Legend, page 23
She stares at the engagement ring a moment before lifting her eyes to mine. “I am beyond moved you would want me to be Charlie’s mom. I’m over the moon you want me to be your wife. I love you and the answer is absolutely yes, I’ll marry you.”
I was 99.9 percent sure Pepper would say yes, but damn if that one-tenth of a point chance she might not didn’t have my body locked tight. I heave a sigh of relief and lean over to give her a hug. It’s gentle as I can manage so as not to move her.
When I pull back, I ask her, “Want a big wedding? Or do you want to elope?”
“How about we elope and then have a big reception?” she suggests.
“Or a destination wedding,” I offer. “We could go anywhere in the world to do this?”
“I’d like to do it sooner rather than later,” she tells me with a grin. “I don’t want you changing your mind.”
“I can have a justice of the peace here in an hour,” I tell her and she blinks at me in surprise.
“I’d like to be able to get out of the bed and celebrate my wedding night with no pain,” she tells me. “So we do need to wait just a little bit.”
“Agreed,” I tell her and then reach back into the white bag and pull out the bottle of sparkling grape juice. I hand it to her to hold and dive back into the bag for the two champagne glasses I’d brought.
She purses her lips. “A celebration. You were awfully sure I’d say yes.”
“Ninety-nine point nine percent sure,” I tell her as I trade her the bottle for the glasses. “And we have to settle for grape juice since you’re on pain meds and I’ve got a game tonight.”
I start to remove the foil around the cork but Pepper lays her hand on my arm. “Hey…I really, really love you, Legend.”
I go still and hold her gaze. “I really, really love you too. Always.”
“Always,” she agrees.
I smile and pop the cork. Our life is now begun.
BY SAWYER BENNETT
Arizona Vengeance Series
Bishop
Erik
Legend
Dax (coming soon)
Cold Fury Hockey Series
Alex
Garrett
Zack
Ryker
Hawke
Max
Roman
Lucas
Van
Reed
Marek
Sugar Bowl Series
Sugar Daddy
Sugar Rush
Sugar Free
Love Hurts Series
Sex in the Sticks
Jilted
Wicked Horse Series
Wicked Fall
Wicked Lust
Wicked Need
Wicked Ride
Wicked Bond
Off Series
Off Sides
Off Limits
Off the Record
Off Course
Off Chance
Off Season
Off Duty
Last Call Series
On the Rocks
Make It a Double
Sugar on the Edge
With a Twist
Shaken Not Stirred
Legal Affairs Series
Legal Affairs
Confessions of a Litigation God
Friction
Clash
Grind
Yield
Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll
The Pecker Briefs
Wicked Horse Vegas Series
Wicked Favor
Wicked Wish
Wicked Envy
Wicked Choice
Wicked Wedding
Wicked Knight
Standalone Books
The Hard Truth About Sunshine
If I Return
Uncivilized
Love: Uncivilized
Finding Kyle
Atticus
PHOTO: MARIE KILLEN
Since the release of her debut contemporary romance novel, Off Sides, in January 2013, SAWYER BENNETT has released multiple books, many of which have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestseller lists.
A reformed trial lawyer from North Carolina, Sawyer uses real-life experience to create relatable, sexy stories that appeal to a wide array of readers. From new adult to contemporary romance, she writes something for just about everyone.
Sawyer likes her Bloody Marys strong, her martinis dirty, and her heroes a combination of the two. When not bringing fictional romance to life, Sawyer is a chauffeur, stylist, chef, maid, and personal assistant to a very active daughter, as well as a full-time servant to her adorably naughty dogs. She believes in the good of others and that a bad day can be cured with a great workout, cake, or even better, both.
Sawyer also writes general and women’s fiction under the pen name S. Bennett and sweet romance under the name Juliette Poe.
sawyerbennett.com
Facebook.com/bennettbooks
Twitter: @BennettBooks
Instagram: sawyerbennett123
Read on for an excerpt from
Dax
Arizona Vengeance
by Sawyer Bennett
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Dax
I ring the doorbell to Lance’s midtown Manhattan apartment and wait for his sister to answer.
Regan Miles is six years younger than me—which makes her twenty-two—and I’ve known her for her entire life. Her brother, Lance, was my best friend for as long as I can remember. We lived in the same neighborhood and our parents put us in the same recreation hockey league. We grew up together in the sport, all the way through major juniors. When we were sixteen, we both got accepted to the Detroit Bears, one of only eight American teams playing in the Canadian Hockey League.
We were together, always, until we both got drafted into the NHL. Lance went to the Vipers where he played his entire career. I went to the Toronto Blazers and then moved to the Vipers where I spent three years before being traded to my current team, the Arizona Vengeance.
Our friendship never suffered. We talked and texted, visited when we could and in the summers we hung out together. Just this past summer, Lance and I spent almost a month together down in Rio, taking advantage of the gorgeous beaches and even more beautiful Brazilian women.
I consider the woman Regan has become over the years. Lance hadn’t changed at all, yet I hardly recognized his sister when I flew to New York after he died.
The rattling of the chain on the other side has me bracing and when she swings the door open with a soft smile, I almost have to squint against her beauty. Sometime during the last few years when she was off in California getting her degree she grew up.
Transformed actually.
The bombshell standing in front of me looks nothing like the gawky teenager that Lance had to raise when she was fourteen and after their parents were killed in an automobile collision.
My last clear memory of Regan, she had braces, acne, and was a few pounds overweight. She was shy and sweet, adoring her brother for all his sacrifices to keep her with him as he navigated the professional hockey world.
The woman before me isn’t the Regan Miles I remember.
This woman is a twenty on a scale of one to ten. Long caramel colored hair, lighter on the ends and styled in long waves that hang over her shoulders and down her back. She’s sprouted several inches and developed in all the right places. The baby fat in her face has been replaced by sculpted cheekbones and arched eyebrows, framing the most beautiful set of green eyes I’ve ever seen.
She’s a fucking stranger to me, and yet there’s that underlying truth that she’s always been like a little sister to me.
She’s my only connection to Lance.
It’s why I’m here now. Because Lance is gone and there’s something wrong with Regan. I’m here to find out what that something is so I invited her for drinks. We had a game against the New York Phantoms tonight—which we won—and the plane isn’t leaving until early morning. I wanted to check in to see how Regan was doing because the few times we’ve talked since the funeral, I can just tell she’s struggling with something. I’ve tried to cajole it out of her but she’s been stubbornly tight-lipped, insisting that everything is okay.
“I’m just about ready,” she says as she turns her back on me and walks into the living room. It’s a punch to the gut to see it’s barren except for a handful of packed boxes that I’m assuming contains the contents of Lance’s life he left to his sister. She has been staying in New York these past few weeks to handle estate matters and such.
“You got all his furniture sold?” I ask her as she walks over to the kitchen counter and picks up a pair of earrings.
Tilting her head to put one in, she replies, “Most of it. The rest I donated to a homeless shelter along with all of his clothing.”
I wince. “I know that was hard.”
She nods, blinking back what I’m betting were tears, as she puts the other earring in. “Rationally, I know it would be stupid to keep that stuff. I mean…what am I going to do with my brother’s underwear or tee shirts.”
“But inside, you feel like those are ties to your brother you don’t want to give up,” I surmise.
Another gentle smile and she nods. “That about sums up how the past few weeks have been. Feeling like I’m losing him over and over again as I scrub his life away from here.”
We stare at each other and I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. My grief over losing Lance is still raw and painful. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her.
Regan’s bottom lip quivers and she sucks in a deep breath, letting it out with a nervous laugh. “Let’s talk about something else. I don’t want to ruin my makeup.”
I don’t laugh.
Instead, I walk across the empty living room and pull her into my arms. She comes without resistance, tucking her face into the base of my neck as I tighten my embrace with one hand on her lower back, the other on the back of her head.
It’s too much for her and she gives a little hiccup of a sob before she lets loose. She wept during the funeral but at all other times, she always had the stiff upper lip as she talked to person after person that came to pay their respects. She never lost it and I felt that was wrong.
Not that she was doing anything wrong, but because I don’t think she was ever given the opportunity to just pour out her emotion. She had to deal with funeral arrangements, burying her brother and then sorting out all the loose ends that are left to tie up when someone dies.
Regan bends her head so that her face is now pressed into my chest and I can feel the heat of her tears soaking into the fabric of my shirt. I tighten my hold and start to rock back and forth, not saying a word so I don’t interrupt the catharsis of her grief.
When she starts to quiet, I pull back slightly to look at her. The black streaks of mascara under her eyes and extending down to the tops of her cheeks make her look even more frail and vulnerable.
I give her a smile, hoping to get one back. Wanting her to acknowledge that was good and freeing to some extent; that I gave her the security of a good old fashioned emotional cry.
Instead, she worries at her bottom lip as she tries to wipe the blackness out from under her eyes. It’s only a flash, but I see she’s incredibly troubled about something. It’s gone just as quick when she shoots me an overly bright smile which looks forced and painful.
“What is it, Regan?” I ask as my fingers come under her chin to force her to look at me. “Something’s wrong and I want to know—”
“It’s nothing,” she says in a tone so automatic and programmed that I know the truth if the exact opposite.
“Regan…it’s me. You’ve known me your entire life. You know what Lance meant to me. I swear to God that whatever is wrong, I’ll help you fix it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”
“Honestly,” she replies as she tries to make her smile bigger in an attempt to throw me off. “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired and ready to get back home.”
Home for Regan is southern California where she stayed after graduating from college to be a nurse. Lance didn’t like her being clear across the country as it impeded his ability to visit with her during the small pockets of time he might have available during the regular season.
But Regan had apparently gone from shy to incredibly independent in the years since I’d seen her and by Lance’s account, was loving her life there.
“You don’t have to be so strong all the time,” I tell her, hoping it will help to break through her stubborn refusal to share with me what has her worried.
Her lower lip quivers ever so slightly but she keeps her smile in place. “I’m fine, Dax.”
“You’re not,” I retort, absolutely positive she’s lying to me.
Regan’s lips press into a flat line and her eyes harden. She’s shut herself down and erected a wall, and I consider what new tact I should take to break through.
An insanely irrational thought bursts with vivid color in my mind. It’s of me grabbing her by the shoulders, hauling her into me and kissing the hell out of her.
I shake my head, blink and refocus. We engage in a staring war but given that I’m more stubborn than Regan could ever hope to be, I shore my resolve.
Whether she senses it or not, I’ll probably never know but to my incredible surprise, her face crumbles and she practically wails, “Oh, God…Dax. Everything is wrong. Lance ran up a ton of debt and I have creditors pouring out of the wood work demanding payment. Lance’s accounts are empty and he didn’t have any life insurance. I have no clue—”
“What do you mean he didn’t have life insurance?” I cut in.
“I called,” she says as a tear escapes and slides down her cheek. She dashes it away. “It had been canceled.”
I mutter as I look helplessly around for the answer to all her problems. It’s not within the packed boxes which is all that’s left of Lance. When I look back to her, I say, “That’s not on you though, Regan. You’re not responsible for his debts.”
“I know,” she says without equivocation. “It’s just…of course I know that.”
I watch her with a critical eye and I evaluate her last words. She knows Lance’s problems aren’t her problems now. Yet…something is still weighing on her. I can actually feel it radiating off her.
“What else is wrong?” I ask her, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s a move to show her that I’m not budging until she lays it all out.
She opens her mouth and I sense the denial. I shake my head. “Don’t think to lie to me. Spill it.”
For a moment, she stares at me with blank eyes before her shoulders sag. Regan blows out a frustrated breath, brushing her hair back from her face.
“One of the reasons he was in debt is because of me,” she admits in a low voice that’s not quite shameful but perhaps resigned.
“You?” I ask, my brows knitting in confusion.
She nods and the smile I get is sad. “I’ve been sick and he’s been helping with my expenses.”
“Sick?” I ask, because how sick do you have to be to drive a person into debt. Especially someone who makes bank the way Lance did. And for that matter…“Don’t you have health insurance?”
“I was still on Lance’s,” she replies. “At my age, I still qualified as his dependent, especially since I was starting my master’s program. But now that he’s dead…”
I blink in surprise. I didn’t know she was going back to school. I also didn’t know she was sick.
How the fuck did I not know that?
“Lance never said anything,” I mutter.
Her smile turns understanding. “That was at my request. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Know what?” I ask her, feeling an impending sense of doom. “What exactly is wrong with you?”
Her gaze drifts around the empty apartment before coming back to me. “A few years ago, I wasn’t feeling well. Tired, shortness of breath. Nothing huge but going on long enough I went to the doctor. Lots of tests later, I was diagnosed with a condition known as paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria.”
“What?” I ask, not only feeling lost over that mouthful of words but feeling suddenly helpless for some reason on her behalf.
The corners of her lips tip upward. “PNH is a lot easier. But it’s a disease that destroys my red blood cells.”
“Is it serious?” For a brief moment I want to kill Lance all over again for not sharing this with me.
Regan’s chin lifts and her eyes shimmer with bravery. “It can be. But there’s a medication that helps.”
“And let me guess,” I say dryly. “It’s incredibly expensive.”
“It costs the average PNH patient over $400,000 per year,” she says simply.
“Holy fuck,” I exclaim. “Who can afford that?”
“Insurance covers some of it but my out of pocket expenses are pretty substantial.”
And it’s clear why she’s so distressed. “And now that Lance is dead, your insurance is gone and you don’t have the funds to pay for it.”
Rather than affirm what I just said, she backpedals and gives another super bright, overly fake smile. “But that’s not your problem and I’m sure I’ll figure things out. This is why I didn’t want anyone to know, so—”
