the fire even from the picture. In person the tattoo was…breathtaking.

She could say more, but she decided just to post the update. The likes came fast—her followers loved her posting stuff about the players. And making them happy gave her something to do. She grinned at the comments and replied as fast as she could. Chin resting on the head of the teddy bear, she read a longer post from a woman who was absolutely in love with Shawn Pischlar, one of the Cobras’ forwards. Apparently she’d gotten him to sign her arm and now the ink was permanent. She gave all the reasons why Pischlar was the ultimate fantasy boyfriend—and then suggested Sahara find someone else because Pischlar was hers.

I so have to get Pisch to look at this. He’ll find it funny. Sahara smiled as she checked her messages. Some from her cousins who wanted to know if she’d be in New York since the Cobras were playing the Islanders in the first round of the playoffs. Sahara told them she’d try, but the reminder of who the Cobras would be facing made it hard to keep up the happy front. Grant Higgins, her ex-boyfriend, played for the Islanders. The first game was tomorrow. In Dartmouth.

And there was a message from him. She clicked on it and held her breath as she read.

Grant: You doing okay, babe? You seem sad.

Sahara frowned and checked her status again. How had she seemed sad?

She shook her head and replied. I’m fine.

Grant: You’re not. I know things ended bad, and it’s my fault, but I still consider you a friend. Did you hear about my mom?

Sahara had liked Grant’s mother. The poor woman had died while volunteering overseas in Haiti as a teacher. When Sahara had first heard about her death, she’d been tempted to call Grant. But she was afraid. They were over, and she needed to make that clear.

She was careful as she typed her reply: I heard and I’m so sorry. She was a wonderful woman. But the team putting up a memorial for her was nice. It’s good that you have them.

No reply for a long time. She looked out the window, enjoying the view. This part of Nova Scotia, smack dab in the middle of Dartmouth, was nice. Not close to the ocean, but even looking out at the backyards with pools and freshly planted gardens was pleasant.

A ding and she glanced at her phone.

Grant: I miss you.

How to answer that without encouraging him? She bit the tip of her tongue. And wrote a quick response. We’re both doing better now, Grant.

Grant: I need to see you. Can I? I’m at the door, but I’ll go away if you want me to.

The knock at the door tripped up her heart. Her phone rang. Akira. She didn’t move and kept her voice low as she answered. “Hello?”

“Pischlar? Hell, your ‘fans’ might buy that, but we both know you’re not moving on with him. And if you’re even considering it, I’m going to kick your ass!”

Sahara let out a strained laugh. “I’ve had great scenes with him.” Another knock. She pressed her eyes shut. “Damn it, I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?” Akira let out a sharp “Hush!” to whoever was talking to her. “If the house is too quiet, come over here.”

“I have to get used to this. I’ll be okay, but…I think Grant’s at the door.”

“What? Grant—as in your ex? Damn it, Sahara, don’t you dare answer. I’m calling the cops—Cort, relax. I—”

“I’m fine, Akira!” Sahara rose off the window seat. Grant wasn’t banging hard or anything. She heard him speaking softly on the other side of the door, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying yet. “His mother just died. I can’t ignore him.”

“Yes, you can! Sahara, he hurt you!”

“I know that, but we had a messed-up relationship. You only know my side. And it’s not like I’m going to take him back.” Standing by the door, Sahara stared at the lock. She didn’t have to open the door. She really could ignore him. But she didn’t want to. She wasn’t that cruel. “Maybe we can be friends. Would be good since the Cobras are playing the Islanders. I can ask him to stop getting the boys riled up. Make it a clean game.”

“Fuck no. Sahara, listen to me.” Akira’s tone was soft. Gentle. Her words…not so much. “A man who hits a woman can never be a friend. Call the cops, or I will.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You don’t know why…” Sahara scowled as she put her hand on the lock. Her friends loved her, and she appreciated their concern, but she hated how easily they dismissed her responsibility for how the relationship had failed. “I have to let you go. I love you. And I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Hanging up, Sahara made up her mind and unlocked the door. Grant stood there, and… She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but he looked exactly the same as he had the day they’d met. That charming, boyish face, dirty blond hair badly in need of a trim only complementing his laid-back manner. He had a way of giving off the impression that he didn’t give a damn about anything, but you only had to check out his perfectly maintained body to know that wasn’t true. He was rugged and buff and so damn hot. He’d turned her head even though she’d grown up around enough hockey players for her to be used to big, muscular guys.

A dull ache in her chest made speaking difficult as he met her eyes with his dreamy, deep blue ones. How damn easy would it be to forget the horrible end of the relationship and just focus on the wonderful times they’d had? To forgive him for turning mean, then violent.

Don’t even fucking think about it, Sahara. Maybe she could forgive him, but she’d never forget what he’d done to her. She held the door just wide enough to talk to him, leaving no doubt that he wasn’t being welcomed inside.

“What are you doing here, Grant?” She bit down hard on her bottom lip, a lip he’d left swollen and bloody one too many times, and refused to feel bad as he shuffled his feet and dropped his gaze. “How did you find me?”

“Facebook.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. “Your location was on the message, so I figured you weren’t trying to hide. I saw your car out back… One of your neighbors told me which door was yours.”

“Yeah, because that’s not creepy or stalkerish.” Sahara frowned when he shrugged. “This is a bad idea. You have a game tomorrow and you should focus on that. I don’t want any trouble—”

Grant shook his head and brought his hands up, fast enough that she almost jumped back and slammed the door in his face, but he simply held them up in an “I’m harmless” gesture. “No trouble—and damn it, Sahara, I hate that you’re afraid of me. I have a horrible temper and I’ve been working on controlling it. I love you, and I understand that you can’t love me back, but my mother would want me to make things right with you. She’d be so ashamed of me if she knew…”

Well, he was right about that. Mrs. Higgins was—had been—the gentlest, most caring person Sahara had ever met. Losing her must have forced Grant to face all the mistakes he’d made, because he hadn’t accepted any blame before. Sure, he’d said he was sorry when he hurt her, but he’d always accused her of pissing him off to get a reaction.

And she’d been so blinded by love for him that she’d taken responsibility for each and every time he’d lifted a hand to her.

Never again.

But she’d give him a chance to make things right. To prove he was the man she’d fallen in love with, rather than the monster he became. “Is that all you want, Grant? Seriously? You’re fine just being friends?”

“That’s all I want.” Grant backed away from the door. “You’re right, coming here was…creepy. I just wasn’t sure if you’d meet me anywhere, but maybe we can have coffee sometime before the teams head to New York for the third round?”

“I guess so…” She pursed her lips, knowing if she waited too long, one of her friends would talk her out of giving him so much as the time of day. He’d clearly made progress, and she didn’t want to ruin that by turning him down. “What are you doing now?”