Sawyer (Carolina Reapers 2)

I sighed, and my entire posture relaxed, releasing a tension I hadn’t realized had even been there. “Okay.”

“Okay?” she snapped. “You just asked me if I left cocaine in your jacket, and you think it’s okay?”

“No! I think this is the furthest thing from okay! But what am I supposed to do? I left my jacket here without cocaine. You brought it to me, and then there are drugs in my pocket. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to trust me!”

“Easy to say when you’re not the one about to be arrested by the K-9 unit, and subsequently cost your team the Stanley Cup. Oh, and wreck your entire career!”

She flinched again, and I cursed my stupid temper.

“Echo,” I said softly. “I do trust you. If you say it’s not yours, then I believe you. And even if it was, I still love you. We’d work it out. But it’s a big fucking deal to find out whose it is and how the hell it ended up in a piece of my uniform.”

“Even if it was mine, you’d stay with me?” she asked, her voice breaking.

God, the look on her face ripped me open like nothing else could. I crossed the distance between us and pulled her against me, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I wouldn’t leave you over a drug problem. I’d insist on rehab and pray it never happened again, but I wouldn’t walk away if you needed help.”

Her shoulders shook with a wry laugh, and she pulled away from me, bracing her fingers at her temples like I was giving her a headache. “Of course you wouldn’t. Sawyer McCoy doesn’t walk away from a woman in need. He steps right up and mends whatever’s broken.”

My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

She let out a guttural sigh and rolled her head back, loosing her frustration at the ceiling. “I know exactly how that cocaine got in your jacket.”

I stilled.

“Fucking Chad.”

I didn’t question the order those two words came out of her mouth. That would have been madness, right? So I stood there silently and waited for her to explain what she meant.

“Chad was outside the bar when I left to bring you your jacket.” She brought her gaze back to mine.

“And you’re just now telling me this?”

“You’re just now telling me you had drugs in your pocket two days ago?”

“Fair point. So how exactly does Chad play into all this?” I folded my arms across my chest, needing something to do with all the pent-up frustration.

“I dropped the jacket. He picked it up and handed it to me. Then I took it to you. He must have put them in the pocket. He knew it was yours.” She closed her eyes.

“Awesome. So your ex planted drugs on me so what? I’d take them? I’d get caught with them? What?” My body was practically vibrating with tension.

“Either result would have been a win for him. He knows that if you started using I’d kick your ass to the curb, and he probably figures if you get caught, then you’ll probably lose your contract with the Reapers—”

“There’s no probably about it.”

“—and he thinks you playing hockey has some appeal for me.”

“Well, we both know that’s not true considering you’ve never even been to one of my fucking games.” Shit, now I was the one cringing.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Right. I wondered when that was going to come back around and bite me in the ass.”

“Shit.” I raked my hands down my face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know how hard you work, and I respect it.”

“You just wish I also showed up at the rink with your name on my back like one of those good little women whose lives revolve around their boyfriends?”

“No! Maybe. Shit.”

“Sorry, West Coast, but I’ll never be one of those women who wrap my entire world around a man. I might love you, but I’ll be damned if you become my center of gravity just so you can eventually leave.” Her eyes hardened.

“Who the hell said anything about leaving? I just told you that even if the coke was yours, I’d still be here!” What the fuck did she want from me? What did I have to prove to her?

“You’ll leave!” She threw her hands up. “Everyone does. You’ll eventually get traded, or you’ll decide I’m not right for your photo op, or that seeing each other at two a.m. after closing just isn’t good enough.”

“Not good for my photo op? When the hell have I ever acted like that shit mattered? You’re beautiful, and I could give a shit what the media or fans want to know about the woman I’m in love with. That’s up to you. Public, not public, I don’t give a shit as long as I get to come home to you, so don’t you dare lay that at my feet. And second, yeah, the two a.m.’s are getting old—”