"I love you too," he says with a smile.
"Good," I say firmly, and then turn so I can sit on his lap. He doesn't hesitate, swinging my legs up and turning me to the side. He carefully arranges the IV line so it doesn't get tangled, and then his arms wrap around me snugly. I lay my head on his chest and he kisses me on top of my head.
"I missed you," I say, rubbing my cheek against him.
"Never again, right?" he asks, his fingers stroking the skin on my arm.
"Never again," I agree. "Not getting rid of me."
"Damn right," he says. "We have our whole lives ahead of us."
"Yes," I say dreamily, confident in my future existence with this man. "We both have a whole lot of living to do."
Epilogue
Olivia
FORTY-ONE YEARS LATER
"Grandma...hurry up so we can cut the cake," Tamara squeals at me as she tugs on the hem of my dress.
Giving my hands a quick wash in the sink, I dry them and then turn to pick her up. Hoisting her little four-year-old body up high, I bring her back down to rest on my left hip. Yeah...I'm still pretty damn spry at sixty-six years of age.
"Want some cake, huh?" I ask as I tweak her on the nose.
She nods at me, her little blond ringlets bouncing up and down.
"Okay, but we have to find Grandpa," I tell her seriously.
"He's already sitting by the cake outside. He told me to come in and get you. Said to get your beautiful ass out there."
"He said what?" I ask in mock outrage.
"He said--" she starts to repeat, but I lean in and blow a raspberry on her neck to stop the words. One curse word is fine...two reinforces it in her vocabulary, and I don't want her preschool teacher freaking out and blaming her parents.
Tamara giggles as I walk out of the kitchen, through the large den, and out toward the back deck. I glance around our house, loving the country-chic flair that Garrett indulged me in when we bought it almost thirty years ago.
We settled in Denver, because after playing with the Cold Fury for seven years, he got traded to the Blue Devils and he lived out the rest of his hockey career here. By the time he retired, our kids were in middle school and we loved the area, so this is where we decided to stay. We still get back to North Carolina frequently to visit Alex and Sutton, and they come here a lot, but I miss them.
Stevie? Nothing to miss. He sold Fleurish, turning a very nice profit, and moved out to Denver three years ago with his love and life partner, Darren. They live a grand total of five miles from me and Garrett and I see him almost every day.
Stepping out on the back deck, I do a quick survey of my kingdom...of my living legacies sitting all around. My oldest, Felicity, so beautiful at age thirty-six, and the spitting image of her daughter, who I hold in my arms. Her husband, Ian, a funny Brit she met in college, sitting by her side and bouncing their son, Elijah, on his knee.
My eyes slide left, seeing my son, Mark, in a deep discussion with Stevie and Darren. He just turned thirty-two last week, as a matter of fact, and no doubt he and Stevie are arguing about politics. They are polar opposites when it comes to fiscal issues, but on the flip side, they are perfectly aligned on the social agenda. Mark is a pediatrician and practices here in Denver, and he's so busy, he never dates. I'm despaired of ever getting grandchildren out of him.
Finally, my eyes land on Lucas, our last child. He's thirty-one, and yes, we banged him out quickly after Mark, because we had set our limit at three. He has dark brown hair, just like his father, but has my murkier green eyes...more hazel than anything. Savannah, his wife, sits cuddled on his lap, and he rubs his hand over her swollen belly. Grandchild number three, and I cannot wait to see that little monkey.
Stepping down off the deck, I walk over and hand Felicity to her mother. Then I turn and walk over to the love of my life.
Garrett is still gorgeously handsome. He works out every day and still wears his hair a little long. His temples are streaked with some silver, but his eyes are still as bright and young as the day I met him.
Our life here in Denver is quiet. After he retired from hockey, he ended up going to college to get his degree and now teaches high school English. I'm not sure he'll ever retire from that, and it keeps him busy. I work part-time at a local flower shop, something I've continued to dabble in over the years. I took time off when the kids were younger, especially because of the way Garrett traveled so much for his career. We both felt it was important to keep them grounded.
My gaze captures Garrett's and he gives me a sly smile, crooking his finger at me. He's sitting in front of a large cake with the words Happy 40th Anniversary written on it in large, scripted letters.
I reach my husband and crawl straight onto his lap, relishing in the feel of his strong arms as they go around me.
"Hey, hot mama," he whispers in my ear. "I missed you."
I tilt my head and give him a soft kiss...a lingering kiss. "Hey, stud," I tell him with a smile, and Stevie calls out, "Hey...you two get a room."
Garrett leans his head up and calls out over me. "We will...as soon as you all get the hell out of our house."
Everyone laughs, including me, and I snuggle deeper into his embrace.
I'm feeling great. I'm healthy and whole.
My lymphoma was beaten into remission by Dr. Yoffman and has recurred only once, and that was more than twenty-five years ago. It scared the hell out of the kids, but somehow...somehow I just knew it was going to be okay. By then we were in Denver, and my oncologist here suggested a bone-marrow transplant.
I knew it was going to be okay because I had Garrett by my side. He never once let me feel sorry for myself, and because he was retired from hockey, and because he had more flexibility in his work schedule, he was able to finally be the one and only to take care of me throughout it all. It made him feel good. It made me feel better.
"And here we are," he says as he kisses my temple.
"Forty years. Can you believe it?"
"Seems like just yesterday we were hopping into bed on our first date. You were quite the seductress."
"Still am," I affirm.
"That you are," he says in a low rumble, a sound that never fails to make my heart race.
"Happy anniversary, baby," I tell him. "Best forty years of my life."
"Best of mine too. And we still have a lot of living still to do."
"Yes, we do, my love. Yes we do."
Acknowledgments
I'd like to dedicate this book to two very important people who helped me tremendously with my manuscript. First, my friend Jeanne Frazer, who has bravely battled through follicular B-cell lymphoma. I'm happy to say she's in remission, having kicked said cancer in the ass. She provided me with so much personal insight on what it's like to suffer this disease, and I cannot thank her enough for her candidness and support.
Second, to my friend Dr. Mark Yoffe, preeminent oncologist and fellow lover of Bernese mountain dogs. He patiently lectured me on follicular B-cell lymphoma, helping me to make this manuscript as medically accurate as possible. He even kindly invited me to his clinic to observe a bone-marrow aspiration and biopsy, but before I took him up on that offer, I watched a YouTube video of the procedure. Let's just say after the dizziness and queasiness passed, I had to, in turn, kindly decline.
Jeanne and Mark...you are both inspirations to me, and this book would never have been possible without you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I've lived through both of my parents having cancer. Serious cancer...both stage four...both given a very grim prognosis. My dad is still kicking twenty-three years later, and my mom is still kicking nine years later. I wanted to write a book where one of my main characters had cancer, because I wanted to point out that survival is possible...many times even probable. Cancer today is not always the big "C" that we have always feared. I wanted to show that there is hope and there can be a happily ever after.
While the particulars of follicular B-cell lymphoma and t
he treatment that Olivia underwent are medically accurate--and yes, her particular type of treatment often does not cause hair loss--I have had to take some minor liberties in the medical story line to make it all work.
BY SAWYER BENNETT
Cold Fury Hockey Series
Alex
Garrett
Zack (coming soon)
Stand-Alone Titles
If I Return
Uncivilized
The Off Series
Off Sides
Off Limits
Off the Record
Off Course
Off Chance
The Last Call Series
On the Rocks
Make It a Double
Sugar on the Edge
With a Twist (Coming Soon)
Shaken Not Stirred (Coming Soon)
The Legal Affairs Series
Objection
Stipulation
Violation
Mitigation
Reparation
Affirmation
Confessions of a Litigation God
The Forever Land Chronicles
Forever Young
USA Today bestselling author SAWYER BENNETT is a snarky southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all the stories that were floating in her head. Her husband works for a Fortune 100 company that lets him fly all over the world while she stays at home with their daughter and three big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Bennett would like to report that she doesn't have many weaknesses, but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate.
sawyerbennett.com
Facebook.com/bennettbooks
@BennettBooks
[email protected] The Editor's Corner
February is the month for romance, especially at Loveswept...because this month we have a little something for everyone.
Sure to please fans of erotic romance, Lea Griffith's All or Nothing series returns to the deepest places of longing and obsession--don't miss More. In Sidney Halston's latest sizzling MMA romance, Below the Belt, a former title contender turns the tables on his knockout trainer with a lesson in seduction. New York Times bestselling author Tracy Wolff is back with another Ethan Frost novel, featuring the irresistible leading man from the New York Times bestsellers Ruined and Addicted in Exposed. USA Today bestselling author Sawyer Bennett hits the ice with the story of a playboy athlete whose winning ways lead him to a beautiful woman with a lot to lose. You don't have to love hockey to enjoy Garrett, the next book in Sawyer's Cold Fury Hockey series. Another of our Loveswept USA Today bestsellers, Mira Lyn Kelly, cranks up the heat for two lifelong friends whose most secret longings come true in every delectable way in Touch & Go. And later in the month, in Lavinia Kent's luscious, erotic historical romance, a free spirit learns her true desires from a master of the heart, of the body--and of the sweetest discipline. Check out Bound by Bliss. Ashlyn Macnamara finishes up this month of romance with a blazing hot novel, What a Lady Requires, the story of mismatched newlyweds who discover a simmering connection.
Be our Valentine this month and every month--read Loveswept.
~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
Zack
by Sawyer Bennett
Available from Loveswept
Chapter 1
Zack
The overhead lights go out, and the club would be in total darkness if not for the recessed lights that edge the perimeter of the stage. I slouch down in my seat, pulling my ball cap lower over my forehead. This causes me to have to tilt my head back a little bit farther to watch the show but keeps my face better obscured. The beard I'd been growing for the past four months helps to hide my fame as well.
I don't want to be recognized.
I don't want anyone to see me and realize just how low Zack Grantham has fallen from grace.
A sexy techno beat starts thrumming low, gradually building in decibels. A few whistles pierce the air, one redneck sounding a catcall. A rolling tide of mechanical fog slithers across the black, lacquered stage and then swirling spotlights from the corners of the club start rotating. A slight flutter at the pitch-black curtains that sit closed tight is the only indication that something is about to happen.
A quick glance down at my phone that rests on the table in front of me shows me it's almost midnight. Time for the grand finale of the evening, the moment all the drunk and horny patrons of The Golden Box have been waiting for.
I ignore the phone, just as I ignore the glass of ice water sitting in front of me, my eyes sliding back up to the stage. When the music crescendos, a slim but toned bare leg sporting an obscenely high-heeled red shoe peeks through the slit of the curtains, thigh parallel to the floor...calf muscle taught, with toe pointing downward. The whistles and catcalls increase, but I watch dispassionately.
The owner of that bare leg raises the knee up higher, then stretches it out fully, gracefully, and holds it there, just as the music lulls to a slow grind.
She holds it for just a second.
Just a moment, when everyone waits to see what comes next.
The curtains fly apart just as the bass thump of music crashes through the club and a stunning woman with glorious curly blond hair bursts through. My brain processes a starched white button-down shirt and black fedora on her head, then just as quickly processes the fact that she reaches to the dipping gap at her chest and rips the shirt open. Beautiful, round, and by the looks of them real boobs pop forth...spectacularly bare and bouncing.
A hundred horny men start cheering, and I'm sure the majority of dicks go to full mast.
The stripper, who I happen to know goes by the name Candi Apple--and, yeah, that's Candi with an i--struts confidently up to the silver pole lodged firmly at the edge of the stage.
Hips swaying, tongue licking at her full bottom lip, hair wild and blowing from some kind of cheesy wind machine built into the stage flooring.
Her right hand reaches out, grabs the pole, and she bends her knees...squatting way down until her ass is almost on the floor. Her legs are spread wide and the rotating strobe lights cause sparkles to bounce off the silver sequins that cover the scrap of material between her legs. Candi gyrates her hips, fucking the pole...right in front of me. Her dark eyes scan the men surrounding the stage, calculating who might be the biggest tipper. Her gaze passes right over me because she doesn't see green clutched in my fingertips, waving back and forth with zeal to stuff them in her G-string.
The show goes on and I watch it all...willing for my body to feel something. I'd hoped for a hard-on to prove I wasn't dead, but even a slight fluttering of lust deep in my groin would have been welcomed. Hell, I'd probably kill for a gurgle of indigestion...just fucking something...anything, to show I could react.
I come up fucking empty.
The slight ache in my right wrist pulls my attention away from the tits and ass, and I open and close my fist several times to ease the cramp, finally giving it a hearty shake. Overall, my wrist has healed well over the last four months. The plates and screws have been removed, physical therapy has been completed, and I'm feeling physically strong. Yeah...my wrist is aching right now, but only because I realize I've been gripping the armrests of my chair too tightly while I waited to see if Candi Apple might be the one to bring me back to life.
I've been cleared by the team orthopedic, Mark Godson, and cleared by Coach Pretore as well. Starting next week, I resume practice with the team, and if I'm lucky, it won't be long before I'm back in the game...starting, second-line left winger for the Cold Fury.
My insides feel dead, my capacity to care for much of anything seems lost, but there are two things that still keep me functioning. It's the prospect of playing hockey again and, more important, my son, Benjamin.
Subtle movement catches my eye and I see my phone vibrating. I pick it up and see an angry text from my sister, Delaney.
/>
WTF, Zack? You left an hour ago to get some milk and you're not back yet? Where are you?
Guilt suffuses through my body, and it's not lost on me that I'm actually feeling an emotion. But then again...guilt is all I ever seem to feel anymore nowadays.
I wonder what Delaney would say if I texted her back, I'm at a strip club. Hoping Candi Apple turns me on...proving I'm still alive.
She'd shit a brick, that's for sure.
I stand up from the table, ignoring Miss Apple on stage. I fish a five-dollar bill out of my pocket and throw it on the table, a tip for the delicious glass of ice water the waitress brought me not but fifteen minutes ago.
As soon as I get out of the club and into the silence of my car, I dial Delaney.
She answers on the first ring. "You scared the shit out of me. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I murmur as I start the engine and wait for my Bluetooth to connect. When I hear the subtle click telling me she's on speaker, I put the car in drive and say, "Just driving around...thinking."
I hear her blow out a gust of sympathetic frustration, but her voice is gentle. "Okay. Just get home."
"Is Ben okay?" I ask.
"He's still asleep. Have you gone over the applicants I picked out for you?"
My hands tighten on the steering wheel, a tiny pain shoots through my wrist...a pain I'd never admit to the team doctors...so I ignore it. "Not yet."
"Tomorrow," Delaney says sternly. "You have to make a decision tomorrow."
"I know," I mutter, realizing my time for dragging my feet and procrastinating is over. "I promise. Tomorrow."
"Okay," she says softly. "That's good."
I don't say anything else, my mind already starting to shut down. I abhor the thought of culling through her final recommendations for a nanny for Ben. Because that means that this is final...that Gina is really dead and Ben's mommy is definitely not coming back.
"I love you," Delaney says...almost desperately, into the phone.
I bite my lip, hard, and feel my tooth slice down into the delicate flesh. "Back at ya," I say, my voice harsh and raspy. Words of love to my older sister...the woman who has been my rock-solid support the last four months since Gina died...unable to materialize.