Rafe: An Arizona Vengeance Novella (Arizona Vengeance #6.5) - Sawyer Bennett Page 0,1

talent.

And she’s the one who held back her tears so I wouldn’t feel guilty when I left to live with my billet family in Green Bay to play Junior A hockey at the age of sixteen. She knew it was my best chance to move forward in my path to play professional hockey, even if it meant giving up the last two years of my childhood and being with her full-time.

It’s true... I grew a little closer to my dad after I entered the professional hockey league, but that had more to do with the fact that I was an adult, and thus we had more things in common. While the bond with my mother has always been exceptionally tight and emotional, my relationship with Dad has been more like that of the proud uncle who lives down the street. We’ve never had the in-depth discussions one might imagine occur between father and son, and he’s never been the one I turned to for guidance and support.

And yet, when he called me to tell me he was diagnosed with cancer, it stunned me that it was actually him delivering the news. Based on our history, I would have considered it normal for him to have my mom pass on the bad news, but I heard something in his voice then that I’d never heard before.

Thinking about it now, it’s hard to describe, but if I have to boil it down to one word, it might be something close to regret.

Not that he’s dying, but perhaps that we missed out on far too many things together.

Whatever it was I heard in that conversation, it was enough for me to ask for a trade to the Cold Fury. Although I don’t have a deep relationship with my father, it was enough for me to walk away from an assured championship, and possibly set my entire career back.

The baggage carousel alarm starts to blare, and then the gears kick in, starting the platform in its three-hundred-and-sixty-degree journey to deliver luggage. It jolts me out of my thoughts, and my gaze moves to the little ramp that leads up from the bowels of the airport, where some worker will be carelessly chucking our bags.

The various pieces start their climb upward and dump unceremoniously out onto the metal platform that will eventually deliver the items.

I move closer to the carousel, finding an open spot between passengers. Flying first class has its perks, one of which is that my bag has a priority tag. It comes out third in line, and I nab it easily.

My mom is supposed to pick me up and is probably waiting out by the curb. I set the heavy suitcase on its wheels, pull the telescoping handle up, and turn toward the door, immediately knocking into someone because I’m not watching where I’m going.

“Shit,” I mutter, my hand automatically extending to steady the person. “I’m so sorry.”

My gaze travels up past jeans-clad legs, a pretty spring sweater in butter yellow, gorgeous breasts, and a slender neck.

Then my eyes lock on the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.

One I’ve looked at least a million times throughout my life and in my dreams. I still have found none to rival it. My entire body jolts with an electric shock as I stare into the eyes of my ex-girlfriend, Calliope Ramirez.

“Hey,” I say in mild surprise, both pleased and feeling terribly awkward at seeing her here. I look around for her family or even some friends she might be on a trip with. When my gaze comes back to her, I ask, “Small world, running into you at the airport.”

Could that be any lamer?

I mean...we grew up together. Our houses still sit side by side. I’ve known her for as long as I can remember, and it’s a pure miracle that she and I haven’t run into each other since we broke up eight years ago.

But no...this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on her in a very, very long time, and damn if she hasn’t gotten even more beautiful over the years.

Calliope is my age...twenty-six. Our birthdays are only ten days apart. We celebrated all of them together, seeing as how we were the best of friends growing up and then way more later.

I take every bit of her in. Her long, dark hair parted in the middle and cascading in loose waves over her shoulders. Her skin a light mocha, compliments of her Puerto Rican dad, but the rest of her