Good Guy

by Kate Meader

  “Stuff’s still in boxes for the most part. I’m going one room at a time, so I’m at the living room.”

  “With the kitchen last?”

  She laughed. “You know it.” Her parents were big fans of eating out and ordering in as they were far too busy being intellectually productive to cook. Along with her parents’ neuroses, she’d inherited the can’t-boil-water gene.

  “Tell me more about this new job, sweetheart. Sounds like a step up from reporting on the matches.” He shook his head in apology. “I mean, games.”

  She smiled, grateful to him for trying. Passing for a mere mortal in a family of intellectual giants was mentally exhausting, probably because her brain was too small to begin with.

  “I have a chance to do a profile on one of the players. A lot of people want it, but I’m getting behind-the-scenes access.” She took a sip from the half-drunk wine glass on her kitchen counter. “It’s Levi Hunt.”

  Her father squinted. “That name’s familiar, and not because I follow the sports pages.”

  “He was one of Josh’s teammates in the Berets. Best man at our wedding and he came to the funeral.”

  “Ah, yes. Serious, stone-faced, not much to say.” Yep, got it in three. “He plays professional hockey?”

  “That’s the story—this guy who gave up a guaranteed pro career to enlist in the army. To be honest, he’s kind of a dick.”

  Her dad grimaced at her word choice, which proved her expensive education was largely wasted. “To you or to everyone?”

  “To everyone but particularly to me. He’s a complete robot, not into sharing. I just don’t know how to reach him.”

  “You thought because he was Josh’s friend that it would make it easier?”

  “Smoother, I suppose? And my boss is expecting something in-depth. Something that hasn’t been seen before. But I hate the idea of poking him about his service or his past. It’s all sort of—”

  “Seedy?”

  She barely managed the shrug she felt the situation needed. Her father’s opinion on how she was wasting her talents was well-known. Her oldest brother, Jeremy, was a civil rights lawyer in DC. Her other brother, Will (aka St. Will), ran a nature reserve for endangered birds in California. I mean, come the hell on. She was well aware that covering men bashing a rubber disk around an ice rink was not really what her family had in mind for her.

  The screen beeped and another smiling face appeared.

  “Hi, Mom!”

  Her mother waved, which she seemed to think was the best way to get attention on a family conference call. “Hi, darling! It’s one in the morning here, but I remembered that you’d be calling about now. Hope I haven’t missed anything good.”

  “Just filling Dad in on my latest assignment.”

  “It’s the statue from Josh’s funeral, Tam,” her dad said. “The one you said looked like a millennial Zeus. Moody—”

  “But beautiful and fierce,” her mom picked up. “Logan something.”

  “It’s Levi, Mom. Levi Hunt. He’s a pro hockey player now and a big story.”

  Her mother smiled. “I’m sure he is.”

  Jordan bit back her exasperation. They love you. They just don’t get sports. “I’m hoping to make parallels between Levi’s work ethic in the military and in the NHL. Try to get to the heart of why someone would make the choices he did.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “Well, you know how I feel about our country’s military-industrial complex, the glamorization of war, and state-sanctioned murder—”

  Jordan mimicked falling asleep, and her father smiled.

  “Okay, no more lectures from the professor. But surely this Hunt character’s choice to serve his country shouldn’t be so strange. He saw something greater in service than he could obtain with a ball.”

  “Puck.”

  “Language, young lady.”

  She laughed. As much as she wished her dad better appreciated what she did, she did enjoy listening to how his brain ticked over.

  Her mom cut in. “Sounds like Levi Hunt is more interesting than the usual players you work with, darling. At least he chose to do something of benefit to the human race.”

  “I know this doesn’t seem important, Mom, but sports drives a lot of people. It’s like a religion to the fans, as organized and untouchable as a faith, and these players are their gods.”

  “The new opium of the masses,” her dad said.

  Here we go. When her dad started paraphrasing Karl Marx, she knew they’d veered off track and into one of his favorite subjects: the dumbing down of American culture. Though her mom would claim it wasn’t all that smart to start with.

  “Speaking of faith, darling,” her mother said, “I’m starting to lose mine. Are you getting any action, dating-wise? Because one of my former students just moved to Chicago. I gave him a reference and he is very smart, very handsome, and very, very single.”

  “Did you put that in the reference? Because very-very-single sounds like a commitment-phobe and basically unemployable.” Jordan knew the conversation was winding down as soon as her love life made an ignominious entrance. “I really don’t have time to date anyway, not with the game schedule and all the travel.”

  “Well, I’ll send him your number and you could get coffee. Everyone has time for coffee.”

  “Mom—”

  “I have to go, darling. Early flight. Tootles!” She shut down the connection before Jordan could make her case for not having her number be disseminated to Very-Very-Single and whoever else her mother deemed fit for her.

  “Dad, I’m not interested in dating.”

  “Why do you think that is, Jo-Jo? It’s been a long time since Josh.”

  In his voice, she heard his love and concern, so she gave the question the consideration it deserved. “I put my career on hold when I was with Josh. That’s not to say I regret it. I don’t, but now it’s my time. It’s been easier to box that part of me away and focus on working toward having a fulfilling career. Once I’m established, I can worry about my personal life. And I know the job’s not what you or Mom had in mind for me, but this is what I want. And wanting it means giving it my all and not being distracted.”

  Her father smiled. “We just want you to be happy, sweetheart. A job you love, and maybe when you’re ready, a man who loves you almost as much as I do.”

  Aw, her heart melted. “Thanks, Dad. I better go. Before she does any real damage, I need to write a stern text to my matchmaking mother.”

  6

  “So you’d let your mom find you a date but you won’t let me?”

  Jordan grinned at Kinsey, seated next to her at the bar in Dempsey’s, a firefighter-owned, and as of this moment, wonderfully occupied bar in Wicker Park. Quite a few specimens of the hot ’n’ hunky variety were rubbing shoulders with each other and Jordan was basking in the pheromones.

  “I am not letting her find me a date. I’ve been screening my calls all day because my mother said Very-Very-Single doesn’t like to text.”

  “Weirdo.”

  “Right? This guy apparently is a debate champion, won all the mock trials in law school, blah, blah. Dude thinks he can ethos-logos-pathos me into a date.”

  “You’ve got to answer your phone first.”

  “Which won’t be happening.” Jordan clinked her wine glass against Kinsey’s. “Sucker.”

  “Another round, ladies?” The spectacularly built bartender with shocking blue eyes leaned over and dropped a panty-melting grin.

  Kinsey leaned right back. “Only if you want to get me sloppy drunk and take advantage of me, handsome.”

  “You’re giving my clientele the wrong idea, lady.”

  “Which clientele?” Kinsey looked around dramatically. “Who do I need to take down to keep you all to myself?”

  Jordan chuckled at their cute dynamic. Kinsey had certainly lucked out with Luke Almeida: firefighter, bar owner, husband, and per his wife, amazing dad. Clichéd as it sounded, all the good ones we
re taken.

  Or gone.

  Seeing a couple as in sync as Kinsey and Luke sparked envy and more than a hint of sadness for what Jordan had lost. Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she should be dipping her toes in the dating pool.

  Luke poured another glass of tolerable Pinot for them both. As awesome as Dempsey’s man candy options were, the wine selections were only so-so.

  He turned to Jordan. “How’s Hunt shaping up in practice?”

  “Pretty good, actually. I’m thinking that maybe he got nervous on that first outing.”

  “He’ll need to get up to speed soon. Everyone enjoys a feel-good story but if he can’t back it up, he’ll lose fans real quick.”

  “Which means you need to strike while the iron is hot,” Kinsey said. “In a few weeks, Levi Hunt might be yesterday’s news.”

  Didn’t she know it.

  “Oh!” Kinsey waved her hands. “I almost forgot. I have a gift for you! Luke, babe, I stashed it behind the bar over there.”

  Luke retrieved a shopping bag, placed it on the bar away from the full glasses, then stepped away to help real customers.

  Jordan couldn’t stop smiling. “You got something for me?”

  “Yep! Open it. Open it now.”

  She pulled out the box and blinked at the label: Kate Spade. Her mouth made an O, because even though she wasn’t a fashionista she knew this was a top-quality purse. She also knew it wasn’t cheap.

  “Kinsey, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I should. You can’t travel on chartered jets, scarf down mini-macarons, and hang with Harper Fucking Chase sporting a backpack. You’re in the big leagues now.”

  Boasting soft pebbled black leather with a pink-striped lining, the handbag had room enough for a pony or a laptop. Actually, only a laptop. “It’s gorgeous. But it must have cost a fortune.”

  “Outlet bargain. I never pay full price for anything.”

  “I will get you tickets for a game or access to the press box. Anything.” She hugged Kinsey, so grateful to have this woman in her life. Friends were hard to come by when you moved around a lot, mentors even harder. In Kinsey, she’d found both.

  Kinsey smiled, obviously pleased with her gift’s impact. “So, Hunt. He’s not coming around?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “When you knew him before, he wasn’t all that friendly?”

  Jordan bit her lip. “Uh, the guy hated me. Thought I was too perky or happy or sunny. If I showed enthusiasm for anything, he’d give me the stink eye, like I’d offended him and his ancestors. He was so different from Josh that I wondered how they were even friends.”

  “Work friends, especially in the kind of work they were doing, is a different kettle of fish. Outside of that, they probably wouldn’t have even registered as likely buddies, but when you go through things together—missions or whatever they did—that creates a bond.”

  “I suppose.”

  Kinsey put down her glass and tilted her head. “You’re blushing.”

  “What? No, it’s just toasty in here. Sexy firefighters, y’know?” She gestured to a Thor-lookalike at the other end of the bar. “How many hot brothers-in-law do you have again?”

  “Five, each more delicious than the last. What happened?”

  “When?”

  “When? With you and the Marine.”

  Damn her choice of interrogative. She should have said “what.”

  “Green Beret. And it was nothing.”

  Kinsey steeled her gaze.

  Jordan caved. “A little too much tequila.” Her shoulders sunk lower, her eyes narrowed further. “On the night of Josh’s funeral.”

  “You mean you and Levi Hunt …?” Kinsey did a twirling gesture with her finger.

  “God, no! It was just a kiss, I barely remember it.” Liar, liar. “I made a dang fool of myself climbing him like a tree and he set me back down on the earth where I belonged.”

  “So what’s the big deal?”

  “I think you’re overlooking the part where I’d just buried my husband.” She covered her face with her hands, the memory of how she’d embarrassed herself as fresh as a sliced-open wound.

  Kinsey squeezed her arm. “Do not beat yourself up. You were going through the most heart-wrecking period of your life and he was someone who empathized because he was hurting, too. No judgment.”

  No problem because she had judged herself plenty enough that she didn’t need Kinsey to play pinch hitter.

  After a pause to allow Jordan to gather herself, Kinsey said, “Maybe he feels as embarrassed about it as you do. Give it time, but not too much time.”

  Indeed. Time was a luxury she didn’t have. She had to turn in the copy in less than four weeks. Mac was worried about being scooped, though from what she could tell no one else would get the level of access she had.

  For now, she’d skate around the edges and figure out a way to crack the code of Levi.

  * * *

  Levi raced from end to end, pivoted, and raced back again. Two lengths, three, four. Only when he’d done it five more times did he attempt a shot between the pipes.

  Wide open. Score!

  Not a sound, only his heavy breathing and the thump of his heart. For the last three mornings, he’d arrived at 5:30 to practice alone. He needed it. Keeping up with players half his age was work. Sure that was an exaggeration, but the effect was the same. He felt old.

  He’d kept fit in Special Forces, but the schedule for an NHL player was more demanding than anything in the military. Most days started at 9 a.m. with treatment and muscle taping, followed by a ninety-minute morning skate with puck drills, 2 on 1’s, 3 on 2’s, PP and PK practice, and shootouts. After a short break to wind down and eat with the team, most of the guys spent time on the bike or treadmill, in the weight room, or power-napping. And that was on a home game day.

  Levi’s fitness would never be in question, but his reflexes and stick skills had fallen below par. It was a wonder the Rebels had even bothered with him at all, but then they weren’t known for their clear decision-making. Making a splash—that was their MO. So here he was taking advantage of their need to bring on a novelty act, the league’s oldest rookie, someone the press wanted to write all about.

  Well, he’d ride that train all the way to another … goal.

  “Yes!”

  The pleasure of which was kind of ruined by the sound of a slow clap.

  Levi spun around and almost tripped over his skates. The Remy DuPre was gliding toward him, dressed for practice, stick in hand. Levi had never understood the word “twinkling” as it applied to eyes, but he did now. The man was a legend, largely responsible with Bren St. James and the Chase sisters for turning the Rebels’ fortunes around when he was traded under duress from Boston a few years back.

  “Up kind of early, Hunt,” DuPre said with his distinctive New Orleans drawl. He shoved a gloveless hand in Levi’s direction.

  Levi took off his glove and clasped the offered hand. “Thought I had the place to myself.”

  “I try to get out here a couple of mornings a week before my girls wake up because once they do, there’s no peace.”

  Sounded like “no peace” was an enjoyable problem to have. “Heard you liked being a stay at home dad.”

  “While ma femme brings home the bacon? Yeah, c’est bon, mon ami.” He drew on the glove he’d stashed in the waistband of his shorts. “What you working on?”

  “You saw the game. What do you think?”

  “The speed will come, but I’m guessing you could improve your hand-eye coordination.”

  “I was a bomb disposal expert, so I assumed I had that. But this is a different level.”

  “Okay, that’s just a tiny bit impressive. You play video games?”

  Levi shook his head.

  “You should.”

  “Cheatin’ on me, brother?”

  Levi looked over Remy’s shoulder to the source of the voice, tinged with a Scots burr. Bren St. James, Highland
er himself, skated toward them, coming to a halt in a spray of ice shavings.

  Remy smiled. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Aye, Violet was snorin’. Figured I’d get in a few laps.” He raised an eyebrow at Levi. “He told you to play video games yet?”

  “He might’ve mentioned it.”

  Bren’s glance at his brother-in-law was affectionately amused. “He’s one of the players featured in the Hockey All Stars video game and always looking to boost his income streams. But he’s not wrong about it being good for your hand-eye. Hit up Burnett—that kid kills on the console. Kershaw’s good, too.”

  Levi filed it away.

  “How about a little two on one?” Bren cut in between Levi and Remy, whipping a stray puck with his stick as he went. “And I think you know who the one is, Hunt.”

  No preamble, few niceties. Levi had never met either of these men before, but he already felt like a member of an exclusive club.

  Remy put on his second glove. “Let’s see what you got, soldier.”

  7

  Can the @ChiRebels catch a break against the @PhillyLiberty? Check out the @HockeyGrrl podcast to get the inside track. #ChicagoRebels #PhillySteakExtraCheese

  * * *

  “Read ’em and weep, gentlemen.”

  Kershaw lay a flush down on the table in the mini-lounge on the Rebels’ chartered plane to Philly, which had the obviously desired effect: everyone threw in their hands and groaned, except for Erik who threw his cards at Theo’s head.

  “Hey, watch it, Fish!” Theo picked up the cards. “This beautiful face could do without the paper cut threat, you know.”

  “That’s the third hand you’ve won. You’re the luckiest son of a bitch who ever played cards.”

  “Yeah, Lucky’s my middle name.” He shuffled the deck. “Maybe we should ask your shadow to join us, Hunt.”

  Over Theo’s shoulder, there was no missing that crown of red hair topping the seat in the third row.

  Jordan.

  She’d kept her word. For the last week, she’d attended practices, games, locker-room interviews, and team lunches. Every time he turned, she was talking to someone on the staff, the fitness coaches, even the guy who drove the Zamboni. The only person she hadn’t talked to was him.