"Something about you just makes me hard as hell."
“God, it’s been a terrible idea the whole time, hasn’t it? What are we even doing?” His smile is slow, but it carries a promise behind it—absolute, unspeakable joy. “Falling in love.”
For Minnesota Glaciers captain Scott Walters, skating on a bum knee—and self-medicating to keep skating on it—is all part of the game. That the painkillers he's eating prevent him from having meaningful relationships is just one more sacrifice in a lifetime of them. He's worked too hard to let his image be ruined by injury or dependency, so he hides the pain and fakes the rest—a girlfriend would only complicate matters.
High school teacher Rachel Fielding never needed a man in her life, but she also never intended to grow old alone. When she meets Scott while visiting her brother, she's intrigued to find herself wanting him in her bed. For hours at a time, as often as possible. Scott is a giver, and just the memory of his attentions is enough to drive her crazy. Anything long-term is out of the question, though—the pills she finds in Scott's house indicate he's struggling with a lot more than growing older in a young man's game.
When what starts out as a what-the-hell week long fling turns into Scott and Rachel exploring each other outside the bedroom, Rachel hesitates. But Scott asks for her support to break his addiction, and hearing him admit his secrets has her ignoring her own rules—until he breaks her heart. With the Glaciers refusing to renew his contract and his future with Rachel uncertain, Scott has some big decisions to make and a lot to prove—especially to himself.
“Don’t Look Back in Anger”
In one night, I lost five years of my life. Here’s what I know …
I was homeless.
I’m a recovering drug addict.
My inked skin crawls from lustful eyes.
I have a serious aversion to women.
My gay partner is a home wrecker.
I own a gun and I’m a damn good shot.
I’m a makeup artist, but it’s an insult to my talent.
I’ve never wanted to possess anything except my Ducati … until I met Darby.
Now here’s what I know since that day in the ER when she pieced me back together … nothing—but a few random thoughts.
My new “friend” is distracting, clingy, and obsessed with acronyms, emojis, and phrases like “breakfast soul mates.”
I didn’t want to like her, but she crawled under my skin and swallowed me whole. Now we’re best friends and she’s my new addiction. I'd drink her from a shot glass, snort her up my nose, or inject her into my veins if I could. What I won’t do … is ever tell her that.
She doesn’t know me … I don’t know me. When those missing years come back, I think she will hate me … I think I will hate me.
My parents named me Patrick Roth, and this is my story.
