by Meader, Kate
She raised her gaze, the heat in her cheeks surely making her glow. He couldn’t have missed that unworldly bellow on the other side of the bathroom door but nothing on his face hinted at a reaction or even an acknowledgment that she’d been checking him out. He probably had women doing that all the time, like those hockey moms outside.
He asked evenly, “All good?”
“Never better!”
Curt nod, which instinctively drew her babble to cover her awkwardness. Maybe they could start over.
“I appreciate your help out there. That was kind of you.”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, it probably goes beyond the regular job description of a hockey camp counselor. Is that what they call it?”
His expression changed to something like surprise. Had she got it wrong? She took a closer look at him. Shadowed half-moons bloomed like bruises under his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping well. The scar on his cheek seemed more pronounced, everything about him exaggerated in both a worrying and beautiful way.
“Sure.”
Why so cagey, mister? He’d had plenty to say when he was telling her off.
“So I wanted to ask a favor. You said that Lauren was good but she gets bored easily. Could she get extra coaching or something? Maybe personalized lessons?” Before today, before realizing that Lauren must be picking up on Sadie’s ambivalence about being her guardian, she would never have dreamed of asking for a new way to throw her money down the drain. But she needed to do something for her sister. She’d take another advance on her credit card so Lauren could have this experience.
“I’m sure you could hire someone. Coaches aren’t hard to find, especially for the right price.”
“Could I hire you? It would only be for a few extra hours over the next couple of weeks because then we’ll be gone.”
“Gone?” With those dark blond eyebrows dipped in a V, he considered her for a long beat.
“Yes, I have to move back to LA. That’s where I live and I’m only here to tie up some loose ends. Your services would be short-term. I just want Lauren to”—like me and—“get as much out of this experience as possible because I’m not sure how soon I can set her up playing in LA. So could you?”
“Could I what?”
Good Lord, the man might be gorgeous but he’d obviously been hit by a puck or three. “Could you give my sister Lauren—little diva, mouthy liar, bad attitude—extra lessons?”
“No.”
She recoiled. “No?”
“I’m not for hire. I don’t coach.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you coaching the kids during this camp thing?”
He scowled at her introduction of pesky logic. “This is a temp gig. Coaching’s not my usual job. I’m just helping out.” He dug his hands deeper into the sweats. “Maybe I can find someone to recommend.”
“Oh, could you?” Her hand shot out and grasped his upper arm, a cylinder of heat and muscle and fire.
His face crumpled. That was the only way she could describe it. Maybe it was what she’d been doing before she entered that bathroom, or maybe it was that scream that must have been heard all the way to LA, or maybe it was her. Whatever the reason, his discomfort at her physicality was genuine. Realizing her mistake, she drew back.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have—listen, I need to get going. Dog. Vet.” She turned to leave.
“Ms. Yates?”
Could he not let her slink away with her last shred of dignity? “Yes?”
“Do you need help? At home?”
She blinked in disbelief and tried to speak but words refused to take shape. Was he for real? She’d just asked for his help.
“Isobel mentioned your situation.”
The sainted Isobel again. “There have been a few bumps in the road but nothing I can’t handle. And yes, I know how it looks when my sister hates me enough to pretend I’m abusing her or I lock a dog inside a car on a hot day or I scream like a banshee after a call from my crazy boss. Not all of us are blessed with a cool, no-fucks-given temperament like a Viking robot in EPCOT, if that’s a thing, and if it’s not, it should be. I might look like I’m losing the plot but I’m actually enjoying each chapter’s cliffhanger. Go me!”
He stared at her, struck speechless by her outburst.
Immediate shame overcame her and she backed up. “I appreciate your help—and I’m not being sarcastic. That’s the God’s honest truth. I appreciate you keeping an eye on Lauren so she gets the best out of this experience. It’s good to know people have her back. She needs that right now.”
She walked away, listening for his sure step behind her. Go. Away.
“I didn’t mean to imply you’re not managing. I just know kids are hard enough for one parent—”
“Do you have kids?” she snapped as she spun to face him, her patience finally in shreds. “I mean ones you don’t have to give back at the end of your work day?”
In the space of a thundering heartbeat, his face drained of all color.
“No. I don’t.”
“Then please don’t tell me how hard it is! Now, you can get back to whatever it is that you do here. I’ve got this.”
Jenny walked toward her with Cooper. She must have taken him for a stroll to one end of the lot, and that little kindness almost unraveled Sadie. Not the blowup she’d had with Gunnar.
Trembling, she took the leash from Jenny. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it.”
“Any time. Do you live in Andersonville, by the way? I only ask because I saw the Ann Sather’s box on the passenger seat. Love those cinnamon rolls.”
On guard, Sadie said a cautious, “Yes, we live there.”
“So do we! Lakewood and Thorndale. Maybe we should swap numbers. We might be able to work out some sort of car pooling arrangement. Jason said Lauren was doing the next session as well. If we’re practically neighbors, we could switch off the kid drops.”
What the hell? Were people gossiping about her, finding ways to be “helpful” to the tragedy-stricken Yates crew? She slid a glance toward Gunnar, who looked uncomfortable, like one of those whatchamacallit Gambini ice machine trucks had rolled over him.
“I’ve got it in hand, thanks.” She knew she was deliberately misunderstanding this woman’s likely benign intent, but she could feel everyone staring holes into her head.
Censorious eyes watched as she bundled Coop in the back seat. He could fill it with shit to the windows and she would not be stopping here a moment longer.
Then he was there. Right beside her. Gunnar opened the car door for her and when she stumbled slightly on the tread-board, he cupped her elbow, or rather her new erogenous zone. God almighty, it was the hottest thing to happen to her in months, even while comingled with embarrassment.
She shook her head. If she was allowing this critical dipshit to get under her skin like this, then she seriously needed to get laid. Because this was unacceptable.
His palm lingered. She pulled away and uttered a far too loud, “Got it, thanks!”
And then she drove off without another glance at his hypercritical ass, both the actual and metaphorical.
13
An hour later, Sadie had a prescription for Cooper—fixable digestive issues, thank God—and she’d dropped him off at the dog groomers because some things were worth going into debt for. She needed a bath herself but mostly she needed a big glass of wine.
It was probably good that Gunnar had turned down her offer to hire him. She really couldn’t afford it. After a few more calls to knock out Allegra’s to-do list—apparently the dove-handler for the Prince party had brought gray instead of white doves—Sadie headed up to the attic.
The house would go on the auction block in mid-July after which the new owner would likely take possession immediately. That was three weeks away. Three weeks to wrap up several lifetimes. Gazing on the boxes, she was tempted to throw it all out into the alley dumpsters. After all, thirteen years had passed since she’
d seen it.
Sadie wouldn’t have been surprised if Zoe had thrown Sadie’s belongings on the trash heap. Yet here were old diaries (mortifying), book reports (terrible), art scrapbooks, toys and knick-knacks. Even her Hello Kitty comforter. Every remnant of her childhood was here, yet Sadie felt so distant from it all. She’d been shy and overweight, and wanted her parents to see her as the funny, bright person she knew was inside her, if only that girl could get out.
But her parents had been too wrapped up in their failed marriage to pay Sadie much attention. Heidi hadn’t been all that happy with Jonah Yates, a man who thrived on fickle adoration and wasn’t willing to work on his marriage. Likewise, Sadie’s mom thought her husband was just another “working stiff.” She liked the money, but she liked her freedom more.
Blinking back a tear, Sadie refocused on her task. She moved a box and …oh. A small noise escaped her throat.
Her trusty old Singer, a gift from her mom on her thirteenth birthday before everything turned to crap. Heidi had recognized that her daughter’s creative outlet of art should be encouraged in myriad ways.
She ran a hand over it, not minding the dust. The one she had in LA was a marvel of engineering but this one, fifteen years old, had fed her love of sewing and taught her so much. She might not be able to control her life, but she could craft a fabric shell to gussy it up.
Her phone rang with Darth Vader’s theme. Sadie switched it off.
Back home, she found comfort by creating something, and uncovering her old sewing machine certainly seemed like a sign. But that was an old habit, a warm bath she slipped into when the world was beating down her door. What she really needed was a friendly ear, or better: a kind word or two.
She opened her contacts and scrolled.
* * *
Gunnar walked into the lunch room and looked around, unsurprised to see Lauren Yates eating alone. She’d mouthed off at a couple of the other kids earlier on the ice, though Gunnar hadn’t seen or heard what started it all. Either way, this kid did not make it easy on herself. Not unlike her sister, Sadie, which he now knew because he’d looked up the registration records. An old-fashioned name, but pretty.
The vulnerability she’d shown today had surprised him, and when she touched him, his body had gone haywire.
So odd. Women had touched him since Kelly. Hugs from family members or co-workers, even the odd fan in a bar. Nothing had set him off like this woman’s fingers on his forearm. Like his body was a desert suddenly sprinkled with precious rain.
But then she’d shut down when he offered help, or maybe he’d shut down when she asked if he had kids. The question had thrown him, not so much because of the pain of the answer—the pain was always there—but because she didn’t know. She had no clue who he was or what had happened to him. For the last three years he’d lived in a world where everyone knew his business and here was someone oblivious to that, who had no idea that he was Gunnar Bond, tragic hockey player.
He didn’t know how to feel about that. Relieved, perhaps. Maybe even liberated from expectation. Kind of like how he felt texting with Angel.
He strode over to Lauren. “So you found something to eat.”
She looked up, a curious flicker in her silver-gray eyes. That same spark he saw in her sister’s gaze intrigued him.
“Someone must have said something.”
That someone was him. He took a seat. “Not made any friends yet?”
“They don’t like when a girl beats them.”
She meant her speed and feints on the ice rather than physicality. She’d never win in a checking contest against anyone with an XY chromosome—at least not against older boys—but she was good enough to skate and slash her way out of trouble. He’d seen examples of it several times this morning as she scurried her way across the ice, zig-zagging like a demon.
He wasn’t here to pat her on the head, though. “How come you lied about your sister?”
“I didn’t!”
He threaded his arms over his chest. “She’s not a pothead. She’s not neglectful. Does she even have a boyfriend?” He found himself a touch more curious than he should have been about the answer to that.
“I don’t know. But she wants to go back there when she could live anywhere. I’m not going to LA.”
“Well, she had a life before you. So if not LA, what’s the alternative?”
“Here or back to Brenfort.”
“The school you were expelled from?”
Surprise that he had this information lit up her eyes. “They can pay to get me back in. Cassie Langdon set off fireworks in the bathrooms and got expelled. Her father donated the new science wing and she’s back. No problem.”
“Is that likely?” He knew Lauren’s father wouldn’t be donating anything to anyone anytime soon. This kid didn’t seem like a dim bulb; surely she understood what that meant.
Her next words confirmed she did. “They could give me a scholarship. I’m good enough for them to pay me to go there.”
A solution that encapsulated sheer once-rich-girl entitlement and overwhelming confidence in her abilities. Had he ever been that young and cocksure?
Yes, when he first met Kelly. When he was drafted into the league. No barriers existed, no problem could stand in the way of his future. He was talented as fuck, blessed with a woman who adored him, going places as fast as his skates could carry him. He had it all.
This girl had felt the same way once, not so long ago. Before her mom died. Before her father was ripped from her world. Now this sister she barely knew was in charge and she had no control over her life again.
Hell, he’d been there. He was still there, only there was here.
“I’m sure your sister has your best interests at heart.”
“Are you?” Never had two words sounded so skeptical.
“She wants you to be happy.” His family wanted the same for him. Kurt had left a couple of messages since he’d returned to Chicago, urging him to check in. Gunnar understood the push-pull of families who thought they knew best and wouldn’t leave it alone.
“She wants whatever solves her problem the quickest,” Lauren said, warming to her topic. “Right now, I’m her problem.”
Pretty astute for a twelve-year-old. Every time he met a kid in this age group, he felt old because they were all so damn wise and knowing.
He changed tack. “LA has a good hockey team. The Quake.”
“Yeah, better than the Rebels these days. You didn’t play much this season.” Her own problems forgotten a moment, she latched onto his with the precision of a sharpshooter. “Guess Coach thought you’d gotten fat and lazy.”
Give these kids an inch … “I was neither fat nor lazy. I’d just been out of the game for a while.”
“Rusty, then.”
“I suppose.”
She took a bite of her sandwich and chewed. “Did you give up hockey when you were away?”
“For a while.” He eyed her, wondering what she knew. The sports media had spent enough time on his story to take it from tragedy to the returning prodigal to what-was-the-point. They needed the Christmas tree topper of a good season to be sure he was worth their ink. “I lost my family and gave up on myself for a while. I know what that’s like.”
She nodded. “My dad didn’t want to come to my games anymore. He kept missing them after—” She paused as some force got the better of her for a second. Only for a second. Kid was a fighter. “I figured if he couldn’t watch, I couldn’t play. Seemed pointless.”
He understood that. The joy left the game for him without someone to play for. Someone to strive for. He wasn’t much good at striving for himself.
“What happened at school to get you kicked out?”
“I hit someone in my class with a puck. She had it coming.”
“Why?”
“She said stuff about my mom and dad. I didn’t like it. They threw me out. Zero tolerance. I stopped playing for a while.”
He raised an eyebrow. �
��Got fat and lazy.”
Half-hidden behind her long hair, her grin was a slow burn. “Yeah, but I’m here now,” she said quietly and with surprising force.
“Yep. Me, too.”
* * *
Angel: [gif of moving dumpster fire]
Gunnar: That good, huh?
Angel: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. So how’s your day going?
Gunnar: Interesting. Surprising. All things. It’s good to hear from you. Been a while.
Angel: Good to be heard from. Sorry for the radio silence. Stuff.
Gunnar: I’ve wanted to reach out but figured you needed space.
Angel: I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few weeks and today was peak shitty. Literally.
Gunnar: Need to talk about it?
Angel: Maybe? But first I have some news. Not sure if I should share.
Gunnar: Uh, this vague-texting or whatever the kids are calling it will not do. Out with it.
Angel: Okay. So here goes … I’m in Chicago! For a visit. And if you’re still in Chicago, I thought we could maybe, possibly, perhaps, meet up? Or not. I know it didn’t work out before, probably for a good reason. I understand if you’re not keen but I’m just throwing it out there. No pressure, I promise.
Gunnar stared at the screen. He knew three things about Angel. She was a woman. She lived in LA. And she’d steered him through the worst period of his life.
He’d wanted to meet her since the beginning, almost eight months now, but he was too chicken to follow through the last time this had come up. Upsetting the balance between them was a risk. He liked what they had now, the intimacy of it, which was much easier to manage without looking someone in the eye.
But she hadn’t been in touch for a while. He’d missed those daily chats. He’d missed his angel.
Theo sat beside him on the bench, one eye on the kids who were doing sprints.
“Who’s Angel?”
Gunnar turned over his phone. “A friend.”
That million dollar grin stretched wide. “A text buddy?”
