Tacker (Arizona Vengeance #5)(17)

When I dart a glance at Nora, she’s still looking only at me, as if MJ doesn’t exist. Her hand reaches out, beckoning me to get off the horse and come to her. Again, weirdly, the air around her is utterly calm and peaceful.

Do I go to her?

Do I stay with MJ on this stupid romantic ride on the beach, which is one of my favorite recent memories that we would always laugh at later, or do I get off this horse and go to Nora?

The woman who is supposed to help me… what did she call it?

Flourish?

I wake up, jolting almost painfully out of the dream in a way that has me gasping for breath. My emotions are all over the place as I try to reconcile that it was just a dream, yet I still feel an unbelievable loss.

I don’t want to leave the beautiful memories of MJ behind, but I’m feeling an emptiness inside over not getting off that horse and going to Nora.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter in frustration, now feeling a flush of guilt for even having Nora in the same dream as MJ.

Suddenly, my entire body flushes as I start to feel awareness of other things.

My body.

My dick to be exact.

It’s fucking hard as a rock, tenting the loose sheet over me. I have no clue if my erection exists right now because of MJ, Nora, or because I’m a man who hasn’t gotten laid in a long damn time.

Regardless, I don’t want to be torn between which woman might encroach into my thoughts if I were to take myself in hand to get some relief, so I stubbornly ignore my hard-on and roll off my air mattress.

A cold shower is the only thing in my immediate future.


Few things touch me these days. When people wall themselves off, things just tend to bounce back from whence they came.

But like Aaron showing up on my doorstep yesterday, this gesture by some of my teammates has a little cramp forming in the center of my chest.

Aaron showed up at my apartment not long after I finished my cold but effective shower, demanding I grab some ice gear and get in his car.

There’s a home game tonight, which means that workouts will be light. Some guys will hit the gym while others skate some drills. Nothing that will overtax, only get a player primed.

I’m not back in the lineup, so it means a lot to be invited to an impromptu skate at one of the local ice rinks where we often practice. Dax, Bishop, Erik, and Legend are meeting us there. Coupled with me, it’s the original first line of the Arizona Vengeance.

Feeling some fucking nostalgia for sure and not surprisingly, also excitement to get back on the ice. It’s been two weeks since I’ve skated.

We walk in, finding the guys already out there. They’ve apparently rented out the entire place, and it’s quiet inside. Aaron and I give them a short wave before heading into the locker room to get dressed.

It feels good… the ritual of putting on my gear. Like slipping into a favorite pair of worn jeans or the softest t-shirt.

When I step out onto the ice, there’s not even a wobble or stutter. It feels like I’m a fish that’s been out of water and I’m now getting my first gill-full of oxygen-rich water.

My first glide of blade to ice, I actually sigh in contentment. An overwhelming rush of gratitude overtakes me, and I swear if Dominik Carlson were here, I’d probably fucking hug him in thanks, which would cause a major freak-out in my teammates for sure.

“Wylde,” Erik exclaims, and I watch as the other men congregate around Aaron. Like I said, everyone calls him that but me. While he was always the big partier and ladies’ man on the Mustangs, he was always just my best friend who often enjoyed a quiet evening playing board games with MJ and me.

“Let’s quit wasting time,” Bishop barks, then proclaims. “Three on three. Let’s go.”

I can’t help but smile. When the season started, I was stunned Coach Perron had named me as captain of the team. While I had years of solid play under my belt, I’d never been much of an actual leader. Coming off a prior bad year due to the crash, it was even more shocking he’d hand that role over to me.

That’s all gone now. With my first suspension at the end of November, the title of captain was removed from me and given to Bishop, who had been co-captain along with Legend. I never begrudged that since the guy deserved it.

Still does for that matter.

Bishop runs us through drills, and the sweat starts to pour. There’s a lot of bumping and joking going on, but there’s a lot of work as well. The guys take it easy on me, since I’m still playing with a fractured left wrist. As such, my stick handling is tentative and slow, so they don’t defend me too strictly.

We skate for an hour, which is probably half an hour longer than the guys should since there’s a game tonight. I know they’re pushing forward because they like seeing me back on the ice. More importantly, they can see I like it, too.

Finally, Bishop calls an end to the work—fun—and we move over to the bench we’d put our gear under. We grab water bottles and chug. Erik rips into a power bar as the dude is always eating.

“How’d that feel?” Bishop asks as he wipes sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm.

“Fucking amazing,” I answer truthfully. Because he’s the one who specifically called me out a few days ago about what an ass I’ve been and how I need to give back to my teammates, I decide I need to give him something. “Thanks for this. Means a lot.”