As he got close to the Audi, it beeped and unlocked. At least the key still worked. Opening the door, he ripped off his shirt and tossed it in the passenger’s side. He settled into the driver’s seat, held on to his phone, and tried to think who he could call to help him find Faith and talk some sense into her. He had lost contact with most of his friends from the valley, especially after Blaine betrayed him and pursued Faith. Jag hated to think that they’d been married. The thought of Blaine touching her made his stomach sour.
Nick Strong. Nick was the one friend Jag had kept in semi-contact with, mostly because Nick had also gone away. The year after Jag left, Nick had gone to college and enrolled in the military. He might not respond, but Jag did have his email, and earlier today he’d seen Faith coming out of the spa at the Strongs’ resort. Maybe Nick could give him the number of whichever brother ran the resort. Gavin. That was it. At least it was somewhere to start.
Jag drove back toward Lonepeak Valley and the Angel Falls Retreat where he, his parents, his sister, and his brother-in-law were all staying in nearby suites for the Christmas holidays. Jag only had four days before he had to be back for practice on the twenty-sixth and a game on the twenty-seventh. Four days to enjoy Christmas with his family. More importantly, four days to get to the bottom of Faith’s anger and twisted view of how she’d hurt him.
His multiple sclerosis diagnosis had been weighing heavily on his mind, but right now he needed to get Faith to talk with him and—if someone in heaven loved him—kiss him.
Jag realized his problem as soon as he carried his wet shirt and walked through the front doors of the lodge at Angel Falls. Sheryl hadn’t followed him, but she was obviously waiting for him. Luckily, she was tapping away on her phone and hadn’t looked up when he entered the building. He couldn’t make it to the elevators past the restaurant on the main level without being spotted, so he opted for the grand staircase to the second level.
As he crept toward the stairs that were only ten feet past the front desk, he caught the receptionist staring at him. Her eyes were wide, and she was obviously ogling his chest. Jag raised a finger to his lips. She blinked at him but then slowly nodded, grinning. Jag returned her smile, hoping she wouldn’t say anything and draw Sheryl’s attention this way.
He reached the staircase and was on the fourth stair when he heard Sheryl shriek, “Jag! What happened to your shirt?”
Jag whirled and lifted a hand. “Just went for a swim with my fiancée. She’s a swim instructor. That’s why she’s so perfectly shaped.” He grinned as her mouth pursed and her eyes narrowed.
He turned and pumped up the stairs. Making it to the second level, he darted for the bank of elevators across the way, but he didn’t dare wait. There was an exit sign and he barged through that door, relieved to find stairs. He ran up the next five flights. He was in the best shape of his life—the multiple sclerosis hadn’t affected him yet, and the doctors believed it would be slow progressing—but he was out of breath when he burst out the door and into the sixth-floor hallway. He darted to his room, wanting nothing more than a shower and a way to find Faith again before dinner.
The door next to his swung open and his younger sister, Brielle, walked out. She was a beautiful brunette with dark eyes like their mom. He’d gotten his blue eyes from his dad.
She stopped short and lifted her eyebrows. “The chest is built, my brother, but do you need to display it everywhere you go?”
Jag rolled his eyes, pulled out his soaked leather wallet, and retrieved his key card. “I get better publicity that way,” he told her.
“Now that I believe. What happened? You’re dripping on this beautiful hardwood floor.”
Her husband, Mason, a tall redhead, appeared behind her. They were both dressed nicely for dinner. “Hey … what happened, dude?”
Jag’s door beeped and he pushed it open. Should he admit the truth? Brielle was a few years younger than him and had always idolized Faith. She asked him so many times why they’d broken up that he’d finally forbidden her from saying Faith’s name.
Jag drew in a breath, focused on Brielle’s pretty face, and said, “I saw Faith.”
“You did?” Brielle hurried to his side and put her hand on his arm. “Was it sparks again? Is she still beautiful? Does she still love you?”
Okay, he’d made a mistake telling her. Brielle would hound him until Faith was in his arms again. Yet that was the end he wanted too, so maybe the pressure from his sister wouldn’t be too bad. “The first two questions, yes. The last … doubtful.”
“Ah, bro. Too much time has passed. You tragically messed up your own life by never chasing her down. Sometimes I seriously despise you.”
Jag looked to Mason. “Come on, man, help me out. Bro code requires you stop her when she gets like this.”
Mason chuckled. “You’ve known her longer than I have. Maybe you have the magic button to stop her.”
“I’ll stop you both,” Brielle warned with all the sass a little sister should have. She was annoying but fun to tease, and he’d missed her since she’d gone to school in Kentucky, met Mason, and gone off to live in Atlanta. “Now spill it all.”
Jag shook his head. “I ran into her coming out of the spa, but she left for swim practice. I lied to this horrible reporter that I was engaged to Faith, and then I chased after her to try to collaborate with her on the story. I found her at swim practice in Vail. She got ticked when I said she’d hurt me, and then she pushed me in the pool.”
“Wow.” Brielle’s eyes were wide. “That’s a story. Why did you lie about being engaged?”
“It just came out, but I have to get this stupid reporter off my back.” He hadn’t even had the chance to tell his family about his diagnosis. He would eventually; he just hated the thought of growing weak and having anyone know about it. Burying it for the time being made it less scary somehow.
“And Faith was mad that you said she’d hurt you?”
“Yeah. Go figure, right?” His family had relocated to Massachusetts when he’d gotten accepted into the Liberty Academy. Brielle was one of the few he’d confided in about Faith ripping his heart out.
“Something is messed up here, bro.”
“Yeah. Me still being in love with her and now dripping all over this hardwood floor.” He pushed out a breath of disgust. “I’d better go shower so I’m not late for dinner.”
Brielle nodded. “Okay, okay. Mason and I will make a plan for how you’re going to win her back, because if she got that ticked, then obviously she was hurt and thinks you’re at fault. Right?”
“Isn’t the man always at fault?” Mason piped up.
“Aw …” Brielle kissed him. “You finally got it right. I love you.”
Jag shook his head. They’d been married in June and still acted like annoying newlyweds. “Going to shower now.”
They were still kissing. Mason waved him away.
Jag hurried into his room, dropping his wet clothes on the bathroom floor. As he finally got under the warm spray, he couldn’t push something from his mind. Faith had acted like she’d been hurt and he was at fault, but how was that possible? She was the one who’d written him off and then never responded to him. He had no answers as he dressed for dinner and hurried to be with his family, but at least he was here and had a chance to sort things out. Then again, if Faith was mad enough to yell at him, and then shove him in a pool, maybe he didn’t have a chance.
Chapter Three
Faith got into work early the next morning because she was planning to leave at four and go to the cemetery. She probably should’ve planned some kind of death day wake, but she just wanted to be alone and read the letter. For some reason, she’d dreaded the letter.
The day Blaine had been diagnosed, he hadn’t said much. They’d finally arrived home, and he’d gone right to the office and wrote the letter. He’d placed it on the bedroom dresser and asked her to please wait and read it on the year anniversary of his death. What he possibly wanted her to
know that needed to wait a year was beyond her. It was almost like he wanted her to have that time to distance herself from his death and be prepared for whatever he wanted to tell her. So many times she’d almost read it, but Blaine had always been devoted to and in love with her and she’d never felt the same. The guilt that came from that made her want to at least honor his last wish.
The spa was busy, as usual. Many women were coming in wanting their hair to look good for Christmas. Others were treating themselves before the holidays with massages or pedicures. She was the only hairstylist on staff, as many people came into the spa looking for pampering-type treatments rather than a haircut. She still stayed plenty busy. Most of her clientele was vacation-based, as only a few regular customers could afford the more expensive spa. Also, a lot of families came to stay at the Angel Falls Retreat year after year, so she’d sometimes get return customers. She specialized in cut and color, but she also did nails and sometimes filled in for pedicures where needed.
The spa was beautiful with views of the mountain and valley. All glass walls in the main area were one-way, so they could see out but the passersby couldn’t see in. The treatment rooms were enclosed and private. Faith had her own area, but it was more of a cubby than a completely private room. She liked that, because she could hear the water feature from that spot; the water feature made up the wall of the spa that separated the main part from the treatment rooms. She’d always loved water and swimming, and that constant sound of a waterfall, echoing the Angel Falls that the retreat was named after, soothed and uplifted her.
This month, Christmas decorations had taken over the spa and the entire Angel Falls Retreat. It made everything even more beautiful and picturesque. Sadly, her sudden status as a widow last Christmas had ruined the holidays for her. She simply wanted to get through it. With Jag here this year, Christmas felt different, exciting, and new.
She was putting in the last few foils for highlights on a sweet lady from town who rarely stopped chattering. Faith didn’t mind, as it let her mind wander to all things Jag. Last night, he’d been the superstar of her dreams. This morning, she’d kept an eye out for him. Was he staying at the lodge with his family? She thought he’d said that. She’d always adored his mom, dad, and sister. She’d heard Brielle had gotten married, and she would love to see all of them, but she didn’t know how to deal with Jag being around. Why exactly had he lied to that reporter that they were engaged? Fire raced through her at the thought of being engaged and married to Jag. Did beautiful dreams like that really come true for some people? Not for her.
“Faith? Faith?” Nessa from the front desk had her head poked around the barrier and was calling to her.
“Oh, hey.” Faith patted down the foils covering Mary’s head and peeled off her gloves, tossing them. “We’re going to need that color to set for at least half an hour,” she told Mary. “Let’s get you under the dryer.” She led Mary over to the seat with a warm air dryer and got her started before turning to Nessa. “Sorry. What did you need?”
“Can you squeeze in a man’s haircut?”
“Sure. That’ll be about perfect timing for Mary’s color to take.”
“Perfect.” Nessa looked back over her shoulder and gestured with an inviting grin.
Faith pasted on a smile to greet the client. When a tall, dark-haired man walked around the barrier, her stomach flip-flopped and her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. “You?”
Jag grinned, looking innocent, attractive, and mischievous all at the same time. “Hi, Faith.”
“You good?” Nessa asked, her brow raised in query.
Faith started to say no, but Jag said quickly, “Yes, thank you,” strode to her chair, and sat down. He glanced up at her, still grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Just a trim, please.”
Faith gritted her teeth and pulled out a clean drape. How was she going to get through the next half hour washing his hair and then massaging his scalp, brushing close to him as she cut his hair? With any other client, it wouldn’t bother her at all, but the sparks she felt every time she was near Jag were impossible to ignore.
She fanned the drape and let it fall around him. Securing it around his neck, her fingers brushed his skin and her face heated up as he sucked in a breath and stared up at her. Oh my goodness! How was she going to get through this without heart failure or plopping herself on his lap and begging him to love her again?
She glanced away quickly under the guise of checking on Mary. Sadly, Mary had a Rising Star magazine in hand and was oblivious to anyone else in the world.
“How are you doing?” Jag’s voice brought her around.
“Fine,” she said briskly. “You?”
Jag’s smile wasn’t quite as brilliant now. “I meant today. How are you doing with today? The anniversary …”
Faith felt the remembrance like a punch in the gut. “None of your business,” she grunted out.
“I’m sorry about Blaine. He was a good man.”
She acknowledged this with a nod, but she could tell it was hard for him to say. She and Blaine had never mentioned Jag’s name in their home, as if even mentioning him would tear them apart. It probably would have. “Thank you. Can you please just let me do my job?”
Jag’s smile was gone. He nodded.
Faith spun his chair around and lowered it so his neck rested on the pad on the sink. She got the water warm and took a few steadying breaths. He was just a haircut. She’d done hundreds, possibly thousands of haircuts, and she’d never had untoward thoughts. She could do this.
Her fingers started working the water through his hair, and the sensation of touching him was as warm as the water on her skin. Her hand trembled slightly. Jag could never be just a haircut, and she was in deep, deep trouble.
Jag hated that Faith didn’t want to even give him a chance to talk. He’d hated Blaine for stealing her, even though she hadn’t been Jag’s for a long time, but then he’d felt immense guilt when he’d heard about his old friend’s tumor and sudden death. He’d never wish losing a beloved husband on anyone, especially not on someone that he cared so deeply for. But it bugged him that Faith hadn’t really even accepted his condolences.
She lowered his chair back, and he was staring up into her gorgeous face. He loved her slightly upturned nose, her smooth skin, and the dimple in her right cheek when she smiled big. She hadn’t smiled big since he’d seen her again. What if she never smiled big anymore? That was a gut punch, and he wanted to change it for her.
Her long, silky hair brushed across his neck. He could smell that hint of vanilla, and it all rushed back: how desperately he’d loved her, how much fun they’d had together, and how she’d always been meant to be his.
The warm water hit his head at the same time that her fingers started running through his hair. Jag held in the moan of pleasure, but only just barely. After a few seconds, she turned the water off, filled her palm with shampoo, and started working that into his hair. She massaged his scalp and even his neck so thoroughly that he was tingling all over. He loved every second of her hands on his head, and he may or may not have let out a soft groan. Maybe she couldn’t express it in words and maybe she was mad at him for some unfathomable reason, but she still cared for him. It all came through her fingertips and her standing so close and being so sweet with him.
He couldn’t imagine she felt this way about anyone else, but then a horrible thought hit him. His barber in Boston had never given him an intimate massage as he shampooed his hair, but what if this was standard process for Faith? What if she did something sweet and amazing like this massage for every client?
His eyes flew open. She was staring down at him, but she averted her gaze.
“Do you do this with every client?” he demanded.
“Excuse me?” Her dark eyes came back to his face.
“Do you give every client this sexy and amazing massage? Is that part of a haircut for you, or are you just doing it for me?”
Faith’s
eyes widened, and she pulled her hands back and started the water again. She rinsed his hair thoroughly and didn’t answer him. Quickly working some conditioner into his hair, much less thoroughly than she’d done with the shampoo, she rinsed his hair again and then wrapped it up in a towel. She put his seat back up and said snippily, “Just a trim, then, sir?”
Jag nodded shortly, annoyed and frustrated. Why had she sweetly and beautifully massaged his hair—getting so close, smelling so good, making him forget the past ten years of being apart—and then got all offended at his simple question?
She dropped the towel in a bucket and started combing and snipping away at his hair, going out of her way to avoid touching him. That ticked him off even more.
“Can you please answer my earlier question?” He had to stare at her in the mirror, because she was behind him now.
“Which was?” She arched an eyebrow, all impertinent and adorable.
“Is the massage standard procedure for a haircut?”
“Yes, sir, it is.” She glared at him. “But most people understand that and don’t make a big deal out of it.”
His own eyes narrowed. He stood quickly and spun to face her. Strands of hair dropped onto the floor from his robe thingy, and her eyes widened in surprise. “So you’re telling me that you sit and massage each man who comes in here? All sexy and alluring?”
Faith clung to her scissors, glaring up at him. The lady sitting underneath the upside-down bowl didn’t even look up from her magazine. “Would you stop it?” Faith asked. “Many hairdressers give a scalp massage as part of the haircut. It doesn’t mean anything, and nobody but you has ever reacted like this.”
Jealousy turned his gut as he thought about her hands all over other men, especially Blaine, but maybe she was right. Maybe no one else freaked out like he was doing because no one cared as deeply for her as he did, and no one else was meant to be with her like he was. “Maybe I reacted like that because your touch does something special for me,” he blurted out.
Her Hockey Superstar Fake Fiancé: A Strong Family Romance Companion Novel Page 3
