A Lie for a Lie (All In 1)

“If you don’t want to go on your own, you can come here.”

I consider the offer. I love my brother. We’re pretty close, even though we live thousands of miles apart, but I need this vacation. I need this time away from the media and the constant demands, time when there aren’t any expectations placed on me. I need to be in the one place I feel close to my dad. More than anything else, I crave the peace and solitude I find in Alaska and the escape from the circus my life has become. Last year our team captain retired, and I stepped into the role. He was well loved by the team and a legend in the sport, so I’ve had big shoes to fill.

“Thanks, Kyle, but I’m gonna catch some salmon, grow a massive beard, and avoid showering for four days at a time.”

He laughs. “I figured you’d say that. If I can come out later in the month, I’ll call. Well, I’ll call anyway. Touch base every few days so I can make sure you haven’t been eaten by a bear—and I’ll keep you updated on things here.”

The reception can be pretty spotty where we stay, and I like it that way. I want the time to disconnect and just be a human, not an NHL team captain. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle the bears—you just take care of your family. I’ll send pictures.”

We say our goodbyes, and I drop my head against the wall. It sucks that my brother can’t be here, but I still want the time at the cabin, even if I have to do it on my own.

Half an hour later, I carry my bag out to the Cessna. The first time I ever flew on a plane that small, I tossed my cookies, so I’ve learned to refrain from drinking on the flight from Seattle to Anchorage.

I’m last in line on this tiny eight-seater, which is fine. It’s a short flight, and almost every seat has a spectacular window view. Except the ones at the back—they’re a little tight for space.

I have to duck and turn sideways to get on the plane. It comes with being over six feet and more than two hundred pounds. It’s a full flight, and there’s only one seat left . . . at the very back of the plane. I shimmy down the narrow aisle. Tucked into the corner, clutching a purse, is the same dark-haired woman who fell into my lap on the previous flight. Well, now, this should be interesting.

She glances away from the window, her nervous smile falling as her eyes go wide. Her cheeks flush, and she lifts a hand to cover her mouth. “Oh no.”

I grin and fight a chuckle as I take the seat beside her. It’s actually like one of those bench seats you’d find on a school bus, with about as much room.

She slides closer to the window, trying to make more space for me. She drops her hand. “I’m so sorry I fell on you.”

I flash her a grin and a wink. “That was the most exciting part of this trip so far, so don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t mean to kiss you. I mean your cheek.” Hers grow redder. “Oh my God, Lainey, just shut up and leave the poor man alone,” she mutters and ducks her head.

“It’s really okay. Shit happens, right?”

She peeks back up at me, a tiny smile pulling up the right side of her mouth.

I hold out a hand. “I’m RJ.”

I don’t know why I give her that name. My dad called me that, and my brother and sister still do, but that’s it. Everyone else calls me Rook or Rookie. Maybe because she doesn’t seem to know who I am, and I don’t want her to find out? Oh well, too late now.

She slips her mitten-covered hand into mine, then makes a face. Pulling off her mitt, she tries again. Her hand is warm and a little damp—and much smaller than mine—but her grip is firm. She gives me a solid shake. “I’m Lainey.”

“Hi, Lainey.”

“Hi, RJ.” Her eyes stay locked on mine for a few seconds. Still no hint of recognition, which is fantastic.

“So what brings you to Alaska?” I ask, buckling myself in.

Her eyes light up. “Well, I’m currently working on my master’s thesis, and my focus is aquatic animals. I’m fascinated by dolphins and whales, so I’m spending six weeks out here to study them.”

“A master’s thesis, huh? You must be pretty smart.”

She shrugs. “I just like learning a lot. This is my third master’s.”

“Your third? How old are you?” She doesn’t look old enough to be pursuing a first master’s, let alone a third. Although her outfit might be to blame for that.

“Twenty-five.”

“And this is your third thesis?”