1 Chapter 1

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 forearma 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’ssenior. 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 socompletely 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.