Dirty Score (Rough Riders Hockey 3)

Mia filled her lungs with the fresh sea air and forced a perspective change. The water was so blue. The waves so serene. The sun so warm. The air so mild.

She could be happy here.

She would be happy here.

She was losing friends and family back east, but she would gain new friends here. Find new opportunities. And, maybe, someday, even create a family of her own.

Until then, work would help fill this hole inside her.

Eventually.

So why were those damn tears choking her again?

“Hey.”

The voice so close behind her when she thought she was alone startled Mia. In the split second between registering the voice and turning, she knew who she would face before her eyes met his. But knowing and seeing were two different things, and Mia’s heart still banged hard against her rib cage. Then it raced and fluttered and squeezed. All her thoughts came to a dead stop, and confusion reeled her brain in a whole different direction. She looked behind him toward the road as if that would explain what he was doing here.

“You are one difficult woman to find,” he said, lowering to the sand beside her in slow, pain-filled movements. “Do you realize how big this beach is?” Once he settled, he dropped the running shoes he was carrying. “Or how small you are? Even when Cynthia gave me an idea of where you were going, it was still like that whole needle-in-a-haystack thing.”

She angled toward him, wincing at the way his injuries looked as the healing process began. That was never a pretty sight. “You went to my apartment?” She shook her head. “What in the hell are you doing here? You should be landing in DC right now.”

“But you’re not in DC.”

She lifted her hands. “So?”

“So that’s why I’m not in DC.”

What the hell? Mia pressed her hands to the sides of her head and forced her brain to stop spinning. “I’m not fighting with you, Rafe. I don’t have the interest or the energy.”

“Thank God for that, because neither do I.”

A bubble of anger burst inside her. “Look, I can’t do this. I don’t want to drag this out. I just want us to get on with our lives.”

Rafe pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, failing to hold a groan back when he moved. But when he turned his head and leveled that silvery gaze on her, his eyes were clear, his expression, even marred with bruises and cuts, relaxed. Far different from the man she’d seen last night.

“Yeah,” he said with a slight nod and a thoughtful tone. “That’s what I want too.”

The knife in her gut twisted a little, but Mia huffed a laugh. “Then you’re in the wrong place, buddy. Get your ass on the next plane east.”

“Eventually.” He heaved a little sigh. “But this is where I want to get on with my life. With you.”

He reached out with one hand and pulled a windblown strand of hair off her forehead, then cupped her cheek. His hand was warm, his fingers and palm rough, and his touch brought memories and feelings flooding back. Mia couldn’t keep her gut from clenching with want or her eyes from fluttering closed, but she clung to the image of every man in her life walking away to find her strength.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. That isn’t—” The words “what I want” hung up on her tongue, because they weren’t true. It was exactly what she wanted. But it was also what she knew he couldn’t give her, and she had to amend her words to make them accurate. “That doesn’t work for me.” She turned her head and lowered her knees to ease from his reach. “I meant what I said last night. I’ve been settling all my life, and I’m not willing to do that anymore. I know hard limits are going to create situations that require sacrifices and that I’m facing loss.” That all too familiar pang hit her in the throat again, and she pulled a stuttering breath. “But, it’s time.”

He nodded. “I know.” Dropping his hand to the sand, he leaned into it. “It took me too long to figure it out. And I’m sorry it caused such a mess with Tate and Joe. I’m sorry I hurt you. Caused you so much stress.”

Somehow, this wasn’t helping. “Look, I’m sure from your perspective, this was the right thing to do. And I appreciate the apology and the gesture, but I don’t want to see you right now.” She had to look away from the flash of pain in his eyes and rolled to her knees, then her feet. “But by all means, tell Joe and Tate you extended the olive branch.”

Before she could stand, Rafe grabbed her hand. The quick move cost him. His eyes slammed shut, and pain creased his features, but he kept a death grip on her hand while he breathed through the pain.

And when he opened his eyes, he might have looked angry, but his voice was soft and patient, with just a hint of steel when he said, “I’m not here for Tate or Joe.”

A flare of temper threatened. “They’re the only people who knew I didn’t go back to DC.” She pulled her hand from his and lifted both in surrender. “And, look, it’s fine. It is what it is. I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” He rolled to his knees with a grimace and took hold of her biceps. Deliberately looking into her eyes, he said, “I’m here for you, Mia. I talked to Joe when I went to the ER last night, and he gave me his blessing. When I went to your room this morning, Tate told me where you were. You know he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want me to find you. He would have let me get on that plane, waited until we were somewhere over Iowa, then looked at me and said, ‘Oh, by the way, Mia stayed in California and never wants to hear from you again.’”

She knelt there on the sand, her mouth hanging open. He was right. That was exactly what Tate would have done.