by Lynda Aicher
The three men nudged him away from the cooler, circling better than a pack of herding dogs as they corralled him into a corner. It was tempting to stare over all three heads or, hell, just plow his way through them. He didn’t though. He couldn’t get himself to move.
“Look, Henrik,” Dan started, taking the lead. “We’re all sorry about before, that first night we met. But you have to understand. We’ve been watching out for her our entire lives.” He stared at the ground, throat rumbling as he cleared it.
“She’s strong as nails,” Colin said, squeezing Dan’s shoulder. “She’ll come out fighting almost every time, but she hides a lot too.” He motioned upstairs, the upbeat piano notes filling the pause. “In her music. Work. School. Anything that keeps her from forming relationships.”
“We all see it,” Aiden cut in. “Understand it even. Fuck.” He swiped a hand through his hair. “I can’t even begin to judge her on it. I’m no different and I was only a bystander.”
Colin nodded, expression grim. “I’m guilty there too.” He lifted his chin at Dan. “He’s the only one who somehow mastered the commitment fear.”
Dan shook his head, a sarcastic grin in place. “That’s only because I was lucky enough to find a stubborn woman who wouldn’t let me run.” He took a drink of his beer, the rest of the room fading away with their suddenly too-serious discussion. “You have to be just as stubborn,” he told Henrik.
The brothers were nodding their agreement, which didn’t help Henrik. He couldn’t back himself into the corner any farther without shoving through the damn wall. The urge to flee was strong enough to make it tempting though. Brotherly chats were not his forte. Yet they were trying to offer him advice, and he wasn’t stupid enough to blow it or them off.
“She’ll run faster if I push too hard,” he finally said, voice cutting through the harsh pasture of his throat. He knew that from his all-too-recent experience.
“Probably,” Aiden agreed. “Do it anyway.”
Henrik’s glare landed hard and hot on the man, burning with the instant resistance that enflamed him. “And shove her away faster? Not a chance.”
“Hey,” Colin broke in. “That’s not what we’re saying.”
“We like you,” Dan stated without inflection. “More importantly, Jacqui likes you. You’re the first guy she’s brought home since her leukemia relapse. She was a teenager then.” He let the importance of those words hang between them.
Henrik struggled to accept what they were saying, that he meant something to her. In his heart he believed she cared—might even love him or was growing to love him. But his mind couldn’t latch onto that. He had too much personal history establishing different beliefs to trust anything his heart tried to tell him. Love was faked or bought, and she wouldn’t let him buy her anything. And faked love definitely wasn’t what he wanted from her.
“It might come back,” he said, a hollowness overtaking him. “The leukemia. That’s what everyone’s afraid of. Right?” All three men avoided his gaze, the carpet or wall or outside view far more interesting than him. He didn’t need a verbal answer to know he was right. “What’s it like? Surviving it? Supporting her through it. What’s it like?” he demanded louder when they continued to ignore him. “Tell me.”
It was Dan who finally looked to him, lips pulled into a line of grim defeat. “Hard as fucking hell.” The words were raw with truth and pain. “There’s so little we can do. It’s not right. We’re supposed to be able to protect her, keep her from hurting. Yet there’s nothing to do but be there for her. Hold her hand, make her laugh—”
“Buy her hats when her hair falls out,” Aiden cut in, a challenging glare matching his tone. “Wipe her mouth when she’s done vomiting. Tell her she’s beautiful and mean it, even though she looks like hell. Ignore the dark circles under her eyes and take her for walks when she wants them. Listen to her play that damn piano for fucking hours because it makes her happy. Pray to every fucking entity there is that she won’t die this—”
“Aiden,” Dan snapped. “Cool it.”
“Why?” He threw his shoulders back, stepping toward Dan. “It’s all true. He wanted to know what it’s like, and that’s all part of it.” He drew away, nostrils flaring in defiant righteousness. “He should know if he’s going to stick with her.” He leveled his hard glare at Henrik, challenge laid out.
The piano music taunted Henrik, stalking around the tension with a predatory intent. Jacqui’s presence was there despite her physical absence. This was real and ugly, just like cancer. Death.
He could lose her so quickly. Like Emma, Jacqui could be stolen from his life when he’d only begun to love her.
Could he do it? Was he ready to risk that much?
Cold. He was so damn cold. He hadn’t been this cold since Emma had died. Hockey had saved him then. Gave him a place to hide. A place to focus his pain without hurting anyone. Could it do it again? Would it work the same way if he lost Jacqui?
“Hey, Henrik,” Finn boomed from the stairs, his jovial voice plowing through the wall of angst that held the small group.
He flinched, jerking out of his dooming thoughts with a jolt. “What?” His voice didn’t carry, his reply lost in the noise of the room.
Finn ducked under the edge of the ceiling, scanning the room until he spotted Henrik. His wide grin faltered when he spotted them, hesitation showing before he plowed on. “Get up here. I’m guessing you can play one of these things since you have so many.” He lofted the guitar he was holding to indicate what he was talking about.
“No way,” Sparks countered, leaning on his pool stick. “Roller can barely keep his skates under him. There’s no way he can play the guitar.”
“What?” Rylie perked up, twisting around on the couch to get in on the conversation. “Roller can play the guitar? Since when?”
“That dude’s delusional.” Feeney pointed at Finn, shaking his head.
Sparks smacked him on the back. “Do you even know what that word means?”
“Fu—screw you, Sparky.”
“So are you in?” Finn cut in, grin holding. The stubborn man seemed to know more about him than Henrik’s teammates did.
“I’d love to hear Henrik play.” The attention shifted to Vanessa, her normally cool tone warmed by the smile on her lips. She stood next to Hauke, tucked beneath his arm but not overshadowed by him. “I’m thinking he’s really good.”
“No way,” Bowser countered. “I’ll take that bet.”
“Me too.”
“Add me to that.”
The flood of bet-takers rippled through the room so quickly Henrik lost track of it. The wagers were levied, some on both sides. The majority were against him though. None of his teammates believed he could play. Not one of them bet on him. Not even Hauke or Rylie.
Dan, Colin and Aiden all bet on Henrik though. So did other members of Jacqui’s family—people he’d just met today.
The realization froze him more. His fingers were icicles around his warm beer bottle, his lungs blocks of ice that refused to work. His family didn’t know him at all.
Who really did?
“Hey, Roller.” The voice of his best friend raced down the stairs to crash through Henrik’s numbness. “Get your butt up here and show everyone what you can do.”
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, already moving. “Wally?” He shoved between Dan and Colin, almost running to the stairs.
“Walters’s here? No way!”
“When’d he get back?”
More comments followed, but Henrik didn’t hear them. He flew up the stairs, taking them two at a time to reach his friend. Scott Walters stood at the top of the stairs, balanced on crutches, a knee brace encasing his right leg from hip to ankle from his recent knee surgery. His familiar smile stretched over his face in a warm welcome that caught Henrik right in his chest.
Shit. He paused long enough to slow his stride before he yanked Walters into a hug, hand pounding the man’s back in a controlled attemp
t to keep his emotions in check. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”
“Easy, Roller.” Walters laughed. “I only have one good leg here.”
Right. Right. Henrik backed up, smile wide as he took the man in. “I thought you couldn’t make it.” He’d texted an invite in case Walters was in town for the long Thanksgiving week. It really sucked that he was in Atlanta now.
“We changed some things around to get here early.” He motioned to his girlfriend, Rachel, who stood back from the overwhelming group.
“It is you,” Cutter exclaimed, bounding up the stairs behind Henrik. He was followed by the rest of the Glaciers players, all of them tumbling up the steps to greet their retired captain.
Henrik moved back, the coldness easing away now that Walters was here. Scott knew him better than anyone there. His gaze cut to Jacqui, who sat on the piano bench, a bemused smile on her lips. She was watching him though, not the rounds of back-slapping and man-hug greetings going on with his teammates.
She knew him too. Knew him too well maybe. Enough to hurt him deeply.
He went to her, heart beating harder the closer he came. Had she told Finn that he played? Did it matter if she had?
“I had nothing to do with it,” she said, reading his mind. “I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
He stopped at the bench, assessing everything about her. Her eyes were back to the deep brown, cheeks rosy warm like her smile. Was his earlier declaration forgotten, or was she warming to it? In the end, it really didn’t matter. He loved her and couldn’t change it. But could he survive it?
He cupped her cheek, kissed her with a soft touch that held all his confusion and none of the force that threatened to crush him. Her eyes were closed when he lifted away. Intentional or reflexive? Would she ever let him all the way in? Was he strong enough to handle it if she did?
He turned away, shoved his turmoil aside and focused his thoughts on the immediate task. He had something to prove to his family. The one who thought they knew him so well when they really didn’t know him at all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“That one’s mine,” Henrik told Finn, pointing to the electric guitar the man was holding.
“No problem, dude.” Finn handed it over, swinging around to eye up the other guitars. “I’ll do bass even though it annoys me.”
“I’ll take that one,” Isaac said. Jacqui’s cousin lifted the bass guitar from its stand before her brother could grab it.
Jacqui watched the negotiation and transfer of instruments with a distracted sense of seeing the world shift around her. Being a part of it but not belonging. It was her own doing. A distance she put between herself and everyone else.
She couldn’t think about Henrik’s declaration of love without her hands shaking, her pulse racing. The worsening pain in her stomach told her exactly how much of a fool she’d been to get involved with him. How she was only going to hurt him.
Plucking notes pinged through the room as the guys tuned their guitars, tweaking the strings to their satisfaction. Finn had ended up with the acoustic guitar, his smile saying he was good with it. She had no idea how Finn had known Henrik played. Probably just a lucky guess based on the number of guitars he owned. It was good though. Henrik was really, really talented. These people deserved to know that.
He deserved to be recognized for his skills. Not ashamed of them, which was how it seemed.
He looked at her over the length of the piano, a confident smile quirking his lips. He had this, she could see it. He was going to blow these guys away after hiding it from them for years.
She smiled back, pride blooming for no reason other than she was proud of him. Proud to be with him no matter what his teammates and their wives or girlfriends thought. So damn proud. Did he know that? Would it matter?
He conferred with Finn and Isaac before strumming out the opening bars of one of the songs they’d played together that day in the practice room. He nodded to her, picking through the chords without looking. So damn handsome.
Her heart hitched, squeezed and ached for everything she was going to lose. But she smiled back and started in at the second bridge, along with Finn and Isaac. It took them a few bars to fall into sync, Henrik stepping forward to take the lead, gaze tracking to all of them as they got it down.
The general rumble of chatter in the room fell away as they played, the song popular enough to have people singing along on the chorus. It ended in a round of applause that Henrik didn’t even acknowledge. He moved smoothly into another song, and she transitioned with him, picking up the piano notes easily. It helped that he was selecting songs they’d already played together.
The other two joined in soon, and right after that Maureen stepped up and started belting out the lyrics. She had a deep voice for a female that easily rose above the music even without a microphone, her years of choir performances kicking in.
It all flowed into Jacqui, sinking into the core of who she was to push away the dark that lingered there. This was why she loved music, why she played. The bond it created without words. It was a single language understood by everyone. She embraced it now, spoke its words from her heart as she played with Henrik. For Henrik.
He loosened up with each song, his shoulders rocking to the beat, his confidence growing with his choice of increasingly harder guitar pieces. He rarely looked out at the room, instead focusing on the music.
It was a side of Henrik she’d only seen that one time. Open, loose, his soul shining a happiness he usually snuffed behind the gruff hockey guy. She recognized it. Understood it. Saw it in every musician she’d ever met. In anyone who was doing the thing they were put on this earth to do.
He morphed into a classic rock song that left her out of the show, the piano not included. She sat quietly, wishing she’d opened the keyboard so she could add in the missing percussion. A glance at the room showed an avid audience. Most of his teammates had managed to close their gaping mouths, and a lot of her relations were moving in time to the music.
She kept her eyes on the group of pro players when Henrik launched into the intricate guitar solo, the notes cutting and squealing through the room as he mastered it with seeming ease. Her appreciation of his skills rose even higher. For a man she never saw practice, he was really damn good. The stunned expressions on the faces of his teammates said they agreed. The look was pretty much mirrored by most of the room, which was now crowded with all of the party guests.
The last strains of the guitar ended in a soft fade after the heavier notes of before. There was a collective pause, the silence heavy before Henrik lifted his head, smile wide.
“I think I won.” His cheeky comment was backed by a flick of his brows.
A loud round of applause and accolades broke out, his teammates rushing forward to razz him more.
“What the hell?”
“Where’d that come from?”
Finn and Isaac ducked out of the way to set the guitars on their stands, and Maureen was absorbed into the well-deserved praise from their family. Jacqui received equal praise, but she shrugged it off. This wasn’t about her and that was never why she played.
Finn nudged her over when he slid onto the piano bench next to her. There wasn’t room for him, but she shifted to give him space.
“That was pretty damn amazing,” Finn said, nodding to Henrik.
The man was still fielding comments from his teammates, head bowed between smart comebacks.
“Yeah. He is.” He really, really is.
“So why are you ready to run?”
Her head snapped around, her glare hard from the edge of his cutting remark. He didn’t even flinch. Only arched a brow in a dare for her to deny it. Which she couldn’t, and the ass knew that.
I love you. Henrik’s declaration hammered at her heart and yanked on her longing.
She turned away, deliberately ignoring Finn. Her chest seethed with righteous anger that had no solid foundation. She vaulted up and wove through the crowd, stomach abla
ze with pain. The door to Henrik’s master bathroom clicked closed with barely a sound to shut out the rest of the world. Quiet. Blissfully needed silence.
Her gaze was bleak when she caught her reflection. She bit her lip, hand pressing into her abdomen in an attempt to ease the burning ache. Tuesday loomed before her, the appointment a ticking clock until she shattered everyone’s happiness.
It wasn’t her damn imagination. Just like the bone pain and bloody noses. And none of it spelled out something she wanted to haul Henrik through. He still hurt from his sister’s death. She couldn’t drag him through her illness—she didn’t want to put any of them through it.
Not again.
*
“Dude! Where’d you learn to play like that?” Sparks punched Henrik on the arm, grinning around his scowl.
“No shit, Roller.”
“You’ve been holding out on us,” Rylie stated.
“Damn,” Conners said. “We all lost to the Ice Queen. That burns, man.”
Hauke smack the man on the head. “That’s my wife, jerk.”
Henrik let the guys prattle on around him, still resting on the high of shoving their damn assumptions back in their faces. His skin buzzed with his success that went far deeper than his little victory. It’d felt so good to play with others—for others. It’d been so long, he’d forgotten how incredible it could be.
“I knew he could play,” Walters said, moving easily through the group of guys who parted for him as he crutched up. “Damn good too.”
“You could’ve clued the rest of us in before we lost our money to the Ic—” Feeney cut a glance at Hauke. “Vanessa.”
Walters shook his head. “And what fun would that have been?”
“How long have you played?” Hauke ask Henrik, his tone devoid of banter. There was a seriousness to it that had the other men calming down.
Henrik slipped the guitar strap over his head and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his forehead, feigning a casualness he didn’t feel. “Twenty years, give or take.”
“No way.” The stunned expression on Sparks’s face held a hint of hurt that Henrik didn’t get. “I skated at your side for three years, and you forget to mention something like this?”
