Novels by Donna Sheldon

The knock came like a goddamn hammer to my skull.Boom. Boom. Boom.I groaned, face buried in my pillow, eyes glued shut like my body was staging a protest against the morning. Whatever time it was, it was too fucking early.Another round of knocks.I didn’t even open my eyes. Just yelled, “Go the fuck away!”Didn’t work.Of course it didn’t.Because nothing ever did.I sat up, my hair sticking up in ten directions and my brain still fogged from that heavy, weird sleep that feels more like drowning than resting. My throat was dry, mouth sour. Everything ached.Barefoot, half-naked in just a pair of black boxers, I trudged to the door like a zombie freshly yanked from the grave. Whoever the hell thought it was a good idea to wake me up at—what?—7? 8? was about to get one hell of a verbal middle finger.I unlocked the bolt and swung the door open, ready to curse someone into another dimension.Instead, what I saw made the words die halfway in my throat.A man stood there. Early forties,

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t fucking sit still either. My head was spinning, my skin buzzing like I’d just walked through a goddamn thundercloud. That voice on the phone—it shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a phone call. But no, my brain had to go full meltdown the second I heard “Richard Stone” said in that clipped, cold voice only cops ever fucking have. Richard Stone. Even thinking the name made my stomach turn. I hadn’t heard it in a while. Not unless it was court-related mail or my fucking landlord trying to be formal. Everyone else in my life called me Captain. It was easier that way. Cleaner. Safer. The old name carried too much. It was the name attached to things I’d buried, mistakes I’d made with people who should’ve never had that kind of power over me.Yeah, I had terrible friends growing up. Real charming assholes. The type that smiled at you while setting your shit on fire behind your back. Got me in trouble more times than I could count. Put me in situat

“Cap?” James asked, stepping up beside me, watching me like I’d just been electrocuted. “Wrong number,” I lied, slipping the phone back into my pocket. James squinted at me. “You look like you saw a ghost.” “I’ve had enough talking for one night.” He didn’t press. Just nodded, and we kept walking to the parking lot. But my mind wouldn’t shut the fuck up. That voice. That name. The fact they called me Richard like it was some courtroom roll call. I hadn’t been called by my full name in years. Not since—well. Since things went sideways. “Is everything okay?” James asked, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders as the breeze picked up. It wasn’t much of a question—more like a hesitant nudge, the kind someone gives when they know damn well something’s not right but aren’t sure how deep they’re allowed to dig. I blinked hard, straightened up, and pasted on a half-smile, the kind that doesn’t touch your eyes, and forced out a chuckle that tasted bitter. “Yeah,” I sai

James leaned in, his chin resting on his palm like he’d been waiting for some sort of drama. “Who’s that?”I held up the screen for him to see, the name COACH bold and annoyingly judgmental.“The coach,” I muttered, already feeling the buzz of alcohol begin to evaporate. “Didn’t know the fuck he wants to nag about now.”James chuckled, lifting his glass. “Maybe he wants to congratulate you for finally learning to pass the puck.”I flipped him off without looking. “That was one goddamn time.”“You screamed at a freshman,” he reminded me. “In practice.”“He skated into me!”“He skated past you.”“Aggressively.”James just snorted and waved a hand, like he was done trying to convince me I was the problem. I stared at my phone again. The damn thing was still ringing, vibrating on the sticky bar table like it was trying to rattle out of existence.“You gonna pick up?” James asked.I stared at it for another second. My instincts screamed to ignore it. I was in a good mood. I’d just spent th

CAPTAIN ~“You look awfully happy,” James said, squinting at me over the rim of his glass like I’d just told him I won the lottery. His brows pulled together in that suspicious way he always did when he was fishing for drama.I shrugged and sipped my drink. Whiskey. Neat. Warm and sharp on my tongue, just the way I liked it.“Something good happened,” I said simply.That was putting it mildly. I didn’t just have a good day—I had the day. I finally got what I wanted. And fuck, the memory of Andrew moaning my name, all flushed and needy beneath me, was enough to have me grinning like an idiot. But no way in hell I was telling James that. The last thing I needed was his nosy ass running his mouth or, worse, teasing me for the next three months.James leaned back in his chair, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he rolled his eyes dramatically and groaned. “Well, lucky you. Meanwhile, my life’s gone to absolute shit.”I snorted and raised a brow. “What now?”He sighed like

I didn’t even realize I was nodding off again until the shrill vibration of my phone buzzed angrily against the couch cushion.I blinked, jerking slightly upright, heart jumping in that mild-panic way it always does when a sudden sound slices through silence. My fingers scrambled for the phone, thumb sliding across the screen to answer even before I checked who it was.“Hello?” My voice came out rough, still scratchy from sleep and last night’s activities.There was a slight pause on the other end. Then a voice—low, professional, maybe too calm for my liking—asked, “Is this Andrew Parker?”I froze for half a second, instantly more awake.“Uh… yeah. This is Andrew,” I said, slowly sitting straighter. My muscles protested the movement, a dull ache spreading down my spine. “Who’s this?”“This is the police, We’d like to speak with you regarding a matter of some importance,” the voice replied, not offering a name, which immediately raised about twenty red flags in my brain.I frowned. “Re