Page 6 of Stick Fight

I tilt mine to match hers. “What do you want to drink to, Gabby?”

She hesitates, her throat making a sound as she swallows hard, and it’s easy to tell she’s fighting back tears. “To catching my fiancé in bed with my best friend before we were to walk down the aisle.”

Fuck.

A sharp pain grips my chest. I knew it was bad. But hearing the words on her lips, seeing the raw ache in her eyes, well, that hits differently. Jesus, she didn’t just lose a fiancé, she lost a best friend. That kind of betrayal wrecks a person. But there’s one thing I’m well aware of and it’s that what goes on behind closed doors is much different than what one sees in public. I’m just sorry she had to learn that firsthand too. Although, with these new facts, I can’t help but think her relationship with her ex-fiancé was very different when they weren’t in the public eye.

Isn’t everyone’s, dude?

Yeah.

“Okay,” I murmur because what else is there to say.

We clink glasses and she takes a small sip. I practically finish what’s in my cup and the burn in my throat is nothing compared to the hurt I’m feeling for her. I set it down and glance at the hotel phone. “If you’re hungry, order whatever you want, and the bed is yours, Gabby. I’m going to get out of your way, okay?”

She swallows, her blue eyes locking with mine, something fragile and unsure flickering there. “Roman…” Her gaze drifts toward the door, and then back to me. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What?” I try to tease, throwing my arms up. “Gambling in Vegas?”

“You don’t need to go.”

Her voice is quiet, but there’s something else beneath it, something desperate and unguarded. Like the thought of being alone is too much, like it terrifies her in a way she doesn’t want to admit.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The air in the room shifts, and my throat tightens as she reaches out, her fingers brushing against mine, the lightest touch—nothing, really—but it feels like a plea.

I swallow, steadying myself. “What do you need, Gabby?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper and I swear, as she looks at me like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping her afloat, I can’t help but wonder how far I’d go to save her.

2

Gabby

Ipull my hand back when I feel his rough calluses. What the heck am I doing? My thoughts are a mess, tangled and frayed. How could they not be after what I just walked into? But maybe, maybe there’s a part of me that’s desperate for human contact, a connection…warmth.

Male warmth, specifically.

Why, you ask?

Oh because, well, the truth is Cass hasn’t touched me in a long time. I guess I now know why. A hollow laugh escapes me, raw and broken and the sound is painful even to my own ears. Roman tilts his head, sharp, knowing eyes locking onto mine like he’s unraveling the mess inside me, piece by piece.

I steel myself. Cirque du Soleil might be in town, but this isn’t his circus and I’m not his monkey. I try to summon Gabrielle, the composed, accomplished fashion designer who has it all together. But I’m not sure I can fool him.

Maybe because Roman spent years reading the competition on the ice. Or maybe because he remembers me from before. Before I started shape-shifting to fit in with the expectations of others. Before I forgot who I was.

“I’m sorry.” I plaster on a smile that I already know he’ll see right through. “If you want to gamble, you should gamble. I hope you win big.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. He doesn’t look away. He’s studying me, peeling back the layers, the high-priced silk I’d carefully wrapped around myself. I turn, retreating into the burn of my drink. It’s awful, but at least it dulls the edges.

“I don’t really gamble,” he says, and I glance back at him.

And then, he takes my hand.

This time I don’t pull away. This time I let myself absorb his warmth, his quiet kindness. We weren’t that close back in the day, but Roman was always kind. And now, as his fingers tighten just slightly around mine, I realize how much I need that.

“I just thought you might want some privacy,” he murmurs softly. “But my gut tells me you don’t want me to leave.’

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You always were at the top of the class, Roman.”

He shrugs, holding my gaze. “I did okay. And…” His grip tightens, solid and protective. “I don’t really want to leave you, Gabby.”

---