Unravel Me (Playing For Keeps Book 3)

“What are you doing?”

I shift my reading glasses up my nose and flip the page. “Reading.”

“I know that,” Garrett grumbles. “But reading what?”

“A book.”

He pins his arms over his chest and slumps in his plane seat. “You’re so annoying sometimes, you fuckin’ turkey.”

I smile to myself, sticking a blue tab to a passage in my book. Riling up Garrett is fun. He starts spewing all kinds of weird, colorful insults, most of them picked up from Jennie, who also likes to rile him up. For different reasons than me, though. Something about hand necklaces and other shit I’d rather not know.

“What’s that you’re doing there?” Jaxon gestures at the tabs I’m sticking in my book. “With the tabs?”

“It’s called annotating,” Carter answers for me, pulling a box of Oreos from his bag. “Oooh, fudge dipped. Fuck yeah, Ollie.” He rips open the package and tosses one in his mouth. “Aw-wie does it wif her spicy books.” He swallows the cookie so he can talk like an adult again. “She marks out all the sexy stuff she likes, and then we try it. Like this blindfold—”

“No.” I hold up a hand. “Stop. I hate how much I know about your sex life.”

Jaxon frowns. “So, you’re marking sexy shit to try with Rosie?”

“No, I’m—”

“Cara bookmarks porn she likes,” Emmett says. “That’s kinda like annotating, but with a movie, not a book.”

“What? No, that’s not the same—”

He smiles, a far-off look in his eyes. “Last week, she came out of the bathroom wearing this leather—”

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t want to know about any of your sex lives!”

“Whoa,” Garrett murmurs, eyes wide. “Someone’s testy.”

Carter licks at the icing on a new cookie. “’Cause he’s not gettin’ any right now.”

“He smashed through all of my condoms in one night and now he hasn’t had sex in three weeks,” Jaxon adds unnecessarily.

Emmett pats my shoulder. “It’d make the best of us grumpy.”

“Holy fuck.” I tuck my book away; clearly reading’s not happening anymore. With my MacBook and AirPods, I stand and point to an empty seat down the row. “I’m gonna watch a movie.”

“Have fun looking at pictures of Rosie,” Garrett calls as I walk away.

We’ve been on the road for three days for our first two preseason games in Edmonton and Calgary, and Garrett’s been my unlucky roommate.

No, wait. I’m the unlucky roommate. He came back to the room one night and found me looking at all the pictures Rosie’s been sending me of her and Bear while he’s been recovering from surgery at the school clinic, and I came back to the room one night to him furiously scrubbing a mess off the carpet while Jennie was cackling at him over FaceTime. He screamed at the both of us that he’d scored a goal and deserved to let loose, even though it was only an exhibition game. Which scene would you rather come home to?

Popping my headphones in, I open my laptop and pull up my message thread with Rosie. Our preseason started the day after Bear’s surgery, but knowing Rosie would be there every day to give him lots of love made it easier to get on the plane. The pictures and videos she’s been diligently sending don’t hurt either.

I pull up my favorite one, sent this morning.

Rosie smiles at the camera, bright and happy. “Let’s go see if Bear is up.”

She pushes through a set of swinging doors, and his head pops up from his bed. Slowly, he gets to his feet, tail whipping back and forth, thudding against the wall of the oversized kennel.

“Look at you, big boy,” Rosie coos, propping her phone up as she gets down on her knees, burying her fingers in his fur. Bear wastes no time covering her face in kisses, and she giggles, hugging him close. “Do you wanna tell Daddy how much you miss him?” She points at the camera as Bear gives a little woof. “Say, ‘I love you, Daddy.’” He barks again. “That’s my handsome boy.”

A text cuts across my screen, and I sigh at the interruption from my publicist.

ANGIE

She’s called me three times today, Adam.

There’s no name, because Angie knows we don’t say it when we can avoid it.

You’d think blocking her number not once, but twice, and telling her to never call me again would do the trick, but after Courtney called me that night at Rosie’s, in the middle of all the chaos, she resorted to calling Angie.

The woman hasn’t been in my life since I tossed her—and the guy she was fucking—out of my bed over a year ago, and suddenly she wants to chat. I don’t have the time of day for her, and I certainly can’t be bothered to see her again. I still cringe at the thought of her in my kitchen that morning in July, wearing nothing but my T-shirt, acting like she belonged there, claiming she’d been at my party the night before.

Drunk Adam doesn’t always make the brightest decisions, but Drunk Adam has never made an oopsie that size.

ME

I don’t want to talk to her.

And I’ve told her that. Approximately 25,000x. Honestly, Adam, how you were ever with this woman is beyond me. No offense.

I could swear up and down that Courtney was nothing like this at seventeen, but the more reflecting I do, the more signs I see that I didn’t before. Still, on my bad days, I sometimes wonder if I’m responsible, if I didn’t love her the way she needed to be loved, if the hockey made me too absent. All the same fears that led to my downfall, to the lies I never should’ve told Rosie.

I think you should meet with her. Hear me out.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

I know, I know. But she says she’s got something you’d want to hear.

That’s bullshit. What could she possibly have to say that I’d want to hear?

I agree, but I also know you like to stay out of the media when it’s not hockey or fundraising related, and I wouldn’t put it past her to drag you into something if she wants your attention that badly. So I say we meet her somewhere public, I do the talking, and we give her five minutes, nothing more.

Courtney has embarrassed me enough in the media, but nothing is worse than the hurt it causes, knowing that after all we’ve been through, all the years I gave her, she cares so little for me that she would go to such great lengths to tear me down in whatever way she can. Like all she wants to do is wreck everything I’ve worked so hard for, take away this life I’ve earned.

So I agree to five minutes, not a single second more, this Saturday. I just want this over with.

Tension stacks in my shoulders, so tight it curls me forward. I roll my neck, but the stiffness has already dug its claws in. My fingers move on their own accord, hitting that Video Call button, and my knee bounces as I pray for it to connect.

Rosie’s face fills my computer screen, and I melt into the seat.

“Hey,” she greets me quietly, a spark of hesitance in her eyes. Through all the messages since Bear came out of surgery, we haven’t spoken face to face.

“Sorry for calling so late.”

“It’s okay. I just climbed into bed two minutes ago.” She looks like an angel, lit only by the glow of her phone, pink waves scattered around her face, the sleeve of her oversized sleep tee hanging off one delectable shoulder. “Congrats on your…oh God, this is going to be so embarrassing. I know this is wrong, but I know it’s close. Shut-up?”

I bark a laugh, and she blushes my favorite blush. “Shutout .”

“I told you it was gonna be embarrassing. But it still made sense in my head. You didn’t let in any goals, so it kinda shuts up the other team, you know?”

“I like it. Petition to change it from shutout to shut-up.”

“I know you’re just placating me, Adam Lockwood.”

“And I know I’m in trouble when you or my mom use my full name.” I smile at the way she giggles. “Did you watch?”

She nods, brushing her bangs back. “Both games. Carter Beckett is really fast. And Jaxon likes to fight a lot, which I wasn’t expecting, given that he fell head over heels for a cat at first sight, called him Mittens, and then adopted him.”

“He hides his soft side behind tattoos and punches.”

“And you, you were so…” She blows out a breath, eyes widening. “Big . I didn’t think you could get any bigger, but you really did. And, um…flexible. I mean, I knew you were flexible, of course.” Her eyes widen. “Oh God. That’s…that’s…” She swipes a hand through the air. “Just never mind me.”

Christ, she’s so damn cute, I’d give anything to pull her into my arms right now. “I, uh, called because I…wanted…to…” Tell you I love you and I’ve hated every single minute apart from you? “Thank you. For taking care of Bear.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that, Adam. He makes school better, getting a hug and kiss whenever I want.”

“That’s why he looks so smug in all the pictures you send me, huh?”

“You know I can’t say no to him. Plus, he’s thriving on all the attention. He’s got the girls here wrapped around his paw.” A rustle draws her gaze away from me, and then she dives under the covers with her phone. “Oh shoot. I’m waking Connor. I better get going.”

“I’ll see you in the morning? When I pick up Bear?”

“I’ll be there, Adam. We’re so excited to see you.”

We’re . The single word sends my stupid heart into a tailspin, and I fixate on it for the rest of the flight, and two hours later when I’m lying awake in bed. When I’m walking into the clinic after breakfast the next morning, spinning my keys around my finger and whistling, the six-word sentence is still playing on repeat in my head.

“Mr. Lockwood,” the receptionist greets me. “It’s a beautiful day to bring home a happy, healthy pup.”

“It definitely is.” I slide a box of donuts onto the desk. “These are for everyone.”

“We love donuts. I’ll let them know you’re here.”

A woman walks out from the back a minute later, and she most definitely doesn’t have pink hair. “Come on back with me. I’ll walk you through what to expect from Bear’s recovery at home.”

“Is Rosie here? I brought her breakfast, in case she didn’t eat this morning. She forgets sometimes.”

“Rosie’s working on an emergency that came in about twenty minutes ago. She’ll be sad she missed you, but I can take those for you.” She reaches for the iced latte, the bag with a piping hot bacon, gouda, and egg breakfast sandwich on a croissant, with a warm and gooey ginger molasses cookie.

And what do I do? I pull the items into my chest, because apparently, I’m a child.

“I’ll make sure she gets them, Mr. Lockwood,” the woman assures me. “I promise I won’t eat her breakfast.”

“Oh.” I look down at the food in my hand before slowly handing it over. “Okay. Thank you.”

A gloomy feeling settles low in my stomach. With Bear coming home, Rosie has no reason to check in. As I follow the doctor through the clinic, my brain is already working in overdrive, conjuring up a hundred ways to accidentally bump into her. If I can get my hands on her hat again, she’ll have to see me.

“Rosie came in early this morning to get Bear ready,” the doctor tells me. “She took him for a short walk around campus and said he was very happy to get out in the sun.” She gestures me inside a small examination room, where Bear greets me by hopping up on his hind legs, front paws on my stomach.

“Oh, buddy.” I drop to my knees, letting him lick my face, my hands in his thick, silky fur. Relief expands in my chest, clogging my throat as I hug my dog to my chest. “I love you, Bear,” I murmur against his floppy ear. My hands slide over soft cotton, and I pull back to look at the bandana tied around his neck. “What’s this?”

“Rosie wanted to surprise you. And as you can see, Bear looks very dapper in his new bandana.”

The Vipers logo and my jersey number, forty, cover the blue bandana. But right in the center? A drawing of me and my best, furry bud, the words Daddy’s biggest fan scrawled beneath it.

I should’ve known. If ever there was going to be somebody who would see past it all, the goalie mask, the fears, and the insecurities, I should’ve known it would be Rosie.

It’s always been Rosie.

ROSIE

Think with your brain, not with your tits. Think with your brain, not with your tits.

No matter how many times I repeat the words, all I can see is muscles. Miles of muscles. Intricately carved, golden like honey, moving lithely under a soft, Saturday morning sun in September, ebony curls falling over bright blue eyes. For the best, really, because I know what will happen when I see them.

I’ll drown. I’ll lose myself in those eyes, all the love, the kindness, the patience that swims in them. I came here to talk to him, to figure out where to go from here, but when I look at him, the only words that come to mind are I love you .

I only make it another three steps down the winding driveway before my heart free-falls to my stomach, my feet halting. The bright garden Adam has been working at since I appeared at the end of his driveway comes into focus, lush petals splashing a rainbow of colors across his front porch, lulling me forward, closer to a feeling that screams of home.

“What are you doing?”

Adam’s eyes flip up, and he jumps to his feet, all six foot five of sweaty, barely-covered muscles. “Rosie.”

Bear leaps up from the dog bed on the porch, whining as he jogs toward me, pressing himself into my side.

Adam swipes at the sweat beading on his forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt above his eyebrow. “You’re here.”

I zero in on a droplet running a river down the center of his broad chest, through the flawlessly etched abs flexing as he yanks off his gloves.

“What are you doing?” I repeat, eyes flicking to the bushes that weren’t here before.

He wrings the gloves, gaze ricocheting between me and the bushes.

“Adam…” I skim the soft pink petals, fighting the sting of emotion behind my eyes. “These are peonies. You’re planting a peony garden in your front yard.”

He nods.

“Why?” I whisper, heart pounding in my ears.

The haze in his eyes clears, leaving them vulnerable. “Because I wanted you to feel like you were home if you decided to come back to me.”

There’s too much space between us. Too fucking much , the only logical decision is to eliminate it by throwing myself at his chest, wrapping every inch of me around him until there’s nothing left.

Adam chuckles softly, his hand running down my back.

“I forgot how good you feel,” I cry softly into his neck, and then he sighs, his body relaxing as he hugs me tighter.

“I missed you so much, Rosie.”

I slide down his body, wiping the traitorous tears from my cheeks. “I came to check on Bear, and then I was gonna segue into asking if we could talk about things. I wasn’t planning on jumping on you.”

He laughs again, and I’m not sure there’s a more beautiful sound.

“For future reference, jumping on me is always acceptable.” He gestures at my bag, discarded somewhere along the way on the driveway, and the dog jumping at my feet. “Do you want to check on Bear and then segue into asking me if we can talk here, or should we do it inside?” He cringes, checking his watch. “Shit, I forgot I have to meet someone in a half hour. It’s kind of important. My publicist said I have to be there.”

“Oh. That’s okay.” Disappointment slumps my shoulders, and Adam palms the back of his neck.

“I could push it? Yeah, I’ll just push it. Then we can have as much time as we need to talk.”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have shown up unannounced. I dropped Connor off at Brandon’s and instead of going home I wound up here instead.”

“I won’t be long. If you want, you could wait here with Bear, and I’ll come right home.” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“That works.” I scrub Bear’s ears, smiling down at the happy boy. “Let’s go inside and get you comfy on the couch so I can check you out, ’kay, handsome?”

Inside, Adam sets his gardening tools down in the hallway and heads upstairs to shower as I unpack my bag.

“Oh shoot,” I mutter, pulling Connor’s stuffed kitty out. Being with Adam this past summer helped me realize my son is a lot more flexible than I gave him credit for, but the one constant in his life is this kitty in his bed every single night, no matter where he sleeps. I’ve had to walk it over to Brandon’s house while Connor screamed on the other end of the phone far too many times.

Once Bear has been thoroughly checked and I’m confident in his healing, I snuggle beside him, his head in my lap as I call Brandon. It takes three tries before he answers.

“What?”

“I forgot to leave you Connor’s kitty.”

“Fuck, Rosie.” He blows out a deep breath, one I barely hear over all the noise in the background. “That was stupid of you.”

My chest pulls taut at the six-letter word he wields so easily. “I can bring it over later.”

“Yeah, you better,” he mumbles distractedly. “Aw, bullshit! He was on the bag! He’s safe!” Another sigh. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. Bring it over sometime after four.”

“Did you guys go out? That’s fun.” I bite my tongue to stop from asking him if he has our son at a bar while he watches a baseball game.

“Nah, Connor’s at home.”

“Oh. Who’s watching him? I could’ve kept him longer if you wanted to go out.”

He barks a laugh. “Sure, and then you’d bitch at me for not spending more time with him. He’s fine anyway. I set the alarm before I left.”

“You set the…what?”

“The alarm.”

I rub the headache forming in my temples while I process the meaning behind his words, the sound of Adam’s footsteps as he comes down the stairs thumping along with the beat of my agitated heart. “Who’s watching Connor?” I ask again.

“I set the alarm,” he repeats.

“Who the hell is watching Connor, Brandon?”

“Relax,” he says on a muffled whisper. “I put him in his playpen for his nap, and I set the alarm on my way out. I’m just at the bar downstairs.”

“You left our toddler at home alone while you went to get drunk and watch a fucking baseball game?” My last restraint snaps, and I leap to my feet as the words rush out of me, an angry, violent wave that pulses through me. “How can you be so damn careless with your son’s life?”

I don’t stick around to hear his bullshit excuse. Instead, I stuff my phone in my bag and march down the hallway, angry tears flooding my vision as I struggle to put my running shoes on.

“I’m sorry,” I say as Adam forces me to sit on the stairs, slips my shoes on for me. “I have to go. I don’t know how…does he not love him at all? He’s his father, for fuck’s sake.” My fists ball, fingernails biting into flesh, and I mumble a distracted thank you as he helps me back to my feet, opens the door for me, and follows me outside.

“Rosie,” he calls as I start my trek down his driveway.

“I’ll call you later, Adam.”

“Rosie .”

I stop, glancing over my shoulder. He stands at his truck, holding the passenger door open. There’s a tic in his sharp jawline, veins popping in his forearm as he clenches his keys in his fist, anger radiating off him.

“Get in the truck.”

“You have to meet someone. You said it was important. Your publicist—”

“Canceled. Get in the truck.”

“But—”

“Connor is a million times more important. There is nobody as important to me as you and that little boy, so for the love of God, Rosie, get in this truck before I throw you in it.”

My heart thrums, and he doesn’t take his eyes off me as I walk toward him, as he helps me into the seat and shuts me in. He doesn’t say a word the entire drive, silently following my quiet, panicked directions. The truck is barely in park before he’s hopping from his seat, towing me from mine, pulling me through the lobby to the elevator.

As soon as the doors open, Connor’s wails pierce my ears, floating down the hallway of the condo.

“Fuck,” Adam mutters, hot on my heels as I race to the apartment door.

“It’s locked,” I cry, jiggling the handle.

“Maaamaaa ,” Connor screams, sending hot tears cascading down my cheeks as Adam gently sets me aside, playing with the lock.

“It’s okay, baby!” I fight to mask the anxiety clawing its way up my throat. “Mama’s here!”

“We’re coming in to get you, okay, buddy?” Adam tells him. “Just hang tight.”

“What do we do? Should I go find Brandon? Get his keys?”

“I’ve got it,” Adam mumbles.

“How are you going to—” I gasp as Adam shoves his shoulder against the door. “Adam, it’s a reinforced door. There’s no way you can—”

His shoulder connects with it a second time, and the door pops off the top hinge. With a grunt, he shoves his body into it once, twice more, and he catches himself against the frame right as the door swings open and the elevator opens behind us.

“What the fuck?” Brandon yells. “My fucking door!”

“Imagine you cared about your family as much as you cared about your door?” Adam bars his arm across the entrance, stopping Brandon from following me as I race through the apartment. “Don’t fucking follow her.”

Connor’s tear-streaked face appears from where he’s trapped between the floor and his tipped-over playpen. Little hands reach for me, fear-stricken eyes colliding with mine, and I rip the playpen off him, scooping him into my arms, pressing my lips to the small gash on his forehead.

“I’m here, baby,” I weep softly into his hair as he buries his face in my neck. “It’s going to be okay. Mama’s got you.” I scoop his bag off the floor, and Adam takes it from me, his hand on my back as he guides me toward the door, past a confused and half-drunk Brandon. “He was trapped under his playpen.”

“He…he…” Brandon’s eyes ricochet from the mess in his living room to the blood trickling from Connor’s forehead. “He must’ve tried to climb out and it tipped over. It was an accident. Right? It was just an accident, buddy. You’re okay.”

He reaches for Connor, and I yank him away.

“Don’t touch him,” I seethe. “Never again. You’ve had a million chances. Too many chances , and like a fool, I kept giving you more because all I’ve ever wanted is for Connor to have a family. But you’re not his family, are you? You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“That’s not true,” he tries weakly, eyes flicking to Adam. “I…I love him.”

“You don’t have a clue what love is.”

He rolls his eyes, giving up the act. “And you do?”

“I know it feels nothing like this. This toxic, selfish bullshit you call love does nothing but harm people. And I won’t let you hurt him anymore.”

“So what? You guys are done with me then?”

“You’re not even on the birth certificate.”

He snorts a laugh, shaking his head as I turn to leave. “Whatever. Big fucking loss. Sick of being a goddamn babysitter.”

I spin around, the words on the tip of my tongue, but Adam beats me to it.

“And that’s your fucking problem, isn’t it?” He looms over Brandon, watching as he shrinks away. “You’re not a babysitter, you’re his goddamn father, and the last thing you’ve ever done is act like it.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Brandon looks at me, a bitter chuckle rising in his throat. “This is who you’re dating? Adam fucking Lockwood? You must be mental if you think this guy cares about anything other than getting pussy.” He looks to Adam. “She must be holding out on you still, otherwise you’d know it’s not worth it.”

“Leave,” Adam says, so quietly, the single word scatters a shiver down my spine. “Rosie, leave. Now.”

“I—”

“What is she, your newest charity case? She’s a worthless piece of ass, Lockwood. You must know that, though, right? That’s why I’ve never seen her in any pictures with you. You’re embarrassed.”

“Leave,” Adam repeats, eyes locked on Brandon as he points at me. “Take Connor and get in the truck.”

“She poked a hole in the condom just to get a baby out of me,” Brandon spits his lie when I try to walk away, knowing full and well that fucking latex ripped right down the middle. “Because she was so desperate for a family. For someone to fucking want her. Someone as rich and famous as you? What do you think she’s gonna do to trap you?”

The door slams in my face, a force so heavy and brutal it knocks me back a step. But that’s not what brings the gasp ripping up my throat.

It’s the sound of Adam’s fist connecting with flesh and bone.

Once.

Twice.

Three times .

His whispered threats are barely audible, and I’m rooted in place as they float through the door, touching my ears.

“You shut your goddamn mouth and quit acting like those two walking out this door and never looking back won’t be the worst thing that’ll ever happen to you. Because I promise you, it fucking is. You’re only gifted something like this once in a lifetime, and somebody else is going to appreciate and love the beautiful family you were given, the same one you took for granted.”

“Who?” Brandon struggles to ask. “You?”

“Yeah. Me.”

The door swings open, and I stumble backward before Adam’s fingers wrap around my arm, catching me. He takes my crying son into his arms without hesitation, hugging him tight as Connor buries his Dada s in Adam’s neck. His hand slips down my arm, fingers linking with mine, and my gaze settles on his swollen, bloodied knuckles.

Adam pulls me into the elevator, his heated gaze coming to mine as his chest heaves with each ragged breath. “I think we need some hot fudge sundaes.”