Idly running her fingertips over the center of my chest, she doesn't mince words. "You don't look focused."

"I don't feel focused," I say with resignation, and also gratitude that she talks honestly to me.

Painfully so.

"Then that means you have something heavy weighing on you. Want to talk about it?"

Do I? Do I want to share my demons? Will she understand or will she make the same inevitable comparison that I made between our lives, and judge me to be unworthy because I can't seem to get my shit fully together?

The mere fact that I'm worried over her reaction tells me that my confidence in general has taken a hit. At least the asshole that is Alex Crossman wouldn't ever apologize or make excuses for his actions or reactions. Soft, cuddly Alex is a different story, and I mentally sneer at myself to man up and lay it on the line.

"When I went to Canada...it was to put my dad in rehab," I tell her, letting the impact of my words sink in. This will hit close to home with Sutton.

She jerks in my arms and sits up straight, dislodging my arm from around her shoulders. Thankfully, her gaze is sympathetic, not piteous. She also gives me a small smile of appreciation, which I know is because I shared with her.

Raising up on her knees and flipping her leg over my lap, Sutton straddles me, resting the palms of her hands on my chest. The warmth of her touch seeps in with soothing effect, which helps to relax me marginally.

"Oh, Alex," she says gently. "I'm sorry. That's a very brave thing to do, but it's also so scary."

Exactly. Scary as shit.

"His doctor says if he doesn't quit drinking, he's going to die."

"He's had a long history, then," she guesses.

"Ever since I can remember," I say wryly.

Sliding her fingers up to just above my open button at the top of my shirt, she grazes her fingers over the skin of my collarbone. It's not sexual, but speaks more of a need to have skin-on-skin contactato promote more closeness, so to speak. I'd be lying though if I didn't admit my dick twitched just a bit.

"Do you want to talk about it...tell me details? Sometimes it helps to share."

My hands, which had previously been resting on the couch on either side of my hips, move up to grip her thighs. I rub my thumbs over her legs, pushing in so she can feel it through the coarse denim of her jeans.

Staring at the base of her throat, because I'm not sure I can reveal my story while looking in her eyes, I tell her all about my dad.

"My dad was a hockey player, but wasn't good enough to make it out of the minors, and wasn't even good enough to stay there for very long. When he had kids, he decided to have us live his dream."

Maybe because she's fully aware that this is hard for me, probably because I won't look her in the eyes, Sutton leans in and lays her head on my shoulder, pressing her chest against mine. She then grabs on to my wrists and forcibly removes my hands from her thighs, directing them to wrap around her back and hold on to her tight.

With her plastered up against me, and my gaze now focused on the fire, I continue my story. "My brother, Cameron, is five years older. He had no talent, so Dad basically ignored him his entire life. But that left him to channel all of his energy into mea"

My voice breaks, not with any overwhelming emotion, because I'm pretty ice-cold when I confront these memories. Instead, I find my mouth to be dry merely because I'm getting ready to lay my heavy story on Sutton's doorstep and I have no clue how she's going to react.

As if sensing my hesitation, she murmurs, "Only tell me if you want, Alex. No pressure."

Not quite realizing that my chest has been tight, my muscles loosen up a bit and I can breathe easier. Her insistence I go at the pace that I feel most comfortable with makes the fear lessen.

"He was abusive. Drunk most of the time, but verbally and physically abusive. No matter how good I wasaand Sutton, I was fucking goodahe always found fault with my play. And fault required punishment."

I squeeze my arms a little tighter around her, for my comfort and maybe hers as well. "I'm sure it was to soothe his own conscience but my dad disguised punishment as apractice.' He'd shoot pucks at my body and wouldn't let me defend. I'd have bruises all over and it hurt like a motherfucker. Or he'd make me do drills, sometimes for hours on end, often into the wee hours of the morning. He wouldn't let me stop to drink anything, and only after I'd collapse in exhaustion was the apractice' over. He'd berate me...constantly, and in front of others. If I dared to talk back to him, or even plead with him for a break, he'd use his fists, or a hockey stick, or his belt...whatever was handiest."

One of Sutton's hands, which is still resting on my chest, digs into my skin in angst and she lets out a stuttering breath.

"He was a monster," she whispers.

"Yes," I tell her. "Most of the time, but not all. There were some good times."

"I know," she says simply, and she does. She said as much the other day, that there were some good times with Cosmo.

"He stole your childhood."

"Yes," I agree.

"He made you hate your career."

"Yes."

"I don't like your dad," she says, almost petulantly, and it makes me laugh.

"I don't like him much either," I agree again, giving her a slight kiss on her head.

"But you're worried about him. Just like I worry about Cosmo."

"Yes," I tell her, but I don't tell her everything. I don't tell her about the crushing guilt that I'm suffering under, because I think it's my fault that he got to be this bad. I spent the last eight years of my adult life, out from under his ruling thumb, just watching him drink his life down the toilet. I ate dinner after dinner with him while he pounded double vodkas, almost wishing for him to drink faster so he'd pass out and forget about me. Never once did it cross my mind that he could be killing himself.

I enabled him to keep going, often wishing it so. Maybe subconsciously I wanted him to die, so he would be out of my life for good.

Those thoughts cause a violent shudder to run through me and bile to back up in my throat. Those thoughts are going to cause me to go to hell, and I'm not sure I can ever atone for them.

Sutton pushes up off my chest where she has been lying and when our eyes meet, I notice hers have a light film of tears coating them. She's sad for me...crying for me, and that touches me deeper than anything ever has before.

Reaching one hand up, I sift my fingers through the hair at her temple and push them back. When I cup the back of her head, I give it just the gentlest of shakes so she knows I mean business. "Don't you cry for me, Sutton. Don't waste your tears on that story. You have far more important things to shed them over."

Sutton's own hand comes up and grips my wrist that's holding her head. Her smile is tremulous. "I can't help crying for you. I love you."

Emotion such as I have never felt in my entire life wells up inside of me. It seems to bubble up from the center of my stomach, spreading outward...down my legs, my arms...up my spine. It blankets my skin with a warm tingle, and the center of my chest feels like it's going to erupt in a fountain of released tension.

I urge the feeling on, waiting on the euphoria that I feel is ready to break free because of Sutton's revelation that she loves me. I wait for it to expel my bitterness and fuel me with peace.

I wait for it, and wait for it, and wait for it.

But it never happens. Instead, the tingle dulls and while a light feeling of warmth remains behind, an ache centers in my chest, folds in on itself to a focused intensity, and throbs with drum-like precision.

It's the pain of realization that I don't love Sutton back.

At least I don't think I do. Otherwise, why didn't the joy leap free? Why did my heart become pained instead?

I search for the feeling again, will it back to life.

I'm left empty.

Sutton stares at me, the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree dancing in her eyes. She's not waiting for the words to come back to her. I know this because I see no expectation or disappointment in her gaze. I only see love, and care, and tenderness. I only see her waiting for me to accept her gift with absolutely no assumption that she's going to get something in return.

She's the most fucking amazing and selfless person I've ever met, and it has never been more clear that I am the most unworthy person for her.

I should let her go...right now, right this very minute.

But I'm a selfish bastard and I'm not going to do it. I'm going to keep her until I'm ready to destroy her, and then I'll just add that to the pile of guilt I'm already suffering under.

Chapter 26.

Sutton

"Stop fidgeting," Alex tells me. "You look nervous."

"You're fidgeting too," I point out dryly.

"That's because I'm nervous. I don't do shit like this."

Laughing, I hook my arm through his elbow and we wind our way through the party guests. "It will be fine. Just smile, make small talk and drink a few beers to relax."

Alex is admittedly nervous because he doesn't socialize with his teammates. Or, at least he hasn't in the past. I'm definitely nervous because this is the first time I'm meeting the rest of the team and their significant others, and I feel like a spotlight is on me. Especially since I know Alex's former flame was transparent in her quest to land a hockey husband. I just don't want anyone to think that about me.

Kelly and Mike Malone are having an Ugly Christmas Sweater party. This is apparently the second year they've hosted it and it's adults only. According to Alex, it's one of the few times the team gets together sans children and parties it up hard. He's already assured me he is designated driver, which doesn't surprise me, and he's told me to tie one on if I want. Alex rarely drinks more than two beers, and I have to wonder if that's because of his father's problems.

We wind our way through the throng and into the kitchen where an entire bar of wine, beer and every liquor on the face of the earth is set out. Kelly is standing there with a group of women and when she sees me her face lights up.

Coming around the kitchen island, she reaches her arms out for a hug. "Sutton...I'm so glad you came. And your sweater is a hoot."

Looking down briefly and then stepping into her hug, I give a grin. My sweater is pretty hideous. It's bright red and green with an embroidered fruitcake on the front and a red bow that's made of some type of shaggy red material that poofs out across my chest. Alex took one look at me when he picked me up and demanded I change. I told him to kiss my buttait was an Ugly Sweater party, after all.

After releasing me, Kelly turns to Alex and playfully punches him on his bicep. "How come you're not wearing a sweater, Alex?"

"Uh...yeah, I don't do ugly sweaters," he says seriously and Kelly gives him a mock glare.

"Party pooper," she says and then lays her palms on his shoulders and pushes him out of the kitchen. "Go. Find the boys. Go play and do whatever you boys do together. I'm stealing Sutton."

Alex doesn't budge at first and shoots a panicked look to me. He really doesn't want to be here but is making the effort to be sociable. I know he'd feel more comfortable with me by his side. I almost feel sorry for him, but then realize that this will be a good learning experience.

Giving him a little wave with my hand, I say, "Shoo. Go play."

The look Alex gives me is priceless. It says, The only playing I want to do is with you...in the bedroom.

But he takes it like a man, shoots me a grimace as he grabs a bottle of beer out of a large ice bucket on the kitchen floor and leaves.

Kelly takes my arm and turns me around to the gaggle of women hovering. She makes introductions and I'm relieved that everyone is gracious and warm. There's the team captain's wife, Mely Brassard, a petite Midwestern former college cheerleader who has plenty of pep and feels it's her duty to cheer on all of the players' wives and girlfriends. I like her immensely and you can see she's sort of the glue that holds them together. There's also Karen Something-Or-Other, who I think said her husband is the backup goalie; Becky Couldn't-Pronounce-Her-Last-Name-If-I-Tried, whose husband is from the Czech Republic; and Gina Toastayes, Toastawho is like me, just a girlfriend of one of the players, but has been around for a very long time. She's been dating Zack Grantham, a second-line left-winger, for six years and they have a two-year-old son together.

"I cannot tell you how happy I am to see Alex dating," Mely says with a brilliant smile and a punctuated, singsong voice. Almost like she wasayou guessed itadoing a cheer.

"He's always just been so withdrawn. I know he comes off as angry and a jerk most of the time, but I always found it sad," Kelly throws in.

"Zack idolizes him," Gina says softly. "Always has. But lately, Alex has really been working with him and has been so supportive, Zack pretty much thinks the sun rises and sets on Alex. He's a completely different person now."

"I think we have you to thank for that," Mely says.

"Absolutely," Becky throws in and then leans forward and lowers her voice a bit. All the women, including me, lean in to hear her tidbit. "Besides, that bitch Cassie was all wrong for him."

All the women vigorously nod their heads up and down and I'm starting to understand the dislike for Cassie is pretty pervasive throughout the team.

"Well, at least you won't have to worry about her anymore," I say, hoping that now that Alex's gaze is turned my way, Cassie is a thing of the past.

"Whatever," Kelly says with mock dismissiveness. "That girl is already on the prowl again. All the single guys on our team are within her crosshairs."

"She tried to fucking hit on Zack tonight," Gina growls. "I hate to tell the bitch but just because we aren't married doesn't mean he's available."

"She's here?" I ask, swallowing hard. Not for one minute do I believe she's ready to give up on Alex, all the other single guys be damned. She has history with Alex and I remember all too clearly the possessiveness she exhibited when I had the misfortune to meet her.

"Yeah, I saw her trolling around a while ago," Kelly laments. "I just wished I was bitchy enough to insist she not come."

"Well, I can guarantee you I'll blackball her from any future parties Zack and I have," Gina says.

"Blackball who?" I hear from behind me and turn to see a ruggedly handsome man walk into the kitchen. He's tallabut then again, all of the Cold Fury areawith amber eyes and warm brown hair that is worn fairly short. He's looking straight at Gina with a look that says he wants to eat her for dinner, and a semi-licentious smile on his face.

I watch as he walks around the kitchen island counter, straight up to Gina, and bends her backward with a kiss. "Who you blackballing, baby?"

When Zack lets her up, Gina is all starry-eyed as she stares at her man, her fingertips gripping hard at the tremendously ugly sweater he's wearing. It has a huge reindeer face with buckteeth, done in bright green.

"Talking about Cassie," Kelly supplies, because Gina has apparently been struck stupid from Zack's kiss.

"That woman is a mess," Zack says good-naturedly, oblivious to the catty looks the rest of the women are giving as they all nod in agreement. Turning to Gina, he asks, "You ready to head home?"

"What? We just got here," she says in surprise.

"I know," he says with sexy charm oozing out of his pores. "But since we have a babysitter all night, I figured we could...you know, get some alone time."

Gina's face goes beet red but she doesn't hesitate in turning back to the kitchen counter and grabbing her purse. "We're out of here," she says to all of us. Turning to me in particular, she says, "It was lovely to meet you, Sutton. Let's plan on getting together soon, okay?"