Edge Jump

  Edge Jump

  By Elizabeth Noble

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Noble

  ISBN 9781634865692

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  I’d like to thank my beta readers (hand holders) Terry, Lisa, Ann, Lou Sylvre, and Grace Duncan for their input and patience. As always, a big thank you to my publisher, cover artist, and readers!

  * * * *

  Edge Jump

  By Elizabeth Noble

  Edge jump in figure skating refers to any of the three jumps that take off from an edge of the skate blade.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 1

  Brett Rocha was alone in the world.

  Painfully, suddenly alone.

  He tried not to think about how alone he was, the last of his family. Those thoughts almost distracted him from the fact that he was in an airplane. Almost.

  He could tell from the sound of the jet’s engines they’d be landing soon. The seatbelt light came on and Brett clenched his fists. He’d never taken his seatbelt off.

  The flight attendant walked down the aisle, checking that trays were in the upright position and computers were off.

  Holding out his hand, he stopped her. “Excuse me.”

  “Yes, sir?” She was a pretty woman, mid-thirties with kind eyes.

  “That,” Brett pointed to the television screens at the front of the section. “Can it be turned off, or changed?”

  The woman glanced at the news story and drew a deep breath, but Brett continued before she could say another word. “That woman in the news, Celia Rocha, she is—was—my sister. It’s a week before Thanksgiving in the US and I’m flying to Vancouver because my sister was murdered there.” Brett didn’t intend for his words to sound so harsh.

  The flight attendant’s face softened. “I’ll take care of it.” She reached down and gave his forearm a squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

  As much as Brett had flown during his career he’d never been comfortable in an airplane and didn’t expect that to change any time soon. He gripped the seat arms and closed his eyes while the plane descended.

  Go to your happy place.

  That’s what Celia always told him to do.

  “Sir.” It was the flight attendant again. She touched his shoulder, and when he pried his eyes open she withdrew her hand and asked. “Are you Brett Rocha?” When he nodded, her eyes widened. “That last shot in the World Championship was amazing.”

  Brett blinked at her. He’d been steadily hunkering lower in his seat for the last few minutes, but now he pushed straighter.

  “You’re an inspiration to a lot of people.” She held out her hand. “The way you didn’t let the fact you played pro-hockey keep you closeted.”

  “Uh, thanks.” Brett shook her hand. She didn’t have anything for him to sign and he was always hesitant about asking if someone wanted an autograph, though he never refused a request. “Coming out was a joy ride compared to losing my kid sister. Surprisingly very few people cared that I was gay as long as we won. Nothing is going to change the fact that my sister is gone.”

  “I have to go up front while we land, but are you alright?” She asked.

  Brett nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  She offered him a smile, gave his shoulder a pat and left. Something hard and nasty unknotted in Brett’s chest. There were still kind people in the world. Nothing in the past few days had reinforced that fact and it was good to have a reminder. Yes, the woman’s job was being nice to passengers, but she’d gone beyond duty and showed compassion to a complete stranger as well as getting the damn news feed turned off.

  Back to your happy place, Rocha.

  He’d been in Ice Dragons—because everything in northern Montana had to do with ice or snow—BDSM club. Spending an evening with George was always enjoyable. George lived in a deep closet and would likely never emerge. He was a big, soft bodied and soft-hearted man probably twenty-five years Brett’s senior. Brett liked having men bigger than he was to dominate, which was damn hard to do considering he was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound ex-hockey player. He also preferred to keep his relationships causal, maybe that would change someday, but not right now.

  George was a perfect occasional sub for Brett. He was married, had two kids, one in college and another in high school, and a very understanding wife. Brett was sure they had some sort of arrangement, but he’d never asked what that was. Three or four times a month he and George booked a room at Ice Dragons. George got his fix for a spanking—Brett was great with a paddle—and Brett was treated to an amazing blow job.

  The rest of the time George was business manager for Big Sky Ice Skating Academy which Brett’s family had founded and owned. Well, Brett realized, he was the sole owner now. He’d been in bed, with George, enjoying the afterglow from their activities, television playing when Brett’s phone rang minutes before there was a special report of breaking news flashing across the screen. Brett’s life changed so completely in those few moments he hadn’t had the time to process it completely yet.

  The previous thirty hours were a blur. George got a flight organized and Brett spent hours on the phone talking with police, the coroner’s office, and a funeral home. His sister, Celia, his beautiful, smart, talented, full of life sister was dead. Her fiancé was in a coma and no one was providing answers. Hopefully he’d get some now that he was in Vancouver.

  It seemed an eternity before Brett heard the jet’s wheels touch the ground. He’d been biting his lower lip and gripping the arm rests so hard his knuckles were white and his hands cramped.

  Fucking airplanes.

  Brett waited in line in the center aisle between the seats with everyone else preparing to disembark the plane. There was a lot of shuffling around, pulling down overhead luggage, the usual. He made his way to the luggage claim and then out into the airport. All the while he hoped someone, maybe Rylan Hennessey, Celia’s performing partner, or someone from the troupe, Celebration on Ice, would meet him.

  No one was there.

  He took a taxi to the arena where Celia had been performing for the last week. The male half of the troupe’s owners, Lars Sw
eeny, had arranged for Brett to stay in the same hotel as the troupe, but Brett didn’t know which hotel it was. He did, however know where the arena was located, and made arrangements to meet Lars and his wife, Kathryn, there. Lars left a pass for him at the employee entrance.

  Sporting arenas were pretty much the same, at least the ones all over Canada and the United States. The ice was at the ground level, offices were on the fourth story, there were indoor parking garages nearby. He made his way to the ice, where the performers were practicing.

  The show must go on.

  Brett understood, the games went on as well. Team members and fellow performers sometimes died. The best way to honor them was to continue and win the game or put on the best performance of your life. Most of the skaters were practicing in groups so Brett made his way around to one end where a single skater moved across the ice.

  Rylan Hennessey and Celia began skating together when they were children. Their training for the Olympics in Montana took place when Rylan was still a boy. Skinny to the point of being delicate, always graceful, quiet, and the hardest working athlete Brett had ever seen, Rylan never interested Brett beyond being Celia’s skating partner.

  The Rylan skating now was no longer a boy, not by any stretch of the imagination. Brett made his way down to the railing around the ice and hooked one foot on one of the lower rungs while he leaned his elbows on the topmost one. He loosened his tie and shrugged out of his overcoat, draping it over the railing and watched every move Rylan made.

  Rylan was lean muscle under his workout clothes and he was a little taller than Brett remembered. Why on Earth anyone would want to jump and spin on something as slippery as ice, Brett would never understand. However, plenty of people did it and Rylan was amazing. Brett could skate forward and backward and hop over low objects if needed, but he was a hockey player. Compared to Rylan and Celia, Brett was a bulldozer on ice.

  Brett watched as Rylan twisted one way, then another. He thoroughly enjoyed watching as Rylan began executing more complicated moves, spinning, jumping, and generally sinking completely into his routine. Brett wondered if Rylan even knew he was being observed by an outsider to the performing company. Rylan’s blond hair feathered out as he picked up speed and his breathing quickened with his exertion. Brett couldn’t take his eyes off the young man as he swayed and dipped to whatever music played in his earbuds attached by thin, black wires to an MP3 strapped to his waistband. His clothes were just tight enough to give Brett a hint of well-shaped, muscular legs, a narrow torso, round buttocks, and firm biceps. When he turned, and skidded to a stop, Rylan raised one hand and waved at him.

  Waving back, Brett didn’t make the slightest effort to take his eyes off Rylan. He’d watched him skate with Celia, but rarely live, it was almost always on video or television. Seeing Rylan skate in person made Brett’s heart beat a bit faster and his groin warm, which surprised him enough to intensify his feelings.

  “Hi. It’s been a while.” Rylan glided to a stop in front of Brett and held out his hand. “I should’ve come to the airport and met you, but I—”

  “Then I wouldn’t have been able to watch you practice.” Brett held onto Rylan’s hand a bit longer than necessary. Rylan didn’t seem to mind.

  Rylan turned and looked around the rink watching the other skaters for a few seconds then turned back to Brett. “I didn’t know what else to do or where to go so I came here. It helps me.”

  Brett dipped his head to the break in the railing then walked that way. Rylan immediately followed along. When he stepped off the ice, Brett instinctively reached out and took his arm, steadying him as he transitioned from smooth ice to the rougher floor. Rylan used Brett’s hand to steady himself while he clipped blade guards in place.

  “Thanks.” Rylan glanced shyly up at Brett for a few seconds then sat in the nearest chair and removed his skates. With them on he was almost the same height as Brett. Without them, he was several inches shorter. “They won’t release her body. Have you talked to the police?”

  “I’ll be able to get her back home eventually. I talked to them briefly on the phone. I figured once I was here it’d be easier since I can go and have a face to face with someone,” Brett said.

  “They won’t tell me much.”

  Brett nodded. Rylan had lost his best friend and professional partner. Now that he was closer to Brett it was easy to see Rylan’s eyes were red and his lids puffy. “I know,” Brett said softly. “Can you leave now?”

  “I’m on a sabbatical of sorts. ‘Time to grieve’, Lars said.” Rylan sniffed and wiped the back of his hand under one eye. “I think he and Kathryn are just afraid to tell me to go home. I don’t know what I’ll do at the end of the year when my contract is up. Maybe I’ll do something else.” He looked up at Brett. His eyes glistened with moisture. “I’m not sure I want to perform, but if I have to, I could solo or…well, everyone is paired up and know their routines. It’s almost the end of the tour.”

  Brett wasn’t sure how to ask his next question without sounding like a complete jerk. “I meant do you have something you need to do right now, here? I was hoping to go to the hotel.”

  “Huh?” Rylan sort of sagged.

  Brett wanted to gather him up and shield him. “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here. When was the last decent meal you had?”

  Rylan stood up and tied the laces of his skates together, slinging them over his shoulder. He shrugged and studied the floor for a few seconds. Focusing on caring for Rylan eased Brett’s pain. “I’m not sure.”

  “Does the hotel have a restaurant?”

  “Most of them do,” Rylan mumbled.

  Brett took Rylan’s arm and turned him away from the ice. “I’ve had a rough few days and so have you. Let’s get some dinner and catch up. My treat.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Making no effort to remove Brett’s hand on his arm, Rylan walked alongside Brett as he led him away from the seats and toward a sign that said private. “Locker room’s this way if I remember correctly.”

  Rylan nodded. “You played in this arena?”

  “Several times.”

  They walked to the locker room in silence. Brett reluctantly let go and sat on the bench between the line of lockers while Rylan packed some of his belongings in a duffle bag. He turned and faced Brett. “I can get the rest later.” He studied Brett for a few seconds. “You came all this way with no luggage?”

  Brett chuckled. “It’s in the cab, which is waiting. Meter running.” He picked up the skates Rylan had put down, holding them by the laces in one hand. They walked in silence to the entrance where Brett’s taxi was still waiting.

  Stepping ahead of Rylan, Brett reached around him and opened the back door of the cab then stepped aside. “After you.” He motioned to the cab’s interior.

  “Thanks,” Rylan said softly and slid inside the vehicle.

  The driver turned and asked, “Do you want me to put that in the trunk with your other bags?” He pointed to Rylan’s duffle.

  “Pop the trunk, I can do it,” Brett said. He took the duffle from Rylan and headed to the back of the car, depositing the bag among his own luggage. He pushed the trunk closed and joined Rylan inside the cab.

  Brett leaned back and closed his eyes for a few seconds while Rylan told the driver their destination. Once the cab was set in motion he opened his eyes and sat straighter, gazing out the window, watching the buildings roll by. The hotel where the cast and crew of Celebration on Ice was staying was less than ten minutes away, in heavy traffic.

  The place was a behemoth of a building, old and stately with a stone front and flags fluttering at regular intervals. A porter came out and loaded Rylan’s duffle and Brett’s luggage on a cart. Brett paid the cabbie and followed the porter and Rylan into the hotel. When they stopped at the front desk, Rylan retrieved his room keycard then moved closer to Brett, turned and leaned his back against the countertop.

  “I’m supposed to have a room reser
ved with the Celebration on Ice group,” Brett told the woman at the desk. She nodded and spent a minute or two typing on her keyboard.

  “I’m sorry, sir, there was an overbooking and a room won’t open up for a few days. We’re happy to transfer you to another hotel in a comparable room.”

  Brett opened his mouth but Rylan gripping his arm silenced him. “Share my room,” Rylan said. He looked at the woman behind the desk. “He can do that, right?”

  She raised her eyebrows and nodded.

  “I—” Brett began.

  “Please. I’d like the company,” Rylan said softly. “Rylan Hennessy, room 1008.” He swallowed and looked away. “I haven’t slept.”

  “I know the feeling,” Brett muttered.

  “Sir,” The woman said.

  Brett turned to her and she was holding a keycard out to him. “Thanks.” Brett took the small piece of plastic, tapped the counter with it and nodded to the woman. He put one hand on Rylan’s shoulder and turned him toward the elevator.

  “Enjoy your stay, gentlemen.” The woman smiled pleasantly.

  “Thanks,” Brett mumbled and walked with Rylan to the porter, gave him the room number on the keycard and they went to wait for the elevator. “If you don’t mind I’ll have a shower before dinner.”

  Rylan silently nodded.

  They made their way to Rylan’s room. Brett used his newly acquired keycard to open Rylan’s room door then followed Rylan through. The porter arrived with their bags and carried them into the room, setting everything on a bench beside the dresser. Brett tipped the man, who smiled and nodded as he left.

  “Your own room. Nice. We buddied up,” Brett said.

  “I’m one of the stars, remember?” Rylan shrugged. “And there’s an odd number of men in the company.”

  Brett chuckled and waved at the bathroom door. “Your room, you should go first.”

  “Nah, that’s okay, I’d like to sit for a few minutes.”

  “Sure.” Brett grabbed his shaving kit and some clean underwear before heading to the bathroom and his shower. When he came out Rylan was sitting on the opposite side of the room in a chair beside the large window. The city lights and clear sky made a spectacular backdrop. While he dressed, he watched Rylan flip through what looked like one of the show’s program books.