Page 24 of Sweet & Spicy

“Anne,” I said, forcing her to look at me. “The stuff he said in there, all the holier than thou stuff? It doesn’t touch you.”

She sighed, more tears falling as she reached up on her tiptoes and kissed me. Hard and fast enough to shift my thoughts completely. I held her against me, relishing her kiss, her touch, all thoughts and doubts forgotten.

I loved her.

She loved me.

That’s all that mattered in the end.

The memory left a sour taste in my mouth as I handed my keys over to the valet stationed outside the entrance of the VanDoren home.

It had mattered, in the end. Not that I blamed Anne. Not entirely. Her father had forced an impossible decision on her and she reacted the only way she knew how. We ended our relationship, knowing the battle with her father would be exhausting. I had just hoped we could’ve lived fighting it together, but that never happened.

I clutched the bright pink box painted with white magnolias in my hands, doing my best not to crush the pumpkin pie inside as I climbed the steps. I stopped on the last step, lingering on the massive porch while I tried my best to shove the horrible memory from my mind. It’d been a decade, surely her father couldn’t hate me still? I mean, we’d sacrificed what could’ve been a wonderful life together for his impossible standards.

And fuck him, it’s not like Anne’s life ended up going the way he wanted it to, now did it? She didn’t end up marrying one of his preferred finance douche bags that he approved of. She ended up marrying a string of even worse assholes that looked more like an act of revenge than it did an actual choice. She was here now, still trying to appease him. And yeah, there was still a lot I knew she wasn’t telling me, but that would come in time, right?

As friends, of course. Nothing more.

“It doesn’t matter how long you stall,” a male voice said from my right.

I jolted a little, not having noticed the guy leaning against one of the massive pillars to my right.

“They’ll still be waiting to eat you alive once you get inside,” he continued.

Oh shit, that was Cannon Price from the Carolina Reapers.

“Shouldn’t you be at a game?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t a cop be more perceptive of his surroundings?”

I laughed, nodding. “Touché.”

“I have an away game tomorrow,” he said.

“I was in my head,” I offered.

“Memories?”

I scrunched my brow, heading to stand next to him. “I’m guessing you were around some sister chatting?”

He shrugged. “A little.”

“Great.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

“Says the guy who was accepted into the family with open arms.”

“Who the fuck told you that story?” Cannon asked, laughing. “It was more like a battle I had to fight to prove myself and hell, I still don’t feel worthy of my wife, but she’s sure as hell worth the fight.”

I blew out a breath. “Not that I’m fighting for my spot or anything, but if a multi-millionaire pro-hockey player struggled for approval, I sure as hell don’t stand a chance.”

Cannon shook his head and clapped me on the back. “One thing I’ve learned these last couple months is that it’s not the money. It may look like that on the surface, but it’s not.”

I didn’t believe him, but he was trying to be nice so I didn’t voice that out loud.

“Did you win last night?” I asked. “I missed the game.”

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