Page 6 of Total Shutdown

My phone buzzes again.

“And do what exactly?”

He pulls me into him. He’s hard. “Fuck. Seems only fair to give me another shot at a higher score.”

It would be so easy—one palm pushing his bare, ripped chest, and he would be flat on his back in seconds. I could hitch up my dress and sink right down, showing him how I like to be in control.

I shake my head, thinking better of it. I don’t need Sawyer Bryce inside me again. One and done, and that’s what I’m sticking with.

“No,” I answer abruptly.

His hand falls from my hip, eyes narrowing. “Do you plan on completely ignoring me after every game from now on?”

A car horn sounds outside, and I immediately turn to leave.

I twist the handle on his bedroom door, glancing back at him. An odd feeling of regret rises in my gut, but just like the tingles, I push that down too. “Mackenzie.”

He scratches at the back of his neck, obviously confused. “Huh?”

“That’s my last name. Last night, you said you didn’t know it, so I’m telling you now. I don’t plan on ignoring you, Sawyer. In fact, I don’t plan on changing anything between us at all. You’re the hockey player whose teammate just happens to be dating my friend. We were both horny, so we spent a night together, and you said it yourself that you hadn’t hooked up in a while. That’s literally the extent of it.”

Sawyer shakes his head and tips it toward the ceiling. “Collins Mackenzie.” In his delectable Southern accent, he rolls the name around his mouth like he’s testing it out.

I drop an exasperated shoulder, so damn ready to get home.

Finally, he brings his attention back to my face, heated gaze still present. “Nice name. But I think I prefer Baby Girl.”

CHAPTERTHREE

SAWYER

Sophie’s parents, Alyssa and Dom, live only a couple of blocks away from me in Cobble Hill. Their brownstone house is identical to mine and has three floors, plus a basement. Ezra spends fifty percent of his time staying with them and the other half with me. Truthfully, I don’t know where I’d be without them. Immediately after Sophie’s death, I lost all ability to function, and Alyssa and Dom stepped up to help care for and raise Ezra.

It wasn’t only my sanity hanging by a thread, but also my hockey career—I was ready to quit and take a regular job that didn’t involve days or weeks on the other side of the country. Alyssa and Dom saved that too.

I reach into my coat pocket and pull out their house keys, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

“Hey, where are you at?” I drop my keys into the designated dish set on the console table and take the stairs down to the eat-in kitchen, where they nearly always are.

“Up here!” I hear Alyssa’s voice call from the living area on the floor above.

Retaking the stairs, I make my way to the back of the house and find my in-laws reading on the couch. Ezra’s completely oblivious to my presence as he sits on a single armchair and shouts some kind of instruction at the TV mounted above the fireplace. His headphones cover his ears, and he grips his PlayStation controller tightly while he obsesses over his latest video game.

I approach him, lifting a headphone away from his ear. “Hi. My name’s Dad, and I’m here to pick you up.”

He pulls his body away, offering me a quick smirk before his eyes flick back to the screen. “Right after this last battle.”

“He’s been playing for the past two hours.” Dom closes his book and sets it down on the coffee table in front of him. “It’s getting harder to pull him away and back into real life.”

Alyssa’s face is all in agreement. I glance quickly at Ezra and bite the inside of my cheek. It was a mistake, suggesting they buy him a second PlayStation for when he stayed here. But they were stuck for birthday gift ideas since the kid didn’t have many other interests, and all I’ve ever wanted is for him to be happy.

“At least when it was just the laptop, he wasn’t taking over the house,” Alyssa adds, standing from the couch and making her way toward the staircase.

I scratch at the back of my neck and follow her down to the kitchen, heading for the fridge and pulling out a water.

“Want to stay for lunch?” she asks, grabbing a cutting board as she waits for an answer.

Each time I look at my mother-in-law, I see Sophie. With her wavy red hair and green eyes, it’s like a glimpse at what my late wife would have looked like if she were still here and twenty-five years older.

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