Interfering, page 1
Interfering
A Fresh Start Hockey Romance
Portland Icehawks
Book 4
Jami Davenport
Cedrona Enterprises LLC
Contents
1. End of the Suffering
2. What Doesn’t Kill You…
3. Save the Animals
4. Landing a Punch
5. Overcoming Fear
6. Meet the Sisters
7. Working Out
8. Insecurities
9. Bed Partner
10. In the Moment
11. That Kiss
12. Luckiest Man
13. Comfort Zone
14. Tinted Windows
15. Let’s Do This
16. In a Heartbeat
17. Fresh Air
18. Nightcap
19. Furry Bed Partner
20. Girls Just Want to Have Fun
21. Sinning in the Sin Bin
22. Sister Strife
23. Planning at the Puck
24. Three Words
25. My Family
26. Find Heidi
27. More than Hockey
28. Contingency Plans
29. Turn Back Time?
30. Stupid Feud
31. Let Her Go
32. One Lucky Guy
33. PDA
Epilogue
Complete Booklist
About the Author
Copyright © 2023 by Cedrona Enterprises LLC
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Jami Davenport. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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The Seattle Sockeyes®, Seattle Steelheads®, Portland Icehawks™, and Seattle Skookums™ are fictional sports teams. Game On in Seattle™ is a series of sports romance novels The names and logos are created for the sole use of the owner and covered under protection of trademark.
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This book is a work of fiction. While references might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-age readers.
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Blurb
Heidi
I've never had a man be kind to me unless he wanted something, so when a gorgeous hockey star shows interest, I don't believe it's genuine. I was a throwaway child of a drug addict, and I learned to survive in dark places. Now I'm determined to get my life on track, and I don’t need complications, especially from a drop-dead gorgeous professional hockey player with delusions of rescuing me. I don't need to be rescued by him or anyone else. I'm doing it on my own.
Trent
I'm attracted to Heidi and have been from the moment I saw her. Timid Heidi brings out my protective instincts, but my interest goes beyond that. Sure, I know where she's been and what she's had to do just to stay alive, but instead of disrespecting her, I admire her ability to rise above her unfortunate circumstances.
Heidi's still harboring secrets, and they're driving a wedge between us. And that's not the only wedge; my sisters have invaded my little piece of paradise and set up an animal rescue on my small farm. I don't like chaos, and my sisters don't like Heidi. Not exactly a recipe for a happily ever after, but I'm bound and determined to get what I want, because losing isn't an option.
To the friends I didn’t know I had.
To the authors and readers who reached out to me recently after I posted about a demoralizing situation I’d gone through. I thank all of you for having my back and making my day better.
Every day.
There are angels among us.
Be the one who’s there when someone is hurting and needs you.
If you read my books, you know I have a tendency to choose heroines with unusual careers. In Interfering, Heidi is a former escort. The Icehawks series has also featured the homeless and victims of violent crimes. My goal is to show that everyone deserves respect and compassion. If you haven’t walked in their shoes, you shouldn’t judge. My mom had a saying, “We’re all just one step away from being homeless.” That’s stuck with me over the years. Heidi has been both homeless and penniless, and she’s persevered. She didn’t succumb to drug addiction, stealing, or other vices. She made something of herself.
Heidi is my hero.
I hope you enjoy her story as much as I enjoyed making her come to life.
Chapter One
End of the Suffering
~~Trent~~
My year of suffering was about to come to an end.
I wiped my sweaty face with a towel and leaned forward on the bench as the last few seconds ticked off the clock. The final horn sounded, an old horn off a Columbia River tugboat that’s used to signal the end of a period or a goal. The crowd rose to their feet and erupted in cheers. They’d been with us all season through good and mostly bad times. Portland was so grateful to have a hockey team, they didn’t care that we finished with the worst record in the entire league.
In our defense, things had started to click this past month, and we’d won as many as we lost. Too bad we couldn’t say that for the entire season. We might’ve sucked, but next year was looking up.
I skated onto the ice to give Roman, our goalie, a traditional postgame goalie hug. After which, I joined my teammates circling the ice and held up my stick in a salute to the Icehawks faithful. Next season, I vowed we’d make this town proud, but this season, thankfully, was over.
We clomped down the rubberized floor to the locker room. The end of the season was always bittersweet, unless you won the Cup, not that I had personal knowledge of what such a moment would feel like.
Within twenty-four hours, my teammates would disperse to all parts of the world after we had our exit interviews, which were nothing more than interviews with the press at the end of the season.
Some guys would be back next year, and some wouldn’t. I was under contract for the next few years and fully expected to return next season.
I wasn’t leaving town for the summer other than a beach vacation and a brief flight home. I’d just purchased a run-down farm on ten acres outside of Sherwood, Oregon, a suburb of Portland. I had a lot to do before the place was where I wanted it to be, but the price had been too good to pass up considering the prime land the farm sat on.
The team had unfinished business. We didn’t reach our goal of making the playoffs in our first season. I was already looking ahead. I wanted to be a part of making hockey great in Portland.
After our interviews, I’d fly out for that long-awaited vacation in the Caribbean with some of my single teammates. We’d drink a lot and lament about not being in the playoffs. If we got shit-faced enough, we might even watch some hockey, but right now, the pain is too recent.
I sat down in front of my stall and suffered through obligatory speeches by the coach, the GM, and the majority owner. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this arena and drown my sorrows with my teammates. As soon as they finished, I showered and dressed before heading toward our team hangout, the Portland Puck.
As usual, a back room had been reserved for us. The shots were flowing while pizza was consumed. I sat back and observed, watching my teammates as they dealt with our losing season, each in their own way. I’d allow myself one night to lament about what could have been before burying this past season and looking to the future.
First, I had to get through this night.
Chapter Two
What Doesn’t Kill You…
~~Heidi~~
I’m a human trafficking survivor.
It wasn’t my crutch. It’s part of who I am, part of my character development, as in what didn’t kill me made me stronger.
My life had been less than idyllic.
As a kid I’d fantasized that I had a normal, loving family with a brother, sister, and a mom and dad who were devoted to each other. Not that I knew anyone with a family like that, or even what a normal family was made up of. My experiences were limited to television and movies. Few of my small circle of ever-changing friends had it any better.
I’d been in and out of foster care most of my childhood when I wasn’t living on the streets. My mother had been a prostitute, did drugs, and drank too much. My dad was in prison for life. I had various half sibs, but we were spread to the wind, and I didn’t have any contact with them.
During one of the times I was in my mom’s custody, she prostituted me out to clients in exchange for drugs. I was fourteen. I ran away and lived on the street, making my own money without my mother stealing it from me. I’d worked my way up to being an escort for wealthy, mostly married, men.
I was nothing if not a survivor. These past few months had been a challenge even for me, but there were rays of sun breaking through the clouds. I had a new group of real friends. I’d left my old life behind. I couldn’t go anywhere but up, starting with my new career.
After sweeping up around my station, I surveyed my tiny queendom with pride. I’d done this. I’d risen above my upbringing and my circumstances. I found a way out. I’d been one of the lucky ones.
My eight-by-eight hair salon station comprised a chair, a counter with cupboards below, and a large mirror above. It might not be much to most people, but to me, it was the culmination of a dream and my version of success.
I’d worked tirelessly to get through cosmetology school, pass my tests, and earn my certification. It hadn’t been easy, especially anything that required studying. I wasn’t the best reader. Yet, despite my limitations, I’d done it.
I’d been in business less than a month.
The small, privately owned salon catered to blue-haired little old ladies, middle-aged women stuck in the eighties with big hair, and the random person who walked in off the street. Being the newbie, I didn’t have an established clientele and accepted most of the walk-ins. I also worked the longest hours. I’d arrive at seven a.m. and often not leave until after six p.m. Prissy, the owner, adored me because of my willingness to work day or night.
I glanced up as the bell tinkled over the door. It’d been a slow day, and everyone else had gone home. I’d hung around in the hope I’d get some walk-ins.
My breath caught in my throat when I caught sight of the gorgeous hunk of man-flesh gracing my salon. Usually good-looking guys, or any guys for that matter, didn’t affect me. I was jaded like that. In my experience, the best-looking men were usually the biggest assholes.
But this guy wasn’t like that.
He ticked all my boxes and sent my heart fluttering in ways that were foreign to me—if only he didn’t engage in a violent sport for a living.
The object of my crush stopped in the doorway and glanced around. A huge smile spread across that too-handsome-for-words face and stole the breath from my lungs.
“Heidi, I was hoping you’d be here.”
“Hi, Trent,” I croaked. I swallowed and sought to control my thumping heart and rapid pulse. This was ridiculous. I had more experience with men in my twenty-four years than most women had in a lifetime, and none of it was good.
Trent strode toward me, full of purpose and confidence. I backed up a step, immediately on guard. My experiences with men weren’t positive. I was alone in this salon, and I hadn’t yet met a man I could trust. My brain flashed back to visions of this man slamming opposing players up against the boards or hitting another player with his big body and sending him flying. In my perfect imaginary world, he was a banker or a real estate broker, or some other benign profession. Anything but a hockey player. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t being reasonable. I had friends who were dating hockey players, and they left the violence of their sport on the ice.
“What can I do for you?” I regained my composure, stood up straighter, and attempted to project the image of someone stronger and braver than I was. I turned all business, because I’d promised myself that building my business was all that mattered.
“A haircut and a beard trim.”
I swept my arms wide. “Have a seat.”
He walked across the room with that athletic grace I so admired and sat down in my styling chair. Trent was tall, and I was tiny, so I didn’t have to raise the chair far for his head to be at the correct height. I shook out a clean cape and draped it around his shoulders.
“What are you looking for? Just a trim? Would you like any changes?”
Clear blue eyes met mine, and I looked away immediately. His eyes sparkled with an obvious joy for life. I envied him. Guys like him never seemed to have problems, and everything just came their way. Not that he didn’t work hard. I knew enough about professional hockey to know it was hard work to get to the pros and even harder to stay there.
He gave a brief explanation of what he wanted, and I listened intently. If I did a good job and snagged him as a client, I might be able to pick up more of his teammates and their SOs. The exposure would be good for growing my business.
Only the thought of all those big, muscular men coming for haircuts scared the crap out of me. I knew from Aspen and Michella that there were good guys out there, but I hadn’t personally known any other than Grady and Briggs, and Briggs scared me somewhat.
Trent was different, but he still made me nervous. He came across as polite and respectful, but I’d been around seemingly good guys who morphed into monsters once I was under their control.
After gaining an understanding of what he wanted, I escorted him to the sinks on the opposite wall. He leaned back in the chair and grinned at me. I studiously ignored meeting his gaze. My hands shook slightly as I shampooed his hair. He was my first male client, and his closeness made me twitchy. Not all of my nerves were caused by uncertainty and fear. There was something else: our innate attraction to each other. Despite being drawn to him, I wouldn’t allow myself to pursue a relationship with this man or any other. I had a career to build and didn’t need a man to muddy the waters, distract me from my goals, or control my every move.
Massaging the soap into his scalp was harder than I’d expected. Being this close to Trent unnerved me. His nearness to the walls of my carefully guarded personal space sent invisible shudders through my body. I’d chosen this career knowing I’d be required to get physically close to men and women. I’d deal with my discomfort.
When I finished his shampoo, I directed him back to the chair while I cleaned up the area around the sink.
I squared my shoulders and called forth my courage. Taking a deep, calming breath, I walked purposefully toward him, as coldly professional as possible. The man scared me and excited me. I didn’t know which emotion was stronger. Puzzling, too, was how he made me feel. After what’d happened at the end of last year, I didn’t think a man would ever be able to arouse me, but I felt something when Trent was around.
Around the holidays, I’d been held hostage for a month by a wealthy client, managing to escape when he became careless and overconfident that I didn’t have the guts to leave. He’d been wrong. Realizing I’d been lucky to escape with my life, I’d hung up my stilettos and never worked another minute in the profession. The experience left a lasting scar on my heart and destroyed my trust in men. This particular man had been charming and kind when I’d first met him. Only later had he turned into a monster.
And now Trent sat before me, reminding me of how Rufe had been in the beginning. Every survival instinct I’d honed over years on the streets warned me not to trust Trent, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t cut his hair. I needed all the customers I could get.
I took great care in styling his hair and trimming his beard, under pressure to do the best job possible. Trent sat patiently and made several attempts to draw me into conversation.
