Puck Bear Brides: Complete Series (BBW Werebear Paranormal Sport Romance Boxed Set) (4 page)

“I don’t know, Redmond. But let her go,” Battle’s deep, calm voice spoke, a tint of worry to it. “I think she’s got some demons to deal with.”

That’s fucking right. The ghost of boyfriends past,
Kimberley thought bitterly, feeling tears brim in her eyes as she stumbled to the parking lot, finding it deserted.

She sat down on a tree stump, practically hyperventilating by the time she dropped her head in her hands, her breath coming in short, heaving wheezes.

Why invite me here? Why play with me like this? Cannon, you fucking bastard, you’ve only gotten crueler…
 

CHAPTER FOUR

Cannon

Cannon’s world ground to a screeching halt as he noticed the tiniest movement from the corner of his eye, the graceful steps of a woman who had haunted his dreams and most of his waking moments for far more years than he cared to admit. As if by instinct rather than through the decision of his own two feet, he skated to the edge of the rink, his brow furrowed as the ice was being cleaned for a quick moment.

He saw the woman’s back turned to him, a Grizzlies cap pulled over her hair and a thick jacket hiding her frame, but there was no doubt in his mind. Or in his bear’s.

Kimmy,
he thought with a certain tint of desperation gargling up in his throat.

He turned around, skating at full speed toward Coach, holding his hockey stick in hands so rigid he wouldn’t be surprised if he couldn’t pry his fingers loose when he needed to.

“Coach, substitute me,” he said, already sitting down on the bench and starting to paw at his skates, trying to get them off as fast as he could.

“You’re going to leave your line weak! Heath doesn’t have anyone here he plays off of as well as you,” Coach said, glowering. “Don’t tell me when to pull you out, Cannon.”

“Coach. Come on.
Please
,” Cannon said, the words almost a snarl as he looked up, his face probably pale as hell.

There was silence between them for a moment, with Coach’s brows furrowed, but true to form, he didn’t pry where there was no need. At the top of his lungs, he let out a whistle, catching the attention of the Shovelers still on the ice.

“Heath, get in. Garants, you’re up,” he gruffed, Leo and Logan hopping up with wide grins on their faces. “Wear their damn first line down. I hate seeing them skate circles around you bastards.”

“Oh, we’ll wear them down all right,” Logan said with a sneer, waiting impatiently until Heath hit the bench to get out on the ice with a holler, Leo right on his heels.

“What the fuck, Coach?” Heath hissed, plopping down with a scowl on his face.

“You can talk to your partner here,” Coach said with a dismissive wave, crossing his arms on his chest as Cannon shoved his feet into a pair of snow boots and took off running, tossing his helmet over his shoulder and having it end up in the snow somewhere behind the players’ bench.

He ran through the snow, past the stands to where he’d seen Kimberley disappear. His heart was in his throat and he was still wearing his pads and gear. He could hear a few people call out his name and Cannon had no doubt that the three men left on the bench, including Heath, were giving him perplexed looks as he sprinted full speed toward the parking lot.

I can’t believe she came,
was the most prevalent thought in his head, pounding through him as fast as the adrenaline did.

Cannon Wright never got out of the game. Even when he was benched, his focus was rock solid, following the tiniest movements, the smallest bursts of activity, analyzing and memorizing his opponents. But one look at Kimberley had snapped him out of it like a cold shower, bringing the weight of the world solidly down on his shoulders. The thing was though, he didn’t fucking mind it. Not if it meant that he had a chance of seeing Kimberley again.

He wheeled to a stop in the middle of the parked cars, wild eyes searching for Kimberley, his ears pricked. In his hurry, he almost missed the ragged little breaths, but his bear took notice, pointing him almost violently in her direction. Breathing in heavily, his nostrils and lungs filled with her scent and he had no doubt anymore. It was her.

Shit, I fucked up so bad,
was the last desperate notion in his head as he stepped forward carefully, his steps light now.

He rounded around a big blue truck, definitely owned by one of the Shifter Grove hockey fans, brining Kimberley into his view. She was hunched over, sitting on a tree stump, her knees pressed together and her beautiful face hidden in her hands. Even smothered under layers of clothing and the cap partially obscuring her face, Cannon knew that she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

And he was the most fucking stupid bear that had ever lived.

“Kimberley,” he called out softly, moving toward her.

She whipped out of her misery like she’d gotten stung by a bee, green eyes filled with horror, staring at him like she was seeing a ghost. One that she really, really hated. His heart skipped a beat, confusion muddling through him at the sight of her pretty face and the sheer hatred shining back in her eyes. He deserved it, he knew. But dammit, he would have rather seen anything else there.

Well, there was more. She was hurt. She wasn’t crying, but he could bet that she wasn’t far from it. Somewhere behind them, the crowd launched into a chorus of booing, meaning the Grizzlies were getting damn close to scoring or had done so already.

Cannon’s hands rolled into fists. Never had he cared so little about how the fucking game was going to turn out. He took one more step forward, moving like he was trying to get to a wounded animal while not spooking her into a run.

“Kimmy,” he said, almost whispering.

“Don’t you dare fucking call me that,” she said with a snarl, hopping up and taking a few steps backward, her hands held up and pain streaking across her face. “You have no right! Why did you do something like this, Cannon? Why bring me here?! I thought we had an understanding. You stay out of my fucking life and I won’t scream bloody murder every time we happen to be at the same fucking playoffs.”

Not that anything like that had ever happened, Cannon knew. Whenever the Bluehawks had to go against the Sabres, or Cannon had played against any other team that Kimberley had ever been involved with, she’d always make sure that she was as far away as possible from the game. He couldn’t blame her. In her position, he would have probably done the same.

“I… I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, following her with those same tentative steps, making her back away farther. “I’m sorry, Kimberley. I didn’t want to trick you. I just… I needed to talk to you.”

Cannon scuffed a hand through his hair, feeling the short bristles slick with sweat already turning into icicles, his gloves having been left along with his skates near the bench. He felt as close to sheepish as a 240-pound bear hockey beast could, his blue eyes imploring Kimberley to listen and understand, and obviously failing brilliantly.

She stopped her backtracking, standing up a little straighter. There was that twinge of pain again, and then her green eyes blazed with honest anger, countless emotions throbbing through her at high speed as they were doing the same in him. But he felt regret. And anger too, sure, but only at himself.

“You didn’t think I’d come? If I’d known it was you I would have
never
come here, Cannon. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. That’s why I… Look, okay, I get that you’re angry. You have every right to be angry. But it was six years ago. Can’t we sit down and
talk
about it? Or anything? Shit, Kimmy, we’re better than we ever were back then. Don’t lie, you’ve enjoyed every conversation, ever chat we’ve had. I know you have.”

His hands relaxed as they stood about six feet apart from one another, six feet too far as far as Cannon was concerned. She was almost within reach and yet completely and inexplicably distant, like she was still in Montreal and he was in Chicago or Idaho, texting the woman of his dreams and hoping against hope that things would work out. The way she was looking at him now should have told even the most determined bear that it wouldn’t. That there was no way.

But he was a damn stubborn bear.

“That has nothing to do with it,” Kimberley said with a snort, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “And stop calling me
that
.”

“Why?” Cannon asked, stepping another pace closer, with Kimberley matching his movement backward, only to find her back against a tree now. “You never used to mind it.”

He knew he was playing his hand far too eagerly now and she might bite it off for it. But he also knew that he wasn’t going to get a whole lot of chances at this and if anything other than a solid smack in the face and a screaming match was going to take place, he was going to have to use everything in his arsenal to trick the enraged woman before him to give him a damn moment to explain.

His muscles tensed as he paused again, cocking a brow at her and allowing himself a smug smirk, one that made her practically growl at him. “In fact, I remember that you loved it when I called you Kimmy. When I kissed your shoulder, your clavicle, your—”

“Shut the fuck up, Cannon!” she hissed, her cheeks burning red now.

But that was enough. Cannon hadn’t thought his heart could beat any faster, but it could, just by seeing that flush of excitement on her face when he reminded her of the nights they’d spent together all those years ago. The hot, heated, heavy nights that had been the best of his life. His cock twitched against the heavy padding and Cannon knew that if he wasn’t careful, he might just end up ripping her clothes off right there. If that was what she wanted, that was.

The way her eyes shined now… hell, wasn’t make-up sex the best kind of sex, after all?

“You didn’t answer me, you know,” he said, his voice husky now, coming up to her so close that he could feel her fluttery breath on his chin as he looked down, crowding her but leaving just enough room that if she wanted to, she could slip out. “Why can’t I call you Kimmy?”

“Because you’re a fucking asshole,” she replied, her voice this breathy little whisper, and her gaze flicking between his lips and his eyes.

Cannon grinned. He knew he had hell to pay for this in a second, but he couldn’t help it. He slid one hand on her hip and brought the other to her cheek, cupping her chin, before he leaned in and kissed her long and hard on the mouth. Her tongue was in his mouth before he could move to do the same to her and her hands fisted in his jersey, tugging him closer as they kissed like two teenagers who hadn’t seen each other in so long.

Truth be told, that’s sort of how Cannon felt. And it wasn’t too far from the truth, either.

Another howling round of cheers snapped them out of it, though Kimberley obviously lost the magic before he did, because Cannon was truly only brought to his senses when her hand smacked him in the face. She didn’t put too much weight into it, though. He’d seen her play hockey when she was a teen. There was a hell of a lot more kick in that girl than he’d been graced with.

Cannon chuckled and Kimberley snarled, wiggling out from between him and the tree, though Cannon didn’t move an inch to make it any easier. He was far too busy watching her and willing his cock to stop straining against the damn cup.

“You’re a grade-A fucking jerk, Cannon Wright,” she said, stomping through the snow toward the bus, flipping him the bird over her shoulder.

“I missed you too, baby,” he called after her, smiling like a damn fool.

So there was hope. And there was a snowstorm rolling in that night. He’d have plenty of time to be sorry for being everything she said he was—none of it a lie—but right now, there was a game to win. Knowing Kimmy, she wasn’t going to give him another chance to tell her anything before she’d cooled off a little anyway.

She showed up. I can’t believe it.

The bad thing was that was as far as he’d gotten with his plan. Get Kimberley Thomas to Shifter Grove. His whole brilliant plot. The rest of it was going to be played by ear. Good thing he was a decent tactician.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kimberley

There were plenty of long faces in the Minnesota Grizzlies camp when a team of nine guys who called themselves the Shovelers beat a team mostly consisting of their top players. Sure, they hadn’t taken all of the big names to Idaho—why would they, even for a practice match with regional contenders, regardless of their recent move—but getting beat on a damn lake when less than half of the opposing team was available? That had to sting.

By the looks on the self-titled Shovelers, they weren’t quite done rubbing it in, either.

Cannon leaned back in his seat, Memphis and the Grizzlies’ goalie Joe deep in conversation, or more like growling argument, over a goal Cannon had sent into the net that Joe had protested against. Memphis was doing a good enough job “defending” Cannon’s honor so the man himself didn’t have to delve into the ins and outs of why he was clearly in the right and Joe was obviously in the wrong.

Don’t tell me she didn’t come,
Cannon thought with some bitterness, his gaze creeping across Austin’s Texas, the only real bar that Shifter Grove had.

It was stocked to the rafters with hockey players and fans, the evening a free-for-all and most of the players getting to constantly shake hands and share drinks with well-meaning viewers. It was a bit of a tradition, this after-game party, and Cannon had always been an enthusiastic attendant, but this time, his heart just wasn’t in it.

Taking another sip of his beer, he stood up with a sigh as the liquid tasted little better than ash, stretching his legs as he put some distance between himself and the long table of arguing hockey jocks. He walked to the bar and dropped one elbow on it, surveying the surroundings, his blue eyes searching for any sign of the woman who’d driven him nuts for years and years, and was probably the sole reason the Shovelers had won that day. It was impossible not to be at one’s best when a bear saw his mate for the first time in years.