Trouble : Boston Bolts Hockey

For years I dated a man who was never content with what he had.

More money, more attention, more sex. More, more, more was his mantra.

I can’t count the number of mornings I woke up with a pounding head after he’d spent an evening shouting at me. Or with a bruise he explained away by blaming my sensitive skin.

“Someone just has to look at you, and you bruise.”

So when I wake up to a cup of coffee by my bed and the strong arms of Declan Everhart wrapped around me as he gently rocks me awake, I burst into tears.

“Shh, I’ve got you, Melina. You’re safe.” The deep timbre of his voice is a calming melody that I wish I could write a song about.

“Because of you.” I peer up into his warm brown eyes. As the sunlight streams in, they turn golden. “Did I dream that Cade was here?”

Declan shakes his head. “He was worried about you. Drove here like a bat out of hell. Woulda missed his flight if I hadn’t sent him back, promising that I have you.”

I smile, imagining that entire scenario. Waking up in Declan’s arms may be the most comforting experience of my life, but butterflies flutter in my belly at the thought of Cade coming for me. And that he left knowing Declan would take care of me. Though I’m not sure what any of it means, the two of them settle me in completely different ways.

“Want your coffee?”

The butterflies settle, and the heavy weight on my chest presses a little more firmly. Coffee sounds incredible, but he’ll have to let go of me in order to reach it, and the feel of his arms wrapped around me is a decadence I’ve never known. I’m not ready to give it up.

“Maybe in a minute.”

With a soft grunt of agreement, he strokes the hair from my brow.

Pressing my face to the crook of his neck, I inhale deeply, then pull back to look him in the eye. “I have a question.”

His lips curl up almost imperceptibly in response, like he’s maybe enjoying this moment as much as I am.

“Why do you pretend to be grouchy when you’re really a big, snuggly teddy bear?”

He shakes his head, but there’s no hiding the way that hint of a smile grows just a fraction. “I’m not.”

“You are with me.”

Sighing, he looks away. “You’re different.”

Chest tightening, I search his expression for some kind of clue as to what he means. “Why?”

“Stop asking questions and drink your coffee.”

I don’t fight him. I’m too busy dissecting those simple words.

You’re different.

How and why? And what does it mean that I’m asking these questions of him, the best friend of the man I’m sleeping with?

It’s a bizarre conundrum. One I’d rather focus on than the very real disaster that happened last night. Though from what I know of Declan, he will only let me live in this land of denial for so long.

“Would you want to go into town with me?”

The question is so surprising, I actually sit up, escaping his hold.

He clearly takes my reaction as a negative one, splaying both hands in the air in front of him. “Or not. I could drop you off at Lake’s while I run errands.”

With a long exhale, I lean into him. “I was just surprised, is all. I’d love to go to town.”

Declan blushes. The grown man who speaks almost exclusively in grunts turns pink. “It’s nothing great. I told Shawn that I’d try to bring you by the bakery since Jules has been dying to meet you. Then I need to stop at the station to check in with the guys. Normally I’d be working tonight, but they can handle it without me.”

With a mixture of gratitude and guilt swirling inside me, I squeeze his bicep. “It sounds perfect. But if you have to work, that’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can hang out here alone.”

Declan’s no is immediate. “I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

Heart lifting, I smile. “Thank you. Can I have my coffee now?”

As promised, our first stop is Jules’ Bakery. If I wasn’t already smitten with this town, this magical heaven would have sealed the deal. From the pink walls to the checkered floor to the adorable donut signs—my favorites being Donut worry, be happy and Donut stop believing—I adore every inch of this space.

And don’t get me started on the actual donuts. Declan informed me that this is where he got the donuts the first morning after I came. Naturally, I giggled and asked if there was a plural version of the word came, because Cade made it happen multiple times. Declan blushed again, and I swear my damn heart floated in my chest.

After I discovered that Jules’s blueberry donuts are what made her famous, there was no question about which kind I’d order. As I devour it—I can see why she’s known for the recipe; it’s incredible—I can’t help but feel Declan’s heavy stare.

“So,” he hedges. “We need to talk about last night.”

“Not supposed to talk with food in my mouth.” With a grin, I take a giant bite.

The glower he directs at me is oddly comforting.NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

“There’s video,” he says evenly.

A phantom pain, the sensation of Jason’s fingers digging into my arm, flashes in my mind. The way he slammed me against the wall grips me, and my heart drops when I remember the slap. From that moment on, the encounter is a blur. The marks I found on my body this morning when I got out of the shower are evidence enough of what happened, but video? I shudder at the thought of ever seeing it.

Cold dread seizes me then, at the memory of how Declan slammed Jason against the wall. How he held him up by his neck so his toes dangled off the floor and the color drained from his face.

“No,” I say resolutely.

Frowning, Declan ducks down and catches my gaze. “No what?”

“If there’s video of what he did, there’s video of what you did,” I whisper, scanning the small shop to make sure no one is watching us.

“Is this the first time he’s hurt you?”

My stomach sinks at the question. At his knowing expression.

“You’re hiding here for a reason. He’s obviously part of it, but is there more?”

Lips pressed together tightly, I shake my head. I’m not doing this now. Not here. Maybe not ever.

How do I explain that I told people I thought would support me, help me? That I told my family, and they didn’t believe me? That he was my agent, so it wasn’t as easy as just walking away? It all seems absurd now. Excuses I made so that I didn’t have to make a difficult decision. Though eventually I did when I turned to Ford and asked for help.

Declan covers my hand with his, his palm warm and rough. It’s then I realize my hands are trembling. “There is video. He can’t lie about what happened. There is no other version of the truth.”

“But you⁠—”

“I did what I did, and I’d do it again.” He strokes my hand with his thumb. “I’m not worried about explaining my actions. Or answering for them. So you tell me what you want to do, and we’ll make it happen.”

His expression is softer than I thought possible, his brown eyes imploring me to do what I need. The comfort I find in a man I barely know is unexplainable, and yet…

“I want to file a report,” I admit. I don’t think I’d have been able to even utter those words if not for the strength he’s giving me by holding my hand, by simply sitting quietly with me.

His eyes warm with affection. “Okay, let me make some calls.”

Declan sits beside me in his office, a pillar of unwavering support, while the detective from Boston takes my statement. I have a feeling I have Beckett Langfield to thank for the police officer’s willingness to drive out here to speak to me.

Either way, I tearfully walk through each detail of last night’s altercation. Though I’m swamped with trepidation, I detail every incident I can think of, each time he hurt me. A broken ankle from being pushed down the stairs—he claimed I tripped while we were fighting, but I can still feel him leaning close, and I can still hear the hiss of his breath as he pressed a palm to my back and uttered the words “stupid bitch” as I was catapulted forward. Or the time he slammed me into the wall after one of my shows. For a week, there was this awful ringing in my ear that he blamed on my drinking. He couldn’t explain away trying to rape me, though. By that point, I’d had writer’s block for months. The stress of our toxic relationship made it impossible for any creativity to bloom. When he held me down and told me he’d give me something to write about, even as I begged him to stop, I knew there was no turning back. Our relationship was over. I kneed him in the balls and ran out of his apartment.

After hiding out at a hotel for two nights, I stupidly ran straight to my mother’s house. I was desperate. Distraught. But Jason had already poisoned my family against me. He’d shown up with some sob story about how I’d had too much to drink and had accused him of awful things. He said he knew we needed a break and asked my mother to give me my things.

At the top of the box full of things, Jason had left my music journal. It was full of every song I’d ever written, lyrics and notes, my soul bled into every page. The relief I felt to hold it in my hands was short-lived, because when I opened it, I discovered he had taken a marker to every page. It was unreadable. Destroyed.

I left my mother’s house even more broken than when I had come.

I don’t say any of this to the detective, though. I keep it straightforward. Detailing the abuse. The attempted rape. Last night’s events.

When the detective asks why I didn’t report Jason’s behavior before—yes, that’s how he words it—Declan grips my knee beneath his desk and says, “I’ve got someone coming in for a meeting any minute. I assume that’s enough information for now?”

As Declan walks the man out of the office, mortification eats at me, tearing me into pieces. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman with more than enough resources, and still, I was too afraid to go to the police. Too worried they’d believe Jason over me.

And why wouldn’t they? My own family did.

Women who report their abusers are the strongest people in the world to me, but women who don’t aren’t coward. Why is it that a woman’s character is questioned based upon her reaction to a man’s bad behavior? Until you are in the situation, it’s impossible to know what you’d do.

“You ready to go home?” Declan asks as he steps back into his office, hand gripped tight on the door handle.

Disappointment swells inside me. He has to work, and he can’t babysit me all day. But I don’t want to be alone in an empty house, and I don’t think I can face Lake right now. I don’t want to talk about last night, and I don’t want to think about Jason or how close I came to being seriously hurt.

And what if Jason tries something again, and Declan isn’t there? A shudder works its way down my spine at the idea.

“Would it be okay if I hung around the station for the afternoon? I promise I’ll stay out of the way.”

Declan loosens his hold on the door handle. “You sure? I don’t mind taking you home.”

I try to hide my wince. I’m being so damn needy. “Yup. You won’t even know I’m here.” I stand from his chair and walk toward the door, forcing a smile to my face.

For the next few hours, I leave Declan alone. He’s clearly busy, because he doesn’t come out of his office all afternoon. That doesn’t mean I’m left alone, though.

While I’m pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge, Shawn Chase—the ex-baseball player turned firefighter, and Jules’s boyfriend—appears and introduces me to all the guys on shift. Then he invites me to read along with their book club and helps me download their current read onto my phone so I can join their discussion later in the week.

I spend the next few hours reading about two hockey players who fall for the same girl. When one of them tells her he doesn’t want to fight with his friend over her, my stomach tightens, and at the word share, I close the Kindle app and stand from the comfy couch in the lounge.

My imagination is running wild. Declan has been nothing but kind to me, and the last thing he deserves is to be the center of some taboo fantasy.

Cade is there, too, of course—how could he not be?—but he’d probably like the idea of it.

Needing a distraction, I step out into the bay. The guys are busy cleaning and organizing out here, so I stand off to one side and watch. I glance up at Declan’s office, only to find him standing at the glass wall, arms crossed, wearing a frown. He’s occupied with looking out over the bay, so I take a moment to study him unnoticed, relishing the freedom to take in all his rugged features. His cheeks are covered in a dark scruff, his jaw hard. Though his lips are almost always set in a straight line, his mouth is wide, and his lips are full. It’s impossible not to imagine pressing mine against them. I don’t see him being an aggressive kisser like Cade. Despite his gruff exterior, I think Cade is right. Declan would be gentle with me. The thought of Cade’s aggressive lovemaking, his dirty, hot mouth on my neck, and Declan’s soft tongue stroking against my lips has my cheeks burning.

Clearly, the book is getting to me.

I force my attention down to the floor in front of me, and an instant later, I feel Declan’s gaze settle on me. I don’t dare look up. Instead, I round a fire truck, my chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, and hide from his scrutiny.

An hour later, I’m playing cards with the guys who work for Declan. Shawn seems like a genuinely nice guy. Colby is the obvious playboy of the group. I swear he winks more than he blinks, reminding me a hell of a lot of Cade. Mason wears a plaid button-down open over his BFD T-shirt and a scowl. I can imagine that he and Declan enjoy not talking to one another often. Dane is a single dad of twin boys he talks about practically nonstop. It’s adorable.

But it’s been hours since Declan has interacted with anyone. He just remains in his office, and I have absolutely no idea what the hell he does up there.

“Did you seriously just win another round?” Colby asks as I lay down my last match.

“It’s Go Fish,” Mason grumbles, shifting in his chair.

I laugh for what feels like the first time in days. It bubbles out of me, and when it hits, I can’t stop it. Shawn and Colby are smiling, and Mason, of course, is still scowling when the door upstairs scrapes open.

On instinct, I search for the man I can’t stop thinking about. He appears at the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the bay again, zeroing in on me with a small frown.

I hold up a handful of cards and shriek, “I won!”

In response, his lips tug upward into a real smile.

My body is moving before I have the chance to overthink this. “Be right back, boys. I’m going to gloat.”

“I’ll start on dinner,” Mason says, pushing from his chair.

As I scurry across the space, I keep my focus fixed on that smile waiting for me upstairs. I lose sight of him when I hit the stairwell, and by the time I make it up, he’s moved back into his office. He probably expects to be left alone again, but my restraint is gone. I can’t explain the way I’m constantly being pulled toward Declan, like he’s the sun, and I’m caught in his orbit, but I can’t deny the urge to seek him out, to demand his attention. Under his watchful gaze, I feel safer, more at ease, than I’ve ever experienced.

I tap on the door but don’t wait for him to answer before I step into his office. When he looks up from his desk and zeroes in on me, my breathing stops. Why is it that when his brows pull together, almost like he’s annoyed, my blood heats?

“You ready to go home?”

With my lip caught between my teeth, I wander toward him. “Are you?”

His forehead creases as he studies me. “I’m good with whatever you want to do.”

I perch myself against his desk, right next to his chair. He has to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.

“Are you done with work?”

“Melina—”

“Why do you always call me that?” I ask, frowning.

Declan doesn’t make a smart-ass comment about how it is my name, after all. Instead, he regards me silently, his expression full of sincerity. “Because that’s who you are to me.”

My heart clenches. I’m certain he’s the only person who can see through my façade to the real me. Sometimes not even Lake can tell when I’m wearing a mask. But Declan? It’s like our souls connect on another level.

Cade may have my heart, but I think Declan has my soul.

Is it possible to fall for two people at the same time? To want them in different ways but also recognize that without one, the other couldn’t make me whole?

I don’t know how else to explain it. When I’m with Declan, I’m safer, more comfortable, than I’ve ever been. But thoughts of Cade give me butterflies. He’s exciting, while Declan grounds me. But who am I to them? Based on the interactions I’ve observed between them, it’s hard not to wonder whether they’re the soulmates, and I’m the distraction.

I barely know them. They barely know me. But there is no denying that they are incredibly important to one another.

“Everyone else calls me Mel,” I mumble, as if he doesn’t know that.

He nods, his eyes swimming with confusion as they dart from my face to where I’m propped up on his desk and back again.

“What else am I to you?” Vulnerability leaches into my tone in a way I wish I had the ability to hide.

Declan doesn’t shy away from the rawness of the question. He doesn’t look away.

The tension between us grows as I wait for his response. Lips parted, he angles forward.

My heart rate ratchets up.

Is he going to pull me onto his lap? Kiss me?

I want him to. God, I want to feel his lips against mine. I want him to own me with his mouth. I’d give him everything.

At the shrill sound of my phone ringing, he lurches back, and his expression goes blank.