Page 4 of Dirty Groom (Slayers Hockey 7)

The name I gave him a year ago cracks like thunder through the gently falling flurries and sets loose a panic-laced giggle within me as I fumble my keys. There is nothing funny about this.

It’s never supposed to be him.

What’s he doing here?

Why now?

I manage the lock and get on the far side of the security door, but before I can push it shut behind me, he’s there, eyes hard as they meet mine through the glass. His hands are on the metal bar on the other side. He could push once and he’d be through, but instead he holds steady.

“Jane, come on. You can’t hide in there forever. I’ll wait you out. But I’m not leaving until we talk.”

I didn’t see my sister’s car when I pulled up, but she could show up anytime, and if Diesel—Yes, that Diesel, the one I won’t talk about—is here when she does, she’ll start pumping him for the answers I won’t give her.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” I plead, but before the words are even out of my mouth, I know they were the wrong ones to say.

One dark brow pushes up. “So, youknowI’ve got nothing better to do than wait for you.”

I do.

I’ve spent more than a few moments thinking about him these past few weeks. Wondering how he’d spend the holiday. Where he’d be.

If he’d be alone or find another—

Enough.

Frustrated with myself as much as I am him, I shove off the door with a growl.

It’s invitation enough for him to follow me up the narrow stairwell to the second floor.

I unlock the apartment and, after double-checking Misty isn’t home, give him an impatient wave inside.

He steps past me, his giant body making me blink twice. I knew he was a big guy in Vegas. Tall with broad shoulders and a built frame. But everything is larger than life there, so it takes seeing him step into the space of my real life to register just howbighe really is.

“Diesel, what are you doing here?”

This is so bad.

He reaches for me then, and my belly dips as those long, thick fingers wrap around the strap of my bag to pull me closer.

“Too much to want to say hello to my wife? Happy anniversary, baby.” He lifts the bag from over my shoulder. “Let’s talk divorce.”

* * *

Liam

She grabsher bag out of my hand with a scowl and spins on her heel for the back of the apartment.

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to handle it, but I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not myself. The look on her face when she saw me— fuck, that stung.

And then the whole darting into her building like she was about to escape. It wasn’t like I was expecting her to rush into my arms and tell me I was her hero. That she’d thought about me. Butdamn.

I run my hand over my mouth and blow out a controlled breath before following her back to what I’m guessing is her bedroom. She’s dumped the contents of her bag on the comforter.

“We had an agreement. A deal,” she says, not looking at me even though I can’t take my eyes off her.

Her hair is longer than it was, the dark, soft waves spilling over her camel overcoat. Her cheeks are a pale pink from the cold or maybe from seeing me.

She’s wearing a suit skirt and silk blouse, and despite the panic in her eyes, she looks professional and polished. She’s beautiful… And like I’m the dead last person she wants to see standing in her doorway.

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