Page 153 of Breakaway Hearts

Shawn turns to me before joining them, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Really great game tonight, man. Sorry about that hit on the ice.” He smirks. “Hope your ribs feel better.”

I clench my jaw and resist every urge in my body that’s screaming at me to knock his lights out. Just like he’s good at keeping the refs from seeing his dirty plays, he’s good at keeping the cameras from seeing anything he doesn’t want them to see. He’s more than happy to get into fights if he thinks it’ll help ratings, but he’s also cultivated and curated his persona on his reality show as that of a roguishly charming bad boy—instead of the absolute piece of shit he truly is.

Fucking asshole.

I hear him talking to the camera crew as they walk off, boasting loudly about how healmostwon the game. I swear, the dude’s practically jerking himself off on national television. They disappear back the way they came, someone holding a boom aloft as one of the cameramen films what they’ll probably use as B-roll footage of him walking down the street.

As he saunters off with his dick in his hand, I realize that there’s one person I didn’t see go with him—not that he seems to have noticed.

Becca.

A quiet noise draws my attention as soon as I have that thought, and I turn to see her facing the brick wall of the building to my left. Her back shakes, and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

Shit.Why is she still with that dickhead of a boyfriend? Part of me wants to go whip his head around on his shoulders, but a bigger part of me is compelled to comfort the crying woman in front of me.

“Hey,” I say as gently as I can, stepping toward her. “Are you alright?”

She wipes her face quickly and turns to face me, but I can still see the tears clouding her eyes.

Fuck, she has gorgeous eyes. Light brown, flecked with gold bits that shine like reflected sunlight.

And I hate to see her crying. Absolutely despise it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, putting on a smile so bright that I could almost believe it.Almost. I wonder if she wears that fake smile often, and I wonder if it's meant to fool Shawn… or herself.

“You sure?” I narrow my eyes. “I heard what he was saying to you.”

“Oh.” Her face falls a little, a hint of a blush coloring her cheeks, as if she’s the one who’s embarrassed when it should be Kaplan who’s drowning in shame for having the audacity to talk to her like that in the first place. “He’s just trying to help. People on the internet can be really cruel, so he’s just trying to help me avoid that?”

“What? By saying all the mean shit they might write about you directly to your face?” I scowl. “How the hell is that better?”

She huffs a laugh, her lips twisting up at the corners in a tiny smile. “I don’t know. But at least he means well. The people who watch his show don’t always like me, so I guess it’s just his way of being protective.”

That still sounds like bullshit to me, and I’m about to tell her so. But before I can, her smile widens, turning more genuine than it was a second ago.

“You really did play a great game out there tonight,” she tells me, her gold-flecked brown eyes shining. “That deke on your first goal? God, it was mind-blowing.”

“Deke?” I raise an eyebrow, grinning. “You really know your hockey, huh?”

“Yeah. I was a big fan even before I started dating Shawn.” She shuffles her feet and looks down at the pavement. Her voice drops low, so quiet I almost can’t hear it as she adds, “I was actually an Aces fan.”

“What was that?” I cock my head, even though I know exactly what she said. I just want to hear it again. “I didn’t quite catch that last part. Could you say it again?”

She looks up at me, full-on grinning now.

“I was an Aces fan,” she admits. Louder. More confident. I fucking love it.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” I cross my arms and lean backward, taking her in with an exaggerated look as if I’m seeing her in a whole new light. Damn, she’d look great in an Aces jersey. Any size, shape, with my number on her back, cheering us on like there’s no tomorrow. “Any chance we can win you back to our side?”

She laughs, and the sound seems to hang in the air for a second. It’s light and airy and almost as arresting as her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “Shawn’s fans would definitely hate me if I started rooting for the Aces. But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate incredible game play when I see it.”

“I’ll take that,” I tell her, part of me hoping that her words mean she still secretly roots for us. “I’m glad you had fun at the game.”

“I always do.” She tilts her head, looking a bit nostalgic. “It’s my favorite sport, besides dance. Although in some ways, hockey reminds me of dancing.”

“Dance?”

---