30
Kennedy
There was a copy of the new issue of Men’s Advantage on my desk. I noticed it right away as I stepped into my office straight from the airport with my bag in one hand and a takeout coffee in the other. The magazines weren’t supposed to hit the stands until tomorrow.
I put my things down and glanced at it, excitement bubbling in my stomach. Whoever had left it there—Cory, probably—had placed it face down.
The office had been buzzing about the upcoming release for weeks. It was a big deal, not just for the athletes but for everyone involved. The campaign’s focus on overall health and well-being was the kind of information everyone could benefit from.
I picked up the cup again and took another long sip. It was already half gone, and my second of the day. I debated a third, but Sammy would scold me, and she wouldn’t be wrong. My coffee habit was starting to spiral out of control.
That thought reminded me of the last time we’d talked. I’d told her I was thinking about moving in with Nash once I got back to New York, and she’d just laughed and said she knew it was coming.
The memory made me smile. I couldn’t wait to go back, even if just for a visit right now.
I sat down at my desk and took a steadying breath, assuming Cory had placed the magazine face down because Nash was on the cover. He hadn’t mentioned it, but why else would Cory bother to hide it?
The second I turned it over, my breath caught.
I was right. Nash’s deep-green eyes stared up at me, sultry and sharp beneath those thick, dark lashes.
The self-confident signature smirk curved his lips.
There was a shadow of stubble across his strong jaw, his dark curls wild and untamed, and his deliciously bare chest stretched across the cover in all its glory.
“Shit,” I whispered.
Nash stood facing the camera, but his body was angled so his right shoulder was front and center.
His skin was tanned, the pose showing off every inch of him.
The way he gripped the hockey stick highlighted the bulging muscles of his arms and shoulders, the expanse of his chest, the ridges and valleys of his abdomen.
Yeah, he looked absolutely mouth-watering.
I missed him so much it hurt. Missed the way he looked at me, the way his eyes softened when they met mine. The solid strength of his arms when he held me. How perfectly we fit together, like two pieces of the same puzzle. I missed the way we loved each other.
I glanced at my phone, doing a quick calculation of the time difference.
It was about eleven in New York, so Nash would be on the ice.
There’d be no point in calling. With a little sigh, I slid the magazine into my bag.
I’d look at it once I got back to the hotel.
That way I could stare at the pictures and drool over him as much as I wanted without anyone knowing.
I giggled to myself as I waited for the laptop to boot up.
“Hey, Kennedy.” Cory’s head popped around the corner, a wide grin on his face.
“Hey. Thanks for the magazine, I can’t wait to read it.” I smiled back.
“Pfft.” He snorted, waving me off. “Forget reading. The pictures were all I needed. Damn, that man of yours is hot.”
I burst out laughing as Cory pretended to fan himself.
“I know,” I said, blushing and unable to wipe the grin from my face.
“Yeah, well, you better make sure everyone else knows he’s your man. People are gonna go crazy when that magazine drops.”
He wasn’t wrong. I suspected Nash’s popularity was about to skyrocket, and I hadn’t even made it past the cover yet.
I changed the subject and asked Cory about the supplies that were scheduled to come in this week.
“They’re supposed to arrive this afternoon,” he said. “I told the team to just put everything in the office with the rest of the items.”
“Okay. That works, but it’s getting crowded. We may need another location soon.”
“I’ll ask around, see if we can find one.”
“Thanks, Cory.”
When five o’clock rolled around, I packed up and left, which was very unusual for me. I rarely walked out on time, but I’d rather put in a few hours back at the extended-stay hotel I’d been living in since I arrived in LA than stay late at the office.
I made a quick grocery stop, grabbing some fresh fruit, vegetables, and a couple of easy dinners.
My room was set up more like a studio apartment than a hotel room with a narrow kitchenette, a couch, and a bed separated by a small partition.
Once I got back, I changed into a T-shirt and leggings, curled up on the uncomfortable couch, and finally pulled out the magazine.
I took my time with it. The feature was well written, and I was relieved to see it did Nash justice.
He came across as smart, grounded, and genuinely likable.
He talked about how sports had always been a part of his life, how he’d tried just about everything before finally falling in love with hockey.
There was even a part where he mentioned shooting hoops and kicking a soccer ball around with his brother—and me and my brother—in the cul-de-sac where we’d all grown up.
The pictures were exactly what Cory had said: drool-worthy.
Heat rose in my cheeks, and I couldn’t help but swoon as I lingered over them.
I knew that body intimately, and damn . .
. the photos almost did him justice. Almost. Nash truly was the perfect man, inside and out, and I missed him more than I’d thought possible.
I really hoped this would help get his confidence and his career back on track.
I picked up my phone and pressed Nash’s number. I couldn’t wait any longer; I needed to hear his voice. It was late, so he should definitely be home by now. The line rang a few times before someone picked up.
“Hello?”
“Um . . .”
That was weird. The voice was female. Definitely not Nash’s.
“Hello?” she said again, her tone breathless, like she’d just been running.
What was going on? Who was this? Had I dialed the wrong number? I had to have. I must have.
My hand shook slightly as I yanked the phone from my ear and looked at the screen. There was no mistake. His name was right there: Nash.
“Hi,” I started, but then I stopped, swallowing hard. A million horrible possibilities slammed into me all at once, each one worse than the last.
Why was a woman answering Nash’s phone late at night? Where was he?
“Um . . .” My voice cracked. I forced myself to clear my throat and try again. “I’m looking for Nash,” I said, my voice meek.
“Yeah, he’s busy at the moment,” she snapped in a tone that was less than friendly.
“Okay, can you—” I started to ask her to have him call me back, but that was when I heard Nash’s deep voice in the background. “Amy,” he said, “where are my pants?”
And my heart broke.
The pain was so instant and so sharp that it took it my breath away. My chest locked, the edges of my vision blurring as I fought to replace the air that had been ripped out of my lungs.
Busy, she’d said. Busy—with no pants on? His voice. Her labored breathing. My stomach turned over violently.
Amy.
The phone slid out of my hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My whole body trembled as the sound of his voice echoed in my head, over and over until I wanted to scream.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
But I’d heard him. I knew what I’d heard.
My stomach heaved, and I bolted for the bathroom.
Should I have seen this coming?
Had this been going on for a while? I’d always worried that his old player ways would come back, even though he’d promised over and over that he was done with that. That he loved me. That there was absolutely nothing going on with her. That I was the only one he wanted.
My chest burned like there was a fire inside me, threatening to burst through my ribs and claw its way out through my skin. Everything was suddenly so fucking hard. Even breathing.
How could he?
How could he, after vowing I was the only woman he’d ever loved? After promising he would never, ever hurt me?
Well, this fucking hurt.
I gasped for air, and when it finally came, it broke me. Sobs tore through me so violently I collapsed to the floor, curling into myself on the cold tile. The sound that ripped from me was guttural, the kind of noise that didn’t sound human. But it was mine.
It hurt. It hurt so badly. Not just my heart, crushed and broken but still somehow managing to beat, but my soul. And maybe that was even worse.
Nash was the love of my life. The only one I’d ever truly loved.
Why was I never enough?