Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

I shrugged. Sure, he had soft brown eyes, dark well-kept hair, and a kind smile. I had noticed he was nice to look at, but that was it.

No desire churned in my core.

Nothing begged me to be bold and reach out and connect.

Because nothing and no one had been enough to melt the wall of ice I had around my heart. Not in the way Grace implied—waggling her eyebrows across the table. Fear had been a cold, tangible thing in my life since I gave birth to Elliott. And I couldn’t risk placing her in harm’s way again because I might, on occasion, crave more physical contact from the opposite sex.

It wasn’t worth it.

“It wouldn’t kill you, you know,” she said, a sadness in her eyes. We’d been friends long enough for her to know why I didn’t date or pursue or even really notice when men hit on me. “It could be good for you. More stress relief than these things,” she said, lifting her near-empty margarita.

I chuckled softly, taking another drink of mine.

She wasn’t wrong. It could be fun to get wild and be with a man. Let him take care of me in that sense rather than me using my trusty vibrator. But my vibrator wasn’t going to turn the tables on me—wouldn’t shout and punch holes in walls and put the fear of God in me. Wouldn’t ignore me when I said stop. Wouldn’t back me into a corner until I transformed into a vicious, raging mama bear.

“One day,” Grace said, eyeing me. “One day you’re going to meet someone who you can’t resist, and then all this pent-up-energy is going to consume you when he’s around.”

The warning rang clear and hot in my mind.

Porter’s face flashed behind my eyes, his bulging chest and biceps. The way he’d been soft and kind to Elliott. How he’d made her laugh. Such a contrast. But the only reason I’d felt a flicker of anything when I saw him when he brought me my favorite drink was because I was surprised to see him there. That was all.

“That’ll never happen,” I said to Grace. “The man I need doesn’t exist.” I laughed, raising my drink as we emptied them.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “There are good men out there, Shea.”

“I know,” I said. I wasn’t dumb enough to believe all men were assholes. I’d just had enough experience with one that I hadn’t wanted to find out for sure. “But,” I continued. “I’d need someone who is strong enough to protect us, but also understanding enough to put up with my”—I glanced at Elliott, who was still engrossed in her game—“darkness, and be gentle enough to know when and how to react to a ten-year-old’s demands.”

Grace pressed her lips together, nodding. “Plus,” she whispered, “he needs to be a god in the sack.”

I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

“What?” Grace said, shrugging. “For how long it’s been for you?” She practically gaped at me like I should be a side-show act. “You need someone who is beyond the norm in that department.”

The laugh left my lips, something else spinning in my blood. I had been the only one I allowed myself to get intimate with—God knows Elliott’s father hadn’t been generous or skilled. But the idea of a man taking me there…it was terrifying and exciting at the same time.

“It’s a tall order,” I said, coming back to earth. One I knew had a slim chance of being filled. It would be hard enough finding a man who would put up with my past, let alone sign up to be an instant dad. And that role is where I’d be the most strict when it came to judgment. There was nothing more important to me than Elliott. I knew she needed that father-type figure in her life though, which is why I’d enrolled her at the—

“Who’s tall?” Elliott asked, drawing into our conversation so quickly I jumped.

“No one,” I said, a slight flush on my cheeks as I grinned at Grace.

“Mr. Porter is tall,” she said, flashing those puppy eyes at me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. We’d already had this discussion yesterday and the day before.

“Please, Mom,” she said. “He’s so cool. And he could teach me how to play hockey.”

I eyed her.

Grace tilted her head, and I quickly filled her in on the events a few days ago.

She pursed her lips. “He’s friends with Connor, right?” she asked. “The case you had recently?”

I nodded, trying not to remember how easily Porter had scooped me off my feet when the paparazzi surrounding Connor’s house had nearly trampled me. The massive bear of a man hadn’t even asked. He’d simply acted. Sure, his instincts may have led him to protect me first and ask questions later, but I knew all too well what reacting before thinking got you.

“Easy street or hard street, Shea?” His voice echoed through the mental cage I’d locked him in.

“Easy,” I cried. “Easy.”

A harsh crack across my cheek.

Thumbprint bruises on my forearms.

Purple and red on my skin.

Broken glass on the stained carpet.

I blinked away the images, looking down at Elliott, who had that determined look in her eye.

Stubborn girl.

“Mom,” she said, her tone so much older than her ten years. “Why did you even bother to let me into the Club then?”

I raised my brows.

“You wanted me to get assigned someone. You wanted me to have this…experience,” she said, laying her hand flat on the table.

God, she was already a teenager.

“So why not with him?” she asked. “He plays for the NHL,” she said, her eyes wide. “He’s athletic and could help me up any of my games. Plus, he’s huge. He’ll scare off bad guys.”

My eyes immediately switched from stern to wary. “What bad guys?”

Elliott was too young to remember her father. To remember the seedy motels he’d kept us in the first year of her life. But my years of protecting her, being cautious of who I let into her life…that had made her cautious by default.

“You know, them.” She shrugged. “The universal them that is out to get us. No one would come around if Porter was my Big.”

I smoothed some hair back that had fallen out of her ponytail. “Are you scared, baby?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Mom,” she groaned. “I’m just listing the perks of Porter, and there are tons.”

Something cracked in my chest. Something that screamed I should let go. Screamed that Porter really was the perfect match for her because they both loved sports and competition and pushing themselves to earn the win.

But…he was…God, what was he? What had I wanted from this program? A CEO? Or a minister or a sales manager? What had I wanted?

For Elliott to experience what it was like to have another parental figure—someone separate from me. For her to have space and independence.

And now she was asking me, no begging me for this one.

I sighed, my shoulders dropping a fraction.

“Yes!” Elliott clapped her hands together before squeezing me in a side hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Grace stared at the two of us. “What just happened?”

I chuckled. “I just gave in to my daughter.”

“You’re the best!” Elliott continued, releasing me. “When do I start? When do I get to hang out with him?”

“I’ll call him tomorrow and check the official Club schedule.”

She clapped again, fist-bumping the air. “Yes,” she said. “I’m so going to be unstoppable.”

She didn’t specify a sport, and she didn’t need to. The girl could play anything she put her mind to, do anything. I admired her determination and her natural ability when it came to all things sports. And that was the one department where I was lacking. Because while I could show up to games and cheer her on and Google everything about each new sport she took up, I couldn’t play with her. Not really. Not in a way that challenged her. Not in the way she needed.

Hudson Porter was definitely not lacking in that ability.

And I had to wonder if the giant could be what she neede

d, or if I was making a huge mistake.

Chapter 3

Hudson

“Don’t make me regret this,” Shea said under her breath as we walked out of her office.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I promised her. I was still shocked that she’d given in and let me mentor Elliott.

“We’re going to be fine, Mom!” Elliott declared as she spun on the sidewalk, her arms outstretched like she could capture the August sunshine in her hands.

“You have my number,” I reminded Shea, who looked like she might be sick.

“And you have my daughter,” she responded.

I hit the unlock button on my key fob, and my G-Wagon lights flashed. “Climb on in, Elliott,” I said without looking away from Shea.

“In the backseat!” Shea exclaimed. “You can’t let her ride in the front seat. Airbags deploy at like 200 miles an hour, and she could end up with a fractured face.”

I would have thrown back some snarky comment since I knew all of that, and I would never have let Elliott ride in the front seat, but the stark fear in her gray eyes made me think twice, and err on the side of kind.

“I was never going to let her ride in the front seat,” I promised Shea. “I’m an excellent driver, I promise. Great hand-eye coordination and all that,” I finished with a small smile.

“I know. I checked your driving record.”

“Of course you did. Check my registration, too?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

She shielded her eyes with her hand and stared at my car as if she had X-ray vision. As if she could see if Elliott was putting on her seatbelt or not.

“I did, actually.” She looked up at me. “I was both relieved to see that you’re entirely legal, and genuinely concerned for your sanity.”

“Why is that?” I asked.