Axel (Carolina Reapers 1)

“Ohmygawdthesearegood,” she moaned after her first bite.

And now my pants were too tight.

I called it the Langley Effect: she walked in, I got hard. Fact of life.

“So, tell me why you’re here,” I said before I did something stupid, like make her really moan.

“Contract offer,” she said, nudging the folder in my direction before taking another bite.

Watching her eat was up there with the most erotic things I’d ever seen...and I’d seen a lot.

“Unless that’s a contract for your hand in marriage, I’m not interested.” I didn’t bother looking at the envelope before digging into my own lunch.

She swallowed and then shot me a serious WTF face. “A contract for my what? Get serious, Axel. The Carolina Reapers want you.”

“The Reapers need me. There’s a difference. I’m not interested.” I shrugged. My home was in Sweden, and the only thing on the planet that could make me leave sure as hell wasn’t in that damned envelope. I shoveled in the rest of my lunch while she stared at me.

“You’re not interested? In an NHL contract?” Her eyes widened.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I turned one down.” I stood and took my dishes.

“What? Are you serious?”

“Langley, did you honestly think you were going to waltz in here, dazzle me with that smile as usual, then get me to sign my life over to an American team?”

She blinked up at me as if realizing for the first time that this wasn’t going to be as easy as she first thought. “Yes, but not exactly. I figured the numbers would dazzle you.”

“There’s nothing in that envelope that interests me.”

I left her sputtering, and walked away.

* * *

I ruffled the hair on Viktor’s head as we made it to the parking lot the next day. He waved and ran off to his mother, and I waved once he reached her.

“He’s a good kid. They all are,” I said to Langley as we made our way to the car. She’d just spent the last two hours watching me teach my clinic for the youth, alternating between working on her laptop and making calls in the stands.

I’d already pulled a preseason practice with my own team this morning, listening to my coach give every reason under the sun to sign another contract and give up the free-agent gig. Seemed like everyone wanted me to sign something lately.

“You do wonderful work with those kids,” she admitted.

“It’s one of the reasons I’m happy here.” I threw my gear in the back of the car, then got behind the wheel as Langley took the passenger seat.

“I did some research,” she admitted as we pulled onto the road, headed for home.

“And what did it tell you?”

“That you turned down a ten-million-dollar contract ten years ago.” She had the advantage, looking straight at me while I kept my eyes on the road.

“By research you mean you talked to Lukas.” I glanced her way long enough to see her cheeks tinge pink.

“He said you turned it down because you were raising your little brother, Tage.” She let that hang between us, leaving it up to me to confirm or deny.

The freedom was why I chose to tell her.

“Our parents died in a car accident when I was sixteen, and we lived with my grandmother, but basically I was responsible for Tage. Two years later, Grandmother died, too, and it was just the two of us—Tage and me. Couldn’t exactly raise an eight-year-old and play in the NHL. That wasn’t what our parents wanted for him or what he needed.” My hands gripped the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white.

Looking back, it was the only decision I could have made, but living through it had felt like ripping my soul in two. The life I wanted and the life I was meant to have simply weren’t the same.

“But he’s grown now, right?” she asked gently.

“Eighteen and on his own SHL team up north,” I agreed.

“Then come play for the Reapers. I don’t need to tell you how good you are, or how badly we need you at center.”

“That’s because McPherson and the Billionaire built a team around exceptional players, but forgot they needed a lynchpin.” I threw her a glance. “I read the news, Langley.”

“So come be our lynchpin,” she pled.

“You know why they sent you, right? You, Langley, a publicist. Not an owner, a coach, or an agent.” I questioned, turning onto the road that led to Lukas’. The sun glinted off the Gulf of Bothnia, making the water shine.

“Because they know you like me,” she admitted in a whisper. “You wouldn’t speak to anyone else.”

“Because I want you. How could you let them use you like that?”

She looked away, her hands fisting in her lap. “Because I want to keep my job. If getting you to sign that contract means I keep my job, then fine. I’ll fly to Sweden.”