Sawyer Bennett – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Sawyer Bennett – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:49 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0.1 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Sawyer Bennett – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Code Name Ember (Jameson Force Seattle #1) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/code-name-ember-jameson-force-seattle-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Sun, 12 Jul 2026 16:11:49 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/code-name-ember-jameson-force-seattle-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Erotic, Suspense, Thriller Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Jameson Force Seattle Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)

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A whistleblower is dead. A journalist is hunted. And only one man can keep her alive.

After a career in special forces, then as a smokejumper, Cole Mercer is ready for a new challenge. When he hears that the world-renowned covert operations team at Jameson Force Security is opening a facility in Seattle, Cole knows exactly where he belongs. What he doesn’t expect is to come face-to-face with the woman he never stopped loving—the one who walked away before either of them said goodbye.

Investigative journalist Tessa Ward has uncovered proof that a powerful real estate developer is tied to a string of deadly wildfires in the Pacific Northwest. It’s the kind of story that could make her career… or end her life. When her source is murdered in cold blood, Tessa realizes the truth is more dangerous than she ever imagined. With no other options, Tessa knows she has no choice but to turn to the one man she swore she’d never ask for help.

Some fires are set on purpose. Others never stop burning.

Their past ended in heartbreak, but when it’s clear she’s being hunted, Tessa and Cole are forced to set aside their hurt. As they chase a trail of corruption, arson, and murder, every life-or-death decision reignites old passions. But the closer they get to the truth, the more dangerous the game becomes—and one wrong move could cost them everything, including each other

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Cole

Gunfire cracks through the training bay, sharp and contained, the sound ricocheting off steel beams and reinforced concrete. The air carries the acrid smell of burned propellant left behind by the sim rounds—the small polymer bullets we shoot at each other rather than real ammunition.

I pivot left around a fabricated drywall corner, Glock up, both hands steady. The digital overlay in my heads-up display flashes a red silhouette through the partition—an armed hostile, two meters beyond the threshold.

I drop to one knee at the doorway, lean out just enough to clear the angle, and fire three rapid shots.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

The projection target flickers and dissolves. A chorus of electronic beeps confirms the neutralization, but the overhead scoreboard still burns bright above the bay doors.

SECOND PLACE.

“Hostage compromised,” the automated system announces in its calm, infuriating voice over the comms.

Fuck.

The third floor of the Jameson Force Seattle headquarters isn’t just a firing range. It’s a full-immersion tactical maze with modular walls on hydraulic tracks that can be moved around in various formations. Programmable lighting can drop the room into blackout mode in half a second and ceiling-mounted projectors are capable of projecting holographic moving civilians, vehicles or armed suspects into the simulation drills. On top of that, we have the standard pop-up targets that will appear out of nowhere and shave years off your life.

Today’s scenario is a hostage extraction inside a two-story urban warehouse. The program is giving us several hostiles, three civilians and zero acceptable collateral damage.

I clear the doorway properly this time, sweeping the near corner before shifting deeper into the room. A hostage mannequin lies zip-tied behind stacked cargo crates, an attached LED light blinking yellow to indicate a moderate but survivable injury. My HUD—the heads-up display projected across my smart lenses—flashes the damage report at the lower edge of my vision.

All hostiles neutralized. Zero civilian deaths. Clean shot placement. Response time four-point-two seconds behind optimal.

Second place by a margin that would have been invisible to anyone not running at this level. Reid was faster today, but it won’t happen twice.

Somewhere to my right, another three-shot burst echoes, perfectly timed, perfectly placed.

“Mercer,” Reid calls from behind a barricade, a grin in his voice. “You slowing down, old man?”

I duck as a fresh hologram pops up to my left. “You’re welcome for the cover fire,” I shoot back, nailing the digitized silhouette before it can light me up. “Maybe focus on not getting yourself killed.”

Josie’s voice crackles over the comms. “Focus, gentlemen. We’re supposed to be rescuing hostages, not arguing like frat boys.”

“Frat boys get to drink more,” Reid mutters.

“True that,” I commiserate, grinning despite myself. Reid’s Marine Corps swagger and Josie’s NSA-trained sharp tongue keep this place from feeling like a funeral. It’s almost enough to make me forget the smell of real smoke and blood.

Almost.

“Clock’s ticking,” Malik’s voice cuts in, calm but firm. “Two minutes to extraction.”

I roll forward, scanning the virtual layout on my wrist display. Target room dead center—two hostiles, one hostage. Breach-and-clear.

“Reid, flank left. I’ll take point.”

“Copy.”

“Josie, bring up the rear.”

She doesn’t acknowledge but hangs back three paces as we sweep the corner. Josie is our lead intelligence specialist at Jameson Seattle. While she’s most dangerous at a keyboard, Malik insists everyone trains the same, and her tactical skills are every bit as sharp as mine or Reid’s.

My pulse steadies but then again, it always does when the adrenaline hits. Everything narrows. Breath, sight, timing.

The door is magnetically locked so I plant a breaching charge, count down from three, and we flow through after it blows. Two paint rounds zing past my shoulder. I drop one target and Reid takes the other. The hostage dummy screams through the speakers in mock terror, a realistic element that sort of creeps me out.

“Clear,” I say, and Josie comes in behind us, holstering her weapon and cutting the restraints off the dummy while Reid and I cover her in case Malik sends in some surprise hostiles.

But then we hear his voice over the comms. “That was really good. Mission complete.”

Josie grins as she rises from the now freed but still inert hostage. “Nice work, boys. Only one of you is bleeding this time.”

I glance down at the red paint blooming across my shoulder plate.

Reid smirks. “You hesitated. Thought you were supposed to be the calm, collected one.”

“Next time, you breach first. Let’s see how calm you stay.”

We exit into the corridor, the air shifting from propellant and burnt plastic to crisp and filtered sweetness. The Jameson Force Security–Seattle Division facility still smells new. It’s been three months since we opened unofficially, a spinoff from the Pittsburgh division, which spun off from the original in Las Vegas.

Tonight is the grand opening proper, and our owner, Kynan McGrath, spared no expense. The building is a 1908 brick structure in Pioneer Square, formerly known as the Blackwood Exchange, but is now referred to among us simply as headquarters. It’s four stories with Romanesque arches lining the upper windows, ornate stone cornices, deep red masonry and tall, narrow windows trimmed in dark metal. From the street it reads as old Seattle wealth—respectable, established, untouchable. Nothing about the facade hints at what happens inside.

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Advertisement Crosby (Portland Wildfire #1) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/crosread-online-portland-wildfire-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Wed, 20 May 2026 17:50:29 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/crosread-online-portland-wildfire-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Portland Wildfire Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >89

She’s here to expose hockey’s biggest flaws. He’s the complication she never planned on. Neither one is prepared for the sparks that fly every time they collide.

Juno Paxton has built her award-winning documentary career dismantling institutions people blindly worship. Her latest assignment is her most high-profile immerse herself in the league’s newest hockey expansion team—the Portland Wildfire—for an entire season and create a behind-the-scenes film the league can parade around as “authentic.”

Juno doesn’t buy it. Not the hype, not the hero worship, and definitely not the polished personas of pro athletes. She expects egos, theatrics, and plenty of manufactured grit.

What she doesn’t expect is Crosby Hale.

The Wildfire’s starting goalie is stoic, meticulously focused, and infuriatingly camera-shy. He wants nothing to do with her film, her questions, or her insistence that he “show some personality.” Unfortunately for him, the league wants Juno’s documentary to center on the enigmatic goaltender who refuses to cooperate.

But the more time Juno spends with Crosby, the more she glimpses the steady, thoughtful man beneath his guarded exterior. He isn’t the stereotype she’s built her name exposing—he’s better. The more she learns about him, the harder it becomes to keep her documentary, and her heart, objective. And for Crosby, letting Juno in feels less like a mistake and more like the beginning of something worth fighting for.

Warm, witty, and unexpectedly emotional, CROSBY launches the Portland Wildfire series with a slow-burn enemies-to-lovers romance between a skeptical filmmaker and the goalie determined to stay out of her spotlight… until she becomes the one thing he can’t turn away from

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Crosby

The practice facility is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Touted as the most state-of-the-art and luxurious in the league, the esteemed owner of the new Portland Wildfire apparently spared no expense.

Then again, Patrick Rowe is a fucking billionaire a few times over, so why should he go on the cheap when outfitting his new hockey franchise?

The facade of the one-hundred-and-sixty-thousand-square-foot building is dominated by sweeping walls of glass and steel panels in muted slate and graphite tones. The main entrance is recessed beneath an overhang of glass and metal, the doors framed by towering windows that flood the lobby with natural light during the day. The team crest is etched directly into the stone, a massive twenty-foot-diameter circle of the Cascade Mountain Range, bordered by evergreen trees and wildfire flames.

The facility sits in Beaverton, Oregon, close enough to downtown Portland to be considered convenient, far enough to keep the noise out. It gives the team space to work without an audience, and I chose to purchase a home here rather than in the city. I’ll spend far more time here than I will at the actual arena for games.

Rowe definitely gets bragging rights over the sheer enormity of the place. It has two full ice rinks—one regulation size and a secondary development rink—housed in the center portion and flanked by two outward wings. The eastern side of the building houses the main locker room, the medical and rehab suite, the strength and conditioning gym, and a full-size sit-down restaurant called The Blue Line where, rumor has it, the chef will prepare meals for you to take home if you ask nicely.

The western wing houses the executive team—coaches’ offices, the general manager’s suite, as well as video review rooms and a sports science and analytics center. I heard there’s even a leadership office suite for whoever is elected captain and assistant captains of the team. There’s also a team meeting auditorium, assorted conference rooms and a media zone for interviews and press conferences.

I’ve been around this league long enough to know when a facility is meant to inspire and when it’s meant to impress. This one does both and I consider it a massive perk for coming to this team as a free agent.

The sun is barely up, and the September air has an early-morning bite. I glance to the southeast and while I can’t see it today, I’ve been told Mt. Hood is often visible.

Training camp starts in a few days, but the entire team meets for the first time today. Most came in the expansion draft held at the end of June whereas others like me were free agents. Because we’re an expansion team, we’re comprised largely of players the other teams didn’t want, which means we’re ragtag at best.

At worst, we might be a hot mess, but it’s way too soon to know that.

I check in at the security desk and step through a turnstile after I scan my badge, which had been hand-delivered to my house yesterday, along with a welcome gift package from Patrick Rowe. It was a matte black box with the Wildfire logo embossed on the top and a soft velvet lining. Inside was a Ferragamo travel bag, a Jaeger-LeCoultre watch, and a set of Bose QuietComfort noise-canceling headphones. I’ve always been great at math, and some quick calculations led me to believe our new owner probably dropped three hundred grand on these player gifts.

Not too shabby.

I move past the security checkpoint and head left to the west wing, following signs to the team auditorium. It’s not my first time here, as we all got tours upon our arrival last week, but it’s no less mind-boggling. It’s built like a private cinema with stadium-style, tiered rows that rise gradually from the front of the room to the back. Each chair is wide and padded, upholstered in mocha-brown leather with black piping, built-in armrests, and the Wildfire logo in the team colors of burnt orange and forest green embossed into the headrests.

At the front of the room spans an enormous wall-mounted video screen that stretches nearly wall to wall and floor to ceiling. It can operate as one massive uninterrupted display or split into three independent panels, allowing coaches to run multiple video feeds simultaneously.

At the front corner of the room sits a low coaching podium and integrated control station. From here, staff can control video playback, lighting, audio and screen configuration. Additional monitors are mounted discreetly around the room for presenters, ensuring coaches never have to turn their backs on the team.

I’m the first to arrive and I take a seat in the tenth row, direct center. Not because I need to be seen, but because it’s where I can see everyone else as they enter.

As a goalie, that’s habit.

It’s my job to read a play before it happens and you can’t do that if you don’t have the best line of sight as well as understand angles.

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Advertisement Rafe – A Vengeance Hockey Novella Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/rafe-a-vengeance-hockey-novella-read-online-sawyer-bennett Wed, 20 May 2026 17:50:20 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/rafe-a-vengeance-hockey-novella-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Novella, Sports Authors: Sawyer Bennett Advertisement

Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >37

I was living my dream until one phone call changed everything.

As the second line center for the Arizona Vengeance, my mind has been on one thing—helping my team bring home a championship. But that all changed when I found out my dad had cancer and only months to live. In that moment, nothing mattered more than getting home to North Carolina to be by his side. That meant asking for the unthinkable—a trade to the Carolina Cold Fury.

Now I’m home and when I’m not on the ice with my new team, I’m helping care for my dad. And in the midst of my grief, I find comfort from the one person I never expected.

Calliope Ramirez stole my heart at a very young age. The beautiful, smart, headstrong girl next door, she was my first… everything. She has never forgiven me for leaving her, believing that I chose hockey over a future together. What she doesn’t understand is that every decision I made was for her, and I’ve never given up hope that one day we’d be together again.

Watching my dad slip away is a harsh reminder of how short life can be, and having Callie by my side makes me realize I was a damn fool before. That changes starting right now. Calliope Ramirez is mine and I’m not going to waste the second chance that I’ve been given

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Rafe

Raleigh, North Carolina—the City of Oaks. I’m home, and this homecoming sucks.

This is where I was born and raised, but right now, I have no sense of welcome. Instead, with a sense of dread, I traverse the airport terminal with the other passengers who just deplaned the direct flight from Phoenix.

Four days ago, I was a member of the Arizona Vengeance hockey team and scored the game-winning goal against the L.A. Demons to secure our number one playoff spot. Life was great.

Three days ago, my father called me with the devastating news that he had pancreatic cancer and was dying. He had weeks left, at most.

Two days ago, I asked Dominik Carlson—owner of the Arizona Vengeance—to trade me, release me…whatever. Just let me get back home to Raleigh to be by my dad’s side for as long as he had left.

One day ago, I said goodbye to my team. My brothers. My hockey family.

Today, I’m home, and I’m not ready for any of this.

I’m sure it’s inconceivable to many that I would ask to leave the Vengeance when they are poised to make history as the first expansion team to have the talent and depth to win a Cup championship. But not one of my teammates made me feel a fool for my decision. They all stood by me in solidarity and support. Dominik—as he insists everyone call him—pulled magical strings with the Cold Fury management and almost overnight, I had a new team.

With that news, I realized I was going to my hometown of Raleigh, North Carolina, to play—and watch my father die at the same time.

Yesterday, I attended a party at Dominik’s home. Even though I was officially off the roster, I still felt very much a part of the Vengeance family. Still do, for that matter, even though I’m officially a member of the Carolina Cold Fury now. Those bonds won’t be broken so easily, but I truly understand that my loyalty is now with my new team. I’m sure new bonds will form.

I know it may still be up for debate in Vegas and among sports experts, but in my heart, I know I’ve left behind a team that has an indescribable magic to their unity. It’s something I’ll probably never see again in my career, and that makes me sad. It’s a sense of loss I’m trying to process, right along with the one I’m about to suffer soon with my dad.

So here I am, stepping foot onto the small escalator heading upward that will deposit me outside the secure portion of the terminal and at the foot of another escalator that descends right back down to baggage claim. I packed a large suitcase full of clothes and essentials to get me through until the movers can get here with my stuff next week.

As I locate the correct baggage carousel, I realize I’m not in a good mood. I’m absolutely furious at this change in life circumstances. Not angry at what I’m leaving behind, but what I’m walking toward. A life where I get to watch my father die, something I’m woefully unprepared for.

I don’t even really know how to feel about it. My father, Jim, and I haven’t always had a good relationship. Growing up, I found him to be cold and distant, a hard man to know. He’s an electrician and, in my childhood, worked long, hard hours to provide for his family. He would come home at night and expect my stay-at-home mom to have dinner on the table.

After dinner, he’d retire to his recliner and watch TV for the rest of the night, and I had to be quiet and not disturb him. It was my mom who helped me with homework, made sure I was appropriately bathed and put to bed at night. She’s the one who woke me up in the morning, fed me, and waited with me at the bus stop.

Only after I showed some natural talent for hockey did my dad’s interest in me perk a bit. I mean…he came to some of my games when his work schedule allowed, and while he was never one to boisterously cheer me on, I could tell he was proud. It was the look on his face.

Still, it was Mom who dutifully brought me to every game and nursed my sprains and injuries. When I doubted myself, she always bolstered me back up. She’s the one who encouraged me to keep pushing day in and day out to develop my 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.

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Advertisement Whiskey Words and Whispers (Sweet Tea & Trouble #1) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/whiskey-words-and-whispers-sweet-tea-trouble-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Sat, 28 Feb 2026 17:33:43 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/whiskey-words-and-whispers-sweet-tea-trouble-1-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Sweet Tea & Trouble Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >71

In the delightfully nosy town of Whynot, North Carolina, secrets and sweet tea never stay cold for long. When sparks fly between two locals—one returning home and one with secrets to hide—the gossip mill isn’t the only thing turning up the heat.

Penny Pritchard thought she’d traded in small-town chatter for political banter when she left to build a big career in Washington, D.C. But when her beloved Aunt Muriel needs help running Central Café—the local hotspot for gossip, grits, and good intentions—Penny comes home with a suitcase full of high heels and denial about just how much she’s missed this place.

Enter Sam-Pete Rochelle, the easygoing bartender at Chesty’s with a smile that could make a girl forget her rules and a secret bigger than the town itself. Everyone thinks he’s just the guy pouring whiskey and fixing the jukebox. No one suspects he’s actually a wildly popular, very rich, and very anonymous author of steamy fantasy romance novels.

When the truth is revealed and it’s time for Sam to stop hiding behind his pen name, Whynot loses its collective mind. The church ladies are clutching their pearls, Floyd’s hosting a “Banned Books & Bourbon” club, and the mayor’s calling an emergency meeting about moral decay. And Penny? Penny is learning firsthand that Sam doesn’t just talk the talk where his books are concerned. Sam excels at walking the walk, if you know what I mean.

Now, Penny is torn between her two worlds. Does she go back to the career that provides a sense of fulfillment and purpose or stay in the small town with the man who writes about epic love stories and might just be her own real-life happily ever after?

A laugh-out-loud, heart-swoony friends-to-lovers romance about second chances, southern charm, and finding the courage to write your own story—one rumor at a time

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Sam

The smell of honeysuckle is the only aromatherapy I need. It’s the scent of the South, and even on a tough day, it can pull me out of a funk. While the cicadas haven’t started their summer music just yet, at least the worst of the yellow pine pollen is gone.

Spring has settled into Whynot and there’s no other place I’d want to call home.

I lock the door to my duplex, tuck my keys into my back pocket, and start the walk toward Main. The sun is warm enough today to bake the sidewalk, and the days are stretching longer. The sky is the kind of pale gold that gives the illusion that everything has been dusted with sugar, and I make a mental note to remember that simile for later use.

My shift at Chesty’s starts in twenty minutes and my walk there will only take five, but I love this stroll through town. It’s five blocks of routine, five blocks of familiarity.

I’m a habitually early person and despise those who are chronically late, which some may say is a fault to be so hard-line about. But I consider it disrespectful to be tardy over and over again, or as my mee-maw would always say, “If you can show up late, you can show up on time—you just choose not to.”

Mrs. Beasley’s on her porch swing, fanning herself with what I bet is an old church bulletin. Her hound dog is sprawled out on his side, and he opens a lazy eye at my approach.

She lifts her chin when I pass. “Evenin’, Sam-Pete.”

I can feel the dimples pop from the unbidden grin. You can separate generations in this town by what they call me. Samuel, if it’s one of the church elders, Sam-Pete for those in my parents’ age group since that was my nickname from toddlerhood all the way through high school, and just Sam from those who know me best and therefore know it’s what I prefer these days.

I tip my head and call back. “Evenin’, Mrs. B. Ol’ Chester there looks pretty lazy today.”

“He’s sheddin’ something fierce. On my last nerve, I tell you. I could knit a sweater with how much fur he’s blowin’.”

“But you love him anyway,” I call back over my shoulder.

“That I do,” she says, and leans over to pat the old dog’s back.

A couple of teenagers in a mud-splattered truck holler something that sounds like, “Free beer at Chesty’s!” and I wave back because it’s easier than explaining marketing doesn’t work that way.

Whynot’s a tiny town in central North Carolina, but it packs more personality than should legally fit between the feed store and the water tower. White clapboard houses lean into each other like old friends. Flower boxes explode with petunias. Somebody’s frying something three streets over, and the smell makes my stomach growl.

When I walk past Central Café, I try to see into the darkened restaurant, but it’s too gloomy. I can make out the tables with chairs stacked on them, but not much else. I try to imagine the smell of Muriel’s biscuits and the way they used to perfume this whole stretch of sidewalk, but she’s been closed down now for a week, and there’s no sign of her reopening in the near future. I swear you could tell the time of day by what you’d smell as you walked by.

“Damn shame,” I mutter, because the old diner was the heartbeat of Whynot. It’s where gossip ran rampant, but friendships only got deeper as people bonded over blueberry pancakes in the morning and Muriel’s famous meatloaf at night.

I adjust my pace, cross to the other side where the pavement cracks around an old crepe myrtle, and keep moving. The neon sign of Chesty’s glows weakly in the waning daylight—red letters flickering in welcome to the parched citizen.

I push through the door, and the bell gives its half-hearted jingle. Chesty’s smells like stale smoke from the days when it was legal to smoke indoors and the faint sour of spilled beer, making it fall squarely within the description of a dive bar. Sunlight stripes the room through the blinds, doing little to brighten up the inside.

Larry’s behind the bar, wiping down its scarred top. He glances at the clock and then at me. “Why are you always early?”

“To balance out the way you’re always late, my friend,” I say easily as I step through the pass-through to join him behind the bar.

Larry snorts. “You’re the only man in Whynot who treats bartending like it’s air traffic control.”

Pap’s already parked on his usual stool, elbows planted like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He’s the kind of old where you can’t tell if the lines on his face come from laughter or stubbornness, but knowing the man the way I do, it’s probably both.

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Advertisement Atlas (Pittsburgh Titans #19) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/atlas-pittsburgh-titans-19-read-online-sawyer-bennett Sun, 01 Feb 2026 09:23:58 +0000 https://www.books2020.com/atlas-pittsburgh-titans-19-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Pittsburgh Titans Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >88

As a star left-winger for the Pittsburgh Titans, Atlas Karolak thrives on the ice but keeps his personal life uncomplicated. That all changes when tragedy strikes, pushing him into an unlikely partnership that tests his patience, challenges his heart, and threatens to rewrite everything he thought he knew about love and family.

Playing professional hockey wasn’t just a dream, it was the only one that ever mattered. I’ve worked my whole life for this career, and now that I’m playing for the Pittsburgh Titans, I’m exactly where I want to be. My life feels complete.

Until the day it doesn’t.

Losing my best friend to cancer shatters me in ways I didn’t see coming. And as I’m trying to figure out how to say goodbye, I’m blindsided again—because he’s named me and Maddie St. James as joint guardians of his daughter.

Maddie and I… we’re not friends. We’re barely acquaintances. If I’m oil, she’s water, and we’ve never managed to mix without friction. But for the sake of a little girl who’s already lost too much, we need to find neutral ground and figure out how to co-parent.

Are we capable? I’d like to think so. Are we scared out of our minds? Without a doubt. Can we put our differences aside and work together? Honestly, it depends on the day. But when stress turns into stolen glances, which turn into nights we can’t take back, our partnership gets a whole lot more complicated.

Because what started as obligation is starting to feel a lot like forever

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

PROLOGUE

Atlas

I stand outside Gray’s condo, knuckles hovering an inch from the door, but I don’t knock.

Not yet.

My heart is heavy, my hand clenched in a tight fist that could as easily punch the door as politely rap on it to announce my arrival. If I just stay here in the hallway long enough, maybe I won’t have to face what’s waiting inside.

I’ve been here many times before. Every time I played in Chicago, I stayed with Gray rather than at the team hotel. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to spend time with my closest friend.

This building’s nice, high-rise glass and steel, with a view of the lake if you’ve got the right corner, which he does not. Gray worked his ass off for it, although an accountant’s salary doesn’t get you much in the way of space these days. I remember relaxing on the balcony, reminiscing about the old days back in Buffalo. Distance may have separated us after we became adults, but we always stayed tight. Daily texts, weekly calls and in the summer, we always went somewhere together. Boys’ trips that involved adventure and way too much beer.

But that was all before… this.

Stage four lung cancer.

It doesn’t seem real, not when I say it in my head. Gray never smoked a day in his life, and still he’s the one whose body betrayed him. It’s not fucking fair and that’s really the reason I want to punch the door.

This is the guy who was always steady, always the responsible one, and now he’s fading from this earth.

I don’t have long to spend with him. The Titans play tonight against the Chicago Bobcats, and I’ve got to head to the arena in a few hours. I took a commercial flight here from Pittsburgh and I’ll reconnect with the team after tonight’s game for the rest of this road trip.

But I had to come. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity, not when Gray has been given a handful of weeks, maybe a month if he’s lucky. And just on the other side of this door, I’ll visit with him beside his hospice bed and try to put on a brave face.

I take a deep breath, flex my hand, then let it drop to my side. My stomach twists. I’m not ready to see how bad it’s gotten.

I picture him as a kid—us in Buffalo, sticks clattering on the pavement, pretending we were hockey stars while the streetlights buzzed overhead. Gray’s steady calm to my hot head. He was the one person I could count on when my parents flaked, when my dad missed another game or my mom shrugged me off with a “You’re tough, Atlas. You can handle it.”

Gray never said that. He just showed up. Always.

Which is why I can’t keep standing here like a coward.

I finally knock.

The door opens and I’m not surprised to come face-to-face with Maddie. Of course she’d be here. She’s the one caring for Gray until the end.

I already feel my jaw tighten, which happens whenever I’m in her presence.

Maddie St. James is petite, maybe five three tops, with a sharp blond bob that cuts at her jawline. Underneath, streaks of black peek through, deliberate and edgy. Her eyes are the kind of blue that catch you off guard—brilliant and intense. She bears a small silver stud in her nose. She’s striking, yeah. But she’s also prickly as hell, standing there with her arms crossed, expression flat like she’s already tired of me.

And the worst part? I don’t even know why she irritates me so much, but she does. The way she looks at me grates, like I’ve already failed some unspoken test.

She doesn’t greet me. Just steps back, silent, making space for me to come in.

“Where’s Grayce?” I ask, brushing past her, the silence too loud.

“Napping,” she says, clipped.

“And Gray?”

She tips her chin toward the bedroom down the hall. “See for yourself. He’s been waiting for you.”

I hesitate for a beat, then move down the hall. Maddie trails behind me, her presence a weight I don’t want but can’t shake.

The bedroom hits me like a punch.

It’s not Gray’s room anymore, it’s a hospital. The curtains are half-drawn and the smell of antiseptic hangs in the air. And in the middle of it all is Gray.

He’s in bed, wasted away. His face is gaunt, skin pale, cheekbones sharp where there used to be strength. His eyes are sunken but alert, his frame swallowed by the blankets. He looks fragile. And Gray was never fragile.

Maddie bustles around the bed, uttering a tut-tut sound that I distinctly remember my preschool teacher making when I spilled chocolate milk. “Gray, you promised you’d drink more,” she chides, taking a glass with water from beside the bed and handing it to him. Her voice is brisk—typical Maddie—but not unkind.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >88

Advertisement Formula Dreams (Race Fever #4) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/formula-dreams-race-fever-4-read-online-sawyer-bennett Sun, 07 Dec 2025 21:06:41 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/formula-dreams-race-fever-4-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Race Fever Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >84

Things heat up on and off the track when the first female driver in Formula International history goes head-to-head with one of the sport’s biggest names. Formula Dreams is a high-speed enemies-to-lovers standalone romance.

Francesca Accardi is rewriting the record books at Titans Racing. With the first female team owner in her corner and the weight of history on her shoulders, she knows the only way to silence doubters is to win. Every lap. Every race.

Ronan Barnes dominates on Sunday and dares the world to judge him on Monday. Arrogant, electric, relentless, he has no time for niceties—or for the rookie who refuses to yield. Forced together for press tours and charity laps, their sniping becomes a spark neither can shake. But rival teams don’t tolerate distractions, sponsors spook fast, and one misstep could cost Francesca her seat and Ronan his shot at the championship.

When Ronan’s private life—and his mother’s addiction—become an issue he can no longer avoid, Francesca is there as his emotional support. Compassion cracks his armor. He defends her in the paddock; she stands beside him when it matters. Enemies become allies. Allies become something no rule book can define.

With a title on the line, they must her hard-won seat, his crown, or a future together—if they dare cross the line

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Francesca

Suzuka City is home to the Japanese Global Prix circuit and has often been called the holy grail of motorsport. The figure-eight track was built in the early sixties as a test track for the major Japanese automotive titans and is known to be a significant test of a driver’s skill.

It’s the kind of race that reveals the drivers who truly belong in Formula International.

There are three tiers in Formula International. FI3 is where you learn how to race professionally—still brutal, still competitive, but more forgiving. FI2 is the true proving ground with heavier, faster cars and tougher competition. You either stand out or you vanish. My entire life in this sport has been a battle and I’ve clawed my way to the top by winning in wet conditions, passing veterans who thought I didn’t belong, and learning to hone my mental fortitude.

Now I’m in the top tier and the first woman in Formula International. I’ve got more to prove than I ever have.

I’ve raced Suzuka before—both times at the FI2 level—but leveling up to FI means my car is faster and stronger. That means the track is more dangerous. In FI2, the car gave me room to breathe, a steppingstone to the big leagues. Engines maxing out at 620 horsepower and top speeds of 322 kilometers per hour made for decent grip and control as you slingshot yourself around the track. You could even afford a slight misjudgment here or there and come away relatively unscathed.

FI doesn’t give second chances. These machines are heavier and hit 370 kilometers per hour on the straights. They corner with twice the downforce and pull Gs hard enough to leave bruises on your body. A millisecond of hesitation and you’re in the wall.

So while I’ve raced this before and have done sims of this track more times than I can remember, it’s a completely different beast today. One that could devour me whole.

The reality of that comes in waves. Sometimes it feels like it might drown me—the high expectations of Titans Racing pressing onto my chest like a cinder block. But there are times it sharpens and clears my focus.

Today… I’m not sure which version of the pressure I’m holding. Probably both.

The scent in the trailer is doing weird things to my nose. It’s a combination of rubber, oil and the faint trace of citrus from a diffuser someone plugged in near the engineering bay. I’m not sure I like it.

The air is electrified with excitement but tempered with tension. Calling this building a trailer is probably an understatement. It’s a custom-built, climate-controlled paddock unit that was flown here to Japan in a cargo plane. It’s one of several the Titans’ team hauls from circuit to circuit and they are plush. Inside, everything is lined in deep purple, gray and white, and there’s framed art that hangs on the walls. The team’s branding is everywhere, from the telemetry screens to the stitched Titans’ logos on every chair back.

It’s all stacked together with different areas like the garage, the briefing room, data stations, private space to suit up, and a hospitality suite that provides breakfast, lunch and dinner. It takes upward of a hundred people for every race including engineers, mechanics, electricians, pit-stop crew, caterers, waiters, chefs and medical staff.

Oh, and two drivers—me and Nash Sinclair.

When Brienne Norcross bought the Titans racing team last year, the reported figure was close to eight hundred million. And that’s just the acquisition cost. Running it? Easily another two hundred and fifty million a season once you factor in car development, travel, personnel, engineering, simulator tech, and media. The engines alone are worth several million each. The cars—built from handlaid carbon fiber, titanium and leading-edge tech—cost more than private jets and crash way more often.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >84

Advertisement Lucky (Pittsburgh Titans #18) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/lucky-pittsburgh-titans-18-read-online-sawyer-bennett Wed, 29 Oct 2025 22:15:05 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/lucky-pittsburgh-titans-18-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love, Sports Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Pittsburgh Titans Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83358 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >86

Matteo “Lucky” Branson has it all—an elite hockey career, a massive fanbase, and the kind of charm that trends effortlessly on TikTok. As the fun-loving left winger for the Pittsburgh Titans, he’s built a brand on superstition and swagger. But when a viral dating challenge puts him opposite a woman who couldn’t care less about his fame, Lucky’s about to learn the hard way that some games don’t follow the playbook.

They call me Lucky for a reason. My grandmother swears I was cursed at birth—yet somehow, I’ve been kissed by fate every day since. I’ve got my rabbit’s foot, a shamrock tattoo, and quirky rituals by the dozen—and it’s all worked so far. Life’s been smooth. Hockey, clout, fun... I’m skating through.

Until I meet Winifred Shaw. Winnie. She’s smart, bold, and laugh-out-loud funny, with a TikTok following that rivals mine and a dating challenge that’s going viral. The premise? Thirty days of dating to prove an average woman can still land a decent guy. I’m the first to accept the challenge—one night, one chance, and then she moves on. But the moment she rolls her eyes at me, I’m hooked.

She thinks I’m just another overhyped athlete with a pretty face and a lucky streak. But I see her—confident, curvy, electric—and I don’t just want a second date. I want every single one after that.

I’ve always trusted luck to get me where I need to be. But this time? I’m ready to fight for it

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Lucky

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times—lighting is everything.

I angle my phone slightly toward the brass-framed mirror in the men’s room of Lux, a swanky Pittsburgh steakhouse that caters to professional athletes, hedge fund managers, and women in dresses that are practically sprayed on.

Not that I’m complaining.

I adjust my position slightly so viewers can better see my reflection from the side—my profile is always the best—and hit the record button.

“This is a get-ready-with-me for another night of being emotionally unavailable but devastatingly hot,” I say into the front-facing camera. I smooth a hand over my hair, tilt my head dramatically, and wink. “Step one—deodorant. But just on the left side. Gotta keep ’em guessing.”

I hit stop, throw a filter on it, and post it with the caption: “Still a better love story than my last situationship.”

Within seconds, comments start rolling in.

Fire emojis.

“Marry me.”

One user writes, “Daddy?” which, honestly, feels a little aggressive before appetizers.

And there’s always a critic. “Bet you’re a 10 until you open your mouth.”

I snort. Fair enough. People either love my egocentric posts or they hate ’em. But if you put yourself out there, you have to take the good with the bad. My true social media fans know that I can go over the top, but when it boils down to it, I’m really very charming.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, and I haven’t been sued yet.

I tuck my phone into my pocket and head back out to the private dining room where the guys are waiting. The energy in the room is easy, loud and a little reckless—the kind that always follows a win on the road or a week with too much travel. We’re home for a bit, and we’re celebrating like we mean it. A handful of times a month, the entire team—players only and no SO’s—get together to have a nice meal in an expensive restaurant.

Foster’s at the head of the table I’m sitting at, already halfway through a whiskey neat. North and King are arguing about whether the bartender is flirting with one of them or both, but both agree they really don’t care since their girls are perfect in every way. Rafferty’s shoving truffle fries into his mouth like he hasn’t seen food in days, and Atlas is hunched over his phone, grinning like a jackass.

“There he is,” Foster says when I slide into the empty seat beside him. “Took you long enough. What were you doing, filming another thirst trap?”

“Gotta keep the internet hydrated.” I gesture to my jaw. “I mean… have you really looked at this thing?”

“Your narcissism is getting out of control,” King says, shaking his head, but his lips twitch to reveal his amusement.

“That’s rich coming from a man who’s googled himself in front of me.”

“Once,” he grumbles.

Penn strolls in then, looking smug and suspiciously well sexed. He drops into a chair across from me and steals a fry from Rafferty, who grunts in protest.

“You’re late,” North says.

Penn shrugs. “Blame Mila. She—”

“Nope,” Foster cuts in, raising his glass. “Whatever you’re about to say, we don’t want it.”

We laugh. It’s good to see Penn like this—carefree, happy, in a relationship that clearly suits him. And more importantly, fitting in with a comfort level that I didn’t think possible from a man like him. I credit Mila with teaching him about loyalty and love. They’ve been dating for a little over a month and it’s been a game changer for my man.

We order our entrees, settle in, and somewhere between my steak tartare and Foster’s third drink, he taps his spoon against his highball glass lightly enough to quiet the guys at our table. “I bought the ring.”

I blink. “For Mazzy?”

“No, for the hot hostess,” he says. Then he grins. “Yeah, for Mazzy.”

Atlas slaps the table. “About fucking time.”

The congratulations roll out in a wave. Penn throws a crumpled napkin at him. King mimes a prayer. North raises his glass.

“Any plans for the proposal?” I ask. “I could film it for you.”

Foster rolls his eyes. “No thank you. I don’t want to end up a trending video.” He sips his drink. “Thinking something low-key but meaningful. I want her to be surprised.”

“Fake a fight,” Rafferty offers. “Then drop to your knee mid-argument.”

“Romantic,” I reply sarcastically. “May I suggest—Mazzy, even though I’m wrong about everything, will you marry me anyway?”

Foster guffaws. “You joke, but that will probably induce a yes.”

“Is Bowie Jane in on this?” North asks. That’s Foster’s irrepressibly adorable daughter, who he has full custody of. Mazzy started out as her nanny and then, well… they became a cliché.

“I haven’t shown her the ring because she can’t keep a secret to save her life. But she’s been begging me to propose to Mazzy for months. I’ll bring her in on the proposal, but it will be a last-minute thing.”

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >86

Advertisement Formula Freedom (Race Fever #3) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/formula-freedom-race-fever-3-read-online-sawyer-bennett Sat, 30 Aug 2025 08:42:28 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/formula-freedom-race-fever-3-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Race Fever Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >74

The Race Fever series from New York Times Bestselling Author Sawyer Bennett continues as one of the hottest drivers to hit the Formula International circuit makes waves across the racing world in Formula Freedom, a forbidden romance standalone.

Reid Hemsworth is still a relatively new face in the racing world but hasn’t wasted any time making a name for himself. No stranger to standing on the podium, Reid’s success isn’t all champagne showers and post-race parties. He may be considered a rising star in the sport, but to his brother, Lance, Reid stole his chance at racing glory and that can never be forgiven.

Lara Candlish grew up with the Hemsworth brothers, the three of them wasting away the hours of their youth riding waves together in the Australian surf. But as they got older and Reid’s career started to take off, their trio splintered under the weight of Lance’s jealousy. In the end, one brother had the career and one got the girl, but they both wanted what the other had.

When Lara finds herself trapped in an increasingly volatile relationship, she turns to the one man she knows she can trust above anyone else—Reid. Harboring deep feelings for much of his life, Reid doesn’t hesitate to bring Lara into his inner circle to provide her with the safety that she needs, no matter how much that might infuriate his brother. Their forced proximity quickly uncovers feelings he thought he’d left behind and Reid is prepared to act on them. But when his brother finds out that Reid now has the career and the girl, the situation goes from bad to worse.

As the relationship between Reid and Lara intensifies, so does the danger, and one truth becomes abundantly clear. Reid will stop at nothing to protect the one thing he now knows he can never live without—Lara

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Reid

Tonight, I’m standing in the middle of a private rooftop party in downtown Melbourne, surrounded by glittering city lights, champagne flutes and a crowd that reeks of wealth, ambition and the desperate need to be seen. I’m Australian—born and raised in Torquay—but Melbourne is my favorite city. It pulses with a kind of effortless cool that speaks to me. It’s my second full season on the FI circuit and the third race of the season is just three days away. The cars are faster in FI and so are the social events. This is a time for the drivers to mingle with the corporate sponsors and it’s not a part of the job I mind. I’m a natural extrovert and enjoy talking to people.

Of course, you have to balance that with keeping your focus sharp because truly… winning races is the best PR move anyway.

The city has come alive with Formula racing fever. Banners for the Melbourne Global Prix drape across every corner and the streets are filled with fans wearing their favorite team gear. We start practice rounds day after tomorrow and I’m already getting antsy, my nerves humming like a live wire. It’s a beautiful and terrible sensation all at once, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The sponsor party is in full swing, and I’m scanning for my buddy Carlos Moreno. He races for Union Jack Motorsports based in London and is about the nicest guy you could ever hope to know. He’s also quick-witted and funny… the kind of guy everyone considers a brother. Since I moved up to FI last season, we’ve become pretty tight, and he’s the person I tend to hang with during our downtime.

“Reid Hemsworth. There you are.”

A hand covers my arm—an elegantly manicured one covered in gemstone rings. I turn slowly to find a woman in a slinky silver cocktail dress with a neckline that plunges almost to her navel. The material clings to her like it was sprayed on and leaves nothing to the imagination. Blond hair in waves over one shoulder. Stiletto heels that make her nearly my height. She’s undeniably gorgeous and I’d have to be dead not to notice that.

I give her a welcoming smile because I assume she’s the guest of some important VIP or an actual VIP herself. “Hello.”

She squeezes my arm and slides closer than necessary. I peg her accent as Scandinavian. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says, lips brushing dangerously close to my cheek. “We didn’t get a chance to finish our conversation in Monza last year.”

I blink, any memory of her escaping me. Yes, she’s stunning in a way that most women couldn’t touch, but for the life of me, I can’t remember her. The Monza Global Prix was months ago.

She can tell I don’t recognize her, and she says, “My father owns Quantrex.”

Shit, right. One of the sponsors of Matterhorn FI, and I have a vague recollection of her being quite handsy when we met in Monza.

“Of course,” I say, offering a polite smile and stepping back just enough to break her hold. “Good to see you again.”

“You look delicious tonight.” Her eyes scan me openly, unapologetically. “Got plans after this? We could go to my suite for a drink.”

Normally, I’d flirt back. I’d have already ordered us both another round to see where the night might go. I mean, why would I pass up this offer? And why the hell did I pass it up in Monza? The best I can come up with is an attack of conscience—maybe it’s a conflict of interest. Her father is a sponsor for Matterhorn, and I’m one of two Matterhorn drivers.

Regardless, I’m not going there or anywhere. Not tonight. I’m too close to the race and I won’t let anything deter my focus.

I glance over her shoulder, scanning for a way out—and then spot exactly who I need.

“Gunner!” I call, loud enough over the music that he can hear me from where he’s standing at the bar.

My teammate, Gunner James, looks at me and then his gaze lands on the woman beside me. His eyes gleam and he makes his way over. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and has that easygoing American charisma that makes people instantly like him. He’s been with Matterhorn FI a few years longer than me. He’s fast, disciplined, and still rides the line between cocky and humble better than most.

As he approaches, I turn to the woman. “Have you met Gunner James? He’s one of the sharpest drivers on the grid.”

Her eyes shift with interest. “Is that so?”

Gunner arrives just in time. “What’s up?” he asks, grinning like he already knows I’m trying to escape.

I clap him on the shoulder. “Just making introductions. Gunner, this is… sorry, your name is slipping me at the moment.”

“Brita,” she says, her tone flirty and aloof at the same time.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >74

Advertisement Penn (Pittsburgh Titans #17) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/penn-pittsburgh-titans-17-read-online-sawyer-bennett Tue, 05 Aug 2025 19:56:23 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/penn-pittsburgh-titans-17-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Sports Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Pittsburgh Titans Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83

Penn Navarro is the best player in the league—unstoppable on the ice, untouchable off it. But the moment the game ends, so do the celebrations. Because no amount of goals, no number of wins, can silence the demons that haunt him.

Hockey is my life. It’s what I was born to do. That’s not ego talking, just fact—I’ve spent years honing my skills, earning my place among the elite. But talent doesn’t erase my mistakes, and no amount of success will make me forget the damage I’ve done. It’s why I keep my distance from my teammates, because if you never let anyone in, you’ll never get hurt. Or those are the lies that I tell myself.

Mila Brennan represents the darkest parts of my history. She’s a ghost I’ve tried to bury, the reminder of everything I’ve lost. When she shows up in Pittsburgh looking for me, I know nothing good will come of it, because our sins don’t stay forgotten. They fester, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and Mila’s arrival means my time is up.

The past isn’t just knocking at my door—it’s kicking it down, crumbling all the walls I’ve built around myself in the process. And when the danger comes for us both, I’m forced to do the one thing I swore I never would. Let her in

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Penn

The roar of the Titans’ crowd is just a memory as I pull into my neighborhood, the quiet hum of my sports car a far different sound than the thunderous arena I just left. Another home win, another solid performance. It should feel good, and for a while, it did. I relished the brief celebration at center ice when the last buzzer sounded, about the only time I truly bonded with my teammates.

But then it was over and I moved on, aiming to get through another day.

I roll my shoulders as I drive, working out the tension from the game. I played well tonight, which is admittedly harder than usual. It’s been a struggle keeping my head in the game lately, playing with the same cool composure I’m known for. I hate that I’ve let myself get rattled by things that should’ve been left in the past, by memories I’ve tried to bury.

And by that goddamn teddy bear last week with the card that read I remember. Do you?

Of course, I remember. There’s not a fucking day that goes by that those awful memories don’t trickle into my brain, taking over and running rampant. Sometimes, I think I might be going crazy, but then other times—like when I’m on the ice—I can let it all go. I suppose if I could play hockey twenty-four seven, I wouldn’t be so tortured, but that’s an obvious impossibility.

My driveway appears, flanked by two massive stone columns and arched steel gates, locked tight for security. I force myself to loosen the grip on my steering wheel as I come to a stop beside the electronic lock pad. My house looms in the distance, cutting through the dark thanks to the multitude of lights placed strategically around the base and in bushes. It’s done for aesthetic purposes, but it’s also a safety measure.

I haven’t invited any of my teammates over since I moved to Pittsburgh, and I wonder if they’d think it’s beautiful or that I’m overly paranoid. A suburban fortress—high walls, a locked gate, a security system that would make any billionaire proud.

Ultimately moot since I have no desire to share any part of me with them.

I roll down my window and punch the code into the electronic keypad, the security cameras blinking their silent watch. The gates swing open and I guide my car along the curved driveway, the tires whispering against the pristine pavement. My home is enormous, coming in at almost ten thousand square feet, multi-leveled and outfitted with every luxury imaginable. It’s what any wealthy professional athlete would aspire to, yet it feels like nothing more than a place to exist. The only person I ever wanted to share it with—my dad—is gone. He never got to see the peak of my success, which is a travesty because I only became as good as I am to make him proud.

The left wing of the house has a five-car garage, and I pull into the far right stall, closest to the interior entrance. The second holds my Mercedes G-Wagon, but the other three are empty. Although I could fill each bay with a high-end car, two is more than enough and some would say one more than I actually need.

I kill the engine, letting silence settle around me as I step out. The overhead lighting casts long shadows, bouncing off the sleek hood of my car. A McLaren, because why not? And the G-Wagon? I paid cash for it. My contract with the Titans is lucrative, and I’ve got nothing else to spend the money on. No family, no social life, no extravagant hobbies—just a massive house, ridiculous cars, and a career that’s the only thing keeping me sane.

I head inside, passing through the mudroom into the cavernous kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of nothing but darkness at this hour. I pull a beer from the fridge, pop the top, and take a long swig.

Congrats on a good game, Penn.

The den is my sanctuary, dark and minimalist, the large flat-screen mounted above the fireplace already tuned to ESPN. I sink into the couch, flipping to the post-game highlights, brew in hand. The ESPN anchor drones on about our win, about our offensive pressure and airtight defense, but I’m not really listening—not until I see myself on the screen.

And I fall back into the memory of a near perfect play tonight as the TV commentator drones on.

There I am, flying down the ice, legs burning but adrenaline fueling every stride. The Demons’ defense is scrambling, trying to get into position, but I see the gap before they do. Stone is charging up the left wing, Boone streaking down the right. Bain and King are holding the blue line, ready to pinch if needed, but this is mine.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83

Advertisement The Past (Bluegrass Empires #4) Read Online Sawyer Bennett http://www.books2020.com/the-past-bluegrass-empires-4-read-online-sawyer-bennett Thu, 12 Jun 2025 17:16:05 +0000 http://www.books2020.com/the-past-bluegrass-empires-4-read-online-sawyer-bennett Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Sawyer Bennett Series: Bluegrass Empires Series by Sawyer Bennett
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >74

Before ascending the throne of the Blackburn Empire in Kentucky horse country, they were just Tommy and Fiona, two teenagers from opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean. Young love bloomed during an Irish summer set amidst the rolling green hills and lush pastures of Tipperary County.

Fiona Conlan grew up sheltered by her overbearing parents and vibrating with the need for something more. In the summer of 1978, she found exactly what she needed. Ready to test the boundaries set for her, Fiona trained in the exhilarating and dangerous sport of steeplechase, and in an even more rebellious move, started secretly dating a young and brash American she knew her parents would never approve of.

Too much partying and not enough studying during his sophomore year of college had Tommy Blackburn’s parents desperate to get the future heir of the family business to take life a little more seriously. What better way to do that than to send him to Ireland to work at Glenhaven, a massive thoroughbred and breeding operation run by a family friend. But Tommy’s wild ways followed him across the pond and he couldn’t help but pursue the beautiful redhead with fire in her eyes and a wild spirit just waiting to break free.

Tommy and Fiona fell hard and fast, a secret love built from stolen moments. Rife with drama and disapproval, they overcame it all to set the stage for a new generation of Blackburns to run their American Empire. Their epically romantic journey was anything but easy, but you can’t get to the present without The Past.

The A Blackburn Novel is an opposites attract, long distance love story within the Bluegrass Empires series. All books in the series can be enjoyed as standalones.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Fiona

Blackburn Farms, Kentucky – Present Day

The house is silent.

Too silent.

And it’s times like these that the grief moves back in, settling upon me like a weighted blanket that never feels comforting, merely claustrophobic.

I’m in the formal sitting room, my favorite because of the big windows that overlook the long, oak-lined driveway. Next month the leaves will start turning colors and dropping, but for now, we’re soaking up the last warm rays of summer.

A cup of tea sits on the table, untouched but only because it’s still cooling. The boxes of photo albums from the attic are stacked beside me, on the floor, and piled onto an adjacent chair. More spill across the coffee table—frozen moments of a life now fractured.

It’s been almost a month since my youngest son, Wade, died, and there are times I think I can survive this.

And there are times… like right now… I don’t want to go on.

I pick up an album, a dulled burgundy canvas covering with a placard on the front that doesn’t identify the year or what’s inside. While I was the type of mother who took a million pictures of my kids as they grew up and dutifully put them in protective coverings inside the albums, I never labeled them. Over the years, I would memory surf, and the disorganization never bothered me. On the contrary, it was always a lovely surprise, not knowing what I would find when I opened one up.

I flip the cover and my heart lurches at the very first photograph. It’s of all my children, taken a good twenty-five years ago, if I’m guessing at their ages. Ethan, the oldest, already looking so serious, as if he knew he’d be running the Blackburn empire one day. My precious twin girls, Kat and Abby, holding hands as they jump off the dock and into the pond.

And there’s Wade… always the most mischievous, pushing his brother Trey into the water from the bank. A perfect moment frozen by the snap of the shutter, when everyone was happy and carefree and never suspected the tragedy that would befall us one day.

I focus on Wade with his toothy grin and smile at the look of shock on his brother’s face as he realizes he’s about to get very wet. I close my eyes… calling back the memory, letting it play in my head like a beloved motion picture. Their shrieking laughs that never once grated on my nerves, no matter how rambunctious or playfully rotten my brood could be.

My throat tightens. I press my fingers against my lips, willing myself to hold it together. It’s been a month and it’s time to let the pain go and only remember the good times.

Another photo—Trey, Kat and Abby splashing in the pond shallows as Ethan watched over them. Wade, no older than five, drowsily curled in my lap. My beloved Tommy must have taken this picture when I wasn’t paying attention, and I run my fingertip over Wade’s precious face. His life so full, so bright. And now, we’re all missing a piece we can never replace.

I bite my lip, but it doesn’t stop the tears that spill. I don’t bother to wipe them away, knowing more will just replace them.

Besides, I’m Irish. We’re big on our feelings and I’ve never been one to quash them for the sake of unnecessary stoicism. I’m a mother, and I’m allowed to grieve the loss of a child.

A quiet shuffle of feet pulls me from my thoughts. I glance up to see Sylvie standing in the doorway, her small frame hesitant, her green eyes filled with something I recognize—pain and uncertainty. She’s only been with us for five months, a granddaughter who was a stranger to me when she stepped foot on Blackburn Farms, and now as precious to me as all my children. She’s Ethan’s only child and still finding her place, still adjusting to a family she didn’t know existed until recently. Wade was her uncle for only a handful of months, and yet they bonded tight. She’s mourning him, same as we all are.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says softly, her accent lilting over the words. She was raised on a beautiful winery in France, a legacy that she might return to one day when she’s older.

But for now… she’s ours.

“Yer not interrupting,” I assure her, patting the space beside me. “Come, sit.”

She pauses only a moment before crossing the room and curling up beside me. Her small hand presses against my arm, offering comfort. A child, but so intuitive, so aware of emotions bigger than she should have to carry.

“Where’s yer dad?” I ask.

“Working with Skylar,” she murmurs.

I wince at the reminder. The new hire who’s taking over Wade’s duties as one of our horse trainers.

She peers down at the album. “Who is that?” she asks, pointing to the photo I’d just been looking at.

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