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  TITLE PAGE

  PRAISE FOR K. BROMBERG

  ALSO BY K. BROMBERG

  COPYRIGHT

  EPIGRAPH

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  EPILOGUE—1

  EPILOGUE—2

  COMING SOON

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  “K. Bromberg always delivers intelligently written, emotionally intense, sensual romance . . .”

  —USA Today

  “K. Bromberg makes you believe in the power of true love.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Audrey Carlan

  “A poignant and hauntingly beautiful story of survival, second chances, and the healing power of love. An absolute must-read.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting

  “A home run! The Player is riveting, sexy, and pulsing with energy. And I can’t wait for The Catch!”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely

  “An irresistibly hot romance that stays with you long after you finish the book.”

  —#1 New York Times bestselling author Jennifer L. Armentrout

  “Bromberg is a master at turning up the heat!”

  —New York Times bestselling author Katy Evans

  “Supercharged heat and full of heart. Bromberg aces it from the first page to the last.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott

  “Captivating, emotional, and sizzling hot!”

  —New York Times bestselling author S. C. Stephens

  Driven

  Fueled

  Crashed

  Raced

  Aced

  Slow Burn

  Sweet Ache

  Hard Beat

  Down Shift

  UnRaveled

  Sweet Cheeks

  Sweet Rivalry

  The Player

  The Catch

  Cuffed

  Combust

  Cockpit

  Control

  Faking It

  Resist

  Reveal

  Then You Happened

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2020 by K. Bromberg

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by JKB Publishing, LLC

  ISBN-13: 978-1-942832-21-8

  Cover design by Helen Williams

  Cover Image by Rafa G. Catala

  Editing by Marion Making Manuscripts

  Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  Printed in the United States of America

  If life can remove someone you never dreamed of losing,

  It can replace them with someone you never dreamt of having.

  —Rachel Wolchin

  HUNTER

  “YOU HAVE NO CLUE WHAT you’re talking about!” Rage fires, as I stare at my agent and verbally reject every rebuke he’s throwing at me while silently agreeing he’s right.

  “I don’t?” he yells. “What the hell was that stunt then? Fighting against the opposition is one thing, Hunter, but punching your own damn teammate?”

  “Is it that he’s my teammate or that he’s another one of your clients you’re trying to pimp and sell to the next highest bidder? My guess is, it’s that. My gut tells me it’s because he’s your newest golden ticket to a higher commission and, since the press already caught wind of the fight, that pristine reputation of his might be a little tarnished.” I shift on my feet and move a step closer. “Ever stop to think how the press already knows? Huh? Ever think that maybe Dyson picked a fight with me, staged the bullshit so he could get his name out there on social media? It’s hard to live up to your self-proclaimed wonder-boy status when someone like me outperforms him every damn night, hands down, and steals what he thinks are his headlines. What is it they say? No press is bad press? Seems to me like he’s looking to play off that.”

  Finn Sanderson chews his lip as he stares at me. His hair, his clothes, his everything, are in their usual styled perfection, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his expression that I can’t quite read. His dark eyes never leave mine as they stare and assess and scrutinize.

  He draws in a deep breath and purses his lips as the silence falls stagnant. “What’s going on with you, Hunter?”

  Here we go again.

  “What do you mean, what’s going on with me?”

  “Exactly what I asked. What the hell is going on with you? You’re about to smash three long-standing records within a ridiculously short time frame. That’s unprecedented. You used to play with finesse and poise, and now you play like a feral cat about to—”

  “About to what? Seek and destroy? What does it matter? My numbers are better than ever.”

  “I was going to say you play like a man ready to win at all costs. Even if those costs include collateral damage.”

  “Sometimes winning requires that.”

  His chuckle is low and condescending at best. “At what expense though? Your teammates? Your club?” He shows his frustration with a subtle shake of his head. “They’re putting up with it because you’re winning, but that’ll only go so far. You’ve been in this game long enough to know that losses happen and the tide can turn.”

  “I know, a whole twelve years in the league, and knocking on records it took others a lot longer to hit makes me a relic.” I don’t hide the sarcasm. Instead, I play it up so he knows how ridiculous he sounds.

  “Winning will create tolerance . . . but your antics off the ice are going to cost you in ways you’ve never imagined.”

  “Fuck this.” I say the words, but I know he’s right. The problem is, I can’t find a flying fuck to give right now.

  “If that’s how you want to be, fine.” He shrugs in indifference. “Then no one is going to be cleaning up your messes in the press. Not the brawl you started at that hole in the wall. Not airing your grievances to the press about the bullshit in the locker room. Not the snubbing of fans as you walk by—”

  “Glad to see you believe the press over your own client,” I say.

  “It was on video. It’s kind of hard to dispute the fact that you walked right past a kid in a wheelchair holding out a sign for you to autograph.” Fuck. I never do that. Never.

  I used to be that kid. In many ways, I still am, so the fact I missed seeing him makes it all the worse. The notion that the press is using it against me only adds insult to injury.

  I replay the scene he’s talking about. My mom on my cell freaking out about Jonah and refusing to let me talk to him because she said I’d upset him. Her insistence laced with guilt, the ever-constant reminder of what happened, whose fault it was, and how it made us into the people none of us wanted to be. How I was ducking my head down, finger to my other ear, so I could hear her. The flash of the cameras still in my eyes like a thousand bright lights glittering at once. The weight of the game still heavy in my mind highlighted by all the opportunities I couldn’t convert into goals. My teammates behind me, Dyson with his loud mouth and shitty attitude, which I was trying to tune out completely.

  And I didn’t see the kid.

  I wish I had.

  I know how it feels to hope and want and dream . . . and then to live that dream but at so many costs.

  “Once the public turns the tide against you, you’ll have a helluva time getting them back.”

  “And what about you, Finn? Has the tide turned against me with you?”

  His eyes hold mine as he chews his gum with vigor, but he doesn’t voice the fucking thoughts I can see in his eyes.

  “Really?” I ask, exasperated and disappointed when I shouldn’t be either anymore. “You’ve been with me since the get-go. Represented me right out of college through the trades and renegotiations of my career. It’s been twelve years and now . . . now, you want to walk away because I’m having a tough time?”

  I walk toward the window. There’s a world beyond this hockey arena, but it’s not like I can see it. I’ve lived my life with one goddamn goal since the accident, one goal since being traded to the LumberJacks two years ago, and now with time running out, it’s the only goal I can focus on. It fuels the anger that’s always been there but has now surfaced. The guilt that owned me but now eats away at me. The tears that threaten burn bright, but I blink them away as I try to find my way back to the man I used to be months ago, all the while knowing he doesn’t matter.

  He never has.

  “And that history is why I’m standing here asking what’s going on with you.”

  “I didn’t snub that kid intentionally. You know that’s not me. I wouldn’t have—”

  “I don’t know much these days other than it seems you have your head up your ass,” he says and folds his arms over his chest.

  “There used to be a time you defended me. There used to be a time when you stood up for your clients. Seems to me you now love chasing after everybody in a jersey with potential to maintain that name of yours instead of taking care of those who you stand on top of to make that name of yours glow in neon.”

  He winces, but he doesn’t bite with the anger I was hoping for. “I’ve got three sponsorships waiting to be yanked from you with one more fuck-up, Maddox. I have management calling, asking me why their captain—my client—is the problem and not the solution here. They want me to tell them what’s eating you and to figure it the fuck out because if you don’t, your upcoming contract negotiations won’t be pretty.”

  “Ah, the threats. The bait and switch to lower my contract when any other team out there would kill to have me.” My words are straight bullshit, because I don’t want to play anywhere else. I want to be here, with the LumberJacks. I want to be on a team where hockey rules the management’s decisions instead of money like so many of the big teams.

  And more than anything, I want to be known as the star who turned down those huge contracts to play for the Little Engine That Could Team and then helped win that team a Stanley Cup.

  I have my reasons. But he’s never cared to ask what they are.

  As if on cue, my phone alerts a text, and I don’t even bother to look. I don’t acknowledge its buzz. I already know the gist of what it’s going to say and fuck, the last thing I need right now is to see how I’ve disappointed one more person.

  “If you don’t like the threats, then how about Hunter fucking Maddox shows back up, huh? He’s been missing for the past three or four months and this angry, spiteful asshole in front of me is someone I can’t quite figure out.”

  “Can’t figure out or don’t care to so long as I’m bringing in the cash? There are guys out there doing far worse with a lot less threats and consequences.”

  “But you’re Hunter Maddox. You’re the guy the National Hockey League hung its hat on to bring it back from the strike and subsequent lockout.”

  “They sure as fuck did,” I counter, “so how about you remember that and start giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “When you start jeopardizing my other clients with your acts of stupidity like a roid-raged asshole, I have no choice but to put them first.”

  My hands clench and the unrelenting anger and hurt and confusion that’s toyed with my mind over the past few months, hell, the past season, fights just beneath the surface.

  Obligations.

  Guilt.

  Responsibilities.

  “Good to know where you stand. Is this conversation over? Is the let’s tell Hunter he’s an asshole lecture complete?” I ask, not giving a shit if it is or isn’t.

  “Sure. It’s done. Let’s not make it a let’s tell Hunter if he pulls more shit like this again, I can’t be his agent lecture.”

  His words hit my ears, their gravity, their everything. “You threatening me, Finn?”

  He holds his hands up. “Just telling it like it is.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. The sound is riddled with disbelief and a healthy dose of fuck you. “I’m one of the first clients you ever signed—one who took a chance on you when you were wet behind the ears and no one else would—and you threaten to drop me after all these years, just like that?”

  “Something has to snap you out of this funk.” His eyes are clear, his voice serious, but he has no clue this funk feels like it’s permanent.

  “Threats don’t do it for me.”

  “Everyone has a line they have to draw in the sand, and one more stunt is mine.”

  “Good to know.” I stare at my agent, the person I thought was my friend, and wonder when the fuck he became a greedy asshole who was only out for himself.

  Then I wonder if I even care, because it’s hard to find any emotion these days other than anger.

  And without another word, I leave.

  DEKKER

  MELODRAMA AT ITS FINEST.

  It’s the only thought that runs through my mind when I take a seat at the conference table in the back office of Kincade Sports Management.

  Brexton sits with her arms crossed over her chest, and her resting bitch face in full effect. Her foot bounces where it’s crossed over her knee, and she scrolls through her phone with complete disinterest.

  Chase sits ramrod straight, her business suit crisp and pressed and everything else about her perfectly styled to match. Christ, even the leather cover of her notepad matches. Perfection in a sickening fashion.

  Lennox inspects her fingernails. They’re too long and too red, but I’m sure she has her reasons for looking like she wants to claw someone’s eyes out with them.

  Let’s hope this time, it’s not mine.

  I sit back and wait and watch and wonder.

  Aren’t we all the perfect picture of disdain? I’d rather be anywhere—anywhere, like even shopping—than sitting right here with them right now. I’m more than sure they feel the same way.

  Thrilled was the last thing we all probably felt when we got the call to be here.

  My competitors.

  My rivals.

  “Ladies.” Kenyon Kincade’s voice rumbles when he walks into the room. Our heads turn and only two of us nod in response, but all of us watch him.

  The same paranoia that has me questioning why he’d invite the chaos by inviting us all in here at the same time, has me eyeing his movements closely. Is he moving slower? Is there something wrong with his health?

  Fear tickles its way up my spine in a way I’ve never known before.

  “Thank you for coming.” He clears his throat and takes his time taking a sip of his coffee, hissing when it scalds his tongue. “I know it’s a rarity for you to all be in the office together, but humor this old man in wanting his four daughters in one place, at the same time.”

  Brex bites her tongue while waiting for him to get to the point. Patience has never been her strong suit, and he takes note of it with a nod of his own.

  “Why did you ask us to all be here, Dad?” Taking the lead as per usual, I ask the question we’re all wondering.

  “I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the course of my life. Even more so when your mother died, when I was left alone at thirty-something to raise four girls without much experience. I did the best I could, but by the way you guys prefer not to be in the same place together at times, it feels like my best wasn’t good enough.”