Cold as Ice (21 page)

“Good idea,” she whispers, keeping his mouth close to hers. She takes a couple of steps backward until she has to turn around to walk up the two steps to her door. Once inside, she locks the dead bolt and drops her purse to the ground. Devin puts one arm around her waist and the other hand through her hair. She touches his neck and feels the smoothness of his skin. Her mouth opens to his for a pleasurable taste of his tongue.

Devin breaks away, their noses touching, and whispers, “I want you so bad.”

Her heart is racing. Her chest is tight like she can't breathe. She's never slept with a guy she didn't love. Devin she likes. A lot.

“I don't sleep with just anybody.”

“I hope I'm not just anybody.” He kisses her again.

“It depends where I stand with you,” she says as she catches a breath.

“I'm falling for you, hard.”

She leads him to her bedroom, where he slips her shirt off over her head and throws it on the floor. He unbuttons her jeans, yanking them down, and then, kneeling, tries to pull them off. Once the jeans are left on the floor, he begins to kiss the top of her foot, her leg, the inside of her thighs, making her whole body shiver and feel like pudding. He kisses her deep, exploring her mouth. She tastes the sweetness of his lips.

Devin stops kissing her and takes off his shirt, revealing his fine, sculpted abs, and once his jeans are off, he stands before her in his tight boxers, his thighs chiseled. He's an underwear ad. His obliques are so well formed that Carla follows her eyes down the muscle to his solid package. Before she can even close her mouth, Devin takes her into his arms and begins kissing her with passionate sweeps of his lips. His hand on her back is holding her to his body. She is pressed against his firm chest. The attraction is so real it hurts. With a flick of her bra clasp, it falls to the floor. He runs his hand over her breast and down her stomach. She flinches at his feathery touch. He kisses her neck and proceeds to her cleavage and to the top of one breast. Slowly, he explores her body, taking it in as though not wanting to miss an inch. Her hand runs over his forearm as though she can feel his eagle tattoo.

“Does it mean something?” she asks, capturing a glimpse of his eye before he looks at his arm.

“Strength . . . soaring over great heights . . . got it when I was drafted.”

“Ah.”

He brings her close to kiss her. As Devin's lips move over her body, she holds his head, her fingernails tangled in his tiny loops of curls. His kisses become more feverish, striking every nerve with tingling sensation. He takes off her lacy thong and places his hand around her backside as he draws her in with his tongue. She throws her head back at the sensation that's running through her body at the speed of light. He lays her on her bed, propping her head up with a pillow and then reaches for his wallet in his jeans and pulls out a condom. She watches him in the dim light. He is the most beautiful man she has ever seen.

“What?” he asks, catching her looking at him as he unwraps the plastic square.

She doesn't say anything. A little tongue-tied at the sight of him and amazed she's in this situation—in bed with Devin Miller—yet it feels right.

“I don't usually sleep with a guy I'm not dating.”

“I don't kiss just any girl and want to sleep with her,” he answers as he slips on the condom and lies on top of her.

“So this isn't the last I'll see of you?” she asks, surprising herself by the question. She'd expect Devin to sleep with her and that would be it, or they'd have a causal fling until he moved on to the next girl.

He stops before coming inside. “I like you, Carla,” he whispers, making goose bumps on her arms. “I want to keep seeing you.”

That is enough to put her mind at ease, although she can't believe he'd want to see more of her. She wants the moment and aches for his touch. She wants to feel loved again.

Devin pushes himself inside her and she moans with such pleasure she can't seem to control the energy building between them. Hot, intense, feverish sex. Nothing she was expecting. With each kiss and each thrust, she is electrified by emotion and hunger. She's never wanted someone so bad as she wants Devin. Not just physically but emotionally, she's becoming more attached. Will this craving, this needing him last?

Could they have a relationship? If he really does mean what he says about him falling in love with her, she may fall even harder.

When they're done, sweating, she lays in his arms. She doesn't want to move. She could stay like this for the night.

Her mind is spinning with what-ifs, but all she knows is that she wants more of Devin. More life. More happiness. Being in his arms, there is no better feeling than being wanted.

A
fter a home game, the locker room is loud. Guys are pumped up and talking about the plays, the hits and the goals. Devin feels good too. He scored his fifth goal since being a Warrior and feels good at belonging to a team that wants him and is proud of him too.

He showers and dresses in a suit with an open collar and no tie. It's late. Some of the guys are going out for a drink. Devin wants to go home and sleep. He's been on the road for only three days but looks forward to coming home and resting. Maybe he'll even unload the last of the boxes that have been taking up space in his living room.

“Are you coming out, Miller?” Jared Landry asks as he walks by him.

“Nah. Not tonight.”

“Ah, you've got plans with that chick?” he asks, referring to Brittany. Nobody knows her except Mark Buckley, her being a friend of his wife's. Devin likes to keep things that way.

“No. I think I'll go to bed early. I'm tired,” Devin answers, wondering what Carla is up to. Did she watch the game? Does she go to bed early? He wants to know more about her. Wants to hold her, make love to her and tell her he wants to take it one step further, making it a habit of seeing each other on a regular basis.

“See you Wednesday!”

Devin gives him a side smile. The first play-off game. There is reason to celebrate, but not tonight.

He shuffles his feet, heads outside the rink, looking forward to going home. It's starting to feel like home now. Anytime he's lived in a new city, it's taken months to settle in. Living in Vancouver is different. He has Carla now, and once she knows how much he wants her, they can take it to the next step. He hopes she feels the same way.

Sauntering out the door, Devin is greeted by fans. Thankfully, there are security guards hanging around to make sure he isn't clawed as he tries to leave.

“Devin!”

He keeps walking, signing autographs as he walks.

“Devin! Devin! It's Keith!”

The only Keith that knows him by name is a guy he went to elementary school with and that was a long shot since he grew up in Seattle.

“Devin! It's Keith!”

Devin's chest grows heavy, like his lungs are filled with a thick substance. He struggles to take a breath. It can't be.

“Devin!” the voice says again. It's grainy and weak, hearing his name through the crowd.

Devin looks over at the frail, tanned reflection of himself and stops. His heart is sinking so far and so fast. His stomach tightens into a knot.

A name he doesn't recall using. It doesn't even feel right on his tongue.

He stares at the man he's been thinking about for twenty-four years. Devin can't move. He can't even say his name.

Keith holds out his flimsy hand. Devin stares at him. So many questions and not enough answers.
How could he walk out and never come back?

Keith slowly brings his hand down. “You must have a lot of questions.”

Devin begins to talk, but nothing comes out. He pauses and looks around himself. There're a lot of people crowding around. It's not a place to have a sensitive conversation.

“I hope you have the answers,” Devin says, keeping himself from letting out his emotions.

Keith eyes the people around him and then comes back to Devin. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”

“I don't feel like talking,” Devin says, yet burning questions linger in his mind. He wants to punch this man for all the grief he put his mom through. A second punch for not providing for his family and being a man. Thirdly, for walking out and not coming back. There was no excuse for doing what he did.

“I can do all the talking. Please. Give me the time and we won't have to ever talk again, if that's how you really feel. I promise you, you'll want to hear what I have to say.”

“It won't make it better.” Devin can't take his eyes off this man. He could ask for ID to make sure he really is his biological dad, but there is no doubt he is Keith Miller. He has the same wide forehead, a hairline that outlines his round face. He even has the same crooked bottom tooth that Devin can hide with his full bottom lip.

“I have something to say,” Keith says. “It can take a minute or an hour. Depends on how much time you'll give me.”

Devin sucks in a breath. “I know where we can go.”

Keith follows Devin to the parking lot. “We can't stay here,” Devin says. “There are too many people. Someone is always listening.”

“I guess that's how it is with this life,” Keith says as he hops into Devin's Range Rover.

“Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“You drove from Seattle?” Devin looks over as he starts his truck.

“Uh-huh.”

Devin nods as drives away. “Is your car in the parking lot?”

“Yes.”

“It should be okay for a while,” Devin says, remembering the places Carla took him. “Have you been to Stanley Park?”

“No.”

“We can talk there.”

Devin tries to remember which road to turn on to. He follows the signs and drives into the park, remembering Carla and how cute she looked with her hair down and her fitted jeans. He can't wait to get his hands on her again. Her sweet-tasting body and quick wit have Devin imagining her naked again, but at his house, in his bed.

“Nice city,” Keith says, looking out his window.

“I like it.” Devin is watching for a good place to park, where they won't get bugged. It's eleven o'clock at night and surprisingly, the park is busy, with a steady flow of traffic. He pulls into a spot that looks onto the ocean and turns off the engine.

“Good game.”

“Thanks.”

“Good shot from the blue line. You've scored that kind of goal before, last time against Philadelphia.”

“Do you watch every game?”

“Always.”

“How did you know I played?”

“I checked in with your mom every now and then.”

“You didn't want to talk to me?” Devin's face is sour; even his tongue feels chalky.

“Your mom didn't think it was a good idea.”

“Why? Because you weren't planning on coming home?”

Keith nods slowly. “You must wonder why I left.” He takes off his seat belt with one hand and lets it slide back to his side.

“Sure. I've always wondered.”

“Your mom didn't tell you?”

“She said you were on a business trip.” Devin stares straight ahead. “After a month, when I asked her where you were, she told me you weren't coming home.” He swallows to moisten his throat. With one glance at Keith, he sees his age and the hardness of whatever it was that controlled him for all those years. “She said you might, but she wasn't sure. I knew you weren't working. Mom didn't have to lie. I don't know why she was protecting you.

“A year later I asked again, and she said she didn't know. Said you needed help.” Devin remembers holding the pillow over his head and crying silently so he wouldn't be heard. He asked his mom if his dad was ever coming home and she always said he would when he was feeling better. Devin didn't know his dad was sick. He didn't know what sick meant, or why it meant Devin couldn't help him get better.

“On my sixth birthday I told her you were never coming home and she didn't say anything. I didn't ask again.”

“I'm sorry.”

Devin looks at him with anger and hurt all mixed up into one. Keith moves his legs, as though trying to unstick them.

“It's years too late,” Devin says. “You have no place in my life. You walked out. You chose to leave your wife and child. A cowardly man is what you are. You don't deserve any piece of me.”

“You're angry.”

“Damn right! Why did you leave? Did you leave Mom for someone else?”

“No.”

“Do you still have a problem with drugs and alcohol?”

“No. I've been clean for the past eighteen years.”

Devin sucks in a breath. His head is spinning. “And you've made an effort to see me now? You haven't been in my life for twenty-four years when you've been sober all this time? Why? Why did it take you so long?”

“I tried.”

“You didn't try!”

“I wrote you letters. It was the only way I could say how I felt, in my own words, and you could read it whenever you wanted. Have you read any of my letters?”

Devin shakes his head. “Nope.”

“If you had, you'd know the reasons why I did what I did.”

“You mean why you left?”

Keith nods.

“It's not fair.” Devin swallows. For years he's envisioned this moment and it's not at all how he pictured the conversation. He thought it would be a fired-up screaming match, with yelling about who was to blame, but now that Devin sees such a fragile man, he doesn't know what to say or how to say it. He tried to erase the image of Keith, even though he was always in the back of his mind. What he looked like, who he was with, if he had any other children. So many questions, and yet the answers don't matter as much now. He doesn't want Keith in his life anyway, so why start something that will only be a memory of today?

“Why did you leave?” Devin asks.

“Your mom kicked me out.”

“Don't blame my mom for your demons. It was you who left because you wanted to.”

“No, Devin. That's not true.” He stares ahead.

Lit-up boats are on the open water. The Lions Gate Bridge is outlined in white lights and traffic is still a steady flow through the park.

“I lost my job,” he says, gazing out the window. “I was working as a welder.... The company shut down. There was no work. I applied all over the city and even out of town. Nothing,” he says with bitterness. “I stayed home for months. Months.” He shakes his head. “I tried working at the gas station, but even they weren't hiring. I went all over the city and nothing.” He pauses. “I started drinking. Not much, but every day. It was the only way I could pass the time and forget about what a failure I was. I couldn't provide for you or your mom. I was taking prescription drugs to help with my anxiety. I was a train wreck.” Keith looks at his son with a gentle stare. “I didn't know what to do. Your mom had had enough. I don't blame her. She kicked me out. Told me to get help. The only help I knew was what was in a bottle.”

“But I was your son,” Devin says impatiently.

“You
are
my son.”

“I'm not,” he says. “You left. You left your family. If you wanted to be my dad, you would have stuck around, or at least been in touch. I never heard from you. You can't blame Mom for the damage you did. It's your fault. You made that decision.”

“You're right, Devin. But at the time I wasn't thinking clearly. You don't know what it's like to have a family depending on you financially. It's a man's duty to his family.” Keith rubs his hands on his jeans. “When I lost my job, I let my family down. I couldn't face you. You're my son.” Keith makes eye contact with Devin. There's a pause, as though Keith is taking in the moment. “I wanted you to be proud of me. Look up to me. I knew for years you wouldn't accept me when I let you down.”

“You let me down when you didn't come home,” Devin says, his eyes burning.

“I know now that I shouldn't have listened to your mom. I should have come back at least on weekends. I know what I did and I'm sorry.” He faces his son with heavy eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought by not being in your life that you wouldn't know about me and judge me for being a failure.” He pauses and swallows. “Your mom and I separated, and she sent me divorce papers. I couldn't undo the damage I'd done. I didn't know how to fix it. Fix us. Be a family again. I needed help and had no one. By that time your mom was done. I don't blame her. She wanted to move on with her life and provide for you, something that I couldn't do.”

“Did you get a job?”

“A year later. Yeah. Part-time stocking shelves at a grocery store. It wasn't enough to get you back. I'd lost everything by then. Even your mom.”

“Why didn't you tell her? Why didn't you make an effort to come back?”

“She didn't want me.”

“Why now?” Devin asks. “Why did you want to see me?”

Keith slides his leg over, positioning himself so that he is facing his son. “I'm proud of you. You made it. What an accomplishment.”

Devin grins. He's waited all these years to hear the words.

“I have to hand it to you; not many guys would give it their all after they got turned down and rejected from playing an NHL game.”

Devin's eyes widen. “How did you know about that?”

Keith's lips come together. “I've been in touch with Stan.”

“You've been talking to Uncle Stan?” Devin asks, bewildered. He doesn't speak to his dad's brother very often, and his mom only talks to him if she runs into him at Rite Aid.

“Over the years he's kept me posted. He wanted us to reunite just as badly as I did. He helped me turn my life around.”

“That's good.”

“Tell me, what was it like to play your first NHL game?” Keith smiles. “I've always wanted to know.”

Devin thinks about it, holding the top of the steering wheel with his left hand. “Nerve-racking. Exciting.... I was nervous.” He grins. A memory he can't forget. “It was the time of my life.” It was when he got his eagle tattoo. Strength to fly. To soar above everything to get what he wanted. This was what he wanted: his career and his father. The only thing that's missing now is a family of his own.