The Breakup Project: Original Six Hockey Romance Series, #1

CHAPTER 1

Detroit, Michigan

December 31

"B ecause it is a truth, that should be universally acknowledged, that the sister of a hockey player will forever have hockey in her future." Breanna Karlsson leaned forward, drawing on the purple eyeliner with a steady hand. Too much and she’d look like a clown, but just the right amount and hello, world . And that’s especially the case for the twin sister of someone regarded as one of the NHL’s top forwards.

Laughter flowed from the phone propped up against the mirror and switched on speaker. You poor thing. Really feeling for you here, Holly Travers said, her Australian accent holding friendly sarcasm. 

Bree grinned and carefully swiped on mascara. "And so you should. I can't believe that all the guys I know either play hockey or want to talk about hockey as soon as they know I’m the sister of the Brent Karlsson." She wrinkled her nose. 

So what are you going to do?

I don’t know. I think this coming year I should swear off dating hockey players. I can never tell if the guys I date are interested in me or interested in getting to know him. Mind you, the way he’s been acting lately…

What’s happened?

Oh, Holl, I wish you were here. You’d pull him down a peg or three. He’s gotten so arrogant, like the air we plebs breathe down here isn’t good enough for him. Remember I told you about his girlfriend? Apparently she’s going to be at the party tonight. I can't wait.

Yeah, it sounds like it, Holly said, her irony-detector working well. 

I cannot believe my brother would fall for someone like her. Did you see those pictures I sent of her that she’d posted online?

Yep.

Don’t you think she looks like a—

Yep.

I can't get over how he’s so shallow as to go for a girl like that. She’s so fake. Fake hair, fake tan, fake b—

I’ll be praying for him.

Bree exhaled. Thanks, Holl. That means a lot. And was probably something she should do more of, too. I really feel he needs a God-intervention and to have the right woman come along soon. Hey, I’d better go. Mike’s coming to collect me, and I don’t want to be late.

Mike?

Mike Vaughan. Remember him? Another of Brent’s friends, plays for Boston, and here for New Year’s. I’m pretty sure you met him when you stayed with us all those years ago. We’ve known him forever.

Another hockey player, huh?

Don’t tease. No, he’s just a friend. One of the good ones, but he’s not my type.

No tingles and toe curls?

Alas, no. 

Alas? Does that mean you’d like there to be?

Stop making mischief. No, Mike is not my type. Never has been, never will be, so put that out of your head. Things have gotten so sad I think I’ll have to find someone like one of your young men.

Well, if you teach Sunday school, maybe you will. At least four-year-old boys have no problem sharing their emotions.

A knock came at the hotel door. 

Ooh, I should go. I’ll snap a pic and send it to you so you can tell me if I look okay.

Bree, you always look beautiful.

And comments like that are why you’re my best friend.

Holly chuckled. Go, have fun. And happy New Year! I’m praying it’s the best one yet, and that you’ll meet the man of your dreams.

Thanks, Holls. I’ll be praying for your man to make an appearance too. Happy New Year to you.

Yeah, it’s January already here in Australia.

The knock came again.

Oops! Gotta go. Bye!

Bree ended the call, checked her appearance in the mirror one more time, and made a face at her reflection. Blessed with Karlsson genetics, she’d never owned Holly’s petite frame, except maybe when she was ten. At least this dress didn’t accentuate the curves newly acquired since Christmas. She twisted. Well, maybe she should keep her coat on, and buttoned across the waist…

A third knock. 

Oh! I’m coming! She rushed to the door and opened it to see Mike, his hand raised as if to knock again. "Oh, hi. I’m so sorry. I was chatting to Holly—remember her? She’s the Australian girl who stayed with us on exchange years ago and is now training as a short track skater. Did you know she wants to represent her country at the Games in a couple of years? I think she’s so impressive, and probably will make it because she’s so dedicated and trains so hard, and—" 

Breathe, Bree.

She laughed and obeyed. Hi, Mike.

Hi, Bree. He smiled.

Well, she might not get tingles and toe curls, but she couldn’t deny the handsomeness of the man. Fair hair, blue eyes, even features, and a smile that conveyed sincerity and laid-back good humor. Not to mention a physique that demonstrated his commitment to his sport. 

She gestured to his evening attire, the navy suit stretching across broad shoulders, his straw-blond hair carefully styled for once. You look nice.

I aim to please. His lips pulled wider, and the light in his blue eyes seemed to confirm the truth of his words, causing an interesting twinge in her upper torso.

Which was ridiculous. Mike had been a family friend forever. She certainly wasn’t interested in someone like him. All that talk of boyfriends before had made her a little loopy. Obviously her body just needed time to get the memo: no dating hockey players this year.

Just give me a second more.

She grabbed her bag, touched both earrings to ensure they were still there, and wrapped a scarf around her neck. Perhaps that should be her New Year’s resolution…

A nod. That would be her resolution. One she would keep. Unlike last year’s to avoid chocolate and do thirty minutes’ exercise every day. She sucked her tummy in. Turned back to Mike and smiled. So, how do I look?

You look… He gave her the once-over and swallowed. You look great.

Oh good. For a minute there I thought you didn’t know what to say and were just trying to be polite, and I’ve tried to make an effort tonight, because it’s not every day a girl gets to go to an NHL team’s New Year’s Eve party. Hey, do you mind taking a quick photo?

Uh, sure.

She handed him her phone and posed in front of the door: tummy in, chin up, face angled. He took a couple of pictures.

Does one of them look okay? She shifted close and peered at his handiwork.

They all look great, Bree.

Hey, we should get one of us together. I’m sending a pic to Holly.

I’ll take it with my phone. He stretched out his arm, she leaned close to his face, smiled, and he snapped a photo.

Let me see. She looked at the image and nodded. Hey, we look good.

Yeah. 

Can you text it to me? Then I’ll send it to Holly.

Sure. 

They spent the next minute sending photos, then she finally closed the door. I’m still surprised you came tonight.

Brent asked, and for once I can come. I hope you’re not disappointed.

No, not at all. I was just saying to Holly how good it is to have someone involved in the hockey world who is a friend, who I don’t have to worry about.

His brow wrinkled. Worry about? Has someone been bothering you?

Oh, no. Not really. At his frown, she hastened to reassure. No, not at all. No, it’s just something else I think I’ve decided that I should do differently this coming year.

And what’s that?

But the way he looked at her, all sincerity and care, made her strangely reluctant to share. Mike was a nice guy. It didn’t seem right to lump him in with the others, but he played hockey, so must be included. But it still didn’t mean she wanted to admit her New Year’s resolution to him. 

His lips twitched.

What?

Nothing.

It’s not nothing. Go on, tell.

Is this another resolution?

He knew her too well. Maybe. 

Like the year you decided not to eat bread anymore? He chuckled softly. How long did that last?

Three days. But seriously, how did—You remember that?

I pay attention, Bree. 

Huh. They moved to the elevators, her heels clicking along the tiles. Well, anyway, I’m so glad you’re here.

He glanced at her as he pressed the down button, his features pulling into a smile. And why is that?

She stepped in next to him and nearly toppled, so clutched his arm. Well, I want your opinion on something. You know Brent better than anyone, except his family.

Brent?

"Yeah, you know that twin of mine? Your best friend since grade school? Hockey World’s hottest upcoming forwards edition?"

"Oh, that Brent. His mouth twitched. Yeah, I’ve heard of him."

She swatted his arm. I want your advice. And tonight should be the perfect opportunity. You know he’s going out with this Chloe girl?

His lips thinned. Yeah.

Well, I really think he’s getting a little carried away with his own publicity, chasing a girl like that.

To be fair, I don’t think he’s the one doing all the chasing.

Well, he’s not exactly discouraging her, is he? And he should. She’s bad news. He needs a good girlfriend—someone who’s a Christian. Not someone like a Chloe.

He is an adult, Bree.

An adult making dumb choices. Come on. Would you want to see Chloe end up marrying him?

Mike chuckled. I don’t think he’s thinking marriage just yet.

He better not be. He’s barely known the girl two minutes.

Which is why I don’t think you should be worrying.

Yeah, but you should’ve heard him at Christmas. He was all ‘I want you to meet Chloe,’ ‘We should’ve invited Chloe.’ He’s never acted like that before.

Have you met her? he asked.

No. That’s what I’m doing tonight. And that’s why I’m glad you’re here, to back me up.

He released a low whistle. You want me to meet someone for the first time and agree with your prejudice?

Ouch. Come on, Mike, it’s not prejudice to make assumptions about someone when they post pictures of themselves in swimsuits that barely cover important parts.

Isn't it? I must’ve misunderstood what prejudice is.

She frowned and pulled her arm away. I didn’t think you were like all the rest.

All the rest?

Guys. Happy to absolve a woman just because she’s beautiful.

You think she’s pretty?

Well, yes. Pretty plastic, too, but she sensed saying that would not go down well with Brent’s best friend. How had she misread him?

Bree, I’ve never met Chloe, so I’d like to reserve judgment until then.

But haven’t you seen the pictures on the internet?

His lips tweaked to one side. I don’t go looking through the internet for pictures of other guy’s girlfriends. He glanced at her. I didn’t think you would, either.

Luckily the elevator stopped, the doors finally swooshed open, and the sounds of the party overrode everything, removing the need for her to reply. Not that she’d known exactly what to say. This man kept confounding her. She’d known him nearly all her life. How could he not see things as she did?

A tall figure near the doors to the function room straightened. Brent. Bree pasted on a smile, even as she checked out the woman standing next to him in a white dress so tight you could watch her digestive system ripple. So this was Chloe. A swift glance up and down… Yep. Exactly as she’d imagined. Too low, too high, too—

Finally, Brent said. You sure took your time.

Why do you always assume it’s me who takes a long time to get ready? Bree pushed her dark hair over her shoulder. Why couldn’t it be Mike who was primping for ages?

Because I know you both too well.

Hmph. Well, perfection takes a while. Anyway, hello, Brent. Good game tonight. She reached up to give him a hug. Six inches taller, made less so by these heels. These heels that meant she towered over his girlfriend. 

She supposed she should act like a Christian. Hello. Fake smile. You must be Chloe.

Hi.

The woman’s heavily-mascaraed and silver-shadowed blue eyes did their own quick scan. Bree sucked in her stomach a little more. It wasn’t fair that some girls got looks in both the face and figure departments. And what was with the basic Hi? Surely as Brent’s sister, Brent’s twin sister, any girlfriend of his should try a little harder to be friendly.

Brent did the introductions, and Chloe’s eyes lingered on Mike, her smile curving into something that seemed edged with interest. Indignation rose in Bree’s chest. Seriously? Eyeing off another man right in front of her own boyfriend?

So what do you do, Chloe? Mike asked, ever the gentleman.

Oh, I’m a model.

Of course she was. Bree caught Mike’s glance and rolled her eyes. And what exactly do you model? she asked sweetly. 

Breanna. Brent frowned at her. She’s just getting started.

That must be why I’ve seen so many pictures of you on the internet, Bree said, fake-smiling some more. Look, she was being interested, asking questions. Which was way more effort than Chloe was making.

I’m not sure what photos you’ve seen, Chloe said with a coy look up at Brent under false lashes. Yep. Fake blonde hair, fake tan, fake lashes, and judging from the skinniness of everywhere else, fake curves on top.

So, did you two meet at church? 

Brent hooked an eyebrow at Bree. Seriously?

She narrowed her gaze at him. What had happened to the boy who had made a Jesus commitment in his mid-teens? "Seriously. How is church these days, Brent?" 

I didn’t know you went to church, Chloe cooed up at him, fake nails—talons, really—digging into his upper arm. That’s so sweet.

Maybe you should ask him to take you, Bree said, her fingers—talon-free—clenching. 

She grew vaguely aware of Mike moving closer, touching her arm. She sucked in a breath, released it slowly. 

So. Chloe uncoiled herself from Brent’s side, eyes shifting back to Bree. What do you do?

I work in a preschool. Wholesome, family-focused. Why did that seem so boring now?

She’s the assistant director of one of Toronto’s leading childcare centers, Mike added.

Bree glanced up at him, surprised. His gaze warmed, tiny gold flecks dancing in the depths of his blue eyes. 

Told you I paid attention.

She echoed his smile with one of her own. 

So how long have you two been a couple for?

What? Bree shifted her attention back to Chloe. Do you mean Mike and me? We’re not together. Mike’s been a family friend for as long as I can remember. We’re just friends.

Yeah. Just friends, Mike echoed, shifting away. 

Brent glanced at his watch, then placed a hand on Chloe’s lower back. Shall we go in, babe? I’m getting hungry.

When are you not? Bree muttered, noting Brent’s watch seemed brand new. How much had that cost? She glanced at his product-enhanced upswept hair. Wait—did he have highlights now? Where had her down-to-earth, fun-loving brother gone? Even his tease held an edge these days.

She couldn’t help but observe Chloe slink her way into Brent’s side again. Ugh.

At least she didn’t have to pretend politeness inside the function room, the noise and music providing a million distractions. Shoulders slumping, she trailed behind as Brent led the way to a buffet table filled with mouthwatering deliciousness. But the knowledge she must appear a size fourteen to Chloe’s size four made her hesitate.

Are you hungry? Mike asked.

She was starving. But also self-conscious. And didn’t want to start stuffing her face if Chloe wasn’t eating. Maybe that’s what she needed to do to lose weight. Just not eat.

Bree?

Oh, I might get something later.

You sure? 

She eyed the platter of savories wistfully. Perhaps if she danced later, she could earn some calories now. Or—Chloe edged into view; Bree bet no-one had ever called her thunder thighs—maybe not.

I might just have water.

And maybe some lettuce. Weren’t lettuce and celery supposed to have negative calories?

I’ll be back in a moment. 

She watched Mike disappear into the feeding frenzy, then stepped back, glancing around her. She recognized most of the guys here, either from visits to games or from the roster, and so smiled and nodded and managed some small talk, but the music made it hard to hear. Brent seemed to have disappeared with Chloe—she didn’t want to think where—and Mike was chatting to someone by the table, probably fending off questions about why a Boston player was welcoming in the new year here in Detroit.

Bree knew a sudden pang of loneliness and felt a ridiculous urge to leave, to find a space where she could cry and sift through this tumult of emotions. Because this hustling, burly, super-fit, model-on-arm scene wasn’t her, wasn’t where she wanted to be. She’d once loved glamming up for nights like this, but now it seemed she didn’t belong. Everything felt topsy-turvy, too awkward and artificial. Truth be told, she’d rather be at home watching a chick flick, eating ice-cream, and wearing fluffy slippers instead of these ridiculous heels. Was she getting old or something? 

Hey, it’s Bree, isn't it?

She turned, caught the hockey player’s eyes sliding from her chest to her face. Ugh. This was why she didn’t want to date athletes. Even if they professed to be Christians or attended church, too many seemed too focused on bodies, often appearing to want only one thing, more like a player than a gentleman. Not that she needed a Mr. Darcy type—she’d always thought him a little too aloof to ever really be the kind of guy she’d want to marry—but it wouldn’t hurt for guys to be a little courteous at least. And you are? Apart from sleazy.

Alex Turner. I play with Brent.

She nodded. Fought the desire to cover her neckline with a dozen paper napkins. Not that she was showing too much skin—or much at all, really, compared to some girls here tonight—but apparently some guys weren’t like Mike and didn’t know how to treat a woman respectfully. Mike’s eyes had never strayed below her chin.

Are you having fun? he asked—or maybe more like yelled.

Not really, she replied. I find some people here a little sleazy, to be honest. I don’t like being looked at like I’m a piece of meat.

He choked, muttered something she didn’t hear, and quickly slunk away.

Good riddance. Honestly, why did women put up with guys looking at them like that? Or maybe they liked the feeling of power that came with attractiveness.

That so wasn’t her. She sighed, her gaze sliding past guys she didn’t recognize to the one she did. God bless Mike. Faithful, easygoing Mike. An ever-present haven from her brother’s tease. If he weren’t Brent’s best friend, and if she hadn’t vowed never to date hockey players, he might even be worth consideration as boyfriend material. He caught her gaze, and her discomfort eased as she returned his smile.

Mike’s heart skidded. If asked to describe his ideal woman, Breanna Karlsson would tick every box. She always had, ever since he’d first known the Karlsson family through school and church and hockey all those years ago. Her eyes met his and drew him once more into her beauty. The violet-gray eyes, the perfect skin, the dark, glossy hair he yearned to touch. 

But despite years of admiration, he’d never allowed his feelings to kindle into anything warmer. What was the point when Brent had pretty much warned every guy to stay away? Mike had seen the way Brent had snapped at other guys and taken the out-of-bounds caution to heart. But now, with Brent distracted, maybe he could see if there might ever be a chance.

Thumping music, more house techno than Keith Urban, thudded through his ears. He winced, moving between chattering groups, and found Bree in a slightly quieter section, now pensively staring out the window.

Here you go.

She turned, nearly toppled. Mike held out an arm to catch her. Whoa.

Sorry! Her jolt of movement jogged his elbow. Sauce now dripped down his shirt sleeve. Oh no! Let me fix that.

It doesn’t matter.

But apparently it did. She tugged free one of the paper napkins he held and dabbed at the stain. I’m so sorry, Mike. I’m getting everything wrong tonight.

Hey, it’s okay. It’s all okay. Even the whole Brent and Chloe thing will be okay.

She blinked rapidly, as if fighting tears. How do you know?

I have a feeling.

What, like a feeling they’ll grow old together and live happily ever after?

Yeah, not that.

Thank goodness. She exhaled. Wait, are these feelings of yours trustworthy?

Some can be. And others probably should be locked in a box and thrown—with key—into Boston Harbor. 

She finished her ministrations and drew him closer to the window overlooking the Detroit River. Okay, so do you agree?

About Brent?

Yeah, him and Chloe. Don’t you think they’re just so wrong for each other?

Yes. But… I still think the man can make his own choices.

It’s like he’s been blinded by her gorgeousness.

Did she say that because she didn’t see herself as pretty? Why did so many women seem to judge their worth on their looks—and assume all men judged the same way—when it was their heart and character that proved the real deal in lasting attraction?

Still, he had to stand up for his man. Do you really think Brent so shallow?

I don’t know what to think anymore. She bit her lip. Eyed him in a way that made him long to amend his earlier comment that she looked great to something more appropriate, like "I think you’re the most beautiful woman here tonight."

But he sensed this fractured relationship with her brother needed something deeper than his own admission of attraction.

Bree, I agree Brent isn't the same guy who started in the NHL six years ago. He’s playing really well, and I guess it’s natural he’s a little caught up in his own world.

You’re not.

"I’m not the one being featured in Hockey Today."

You play just as well as him.

Pleasure filled his chest. I didn’t think you noticed.

Of course I do. If it’s not the Wings or Toronto, then Dad’s always got the Boston games on. 

Oh. Right. The warm satisfaction trickled away. Your dad, huh?

And me. When I’m home. 

And not on a date? His chest grew tight.

Anyway, stop fishing for a compliment. She swatted his arm playfully. So, what are we going to do?

About Brent?

Don’t you think he needs some kind of intervention? Holly said she’s praying for him, which I already do. But I don’t think it can hurt to help God a little.

Holy Spirit’s little helper, huh? His eyebrows rose.

What’s wrong with that? 

Was that your way of helping before, with that super subtle dig about church?

Her smile flashed brighter than the disco lights bouncing around the room. He didn’t appreciate that, did he?

I think you need to be careful, Bree, and not act in a way that will damage your relationship.

Please. Give me some credit.

I know you’re smart and caring, and you love your family and want what’s best for them. But I also know you can get pretty passionate at times.

Well, of course I do. That goes along with caring and loving someone, doesn’t it?

He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his eyes. Truth burned in his chest. Was this his moment? Bree, I, uh, was wondering—

There you two are. What are you talking about? Brent—once more entwined with Chloe—glanced between them.

Mike couldn’t very well answer "You." 

Just a little project I was thinking on for the new year. Bree shot Mike a mischievous look.

Is that something to do with your preschool? Chloe asked.

No. Another little project. I might even see if Granny Violet is interested in helping me. She’s always invested in the best interests of her grandchildren. She raised her eyebrows at Mike.

Yep. He knew what she was hinting at. Granny Violet was the Karlsson family prayer warrior. He could only smile and shake his head.

I’d like to meet this grandmother of yours, Chloe said, batting eyelashes Mike was pretty sure were fake. They made her brown eyes look a bit like a Jersey cow. 

One day, Brent said, then turned to his sister. You eaten anything? 

Not yet.

That’s gotta be a first. He clicked his fingers celebrity-style, and a server appeared and offered a tray of savory pastries. 

Bree hesitated, glanced at Chloe then back at the tray, then snatched one, moaning a little as she stuffed in a mini spring roll. Oh, that’s so yummy.

Somehow, a little piece of sauce-flecked flaky pastry flew from her mouth to land on Chloe’s slinky dress, the red spot smack dab on the part of her chest covered by fabric. Oh, I’m so sorry! Bree moved to help clean it away.

Ugh. Get away from me, Chloe said, inching away, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Breanna. Brent’s eyebrows plunged, his expression as cold as Lake Ontario in the grip of winter.

It was an accident. 

Brent’s stormy glance revealed his skepticism, pushing words from Mike’s throat. Come on, man. You don’t think Bree did it deliberately?

I know you don’t like me, Chloe said to Bree, fluffing her hair behind one shoulder as she pushed her lips—were they artificially inflated?—into a trout pout. I can't help it if your brother wants to spend time with me rather than you.

Bree’s mouth sagged. I beg your pardon?

Sooner or later you have to cut the cord and live your own life—and let others live theirs.

You’ve got it wrong. Hurt pinched Bree’s face.

Brent, baby, could we go? Chloe said in a wheedling voice. I don’t feel welcome here.

Brent glanced at Bree and shrugged, then with a Thanks for coming, man, fist-bumped Mike and walked away.

Bree’s breath caught, and she turned to Mike, tears shining in her eyes. Can you believe that?

That was pretty cold. His heart twisted at her shaken expression. How could Brent let his girlfriend insult his sister like that? I’m sorry, Bree.

Should he wrap his arm around her? Give her a hug? Show her not all guys were cruel?

She blinked rapidly, shook her head, and drew herself up. "See how bad he’s getting? He really needs us. Please say you’ll help me with the breakup project."

God forgive him. But his desire to help Bree had less to do with wanting Chloe out of Brent’s life—cold as she’d been to poor Bree—and more with wanting to wipe the bewildered sadness from Bree’s face. And if it meant she spent more time with him, then he wasn’t opposed to that. 

I’ll help you.

You will? Her face lit, and his heart gave another painful throb. Oh, thank you. I knew I could count on you. She grinned, lifting her chin, reverting to that spunky sass he’d always admired about her. Now. She clutched his arm again, sending tingles up his spine. What exactly do you propose we should do?

CHAPTER 2

Toronto, Canada

The sound of the Toronto vs Boston game blared through the living room. Bree glanced at the TV, following the play for a little while when Mike’s number 78 jersey was on the screen. She watched him defend, working with his partner to stop Toronto from getting a puck in their net. Steady, a calm temperament, trustworthy. The comments from the TV hosts matched what she knew about Mike Vaughan. 

His shift finished and she turned away, refocusing on the activity for work tomorrow. Why she had thought color coding nearly a thousand buttons was necessary she no longer recalled. At least the mindless activity meant she could turn her thoughts to more important matters.

She smiled. To know Mike was on her side provided a measure of reassurance, something she was hoping would be further bolstered by the arrival of Granny Violet very soon, when she’d share the plan she’d discussed briefly with Mike a few days ago.

Bree? Can you help me in here?

Sure, Mom. She swept the remaining buttons to one side of the coffee table and moved into the kitchen. Granny Violet was a fan of teacups and scones and all the tasty delicacies that made her visits fun—and made it so hard for Bree to lose her muffin top.

Oh well. Diet starts tomorrow and all that.

She helped dish out the cream into one cut glass dish, then carefully spooned the strawberry jam into another as her mother pulled the trays of scones from the oven. Mmm, scones.

The sound of a car drew her to the window. She’s here.

"Go out and help her, won’t you, dear? It’s pretty slippery