Maverick (Sin City Saints Hockey 1)

I wrap my arms around myself, thinking of Maverick. I wasn’t looking for love when he sat down across from me at that poker table four months ago. Even when I tried to push him away, he didn’t give up. He’s become dear to me.

And Ro. My sweet, funny, sassy best friend. I don’t want to lose her.

I don’t want to lose any of the people I love. Not my brothers or my mom, Maverick or Ro. It would devastate me if any of them were murdered or sent to prison. And if I feel that way about them, they probably feel the same way about me.

My plan was to get off this bench, walk around to the alley and knock on the door. To be the badass daughter Frank Ford raised, who doesn’t look for a fight but also doesn’t walk away from one. This was supposed to feel amazing. Empowering. Finally making Will Roan answer for my dad’s death has been my mission in life for so long that it’s stopped feeling like something I wanted to do and started feeling like something I needed to do. This plan for revenge has taken over my life and made me a different person.

Maverick is right, though—this is not who I want to be. My vision blurs as tears pool in my eyes.

Why can’t I just have my dad back? Even after all this time, I miss him so badly. I’m afraid that if the ache ever dulls, it will be because my memories of him have faded.

I never want to forget him, though. All the times I saw my dad win poker games and show no reaction other than a humble shrug and a declaration that he’d had a lucky night. His evenings off, which we spent watching sunsets from cities and little towns across the country. The hamburgers he’d grill me, which he declared his “top secret recipe.” I saw him mixing it up once, though, and it was nothing but some ground beef, fresh ground pepper, garlic and a generous pour of steak sauce. I’ve never tasted anything better, though, than those burgers my dad shaped into patties with his hands and grilled just right.

Tears trail down my cheeks as people walk past me. If killing Will Roan would bring my dad back, I’d do it in a heartbeat. To hell with the consequences.

He’s gone forever, though. And instead of living with my dreams of vengeance, I have to find a way to live with the memories.

I want to text Maverick, to tell him he was right and that I’m sorry. Not now, though. I’ll try to make amends with him later.

Getting up from the bench, I wipe the tears from my face and put the strap of my handbag over my shoulder. What I need to do now is make my way to a little town near the coast of California. I’ll be crossing the country once again, but this time I know I’m making the right choice.

It’s time for me to visit my father’s gravesite for the first time. He was buried where he wanted to be, in his hometown, and I could never bring myself to visit his final resting spot. I knew it would hurt like hell. And it will, but it’s time.

I’m finally ready to say goodbye to my father.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Maverick

“My favorite thing about it was that your head was pure white where your hair was, but your face was tan,” Pike says, grinning. “With the hair now kind of grown out, you look like a normal person again.”

“My favorite thing is when you shut your piehole and focus on making shots.” I glare at him as we round up pucks after practice.

“You’re the grouchiest motherfucker ever these days, dude. You make Dane look like Mary fucking Poppins.”

“Looks like we got all of them,” I say, leaving the ice without looking back at him.

Grouchy is an understatement. Since Gia and I fought a week ago, I’ve been miserable. Nothing sounds good, looks good, or feels good. My house is quiet. I hate being there, but I hate being everywhere else, too.

She could very well be dead right now. The thought is a knife in my heart. I should have tried harder to stop her.

“Hey, man,” Pax says as I take off my practice gear in the locker room. “You want to go out tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs softly. “I hate seeing you this way, Cap. Any girlfriend who dumps you and cuts town isn’t worth it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He gives me a puzzled look. “Yeah, but talking about it might help.”

“If I wanted to talk, I would.”

“Maybe you should get a cat.”

I furrow my brow with confusion. “What? Where did that come from?”

“Animals are great companions. And you don’t have to talk to them. You just pet them and feel the zen wash over you.”