Jonah: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance

by Brenda Rothert

  The room erupts into chaos then.

  “I need some goddamned pantyhose!”

  “Fucking razor burn!”

  “I need someone to sew me into this gown real quick.”

  “Make yourself useful,” Kai says to me, winking.

  I nod and spring into action, doing what I can. It doesn’t feel like much—I deliver makeup samples from Kai’s case to anyone who wants to try them, help zip boots and blot shiny faces. Some queens who are ready can’t lift drinks to their mouths due to wearing super long nails, so I carefully lift straws to their lips.

  “You’re too pretty to be real,” a queen says to me, tilting my jaw upward to get a better look.

  I laugh as Kai says, “Show them a picture of Jonah!”

  “Girl, who’s Jonah?” someone asks as several queens cluster around me.

  “Her boyfriend,” Kai says. “He’s a professional hockey player, and I want to lick him, just sayin’.”

  I could show the queens a picture of me and Jonah on the Ferris wheel, looking like an average, happy couple. But something in me scrolls past those and finds one I snagged online and saved to my phone.

  Jonah was posing for a magazine photographer who did a series on athlete’s bodies. He’s naked in the photo, his full sleeve tattoo on one side on display and nothing but his hand covering his crotch in the bottom of the frame. He looks intense as he leans on the top of his stick, his blue eyes piercing.

  “Fuck me, he’s hot,” someone mutters as the group erupts into hoots and hollers.

  “Girl, that’s your man?! You are one lucky bitch!”

  “He needs to move his hand out of the way!”

  “How big is his stick, Renee? Don’t hold out on us.”

  “I’ll take a lick of that any day.”

  Laughing, I put my phone away as a waitress in tiny cutoff jean shorts and a cropped blouse tied beneath her breasts approaches with a large tray full of shots.

  Dee passes me a glass, and others grab until the tray is almost empty.

  “Everyone got one?” Dee asks, looking around the room.

  “Aya needs one,” someone says.

  Kai grabs another glass from the tray and it gets passed back until everyone has a shot in their hand.

  “We always do Fireball before Western Night,” Dee tells me, winking. She looks out at the group of queens and says, “Slay hard tonight, dolls!”

  Glasses click and groans sound as the shot goes down. The liquid is hot on my throat; I haven’t had Fireball in years.

  “Fucking awful,” Kai says, shaking his head as he puts his empty glass on the tray.

  “We’re going clubbing after this, and you’re coming with us,” Dee says to Kai before turning to me. “You too, Renee.”

  I nod half-heartedly. I think clubbing with this group sounds like a blast, but I can’t go. That one shot was all the alcohol I can drink tonight, because I’m very careful when I’m on assignment. Anything that impairs my judgment could let something slip out of my mouth that shouldn’t.

  Kai and I slip out of the dressing room and out to the main bar area, which is filled with people in chairs turned toward the stage. Kai leads me toward two chairs off to the side with Reserved signs, which he takes off so we can sit down.

  The first queen takes the stage and sings a Dolly Parton song. The crowd loves every note, clapping enthusiastically at the end. The next song is a parody performance of “Low Places” that leaves everyone in stitches.

  Some performances are better than others. It’s clear that country western isn’t the first choice for some of them, or even the second. But every one of them has fun. I think I smile through the entire show, the confidence and fun-loving mood of the queens contagious.

  One guy yells out a shitty comment during a performance, and the crowd boos until he’s kicked out of the club. Dee blows the crowd away by line dancing very well in those high heeled boots, and another queen sits on a stool and sings an original folk song that leaves the crowd silently mesmerized until the end, when they give a standing ovation.

  I stick to water and bar food, but Kai is getting loopy from all the martinis he’s been drinking. When the performance is over, I pay our check and grab my bag, saying, “I’ll call for a ride.”

  “I’m going out,” Kai says, slurring the words.

  I hold back the comment I want to make about him being too drunk, not wanting to offend him.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” I ask instead.

  “I’m up to it.” He pops his lips after each word, and I shake my head.

  “Kai, I can’t go out. Let’s go home and watch a movie.”

  He stops our waitress and asks for another drink. She gives me an inquiring look and I shake my head. Kai doesn’t even notice.

  “Please come home with me,” I say. “I’ll worry about you if you don’t. And we have all your supplies to get home.”

  “Fuck it,” he says, waving a hand. “I don’t need any of that stuff. I do need a night of fun!”

  “Suit yourself,” I say. “But call me if you need me, okay?”

  “I won’t need you. Bye, my little square roomie!”

  While I wait for my Uber to pull up outside, I post a photo of me, Kai and all the queens taken backstage before the show on my Renee Carlisle IG. Kai told me to embellish and say “we” helped the queens get prepped for the night, when really it was all him. I was nothing but an errand girl. It does add cred to the IG account of my undercover identity, though.

  This is the first night in a while that I haven’t been either out with Jonah or hanging at home with Kai because Jonah was on the road. It was surprisingly fun. The more I get to know Chicago and its people, the more I like it.

  I have the sense that Jonah needs some space. He’s been spending all his off nights with me, and I never considered him being tired of it until I woke up in his place alone the other day. He has to act like a man falling hard for me, when in reality he’s given up most of his free time to fake date me for the Shields case.

  The media scrutiny on him is intense. Photographers follow him everywhere, and in interviews he’s asked about me before hockey, every single time. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he never complains. When the news hits that he’s still eligible, and that he was helping bring down a child predator, Jonah may need security guards to fight off the women trying to get with him.

  Thinking about it sparks a little flare of jealousy as I slide into my Uber. I showed the queens that picture of Jonah because I’m proud he’s my boyfriend. At least, I would be, if he actually was. Jonah’s a good man, and he’s a lot more than his looks. I don’t know why my first impression of him as pretty was so off.

  I’m tired. I let myself into the apartment, lock up behind me and fall onto the couch, not bothering to change clothes or take off my makeup.

  When I wake up, I’m groggy. I go to the kitchen for water and look at the clock on the stove—4:13 a.m. But I never heard Kai come in.

  I ignore the water and go to his room to check his bed. Still perfectly made, with his menagerie of decorative pillows in place.

  Maybe he texted to tell me he’s staying with someone. I go check my phone, but there are no messages. I text him to ask if he’s okay.

  I get my water and sit down on the couch to drink it, wondering where Kai could be. I know he can take care of himself, but he was so drunk when I left him at the bar. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have gone out with him, just to keep an eye on him.

  I wait for a return text, but my phone stays silent. This is the worst feeling, worrying about someone and being helpless to do anything about it. I don’t even know where they were going clubbing at, how can I even look for him?

  After fifteen minutes, I look up the number for the Chicago Police Department. Maybe he was found lying in a gutter somewhere with no ID. I have to start at least making calls to look for him.

  I’m on hold with the CPD when I hear a key turning in the apartment
door. My shoulders sink with relief, because it has to be Kai.

  When he walks in, though, I tense all over once again. Kai has a black eye and what looks like road rash on one side of his face. One of his arms is in a sling. His makeup and lashes are gone, and his expression is forlorn as he limps into the apartment.

  “Kai! Oh my god, what happened?” I meet him in the doorway and wrap an arm around his waist for support.

  Dee is standing outside the apartment door, still in costume but looking exhausted.

  “Come in,” I say.

  “No, I’m going home.” Dee sounds defeated; the exuberant queen from hours ago is gone. “He was attacked outside the club we were at. I took him to the hospital to get checked out. Sprained arm and lots of cuts and bruises, but okay otherwise.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I implore Kai.

  “They smashed up my phone,” he says, his tone flat.

  Kai won’t even look at me. My heart breaks into a million pieces as I mentally kick myself for not being with him tonight.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, near tears. “Who did this to you?”

  “Just let him sleep,” Dee says gently, holding out a paper bag. “That’s what he needs right now. This is the prescription they gave him.”

  “Are you okay?” I ask Dee.

  “Yeah. I was inside the club. I’m just…so fucking tired. Of all of it. Why are people so cruel?”

  I wish I knew what to say to that, but I don’t.

  “Thank you,” I tell Dee. “You’re a great friend.”

  With a weak smile, Dee walks away. All that infectious joy has been stolen, and I despise whoever did this—both to Kai and to Dee.

  I close and lock the door, then take Kai to his bedroom. I help him get changed into a T-shirt and sweats, which is slow and painful with his arm in a sling.

  Once he’s settled under the covers, I smooth a hand over his hair and say, “Get some rest. You’re safe. I’ll be right here.”

  He nods and turns away. I can’t see his expression in the darkened room, but I don’t have to. Kai is devastated. He rarely leaves his apartment or lets his guard down like he did tonight, and this is what he got when he was brave enough to try.

  I pull his bedroom door closed and head for the bathroom to take a shower. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep. As soon as Logan West gets into his office, he’s getting a call from me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jonah

  “That guy straight up needs his ass kicked, and the ref needs a fucking eye exam,” Rey rants into the other end of the phone.

  “I agree, babe.”

  “He swung his stick at you! And you were just standing there doing your job.”

  “It’s called slashing. It’s a penalty when the ref sees it.”

  Rey gets louder. “How did he miss that? What else was he looking at? It’s literally his fucking JOB to be watching the action in the game!”

  I smile from my seat on the bench in the locker room. “You might need to have a talk with him.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No, babe. You’re absolutely right. That guy’s a prick and the ref missed the call. But I’m okay. It happens in hockey.”

  “I don’t know how you’re so cool about it. I was screaming at the TV while I watched it.”

  Damn, I like this woman. A lot. She’s got absolutely no chill on so many things, and it surprises me how attracted I am to her fierceness and loyalty. I don’t have a doubt in my mind she’d kick Tony Sawyer’s ass for the cheap shot he took on me during our game tonight in Austin.

  “Knox will take care of him,” I assure Rey. “Since it happened at the very end of the game, he couldn’t do it tonight, but trust me, Sawyer will pay for that shot on me.”

  Knox is just a few feet away from me in the locker room, dressing after his shower, and he calls out, “I got it, Renee! I’ll make him bleed, don’t worry.”

  Rey laughs into the phone and says, “I like him.”

  “Hey now, what about the guy who sent you that amazing dinner tonight?”

  Knox’s wife Reese is a chef, and I asked her for a rec on a chef who could make Rey some classic Cuban comfort food. I paid the guy a bundle to fix dinner for two and deliver it to her place tonight for her and her roommate.

  “Oh, Jonah,” she says seriously. “You don’t even know. That was the best dinner I’ve ever had in my life. I’m not even kidding. I teared up when I tasted that congri. And the flan! I wanted to finish it so bad but I saved the last couple bites for tomorrow.”

  I warm with pride as she gushes. “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I loved it. And Kai did, too. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I wish you could’ve been here to eat it, too.”

  “Hey, West! We’ve gotta go!” Anton calls out across the locker room.

  Fuck. Media bullshit.

  “We’ll just have to order it again sometime,” I tell Rey. “Hey babe, I gotta go.”

  “Okay. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yep. I’ll text you when my flight gets in.”

  I end the call and stand up, putting the phone in my pants pocket. When I cross the room and reach Anton, he grins and says, “Checking in with the warden?”

  “Yep.”

  “I really like her, dude. So does Mia.”

  “So do I,” I say, trying not to sound surprised by it.

  I’m supposed to like her, as far as the world is concerned. But I was looking forward to calling her just now from the locker room, because I wanted to hear her voice after my game. I knew she was planning to watch it, and even though we lost, I was thinking about her while I played.

  When we talked last night, she told me her roommate was assaulted, and she sounded like she was ready to commit murder over it. I sent the food tonight because I wanted her to know I care. I wished I could be there with her in person, but my travel schedule is a bitch.

  I’m not looking for a serious relationship. But this thing with Rey has turned into more than just our original fake relationship for me. I figure we might as well both enjoy what we have while we can, although guilt still comes on at unexpected times. As long as I don’t fall in love with her, I can keep telling myself it’s not the same as what Lily and I had.

  “You guys done the deed yet?” Anton asks as we take a back hallway to get to the media room quickly.

  “Not yet,” I say, wondering how he knew what I was thinking just now.

  “Huh.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “No, I know you, and that ‘huh’ had a tone.”

  He grins slightly. “I was just thinking…wondering, I guess, if it’s because you’re not ready.”

  “Nope.”

  I’ve never discussed my sex life—or lack thereof—with Anton, but not because I don’t trust him. I just didn’t care to tell anyone about the couple women I’ve slept with since Lily died because neither of them meant anything to me.

  “I haven’t gotten laid in almost a week,” Anton says in a grouchy tone. “The girls have both been sick and Mia isn’t sleeping much.”

  I give him a wry grin. “The horror.”

  “I’m used to getting it all the time, man. Pretty much every night I’m home.”

  “Then be grateful and make use of your hand, dude. Or help your wife with the kids, maybe?”

  “I do, asshole. It’s just that I want sex no matter how much sleep I’m running on, and Mia’s not like that.”

  Sex. It’s been so damn long since I’ve had anything other than a drunken roll in the sheets. Every time I miss waking up with Lily curled against me, her bare leg draped over mine, I tell myself that’s gone forever. That I’ll never again have that intimacy with a woman.

  Rey makes me think about it, though. She’s not Lily, but she does wake up feelings in me I never thought I’d experience again. And even though I feel guilty, I can’t
deny, it also feels good.

  “Let’s go face the wolves,” Anton says in a mock cheerful tone as he opens the door that will lead us to the media room.

  It’s a full house tonight. I take my seat at the table and let Coach and Anton handle all the questions about the loss. I fucking hate those questions.

  What do you think you did wrong tonight?

  Were you just outplayed?

  Do you think your offense or defense is more to blame?

  Fuck all that. Losing sucks, and no one wants to cast blame about it in public. But sitting up here and facing questions is part of the job.

  “Jonah, what do you think about that slash at the end of the game not getting called?” someone asks.

  I smile wryly. “It’s frustrating. But no one’s perfect, calls get missed. It’s part of the game.”

  “How serious are things with you and Renee Carlisle?” another reporter asks.

  “I don’t answer questions about my personal life.”

  “Will we be seeing her at more games?”

  I turn to Anton and ask, “Did I stutter?”

  “Any more questions about hockey, guys?” Anton asks the reporters.

  “Do you think the younger teams are just stronger and faster than you?” a brand new reporter whose name I don’t know asks. “Your team is one of the oldest in the game on average.”

  Anton sits back, and I can’t make out the look on his face, but I think he’s just surprised by the question. I lean up to my mic and take it.

  “We’re one of the most experienced,” I say. “And we’re proud of that. We’re still competitive, just look at the standings.”

  “Agreed,” Coach says. “That’s all for tonight, guys.”

  Anton turns to me as we stand and button our suit jackets and says, “Who the fuck was that guy? He looked about twelve.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “Go home to your wife, man. And I hope the girls are feeling better.”

  “You and me both.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reyna

  “This feels like prom all over again,” I mutter as Kai puts the finishing touches on my makeup.