Axel (Carolina Reapers 1)

A whimsical chime had me fishing my cell from my pocket.

Asshole: You hired a lawyer? Really, Lang?

I cringed at the nickname and furiously typed away at the screen.

Me: You couldn’t be reasoned with. I’m done playing games. I want Hufflepuff back.

Asshole: You should’ve thought of that before you left us.

A punch to the chest—not for any fraction of regret for him—but for Hufflepuff. I would’ve already made it up to her if my dick of an ex released her into my custody.

I took a steadying breath. Somehow, even after years of dating and an engagement, he continued to underestimate me. How had I ever thought I could spend the rest of my life with him?

Me: You never appreciated either of us. Stop dragging this out. I’m sending a messenger to retrieve her. Relinquish her when the messenger arrives or I swear to God you will regret it.

I hit send and closed my eyes against the onslaught of pain stinging my insides. I had managed to mostly heal from the breakup—more like wakeup call that he wasn’t the man I thought he was—but the battle for my cat was an emotionally draining experience with no end in sight. Holding onto my cat was the last form of control he had over me, and he was squeezing out every last drop.

He didn’t even like her.

Controlling, entitled men were the reason I had no connection with my family. My mother had always chosen the task of chasing the approval of them over raising me. Chased their love all across the country over holding down a steady job and putting food on the table. Then she’d eventually left me. And the second I was old enough to take care of myself, I did, and never looked back. I can’t believe I’d almost shackled myself to another person like that. He’d hidden it so well. Too well. Selfish people like that should be required to wear their warning labels on their skin where everyone could clearly read it—like cigarettes or prescription pills.

My ex’s would’ve read: “Warning: I’m self-centered, think incredibly highly of myself, and want nothing more than to put you in a pretty pink box and only pull you out when I have use of you. Don’t bother bettering yourself or working hard for your career, I won’t acknowledge it as real or worthy of my time.”

What would mine be?

Warning: “Workaholic woman is exhausted, has serious control-freak issues, and can’t remember the last time she had any real fun or did anything solely for herself. Comes with a topping of trust-issue sprinkles.”

I sighed, racking my brain for the last time I felt…happy.

Sweden.

A thrill rushed through me at the memory of the post-breakup trip through Sweden. An endless stream of drunken nights, fantastic food, and daytime historical exploration. Harper and Noble and Axel had all been there for me in different ways—Axel my self-appointed Swedish tour guide and bodyguard.

I pocketed my cell and stomped out of the room, needing the movement to kill the adrenaline coursing through my veins. How could my ex keep my precious cat? He barely tolerated her.

I wandered down the massive hallways, zigging and zagging aimlessly until I came to a dead stop outside a wall of glass.

Lukas’ personal home gym—the place nearly as big as the one in the Seattle Sharks’ arena.

And Axel, in the dead center of it, shirtless, sweat glistening over every inch of muscle.

The memory of him in the pool yesterday—the beads of water rolling slowly down his chest, the way he’d yanked me in, surprising me and yet giving me personal space—flashed red-hot in my mind. If I wasn’t so angry, I probably would’ve laughed or moaned. Jury was still out.

A dual ringing and vibration caused my blood to boil, and I answered the call without looking at the screen. “Listen, asshole—”

“I know I’m technically your boss now, but I figured it’d take a few years before you called me that.” Gage McPherson’s voice held a relaxed, teasing tone—something gleaned from years of working together back in Seattle when he was just one of the Sharks’ best grinders.

“I’m so sorry, Gage,” I said and meant it. Sure, he’d sent me on this near-impossible mission of signing the Swedish giant to his new team, but I’d always considered him a friend—family even—if I was being honest. My hockey family had become more real than any blood relation, and I considered myself damn lucky to be so close to the men and women I’d met along the way. Nothing less would’ve pulled me to Charleston and their new NHL team. “I thought you were someone else.”

“No worries,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll deserve that after I ask you how things are progressing.”

My eyes locked on Axel again, still oblivious to my presence just outside the gym he occupied. He stalked to a tall bar, gripped it with one hand, and proceeded to do one-armed pull-ups, alternating arms in between reps. Up and down and up and down. His muscles contracted in his back and biceps with each motion.