The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

We, minus the sweaty bellhop, got off on the same floor. Calloway jostled us so he could be at the front of the tiny metal box. He stalked down the hall, reached his room, and slid his card in the lock while I was still stumbling off the elevator under Evvy’s power.

Perfect.

We would walk by right as Calloway got that door open. Then I would make my move. I was thinking donkey punch to the back of his ridiculously large head.

“Oh no you don’t, buddy. I don't think so." Ev correctly interpreted my intentions and dug his fingers into the meat of my arm.

“Ow! Fuck, Ev.”

Unbothered by my pain, Ev hustled me down the hall and once we got to my room, he thrust a hand in my pocket to dig out the key.

“Not so fast!” I said. Ev’s fingers squirmed and searched and I couldn’t stop giggling. “You hafta buy me a drink if you wanna get to third base there, Casanova.”

Evvy rolled his eyes and unlocked the door with one hand, keeping a tight grip on me with the other. He cursed until the light went green, and shouldered it open. With an unceremonious thrust, Evvy shoved me into the room.

“Hey!” I shouted as I tripped and sprawled face first on the hideous hotel carpet.

“Go to bed and sober up,” Evvy said. He chucked the key overhand. It bounced off my forehead and landed between my legs.

“I don't know what your problem is lately, and to be honest, at this point I can’t say I give a fuck. But when you do stupid shit that affects the team, stuff that…” Evvy sighed and rubbed a hand down his tired face. “Just grow the fuck up, Seb.”

I slumped, feeling like a toddler caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Evvy spun on his heel and stormed out, leaving me to wonder if there was any truth to what he said. I mean, what was I trying to do, getting drunk in public? I knew better. Did I want to self-destruct? Wallow in misery until I fucked up my career beyond salvaging and got dropkicked out of the NHL?

I sat on the bed, propped my elbows on my knees, and bent over to rest my face in my hands. It didn’t take a whole lot of self-reflection to figure it out. Even drunk I could easily pinpoint my problem. Three guesses? If you said blonde, sexy, and frustrating as hell, you win a prize!

None of this would have been happening if I never met Kylie. Everything was fine until she showed me everything I didn’t know I was missing and never really wanted until then.

Okay, that was total bullshit. Fine was stretching it. I wasn’t fine. It was more that life was tolerable. Before Kylie, I didn’t have an all-consuming emptiness that devoured my heart piece by piece. My bursts of rage were a million times easier to deal with than feeling pathetic, and lonely, and depressed all the damn time.

Unfortunately, I had no idea how to get Kylie out of my head and move on. No idea how to live without her smiles and touches and her sweet laughter.

Arms spread wide, I flopped back on the bed and went over every little detail about Kylie I could dredge up, every second we spent together, every touch, every sigh, every whisper, until the edges of my vision went black and I passed out cold.

11

Kylie

“Ky? You home?”

I flushed the toilet and struggled to get off the floor before Rocco found me and freaked out.

“Ugh,” I muttered under my breath as

I trudged to the sink to brush my teeth and get the nasty taste out of my mouth.

After being out of town for eight long, never-ending days, Rocco was back home. I literally counted down the hours up until his return. Seriously, nothing made you appreciate having someone until you were sick and alone.

“Kylie?”

I glanced in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable and almost fell down. Oh my god, I looked awful. Like… like total crap! My complexion was sallow and my skin dull. I quickly ran my fingers through my tangled nest of hair and pinched my cheeks to give them color.

Yeah, no. Still looked like someone ran me over with a truck, then backed up and did it a couple more times for good measure.

I sighed. Total crap would have to do because… makeup? I didn’t have the energy. After a brief wobble and a pause to wait for the headrush to pass, I went hunting for Rocco.

Perfectly tailored in head to toe black, I found Rocco in the living room, looking like a movie star. He spun around and gaped at me. The “v” between his brows itself known and with a sinking feeling, I realized I hadn’t done enough to hide my impression of an extra on the set of The Walking Dead.

“Hey. You’re here,” I said lamely.