The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers 1)

“You have quite a few uneducated assumptions stuffed inside that thick skull of yours that need adjusting.”

I felt like death, the skin around my eyes swollen from crying and my nose all stuffy, but come hell or high water, I was fixing Rocco’s messed up ideas.

“You need to realize, I’m this perfect person you've made me out to be. No, let me finish,” I said when Rocco tried to interject. “I don’t have a pedestal. I’m human, just like everyone else. I make mistakes. I have flaws. I do stupid things I wish I could take back.” I exhaled a shuddering breath. “Seb wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know me. But… I-I knew who Seb was… when we met. Knew his reputation. I knew he would probably break my heart. But Rocco, that’s why I wanted him, because he was bad for me.”

Rocco shook his head. “No. You didn’t really know what he’s like,” he insisted. “You didn't know what a raging asshole he is.”

I stared at the sofa cushion. “You’re wrong. I knew exactly what he was like. I have this… need, Rocco. I like things that are…” I picked at an invisible thread. “Dangerous.” I gathered my courage and met Rocco's confused gaze. My cheeks burned as I explained my bizarre fetish. “I get off on the thrill of doing things I know I shouldn't do. If Seb hadn't approached me first, I was going to find a way to approach him.”

They must have been having a fabulous time skiing in hell, because for the first time in my memory, Rocco was speechless. He stared at me as the awkwardness dragged on and on and on. When the silence became too much I cracked.

“Well? Aren't you going to yell? Aren't you mad at me for being stupid and careless?” Tears dripped down my face and I couldn't blame it on pregnancy hormones. I disgusted Rocco. From then on he would look at me and see a reckless, hot mess, not the sweet, perfect little sister he wanted. Ruining his image of me—his faith in me—tore me open like a paper bag and exposed all the ugly truths inside. “Rocco?” I croaked.

After an excruciatingly long time, Rocco scrubbed his hands up and down his face and sighed, then hung his head dejectedly. “No,” Rocco said, his voice small and sad. “I’m not mad at… at you. I'm mad at me.”

I jerked back. “What? Why would you feel that way? You have nothing to do with me being a total wreck.”

Rocco lifted his head and looked at me. It looked like he’d aged a decade overnight. His eyes shone with unshed tears. “Don't you get it, Ky? I raised you. If you're a wreck, it's because I did something wrong.”

I shook my head. “No. That's not true. It wasn't you.” I unfolded my legs and scooted closer. “We lost our parents when we were more or less teenagers. Honestly, I'd be shocked if we weren't screwed up a little. That's not something you just get over.” Hesitant, I reached out and, when he didn’t protest, I put my hand on his knee. “I owe you everything, Rocco. Everything. I wouldn't lie to you. My strange, um, interests aren’t the result of anything you did or didn’t do. I pushed the boundaries long before mom and dad were gone.”

Rocco put his huge hand over mine and threaded our fingers together. “I believe you.” Some of the tension left the room and I managed a small smile. “But Ky, it doesn’t change the fact that you're still pregnant, St. Clair still bailed on you, and I still want to kill him. So now what?”

My smile disappeared.

Now what, indeed.

Seb

“You look like shit, man,” Evvy said as he slid to a stop next to me. The fucker dug in his blades and aimed a spray of ice so it arced right in my face.

I used my sleeve to wipe it off, cracked my neck, and exhaled, unwilling to fight back. My eye twitched all night long, and as a result, I was fucking exhausted. After cleaning the kitchen, I pretty much sat on the couch and zoned as my eye spazzed out to its heart’s content. The last thing I wanted was for the damn thing to start up again right as finally I got it to stop.

I raised a questioning brow at Evvy and smirked. “Thanks, honey. You look lovely today, too, honey, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Ev snorted and jabbed me with his stick. “No, seriously, dude. You seem, I dunno, weird.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I think I broke something. “We haven't even started practice and already you're nagging me.” Gesturing toward the tunnel where the rest of our teammates slowly trickled onto the ice, I said, “If you're going to act like a clingy bitch, go find yourself a different hockey husband.”

Evvy threw his head back and roared, and, sleep or no sleep, I found myself grinning, something I rarely did when I had to be at practice on less than two hours sleep. On top of the fatigue, both mental and physical, I made sure to arrive a good half an hour before everyone else. I was changed and on the ice before Calloway showed up and made a scene. And I had no doubt that’s exactly what he would do. Without Kylie to

intervene, I figured there was at least a ninety-three and a half percent chance blood would be shed by the time all was said and done.

“You don't do puck bunnies, remember?” Ev asked as he playfully shoved me.

“Are you saying you’re a puck bunny, Evvy?” His response was to thump me in the chest with his knuckles. “Ow! You bastard.”

“That’s what you get for calling me a puck bunny,” he grumbled.

“You started it.”

The noise around us grew louder as the guys trickled onto the ice, their shouts and laughter echoing throughout the empty arena. I kept watch on the opening from the tunnel, expecting a rabid Calloway to shoot out onto the ice, face crimson and foaming at the mouth, out for revenge. Imagine how surprised I was when the man in question finally made his entrance, only to ignore me. He joined the Comets’ defensive coach and the rest of the squad on the far end of the ice without so much as a glance in my direction.

I wasn't sure if it was good he didn’t start shit, or not, but the uncertainty made me paranoid. I spent the whole night getting geared up for a knock-down, drag-out fistfight with the huge enforcer. Fuck, I was vibrating with anticipation, ready to draw blood. When Calloway snubbed me and skated off, the adrenaline that buzzed through my veins had nowhere to go and left me feeling twitchy and anxious.

Coach’s loud whistle yanked me back to the present. I shook my head to clear out the cobwebs and joined the offensive squad. Practice was brutal. No sleep plus being too keyed up to eat breakfast equaled an unbelievably shitty performance. Coach rode my ass so hard I swore I'd find crop marks all over when I peeled off my pads. My timing was off, my dekes and passes disjointed and uneven. I couldn't get in the proper headspace, too wrapped up in worrying over what I would say to Kylie once I got my act together, and how she would respond.

“Okay!” Coach shouted. "Were gonna start with first and third line versus second and fourth line. Three on two scrimmage. Change out every sixty-seconds. So move your lazy asses!” He blew the whistle again. Not paying attention, I had skated too close. My ears rang for a good five minutes.