Somehow Jackson knew Coach wasn’t sharing that particular outlook with Hayley. He couldn’t imagine her taking that well. He smiled at the memory of her gasping through one of Coach’s cigarettes. The old man would likely freak out over that as much as Hayley would if she spotted her grandfather sneaking around outside.
“How are the renovations going?”
“They’re coming along.” He hadn’t been at the house long enough to get anything done yet today. Talking to Hayley after she slipped out of the bed without waking him had come first. By the time he dragged on some clothes and got his car towed to a garage to replace a faulty spark plug, he’d been downright annoyed that she’d skipped out on him.
Coach stabbed out the cigarette after only a couple drags. “I didn’t realize you knew so much about carpentry.”
He nodded. “I picked up a few things from helping my dad with stuff around the house growing up, and I helped a friend build his house.” And then another friend’s house. He’d helped build half a dozen of them over the course of five off-seasons. “Hayley didn’t realize that either.”
Coach nodded. “That granddaughter of mine is something else, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir.” Something else didn’t quite cover it though. Neither did determined, fiery, loyal and sexy as fucking hell.
“I know my diagnosis has been hard on her. Good to know she’ll have you to help her through the rough times.”
Rough times.
Jackson’s stomach knotted painfully. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about Coach’s cancer on the way over, foolishly thinking they might be able to talk like it wasn’t the pink elephant in the room.
He couldn’t make up his mind whether it helped or not that Coach thought he and Hayley were in it for the long haul. Hayley had left that little detail out. Or was that just Coach making his own assumption? Jackson had certainly never given Hayley the impression that he was staying, so he couldn’t imagine her thinking otherwise.
Thinking about leaving now, though, didn’t seem like the good idea it had last night when he’d been stranded in the rain. His agent had texted this morning to tell him that the Sentinels would be flying Jackson up for an interview any day now. He knew he would have been more excited about it if he hadn’t been so preoccupied lately.
“And don’t let Millie chase you off,” Coach threw in.
“Millie?” Jackson frowned. The old man wasn’t talking about his dead wife, was he? Maybe Millie was a nurse or another local? Or was this some kind of confusion tied to his disease? Neither Hayley nor Matt had mentioned it.
“She’s been banging doors around the place since I got sick. She’s always been protective.”
Coach thought his wife’s ghost was responsible for the old house’s bad drafts and slamming doors? Did Hayley know about that?
“Better take me back to my room before that Nazi of a nurse calls a code for a missing person,” Coach grumbled.
Jackson pushed the wheelchair back inside, relieved the old man left the ghost topic alone on the elevator ride back to his floor. Instead he chatted about the hospital food not being so bad and how hot his oncologist was. “Stacked to the nines,” he added, holding his hands out in front of him.
Jackson laughed, and Coach reached back and gave his hand a tap and a brief squeeze that said everything they hadn’t about him being sick.
Christ.
Throat tight, he kept his head down, falling into silence for the rest of the walk.
Ahead, a nurse walked toward them, an almost painful-looking scowl on her face.
Coach’s hand shot into the air as they passed her. “Heil, Trudy.”
The nurse rolled her eyes and mumbled back something that sounded a lot like “crazy bastard” and kept walking.
Inside Coach’s room, Jackson helped him out of the wheelchair, hoping he didn’t want to rest yet. He didn’t want to see him disappear under the covers again so soon. Outside of the hospital, Jackson could almost make himself believe there wasn’t anything wrong with the old man, but here among the medical equipment designed to give Coach as much comfort as possible in his remaining days, there was no hiding from how sick he was.
Whether or not Coach picked up on Jackson’s tension, he chose to sit in the chair. “I know you’ll be good to my girl. God knows she needs someone she can rely on in her life.”
Jackson had been labeled a lot of things but reliable hadn’t ever been one of them, not off the rink anyway.
“Heard you’re up for a coaching job.”
He nodded. “I’m a little worried about that, though.” It was the first time he’d voiced the concern aloud. It wasn’t as big of a concern as the fear that coaching other guys who could still play hockey would turn him into even more of an asshole than he’d been after the accident.
“Do you remember the first thing you asked me when you joined the team?”
Jackson thought it over, then laughed. “I asked how long until you could make me the best.”
Coach nodded, leaning forward to straighten a blanket over his legs. “And what did I say?”
“What makes you think you could be the best?” he imitated in his best booming Coach voice.
“Okay, what did I say after that part?”
“That it was all up to me.”
“And?” he prompted.
Jackson grinned. “And you were right.”
Coach relaxed back in his chair, his eyes heavy, tired. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect, Jack.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“You belonged on the ice with a stick in your hand, but it never defined you.”
“I know.”
His eyes narrowed like he wasn’t sure which one of them Jackson was trying to fool. “I think you loved to skate more than you loved to play hockey, you know. You’d show up almost an hour early for every practice just so you could have the rink to yourself. You rarely worked on shooting or drills before the other guys got there.”
Jackson laughed, reminded of the all the times he’d stepped out onto the ice when there hadn’t been another soul in the place except the maintenance guy. No one to impress, or keep an eye on so he wasn’t jumped from behind. No strategy or watching for player weaknesses.
Just him and the ice.
“Winning wasn’t everything to you.”
Now there he had to disagree. “I always wanted to win.”
“Games, sure, but that wasn’t what made you a good player.”
Jackson flexed one of his biceps, and Coach laughed.
“No, it wasn’t those fists and the fighting that made people love to watch you play.”
“Oh?”
Coach patted his arm. “It’s because you were fearless, Jack. And that’s why you’ll make a great coach.” When the old man’s eyes started to drift shut, Jackson retreated toward the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” And every day until he left town. It was the least he could do for a man who’d set him on a path that had changed his life.
Coach mumbled something, and Jackson only caught the end of it. “Glad I didn’t have to cut off your pecker, Jack.”
Jackson was still wondering about Coach’s last remark when he stood back to survey his progress. He continued to ignore the sensation that someone was watching him, as he had for the last few hours. But after the second time in ten minutes of feeling someone in the doorway, he caved and turned around. Not surprisingly, no one was there. Still, he set aside the drill and walked down the hall of Coach’s place.
The door in the middle of the hall was shut, although he couldn’t remember hearing it slam.
He walked toward it. “Millie?” The moment the name left his lips he laughed at himself, feeling utterly ridiculous. He didn’t believe in ghosts and here he was talking to one. Scratch that, there wasn’t any ghost.
“Mr. Knight?”
Jackson whirled at the sound of his name, holding on to the unexpected yelp that jumped up his throat.
; Shit. Those kids really needed to stop sneaking up on him. He glanced at the open front door at Cody and Brent, the same two as before. The younger one with CF was no doubt at the bottom of the steps out front.
“Would you be up for a game of road hockey?”
The two teens stared at him expectantly, and he was thankfully saved from answering when Hayley came along behind them.
“Hey guys.” She glanced at Jackson, something passing in her eyes—annoyance?—then fixed her attention on the boys. “Did I promise to run drills for you guys?”
“Nope. We wanted to see if Jackson—”
“Mr. Knight,” Cody corrected.
“If he wanted to play a game of road hockey,” Brent finished. “If your knee is good, I mean.”
This time he had three of them staring at him expectantly. Great.
“If you guys had come along a couple hours ago,” Jackson began, “it wouldn’t have been a problem.” He took a step forward, not having a clue what prompted the fake limp. “I had a little accident stepping off the ladder earlier. I don’t think it would hold up to a game of road hockey.”
He didn’t have to force the wince on his face at least. Going up and down the ladder this afternoon had made his knee ache like a bitch, adding a little credibility to the limp.
“No problem.” Marginally disappointed, the kids turned their attention to Hayley.
“You should have seen the goal Cody landed on Patrick I’m-the-biggest-douchebag Kingston this afternoon. Slipped it right beneath Patrick’s butt.”
“It wasn’t a big deal.” Cody grinned despite the humble response.
Brent rolled his eyes. “But that wasn’t even the best part. Patrick goes flying backward, knocks the net over, and it set off this whole chain reaction that ends with my brother’s motorcycle falling over.”
“I thought he was going to kick all our asses,” Cody put in.
“Except the bike nearly squished Mabel Standish’s miniature poodle. By the time she was done yelling at him, my brother’s face was beet red and he was apologizing to us.” Brent smiled. “I didn’t think there was any other woman in town with balls as big as yours, Hayley.”
Cody elbowed Brent in the gut. “Dude,” he chastised.
Rubbing his side, Brent looked confused. “What? She arrested Jackson. That takes serious—”
“I think she got it,” Jackson cut in.
Brent rocked back on his heels. “But that goal…priceless. So when do you think we can get into the rink next, Hayley? Feels like I haven’t been on my skates in months.”
“It’s only been a few weeks.” That didn’t stop Cody from looking just as eager.
Both their expressions reminded Jackson of his and Coach’s conversation, and he found himself grinning, their enthusiasm increasingly contagious.
It was on the tip of his tongue to change his mind about road hockey, but something about Hayley was off. He needed to deal with that first.
The kids left shortly after confirming hockey drill plans with Hayley.
“Nice limp. Sprained it on a ladder, huh?” She shook her head. “You could have just told them your knee was bothering you. They would have understood.”
Maybe they would have, but Hayley didn’t get that they wanted to play with a pro full of tips and advice and encouragement.
With a bum knee, no career and according to some a drinking problem that brought it all about, he wasn’t exactly the best choice As of right this moment, the only thing he had going for him was two feet away.
Gorgeous. Smart. And…glaring at him?
Hayley didn’t understand why he wasn’t what those kids needed, and he didn’t expect her to. He didn’t want to get into it, though, and since they both knew his knee was just fine, there was nothing slowing him down when he walked toward her.
“I want to show you something.” He grabbed Hayley’s hand and led her down the hall.
“Jackson,” she began.
“It took me most of the day and maybe it’s too much, but…” He deliberately trailed off, wanting her to make her own decision. “I think it really adds to the room. The corners were tricky.”
Hayley gazed around. “You finished the room.” She crossed to touch the detailed crown molding he’d added in place of the older, outdated trim around the doors and walls. “It looks great.”
He tried to ignore that she sounded more upset than impressed, and held up his hands. “Gave myself quite a few splinters and screwed up a couple times getting the angles right.” More than a couple times, actually. “I’m thinking the kitchen would look great with the same molding. Hallway too.”
She held up a hand. “Stop.”
“Hayley?”
“What are you doing?”
Confused, he shook his head. “I thought I was helping you out.” And helping himself out at the same time. He’d forgotten how much he loved working with his hands, whether he was holding a hockey stick or a hammer.
Sadness blinked across her face so fast he might have imagined it. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“You don’t like the molding?” he guessed, but wasn’t sure why it would bother her that much. He’d been convinced while buying the supplies that she’d love what it added to the house.
“I am not a rookie puck bunny.”
Where the hell did that come from? “Right,” he answered carefully. The conversation had just taken a complete hundred and eighty degree turn, and somehow he knew it was damn important that he get back on the same page as Hayley. “Who called you that?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She rubbed at her eye. “I’m just tired and my head hurts.” She started out of the room and then spun back around. “You can’t just waltz into town, cause trouble and then smooth things over with a few repairs.”
“I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re not worried about what happens when you get your coaching job and go back to your normal life.”
Normal had gone flying out the window when he’d struck the barricade and flipped his car.
“Those kids just want a few minutes of your time. Gramps just wants someone to help him remember what it’s like not to be sick. Matt just wants his friend back so he doesn’t have only his sister to vent to about his dating life being in the crapper while he tries to figure out how to run two businesses.”
He processed that all in stride, filing every word of it away for later, and took a step toward her. “And what do you want, Hayley?”
The question seemed to take her by surprise, but her answer came easily. “I don’t want to get in over my head.”
Chapter Eleven
“In over your head,” Jackson repeated slowly.
It was a stupid thing to say, and Hayley regretted it the moment the words left her lips. It would only lead to more questions, questions she didn’t even have answers to.
Jackson waited, his expression calm, but his eyes determined to figure something out. They’d both be better off if he turned around and went back to work and she…
She let out a breath, unsure of what the hell she was supposed to be doing. She’d put the robberies completely out of her head after this morning, focusing on cases she could make headway with.
The renovations had become a way for her to wind down, and since Jackson had those under control, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She’d already stopped by to see Gramps on the way home from work, not really anticipating Jackson being here when she got home.
She should have known better. What she couldn’t wrap her mind around, though, was why he continued to come back. He wasn’t gaining anything from the renovations, and she’d done enough damage, accidentally or not, that he shouldn’t even want to be anywhere near her. He could be with Josh or hanging out at Stone’s with Matt.
“Are you hiding out here?”
Jackson cocked his head. “Not following you.”
“I cuffed you, tased you. Hell, I pulled
you out of a freaking tree.” All of that couldn’t be worth the little bit of positive publicity stemming from a fake romance. It just didn’t make sense. “Is it safer to hide out here where no one can make demands of you or ask you about your accident or your plans?” Because that would make sense to her. He’d avoided anything to do with the kids and had avoided the subject of not playing hockey a few times.
“Is it so bad having me around?”
Okay. That hadn’t been the response she’d been expecting. Truthfully, she’d half expected to annoy him with the comment, maybe even piss him off and send him on his way. That she would know how to handle.
“When you’re not avoiding me, that is?” he tacked on. “I know you like me.”
“Liking you isn’t a problem.” Liking him a lot apparently wasn’t a problem either.
“Good. Now what happened earlier that upset you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted.
“It does matter. You can’t let what people say get to you.”
“That’s awful easy for you to say. You do what you want while the rest of us have people depending on us. We all can’t be reckless without thinking about the consequences.”
“The only opinions that matter belong to the people who care about you.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” he pressed. “It has to be—otherwise you end up turning into the person everyone else is convinced you are.” He grabbed her hand. “I’m sort of an expert on these things.”
She looked around the room, looked at anything but him.
“Young Hayley may have been a hellion,” he continued, “but she understood whose opinions counted for something. Maybe you had a rough time dealing with your dad’s death, but in the end you straightened yourself out without giving a crap what people like Bernice Cabot or Eric thought of you. Are you really going to waste time worrying about it now?”
Part of her knew he was right, knew there was more to him than what the media portrayed.
Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding) Page 19
