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Two weeks.

That's how long you have to wait to get the whole book, and for those of you knocking my door down for the next chapter... well... you don't have to wait, I'm adding it in below. Honestly, you guys, the love for this book already... it makes my heart swell. Thank you all. I mean it.

Chapter 1

Edith

(December 26th)

Working out beyond exhausted and with a carb hangover was not my best idea ever. I’m on the struggle bus, and there’s a sixty five percent chance that I’m going to puke. Maybe even seventy. As I finish my last set of leg presses at the gym, I regret the decisions of past Edith.

It’s all Apollo’s fault.

It’s always Apollo’s fucking fault.

It was his stupid Christmas party last night that led me here.

The grumpy bastard himself grumbles at the free weights he’s lifting across the room. His teeth are gritted, exertion clear on his face, a thin sheen of sweat coating his biceps and seeping through his tank top. Despite the permanent funk of body odor lingering in the gym, I can’t help but admire the lines of my ripped best friend.

I hate him.

Usually, he keeps his festive celebrations to a single Christmas Eve party, but this year one shindig wasn’t enough for the prince of darkness and his fancy pants siblings. So I ended up breaking my own rule and staying out late two nights in a row. I rarely drink, special occasions only. But I did go a little crazy with the carbs over the past couple nights, and my body really doesn’t like me for it. In fact, let’s go ahead and make that a seventy five percent chance of puking.

There’s no room in my life for vices, only dancing. And apparently my best friend, Apollo de la Peña, local hockey god with the name of an actual god. He counts as a vice too. Because something about him prevents me from saying “No, Apollo. I’m staying home tonight with a hot bubble bath and a great read.”

The man in question stands about twelve feet away from my machine doing arm curls next to the weight rack in front of the mirror.

I’ve known him for years. He’s like an annoying brother, but even I can appreciate the definition in his arms as he raises the weight up and down. He also has the perfect hockey bubble butt. The shiny material of his fancy shorts stretch across his ass, and I’m in the perfect position to ogle.

Ballet boy butts are similar to hockey butts in being excessively muscled, but ballet butts are a little sleeker, a little more heart shaped from the way they work. Also, dance belts and tights means it's all butts all day in my world. I’m generally blind to the ballet butts but something about his hockey bubble butt catches my attention in those shiny short shorts.

He pauses his set, cocking his head, a couple stray beads of sweat dripping from his nose. “You checkin’ out my ass?”

And the rest of him, but I’d never tell. He’d never let me live it down. Plus, it’s kind of weird letting my eyes linger on any piece of him that’s currently exposed and rippling with exertion. I shrug, bring my knees up toward my chest before pushing the plate back to the machine. “What can I say? I know a fine ass when I see one, Señor de la Peña.”

He glares at me, muttering something to himself as he wipes down the weight and replaces it on the rack. Picking up his bottle from the floor, he tips it at me. “Almost finished? Or should I do something else?”

Sure, he’s sweaty, but he’s bright and seemingly ready to do another workout without missing a beat.

Jerk.

“Almost dead, you mean.” I wince. It’s best to quit while I’m only a little behind.

“My insides hate me. There’s every chance I’m going to boot up over your way-too-extra car on the way home.”

Despite being a fancy-pants rich boy, he lives a relatively normal life. That is, until it comes to where he lives and what he drives. We live in the most expensive building in downtown Cedar Rapids.

There’s no way I could afford the apartment I live in by myself. My parents, on the other hand, are loaded and spend most of their time sailing the world on expensive yachts and drinking Champagne that tastes like paint thinner.

Not together, however, never together. The last time my parents were in the same room together there was a shift in the earth’s tectonic plates that caused rumblings across three continents. Mom’s on her second marriage, Dad likes the carefree life and women barely older than me. But who am I to judge?

When I told them where I wanted to live, they didn’t bat an eyelid. In fact, less than a week later I had the deed to the apartment with my name on it in hand, and the key to the place across the hall from my best friend.

Is it guilt money? Or more that they just have so much of it that they don’t care what they do with it, or what I do with it either? Either way, I’ll take it.

“No one forced those garlic knots down your throat, princesa.” His intense stare bores into me. But his grumpasaurus ass doesn’t scare me.

I don’t even bother to roll my eyes at the more than decade-old nickname. When we met, it was Halloween, and I was dressed like a Disney princess. He’s called me princess ever since. It grates on any woman he dates which makes me love it just a little bit. But I’d never tell him that out loud either.

Jabbing my finger his direction, I scowl at him. “Lies. You did.”

He smirks at me, shrugging. “You need to learn to let your hair down every now and then.”

Yet again, I don’t dignify him with a response. He knows how I feel. We’re both semi-professional athletes in our prime. And by semi-professional, I mean not-at-all professional, but working toward it. That’s the end game for both of us.

Despite being a Neanderthal hockey player, Apollo gets it. He understands why I’m strict with my diet, why my body is a temple, and why even on the day after Christmas, I’m at the gym.

He really gets it. It’s why we work so well together as best friends. Since everything in the entire universe is designed for couples, we get a meal prep box delivered once a week and take turns cooking dinner. Every Sunday, we batch cook our lunches for the week ahead, and when we hit the gym, we almost always go together.

I wipe down my machine, swipe my water bottle from the floor and follow him toward the exit, pausing over the trashcan by the door as my stomach lurches.

“I hate you,” I grumble, holding out my bottle for him to take while I clutch the sides of the garbage can.

He waves my drink at me. “Hydrate. Mind over matter. Let’s go home and get some food into that stomach.”

At the mention of food, my stomach heaves, and I spew like the kid from the Exorcist. Apollo grunts behind me, shuffles—probably to put the drinks down—before he rubs my back. “Light weight.”

I can’t help but laugh, despite the acid burning a trail up my chest. He knows I’m anything but. Ballet dancers might look beautiful and fragile on stage, but underneath all that delicate tulle is nothing short of a gladiator.

His—albeit sweaty—hand rubbing concentric circles on the small of my back is soothing. But ugh. I fucking hate throwing up. This is one more reminder that binge eating is not worth the carb hangover. Or the bloating. Or the shits. Or the constipation.

“Never again.” I say it every time.

But bread tastes so damn good.

“You said that last time.” He chuckles, removing his palm from my spine. “Let’s get you home. Window open and a bag in your lap. No puke in my new car.”

He didn’t need a new car. In fact, the matching SUVs he and his brothers all drive are barely, what, a year old? But he “felt like a change,” so he bought a sporty... something. He claims it’s not sporty. He says it has a five star safety rating, it’s built for comfort not speed, but when girls and cops see him driving by, they totally think he’s a little boy racer. It turns heads almost as much as his ego does.

The only person in Cedar Rapids to get pulled over more than him, is his older sister Athena. And that’s because she rarely drives at speeds less than a hundred. I’m only exaggerating a little, too. The woman is terrifying.

I’m now regretting his choice of vehicle. He opens the passenger door for me, and I groan. The seats are practically on the ground in this thing. It was leg day. My legs are like fucking jelly. How the hell am I supposed to squat and get all the way down there?

“Maybe I’ll walk.”

“¡Ay! Princesa.” He shakes his head as he pulls his door open with a growl. “So fucking dramatic. It’s like you’re a performer or something.”

I give a flourish with my hand before flipping him off.

“You belong on the stage.”

“I belong in the fucking shower. I stink.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to say.”

If I had something to throw at him, I would. But I don’t, so I grunt and groan as I lower myself into the bucket seat. “You’re pretty stinky yourself, you know.”

Before he moves, he points at the water bottle. “Hydrate.”

“Shut up and drive, rich boy.” Reaching for the radio, I elbow him. Thankfully, we have the same taste in music, so there’s no argument over who gets to listen to what. We have one rule when we’re together in the car, and that’s if we sing, it’s loud and proud.

As I reach for the volume button, his phone rings in the cup holder. The name “Papá” appears on the screen. I can almost hear Apollo’s eye roll. He stares at the phone, indecision flickering across his face.

“What’s his problem this time?”

Apollo shrugs, his stare not moving from the screen.

I silence his ringtone, give his thigh an I’ve-got-you-boo pat, and crank up the tunes. Apollo starts the car, his shoulders softening. I’ve been around long enough to know that el príncipe de las tinieblas, the prince of darkness, and his father have a challenging relationship. And sometimes that means I run interference, for everyone’s sake.

The base rattles through my seat as Apollo starts nodding his head in time with the music. I don’t recognize the song, but that rarely stops us from singing along. We’re epic at making shit up. Confidently.

He lowers the volume enough to be heard over the thumping music. “Did you go on that date last week? You never said anything.”

I never said anything because when I tell him I’ve been on a date, he spends his time dissecting it and telling me what went wrong. What I did wrong, how I scared the guy off, or how the guy is an asshole, or how the guy would end up being an asshole.

For once, I wanted a minute to enjoy a nice date, with a nice guy, without Apollo going all He’s Just Not That Into You on me.

I’ve seen the old movie, and while it would potentially make my life a hell of a lot easier if Apollo was criticizing all my dates because he was secretly in love with me, he really isn’t. He enjoys being a dick. A grumpy dick at that. And rude. A grumpy rude dick. How am I even friends with this man? I’m a fucking delight.

For someone so perfect to look at, he has a list of crappy qualities a mile long. He’s lucky I love him.

Sighing, I nod. “I did.” I move to turn the music back up, bumping his leg in the process, but he nails me with his infamous side eye.

“Not good?”

“No, it was good.”

“Not great?”

I shrug, but stay quiet.

“Where’d he take you?”

I smother a laugh. “The Taco Depot.”

He slows the car to a stop at a red light, and if life was a Gif, right now he’d be the Latina woman “gasps in Spanish” because his hand flies to his chest as his mouth drops open. “You’re shitting me?”

Like I said, he’s so fucking extra.

I can’t help it, I’m all out laughing at the disgust painted across his dark features. “He’d never been to Guac n’Roll and didn’t want to try somewhere new.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “I really wanted tacos.” It’s totally a big deal. Abuelita de la Peña makes the best tortillas in the entire world, and let’s not even start on her tres leches cake.

He answers with a grunt, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “How was it?” His question is begrudging, cautious, and laced with contempt. His family owned Guac n’Roll is a local institution in Mexican food.

I love rattling him, though, so I lean into it. “Fucking delicious. Best I’ve had.”

His jaw drops, his head spins to me, and I reach over to push his chin up so his mouth closes. “I’m kidding, el príncipe de las tinieblas.” I drop my voice. “If you tell Abuelita I even joked about that I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

When he started calling me princess, I returned the favor by asking his twin brother, Artemis, how to say prince of darkness in Spanish. Apollo pretends that it bothers him, but he loves it. It suits his life vibe. Tall, dark black hair, dark brown eyes, and brooding. Lots and lots of brooding. Like a Latino Derek Hale from Teen Wolf.

“You know nowhere beats your Abuelita’s tortillas.”

He nods, the light changes to green, and he pulls forward into the intersection. The screen of his phone lights up with another call from his father, but we both ignore it. He doesn’t need that ball ache right now.

Blinding lights catch my attention out the passenger side window, but before either of us can process what’s happening, or react, they charge into us at speed.

Glass explodes into shards as the metal frame of the car buckles, searing pain envelops my entire body, and somewhere in the distance someone’s screaming.

By the time I realize it’s me, everything’s going dark.

Chapter 2

Edith

I might be dying.

Bright lights tease the edges of my awareness drawing me back to consciousness. Everything’s blurry, blinding, and hurting so fucking badly.

The pain isn’t a dull ache, it’s a sharp stabbing, it’s a deep burning, it’s an all-consuming, body ache that hurts so bad even breathing causes pain.

I’m cold. I think I’m still in Apollo’s car, but I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel right.

Liquid trickles down my forehead, and I can’t move to check whether it’s water, gasoline, or blood. I don’t think I want to know.

I move my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out from my slightly parted lips.

Something shifts to my right, and pangs of white-hot pain radiate down my leg.

The faint sound of sirens in the distance call to me. Are they real sirens? Or metaphorical sirens signifying my dwindling time here on earth?

I don’t know. From the pain south of my waist, it could be either. There’s a metallic taste in my mouth so whether or not the sirens are real, the blood certainly is.

And it’s the last thing I hear before the darkness takes me again.

Apollo

***

My head is throbbing.

I don’t think I’m really hurt other than the ache in my temples and at the back of my skull. My leg is trapped under the crumpled dash, but I can wriggle my toes, my fingers, and other than something dribbling down the side of my face, I think I’m good.

Fuck. Lady luck was clearly on our side tonight.

Flexing my fingers once more, I nod. Yeah, I definitely think I’m good.

The seatbelt chafes on my neck as I turn to Edith.

Fuck. My blood freezes in my veins. No. No, no, no, no, no.

There’s blood all over her face, her eyes are closed, and her whole side of the vehicle is buckled in on her.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

A bolt of pure panic shoots up my spine, stealing the breath from my lungs.

This isn’t good. She’s not good.

“Edith?”

Nothing. Not a wheeze, a whimper, a sigh. Zero.

Fuck.

I yell her name, and when she doesn’t reply, I scream at her, louder this time, desperate to wake her up, but it doesn’t work, and I can’t twist myself in my seat enough to reach for her. I’m helpless. And I fucking hate it.

Focusing on her body, I wait for any telltale signs of life, but her chest doesn’t rise and fall.

An icy, consuming dread threatens to suck me into panic.

Edith

***

I can’t breathe.

My teeth chatter as I shiver. Someone’s mumbling something next to me, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. It’s like I’m under water.

Where’s Apollo? Wasn’t he with me?

Oh my god... is he dead?

I try to move, to turn to see if I can find him, but all that greets me is bone-deep agony. A scream rips from my raw throat before my eyes roll back, my head lolls... darkness.

***

A cold hand slides into mine but doesn’t squeeze. “Edie?”

Despite the shivering, warmth spreads through my limbs. I’m not alone. My prince of darkness won’t let me die alone.

“Edie? Can you hear me?”

I don’t think the noise I make is anything resembling coherence, but it seems to prompt excited movement, which only makes everything hurt more.

Another scream. I think it’s mine.

Apollo

***

Tears course down my cheeks as I stare at the busted screen on my phone. I can’t reach Edith’s either, but I bet hers is fucked up too.

We’re upside down in the middle of an intersection. Sirens wail in the distance, closing in on our position, but unless someone else called 9-1-1, they aren’t for us.

I swallow down the bitter-tasting panic at the back of my throat and risk another glance at Edith. She made a noise a couple seconds ago, and her fingers flinched when I held her hand. She’s not dead, but how much longer she can hold on for? With every second that passes, her life hangs in the balance.

A juddering sob escapes from me, and I cram my fist into my mouth in a vain attempt to silence my fear. It doesn’t work, though the bite of pain through my muscles is comforting.

I should be strong. I should be calm. I should step up for her in this moment.

She needs me. But I think my best friend is dying. And if she dies, part of me will die too.

Another sob seeps out between my clenched knuckles as her fingers curl around my hand.

“Apollo?”

“Sí, princesa?” My blood chills at the anguish in her voice as she says my name, while relief unfurls in my shoulders that’s she’s still alive and breathing. She’s speaking, that’s a good thing, right? And she at least remembers my name. Also good.

“I’m here.”

“Don’t leave me.” Her heavy, terror-filled eyes meet mine, as my heart slices into pieces in my chest. “Don’t let me die alone.”

My mouth moves, telling her she has to stay with me, telling her she’s not going to die, and that she has to fight, to live. But it doesn’t look good as her eyes roll back in her head. My mouth might be telling her one thing, but my stomach sinks, and my rational brain kicks in. I’m not sure I believe the things falling from my lips to comfort her.

She’s bleeding, her eyes are glassy when she can open them, and she’s so fucking pale I can almost see through her skin. She really might be dying.

And there’s literally nothing I can do to stop it.

Chapter 3

Apollo

“I’m fine.”

“Mr. de le Peña, I need you to sit still so we can check you over and make sure you’re not injured.”

“I said I’m fine.” I swat the nurse’s hand away as she tries, yet again, to take my blood pressure. “I was in a car wreck, my best friend—” My voice cracks along with the final piece of the veneer that’s been covering the truth all this time.

Edith Fisher has never been just my best friend. She’s the love of my fucking life. And I might never see her alive again.

The admission to myself swells in my chest, consuming every cell in its path, controlling the rhythm of my heart, the oxygen in my lungs and veins, and shaking the foundation of everything I thought I knew and held true.

Something catches in my throat as I attempt to clear it. “I’m going to guess my blood pressure is through the roof, so that machine isn’t going to tell us anything we don’t both already know.” Clamping and releasing my jaw, I scowl.

She looks at me like I’m a five year old who won’t take a nap. To be honest, a nap sounds pretty damn good right about now, but I can’t. I need to know. I need to see Edith.

I need to hear her beautifully pitched voice, I need to stare into her grey eyes, and I need to sweep that piece of golden-honey hair out of her face that annoys her when it falls from her messy buns.

I need all of her.

The nurse’s eyes soften. “I’m sure—”

“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “You can’t possibly know whether she’s going to be fine or not.” I drag my fingers through my sticky hair, wincing. “Look.” I heave out a heavy breath. “What’s the bare minimum you’re going to let me get away with before I can walk out of this room?”

“This isn’t a negotiation.” A smile ghosts her lips.

“I’m about fourteen seconds away from signing myself out against medical advice. I’m an athlete, I know what the signs of concussion are and how to treat it.” I fold my arms. “I can’t stitch up my own face and scalp, and I can’t see through my leg to make sure the bones aren’t broken. Stitches and X-ray, then I need to go find my girl.”

I want to feel shitty for being a dick. This nurse is only doing her damn job, trying to make sure I’m okay, trying to provide medical care because it’s her job, and also trying to make sure my family don’t sue them if I get up off this bed and collapse in the corridor.

But none of that matters.

Nothing matters if Edith doesn’t open those sparkling gray eyes and call me the prince of darkness with her snarky grin ever again. So I’m fine being an asshole right now.

After a long, hard stare, the nurse relents. “You’ll still have to sign an AMA form if you don’t let me do everything I need to do.”

Clenching my teeth again, I jerk my head. I don’t care.

“You know they won’t let you in to see her if you’re not family, right? You’re better off staying put until she...” The sight of my resolve must give her pause.

That car crash ignited a fire inside my soul. It ripped the protective casing away from my heart and revealed the message perfectly stamped across it: Property of Edith Fisher.

How have I not noticed before now? I’m such a fucking idiot. My stomach swooshes.

I’m in love with Edith.

I love, love her.

Fuck.

Love, love. Like want to marry her and have babies with her kind of love.

An almost hysterical sounding laugh slips out between my pursed lips. It doesn’t feel nearly as silly an admission to myself as it probably should. That’s how I know it’s real. Have I been in denial about her this whole time?

The nurse sighs, muttering under her breath about punk ass kids thinking they’re invincible and a snicker about young love. I don’t bother to correct her. I don’t think I’m invincible, though. In fact, I’m completely vulnerable. Edith is my vulnerability.

I am Clark Kent, and she’s my Kryptonite.

I am the Joker, and she’s my Harley Quinn.

I am god of the sun, and Edith is my night.

My Achilles heel.

It’s an excruciating wait to be x-rayed and stitched up. I lose count of the number of paper stitches Nurse Ratchett puts on my face and wince as she uses the real ones on my scalp. It almost seems as though she’s enjoying herself at my expense. Serves me right for being an ass.

When she’s done, I let her take my blood pressure for good measure, scrawl my name across her precious AMA, and burst through the doors with only one thing on my mind, finding my girl and telling her I love her.

“I’m sorry, sir. We can’t give out that kind of information if you’re not family.”

It’s the third time, and the third different person who has given me the same answer to the same question I’ve asked each of them. My blood is on fire with frustration, and my head is still throbbing. That one’s my own fault though, since I stupidly told the demon nurse I didn’t want pain meds.

Apparently I can’t tell Edith I love her with a clouded head. I need clear focus, which currently feels a lot like white pokers stabbing into my face. Good job, Casanova.

I grossly underestimated how much I was going to ache all over after my car got crushed like an empty cereal box. Apparently my athletic conditioning doesn’t quite stretch to being prepared to be “rammed by a truck,” and not a single one of the almost seven hundred muscles in my body are happy.

I can’t lose my shit. I can’t get myself kicked out of here, that won’t do anyone any good, and I’ll still be in the dark. So instead of lashing out, I do the only thing I can do, pace. With every step I take, my body groans under its own weight. The doctor said my pinned leg is just bruised, as is what feels like ninety four percent of the rest of me.

I’m going to need a few ice baths for sure. I don’t know how long I trail back and forth across the linoleum floor, clenching and unclenching my fists by my side with each stride.

The door to the waiting room bursts open, and my reflection stares back at me, stricken. My twin brother Artemis’s pale face is creased with agony, and his red-rimmed eyes are wide, his cheeks tear stained. His chest heaves, like it’s physically painful for him to draw breath. His shoulders are tense, and a muscle feathers in his cheek like he’s gritting his teeth so fiercely tight together that his jaw might crack. Or his teeth. Or both.

He doesn’t say a word. He storms across the small room, throws his arms around me, and pulls me hard against his chest. Which one of us are the hiccupping sobs coming from? Maybe it’s both of us. For almost an entire minute, I let myself fall apart in his arms.

He clutches me, without words or judgement as I get my shit back together. Wiping my face on my sleeves, I take a step back from him. He searches my face, his eyes raking over each stitch holding my skin together, and lingering on what I can only guess are the already blooming bruises on my temple and down the side of my cheek.

He holds my stare for a long moment, so much unspoken passing between us in those heavy seconds. Sucking in a loud breath, he squares his shoulders. “What do you need?”

I sink my teeth into my quivering bottom lip, afraid I’m going to fall apart all over again. Artemis grabs me by my arms, I don’t know if it’s to hold me up, or focus my attention. “¿Qué es, hermano?”

What is it, indeed? My throat is dry, scratchy, and tears burn my eyelids as I blink them away. “La quiero.” The words burst from me on a fractured breath as I tell my brother I love my best friend.

His face softens, sympathy etched in his features. “Lo sé.” He pops my shoulder with his fist. He knows. “It took you long enough to figure it out.” Wincing when he must realize that I hurt all over.

The weight on my chest doesn’t ease with his attempt at lightening the mood.

“They won’t tell me... I don’t know... I can’t...” I grab my hair, ignoring the bite of pain radiating through my scalp and start to pace all over again.

Artemis grabs me again, shaking me until I stop muttering and moving.

Everything fucking hurts, especially my heart.

“Why won’t they let you see her?”

Casting my gaze over his face for signs of humor, I swallow. “I’m not family.”

“You didn’t tell them you were her fiancé or something?”

Pressing the heel of my hand to my temple, the pounding in my ears is almost too much to bear. I definitely need meds, even if they fuck me up and make me spacey. He’s right, I should have made something up, but in the moment... I guess I was too tangled up in panic and fear to come up with a plausible story to get me inside the room. Terror and logic aren’t the easiest combination of things to navigate.

I’m clearly not the twin you should want in a crisis.

Shaking my head, I swallow again, the stubborn dryness in my mouth refusing to abate.

“Then let’s go tell them that I am.”

Hell no. I’m not letting him get through those doors before me. I’ll tell them I was in shock or something, convince them I really do belong in the room with her.

I follow Artemis for a few steps before my feet stutter to a stop. I can’t. I... tendrils of terror coil around my ribs, crushing my chest and squeezing the oxygen from my body.

What if she doesn’t wake up?

My hands shake by my sides.

What if she’s already dead and no one has found me to tell me?

What if—?

Artemis’s palms cradle my cheeks as he forces me to look at him. “She’s alive, do you hear me?”

I try to nod, but he didn’t see her, he didn’t hear her screams as they cut her from the crumpled body of my car.

“Apollo, I know you’re scared.” His eyes meet mine, showing me how much he can relate to my fear in this moment. When he got to the hospital he probably had no idea whether I was alive or dead, either. “Trust me, I know.” He shakes his head as though trying to upend a memory he doesn’t want to linger on. “But she’s alive, and she needs you.”

The door swings open and my other two siblings erupt into the room, launching themselves at me before Athena bursts into a string of Spanish cusswords as she berates me for almost dying on her. For all her bravado and badassery, my sister is soft for only three things in this world, and we’re all standing around her in this room.

I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen her this emotional. She grabs my hand, threading her fingers between mine and squeezes. I’ve also never seen Ares this quiet. It’s unnerving. He keeps casting furtive glances Athena’s direction, but doesn’t say anything out loud.

He’s got a bug up his ass about something. My Spidey sense tells me it has nothing to do with the fact someone almost killed me and my very alive, not-at-all dead, and soon-to-be-girlfriend-slash-wife earlier tonight. Athena shakes her head at me when I catch her attention. It can wait, her face says. It’s not important. And I trust her judgment, especially when my own is impaired.

She takes a step back and surveys me, head to toes and all the way back up again. “Damage report?”

Artemis snorts. “Yes, Lieutenant. Give the Captain a status report would you?”

“Cuts and bruises.” Jutting my chin out to her as if to prove a point, I crack a smile that hurts all the way to my core. “I’m fine, Hen. I’m okay.”

She narrows her gaze like she doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame her, I don’t quite believe me either. “And Edith?”

My whole body tenses, threatening to burst apart at the seams like a baked potato cooked too long in the microwave. Every muscle aches with the behemoth effort of holding myself together. Shrugging, a weird noise is the only answer I can give my sister.

“They won’t let him in, he’s not family.”

“¡Puta madre!” Her eyes flare, hotter than the sun. I know that look. She’s going to scorch the damn earth until someone gives her the information she needs, and I bet she won’t so much as break a nail while she does it. I’m pretty sure she has a titanium rod where her spine should be.

“Let’s go.” She turns toward the door, pausing I guess when none of us make a move. “What is it?” She eyes me, waiting for an answer as to why there isn’t an Apollo shaped hole in the wall trying to find out about my girl.

My eyes fill with tears I can’t stop from trickling down my face. I can’t form the words to enunciate the grief rattling at the back of my throat. I should be stronger than this. I should be able to straighten my spine and go find out what I need to know, but I’m paralyzed in place.

What if the answers that lie outside that door are answers I’m not ready to hear?

What if I don’t get to share the discovery of my heart with the woman I love?

What if I never hear her laugh again? Or see that single brow raised in exasperation at my grumpy self?

What if she never even speaks again? Can I live for the rest of my life without ever hearing her voice?

Athena marches toward me, an accomplishment in itself considering I’m only a few feet away from her, but she’s most definitely marching. She grasps me by both shoulders and squeezes while she shakes. Don’t these people know I fucking hurt all over?

“Shelve it.”

I open my mouth, but she glowers so hard my mouth snaps shut.

“I know you’ve had a traumatic experience, and you’re sore, and tired, and scared, but right now...” She swallows. “Lo siento hermanito. But this isn’t about you. You love her, right?”

Fuck’s sake. Did everyone but me know? I nod, mute.

“Then you’ve got to step up. I know you’re falling apart inside. I know it’s scary and consuming, but you’ve got to stand up straight, loosen your jaw, and walk out there like you own this place. You need to tell them you are her family, convince them, and then go to her. You need to sit with her and hold her hand through whatever shit storm she’s facing, because you love her.”

I don’t know where I was on the day they handed out strength to my siblings, but I seem to have been at the bottom of the pecking order. Chin still trembling, hands still flexing by my sides, I follow my sister out into the corridor, not really ready to ride into whatever war I need to so I can lay eyes on Edith.

Athena’s right, I can’t fight a battle I can’t see. So I walk right up to the nurse’s station, give Nurse Ratchett my most charming smile, and ask, once again, about my girl.

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Justin

I thought I’d left my past in Minnesota when I moved to Iowa, but it was right there waiting for me.

Long blonde hair, curves in all the right places, and a death glare that hits harder than a slap shot to the solar plexus. On the ice, I’m a pro at blocking shots, but Savannah Bowen has slipped behind all my defenses and made a home in my heart.

I had no intention of revisiting the past, but when she’s damn near everywhere I go, I’m a goner.

Savannah

Hell freakin’ no.

It doesn’t matter that Justin Ashe is seven feet tall and sexy as sin, or that I’ve had a crush on him for years. He cheated on my best friend in high school, and that makes him off limits.

I can’t be with him, but damn, it’s impossible to stay away from him. Girl Code says uteruses before duderuses.

He’s supposed to be my enemy, but the more I see of him, the blurrier the lines get.

Welcome to UCR hockey, where fierce AF heroines and hot as puck heroes find their hockey ever afters. If you pucking love college hockey romance series, you’ll adore UCR Raccoons hockey.

FREEZING THE PUCK is a delicious slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, ovaries before brovaries sports romance. This interconnected full-length stand-alone is the first in a new series with no cheating or cliffhangers and has a guaranteed happily-ever-after.

Bookish. Bold. Beautiful. And entirely out of his league.

On paper, all-American boy next door, Lincoln Scott, has it all. But behind his slap shots, straight-A report card, and easy going charm, Linc hides a secret only his best friend knows.

When he attempts to return a misplaced bra, a wrong number gets him way more than the hook-up he bargained for. No one has ever looked beyond the star hockey player, until the mysterious woman he can’t stop texting sees him for who he really is.

Does Linc have the skills off the ice to keep up with her? Will he follow in his father’s footsteps? Or will he step out from the shadows and chase his dreams?

If you’re pucking obsessed with Helena Hunting, Pippa Grant, and Elle Kennedy, you’ll love this hilarious, hot-as-puck, secret identity, opposites attract, curvy girl sports romance. Two for Interference is a full length standalone with no cheating, cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily ever after.

Welcome to the Minnesota Snow Pirates, where skilled and sexy mother puckers’ lives get turned upside down by strong and badass heroines. Curl up with your next book boyfriend today.