Page 25 of Dancing in the Rain

His teeth ground together, his chest burned, and his throat ached. His muscles tightened to the point of pain. He pushed up off the couch and trudged over to the fridge for another brew.

What the hell was he going to do?

He looked around his empty house as he chugged back the malt beverage, letting the fizz burn its way down his esophagus. He needed to do something. Make some goddamn decisions. But just the thought of it overwhelmed him. Paralyzed him.

For the past twenty-four years of his life, he’d played hockey. Hockey had been his life. For the past twenty-four years, his coaches had told him what to do. What to eat and drink, when to sleep, what he needed to work on or practice more. He’d listened to them, followed their advice, played hard.

He’d had an agent who’d also told him what to do. A lawyer and a financial adviser. A fitness director, athletic therapists, team doctors. There’d always been someone there for him.

Now he had nothing. No one telling him what to do. No routine. No friends in the dressing room giving him shit or making him laugh. For the first time in his life…he had no one.

Feeling lower than a snake’s belly in a wheel rut, he drained the beer, clinked the bottle down onto the marble counter along with the others, and yanked open the fridge to get another. He carried that back over to the couch where he threw himself down and grabbed the remote for the TV.

Not that he even wanted to watch TV, but the fucking silence in the house was making him nuts.

He tried to ignore the bleak, helpless feeling that tightened his chest as he surfed through a gazillion channels. The hopeless feeling that nothing was ever going to be right again, a dark, creeping feeling of doom that clawed at his insides.

He should have had the first knee surgery sooner. Years ago when it started bothering him. They’d told him…warned him…he’d been an idiot, invincible and determined to keep going. When he’d finally had the first surgery, it had helped. But not for long. Two more surgeries and he’d finally had to accept that his knee was fucked and he was in too much pain to play. His game was suffering and he wasn’t helping the team. That was the worst part…letting his team down.

Fuck.

He slumped down into the couch and drank more beer, watchingDie Hardfor about the hundredth time.

The sharp peal of his doorbell startled him. His head jerked up. Shit. Who was at his door? It better not be someone trying to save his soul, because with the mood he was in, he was pretty sure he was beyond redemption. Hey, maybe he’d strip down and answer the door naked. That would scare them away.

Genius idea. He stood and whipped his T-shirt over his head, shoved down the athletic shorts he wore with no underwear, and headed to the door, leaving his clothes crumpled on the rug. Seeing the look on their faces would be the highlight of his shitty week. It actually made him grin.

He yanked open his front door, ready for their shock…but his own mouth dropped open at seeing Peyton Watt standing there.

His grin faded.

Her eyes went huge.

Her gaze tracked down his naked body all the way to his toes and back up. She met his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?” Her head moved from side to side in disbelief.

“Fuck me.” He closed his eyes.

“No, thank you.” She strode past him. “Clearly you were expecting someone else, if that’s what you want. Sorry if I’m interrupting other plans.”

He stepped aside and moved behind the door, poking his head around it. Christ. “I wasn’t expecting anyone,” he growled. “I thought you were some Jehovah’s Witnesses here to tell me about salvation.”

She whirled around and stared at him. “Seriously? You answered the door naked, thinking it was Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

She gaped at him then burst out laughing.

Drew’s jaw went slack, watching her. She stood on his shiny bamboo floor, the sun turning her blond hair to a glowing halo. She wore skinny jeans, red Converse, a flowy red and navy top with short sleeves, and she held the handle of her big purse in both hands in front of her thighs. Her face lit up with mirth was so incredibly beautiful he could only stare in awe, and her laughter was captivating.

He found his lips twitching in response.

“Oh, my God.” She dropped her head forward briefly. “Can you imagine?”

“Uh…”

She bit her bottom lip and looked back at him, eyes gleaming. For some reason she wasn’t freaked out by his nudity, and he found that fascinating. He wasn’t freaked out by nudity, either, usually; he was used to walking around dressing rooms and showers naked all the damn time. However, he wasn’t a jerk.

“I should get dressed,” he said, not moving.

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