Honey got through the football game and managed the ride back to the bar without breaking into a million pieces. She said goodbye to Nash, aware that his gaze lingered a little too long and that maybe there were some questions there. Maybe she’d not been as good at hiding as she’d thought.
She left him in the dark and hurried up the stairs to her apartment, her cell phone in hand before she closed the door behind her. Leaning against the door, she pushed aside a tendril of hair that stuck to her sweaty neck, and in the soft glow from her device, she made the call.
After two rings, a sleepy voice answered.
“It’s me,” Honey whispered. A long pause, and she heard rustling. “I met him.”
The sound of a door closed, and the husky voice filled her ear once more. “What was it like?” The whisper slid into the silence, and Honey slowly exhaled. She felt the sting of tears and clenched her free hand so tightly, she knew she drew blood. Her best friend, Simone, waited patiently as the long seconds ticked into at least a minute. She turned around and rested her forehead on the door. It was cool against her hot skin. When Honey felt she could speak, she cleared her voice and slammed her eyes shut.
“Honey Bee?”
“He looked right through me,” she said.
“He doesn’t know you. Not yet.”
But she didn’t hear her friend’s words, and she continued softly. “It’s always been like this. Like I don’t exist. Like I don’t matter. I just thought…” She swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered, “I thought he would know me.”
Another silence. “Oh, Hon, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she managed. “I’m being stupid. It shouldn’t matter.”
Liar.
Somewhere buried deep inside her was a soft part that still existed. It hadn’t been crushed by the poverty and drugs and the general discontent she’d inhaled every day of her life. It allowed her to admit the one thing she’d sworn she’d never say out loud. John Blackwell mattered. His acknowledgment mattered.
Her breath caught at the thought. The man who’d denied her existence. The man who’d broken her mother. The man responsible for the shitty life she’d pulled herself out of. He mattered, but more importantly, she wanted to matter to him. How fucked up was that?
She bit her lip, angry and pissed off. She was in new territory now. No longer was she just angry. There was more there. A hell of a lot more. She needed to get her shit together. She needed to be strong.
More importantly, she needed to see this through.
6
Monday was Nash’s day off from the bar, and he’d been spending most every one of them working on the cottage he called home. Overlooking the lake, among a stand of evergreen and rock, it was his place to knock back and chill. The A-frame house had been built in the fifties by his great-grandfather and passed down from son to son. After his grandmother passed away, she’d left it to him, a gesture that had surprised not only Nash, but his family—at the time, he’d been climbing mountains in Nepal.
Nash pushed the final piece of gray-brown hardwood in place and stood back, admiring his work. He knew exactly why Nana had left the place to him. He was the only Booker who had any kind of talent with his hands and a love of carpentry. He’d spent many a summer working alongside Hudson in the Blackwell family business. Hell, he’d been fifteen the first time he worked on a new build with Hudson and a crew. His grandmother knew he’d make something of the place. It had been dated and worn out by years of family, memories, laughter, and tears. It had needed a facelift, and Nash was the man for the job.
That it had been one of the reasons he’d found himself back in Crystal Lake wasn’t lost on him either. His nana was as wise as she was sharp. He’d needed to come home more than he’d known. With a satisfied look, he glanced at the clock and was about to pop open a cold beer when the back door slammed open and Hudson walked inside.
“Boots!” He gave his buddy a look, and Hudson shucked them off before joining him. The living area was large and faced a bank of windows that let in a view he’d loved since he could remember. The path from the cottage led to a small beach, dock, and boathouse. The only thing he’d added was a brand-new hot tub the previous summer. It was set on a small platform off to the right of the deck that ran the length of the house, so he could sit out there, enjoy the silence, and watch the stars.
As for the inside, he’d painted the walls, freshened them up with dove-gray paint, and given the baseboards and window trim a nice coat of crisp white. With his newly installed floors, the place had both a rustic, beach appeal as well as a hint of modern.
He wasn’t a man of many needs, and after getting rid of the old furniture, he’d bought exactly one piece. A big-ass leather recliner that faced his sixty-inch screen over the fireplace. His workout gear took up the spare room on the main level, and his bedroom was the entirety of the upstairs loft.
He knew he needed to finish the main level, but furniture shopping wasn’t exactly something he enjoyed, and until he absolutely needed it, that stuff could wait. He did have a huge slab of oak he was refinishing into a large harvest table for the dining area, but that was a side project. Nash was fine eating at the small island—it wasn’t as if he entertained guests for dinner.
The only kind he did entertain was the kind who saw the four walls of his bedroom and the back of the door when they left in the morning. That might sound harsh to some. He knew there were those who thought he was a dick. But if that was what being honest got you, he could live with the label. The women he brought back to his place knew the score. He was in the game for sex and nothing else. His rep bothered his mother more than anyone else. And since Hudson had finally settled down, she’d been all over Nash lately about changing his ways.
He wondered what Honey thought of him. And then he gave himself a shake.
What the hell did it matter what Honey thought?
“So,” Hudson said as he poked his head into the fridge. “Honey.”
Nash yanked his head around. Did his buddy have the ability to read minds now?
“What about her?” he asked, taking a long draw from the can. He rotated his neck and rolled his shoulders, feeling the tight muscles stretch. He’d need a hot tub later. Maybe some Jade Daniels to take off the edge that had been riding him the last few days.
Hudson turned around and leaned against the counter. “She seems intense.”
“You got a problem with intense?” Nash straightened and wondered what the hell Hudsy was getting at.
“Not at all. She just wasn’t what I expected.”
“And what were you expecting?”
“Someone a little friendlier? Not so quiet.”
Nash took another sip as he pondered Hudson’s observations. The truth was, Honey hadn’t been herself Thursday night. And it wasn’t the fact they’d crashed Hudson and Rebecca’s Thanksgiving dinner. She’d been fine until they got to the house, and then… He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she’d been off.
He shrugged. “She probably felt a little out of place. She’s not exactly into family, from what I can tell.”
“Yeah?” Hudson stared at him. “Where’s she from again?”
“Louisiana, I think.”
“Really,” Hudson replied, a small frown on his face. “What part?”
“Hell if I know.” He looked at his buddy. “Why do you care? She’s a bartender who blew into town last summer, and as far as I can tell, she’ll probably blow out the same way she came in. Under the wire. She’s not the type to lay down roots, that’s for sure.”
“She tell you that?”
“Doesn’t have to.” Nash shook his head. “I know the type. She reminds me of me. Up until a few years ago, I had no desire to stay in one place longer than I had to.”
“So what changed?”
Nash set down his beer. “I’m not sure anything changed other than this house and a reason to be back here.”
“She’s a helluva looker.”
> Nash yanked up his head, but Hudson shrugged with a smile. “Hey, I’m married, not dead.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “You and she…”
“Nope.” Nash needed to nip this in the bud right away. “Jesus, Hudsy. Between you and my mom, I can’t catch a break. She’s my employee. I don’t do my employees. Makes for bad business. Nothing worse than two people who work together getting between the sheets. It ruins everything. Trust me.”
“I’m guessing there’s a story here.” Hudson arched an eyebrow.
“There’s always a story.” He paused, his mind rewinding. “I’ve fooled around with a boss or two in my day. The last time, I was working at a bar in Aspen, and her husband showed.” Nash winced at the memory. “He damn near took my head off with a shotgun.” At the look on his friend’s face, he offered a half smile. “In my defense, I understood her to be separated and fair game.” He shrugged. “But to this particular lady, separated meant the free time she had between her husband’s tour overseas.”
“That’s rough,” Hudson replied.
“Yeah.” Nash shook his head. “The poor guy was home early on leave and decided to surprise her. Needless to say, he lost a wife and I lost a job. I swore that was the last time I’d ever get involved with either my boss or my employee.” He shrugged. “Like I said, bad business.”
“Could be different with Honey.”
Thing was? Even though his code was damn strict, Nash couldn’t deny there was something there. Honey was different. Maybe that was what scared him.
He glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven and dark as sin outside. “Pretty sure you didn’t come by to talk about Honey.”
Hudson’s brows rose. “It’s Monday.”
“Yeah. Has been for all day.”
“Hockey starts tonight. Wyatt’s waiting outside.”
Shit. He’d forgotten about the weekly men’s league he’d joined a few weeks back. It had been years since he’d been on skates. He cracked his neck once more and cast a longing look outside at his hot tub. Guess it was going to have to wait. He tossed his empty bottle into recycling and headed to the garage to grab his gear.
The thing about hockey, or most sports, was that getting back into the game was like riding a bike. You kind of pick up where you left off. And sure, a guy’s legs might not be as fast and his hands not so soft with the stickhandling. But his skills, though a bit rusty, were still there. Considering Nash had been the football guy in town—the kid who went to Texas and played college ball—it was saying something that he could still hold his own with these guys. He’d grown up in Michigan, and here, hockey was king. And though he’d always played, it was on the gridiron where he’d excelled.
The men’s hockey league was for fun. An excuse to get together with a bunch of guys, shoot the shit, play some hockey, and then indulge in beer and wings. It was good for Nash’s soul, as well as his bank account, seeing as most of the teams in the league ended up at the Coach House for said beer and wings.
His team, the Rejects, was short on players, and he’d skated his butt off for an hour straight with only a few breaks. They’d lost, and the ache across his shoulders was now joined by tight muscles in his thighs and calves.
“Jesus, getting old sucks.” Tim McCallum grimaced as he tossed his equipment bag over his shoulder.
“It’s not your age that’s the problem,” Dan Davies replied from across the dressing room. “It’s the spare tire you’re carrying around your gut and the fridge on your back. I swear my four-year-old can skate faster than you, McCallum.”
Tim shrugged good-naturedly. He’d always been a big guy and was used to the ribbing. “We can still use some extra players is all I’m saying. Wheezer will never come. He signs up every year and only shows for the tournament. Mack is always on call, and Pinky is so damned pussy-whipped, he needs to ask permission to leave the house.” He looked at Nash. “What the hell is Cam up to? I hear he’s back in town. He should be on the ice with us.”
Nash ignored the question. He scooped up his bag, grabbed his stick, and headed for the door, the other guys following behind. Cold beer and hot wings were the only things he wanted to think about. He grabbed a ride to his bar with Wyatt and Hudson, pleased to see the parking lot full when they pulled up. Music thumped, old-time rock, and the three men were in high spirits as they pushed through the door and entered the Coach House.
Tim and the other guys from the team were a few steps behind, shaking off the cold and snow from their boots. Nash spied Tiny behind the bar, which was three-deep with customers lined up waiting for beer. Natasha was busy serving the booths, while Alicia and Megan had the tables covered. He turned to his teammates. He had no idea where Susie, the new girl was.
“I’m probably going to have to pitch in. At least for a bit, but my table is open. Head over, and I’ll get you guys started with a couple of jugs.” He pointed to the tall pub table nearest the stage. A ratty old sign that declared it “reserved” had managed to keep anyone from grabbing a seat. One of the perks of owning the place, such as it was.
Hudson and Wyatt led the way, while Tim paused, nodding toward the bar. “That Cam?”
Nash followed the man’s gaze and frowned. Damn right it was, which was surprising. He thought Cam had headed back to Detroit after their disaster of a Thanksgiving dinner.
His younger brother was behind the bar, towel thrown across his right shoulder, red-and-black-plaid sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was smiling, chatting up a couple of ladies leaning against the bar, while pouring out shots of tequila for one of the league teams. Nash’s frown deepened. Where the hell was Honey?
He shoved his way through the thick crowd, tossed his jacket, and grabbed three empty jugs. There was a healthy ratio of women to men tonight, nearly fifty-fifty if he wasn’t mistaken. No doubt all the single girls knew where most of the men would congregate after hockey.
He shook his head with a wry grin. Some things never change.
Setting a jug under the spout, he angled it, nodded a quick hello to those in front of him, and took several drink orders while he was at it. Cam finished the shots of tequila, and several guys who played on Domestic Dispute lined up to grab them.
Nash nodded to Melanie Saunders, sister to one of his high school pals, and then turned to his brother.
“Thought you left town.”
“Lucky for you I didn’t.”
“Guess that depends on the perspective.”
Cam’s face darkened. “Don’t be an asshole. The place is busy as hell. Tiny and Honey had a hard time keeping up, so I jumped in to help.”
At the mention of his best bartender, Nash looked around. “Where is she?”
“In the stockroom. We ran out of bourbon and vodka.”
Nash put aside the full jug and shoved the next one underneath the tap, taking more orders as he did so. He was still pissed at his brother—that wasn’t going anyway anytime soon—but he was also an opportunist. “You planning on heading back to Detroit?”
“Nope. Why?”
Nash didn’t get a chance to respond, because a busty blonde, Belinda Byers, sidled up to the bar, her smile as big and wide as the expanse of flesh beneath her neck.
“Oh my God. For once, the rumors are true. Both Bookers back in town at the same time?” She looked at both men and practically licked her lips. “How did we get so lucky?”
“Dumb luck,” Nash muttered beneath his breath, though he fixed a smile to his face. “Hey, Belinda.”
“Hey, yourself.” The woman was dressed to the nines for a night out at the Coach House, surrounded by a bunch of sweaty guys fresh off the ice, most of them watching the game on the big screens throughout the bar. “So what’s this I hear about you and Jade Daniels?”
Cam snorted, but Nash ignored his brother. “Nothing. We hang out sometimes.”
“Uh-huh.” She pouted prettily. “Can you make me a Cosmo?” She glanced over her shoulder at someone and nodded. “Make that two.”
Nash grabbe
d the jugs he’d filled and looked at his brother, considering his options. They were a lot busier lately, and he could use the extra help. But Cam? Was he really going to do this? “You think you can handle that for Belinda?”
“You sure you want me to?” Cam looked serious as hell, and Nash knew his brother was giving him an out. Thing was, he wasn’t sure this was a good idea. The two of them still had shit to sort out.
“The triple sec is at the other end of the bar behind Tiny.”
Guess they were going to do this.
7
“Hey.”
Honey nearly jumped out of her skin. Heart beating like a jackhammer, she turned around and spied Nash watching her from the other end of the bar. It was two thirty in the morning, and after a long, busy shift, all she wanted was a shot of Jack Daniels chased by a tall, cold draft and some peace and quiet.
“I thought you’d left.” It had been crazy busy, and her boss had pretty much worked the entire night. She grabbed up the bottle of JD and held it in the air. He nodded, and she scooped up two glasses, pouring them each a generous shot as he moved closer.
“I did. Took Hudsy and the boys home.”
Frowning, she looked at him. “Why’d you come back?”
He shrugged. “Thought I’d catch up on some paperwork.”
“At this time of night?”
He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Seemed like a good idea, but not feeling it at the moment.”
She watched him for a few seconds. “That’s ’cause you’re tired,” she said, pushing the tumbler over to him.
“Tired?”
“Hell yeah. All that flirting.”
“Flirting?”
Honey held up the glass and downed the contents in one gulp. She poured another one. “Jesus, Nash. Are you hard of hearing?”
You Own My Heart Page 5
