by V. K. Sykes
“Yes I do. Money and glory go hand in hand and you basked in it as long as you could, both you and Betty. The two of you were always in the limelight, soaking up the attention and not thinking about a future without it. Now you’re home with nothing to show for all the sacrifices this family has made over the years.”
Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.
The words were like a mantra in Billie’s head. She repeated them, over and over again. When that didn’t work she focused on the way Bobbi’s perfectly straight bangs hung like a curtain over her brows, the edges wisped just so.
Breathe. Don’t cry.
“Maybe that knock to the head did a lot more damage than the doctors think. I’m not jealous of you, Billie-Jo. I feel sorry for you.”
Those words nearly undid her, but Billie hung on until the roaring in her head subsided and she was empty inside. It was like taking a penalty shot in a big game. She made everything disappear and focused, except instead of taking a shot, at this moment she was just trying to hold it together.
For several long seconds, nothing but silence filled the gaps between them. And the gaps were huge—they were wide and deep—nearly insurmountable.
Gramps cleared his throat, his faded blue eyes kind in their regard as he gazed upon her—maybe a little sad even—and Billie had to look away or she would start bawling. There was no way in hell she was going to give her sister that kind of satisfaction.
Billie slowly exhaled and reached for her wine glass. Gramps handed her the half empty wine bottle and she accepted it without hesitation, though even a case of wine wasn’t going to ease her pain tonight.
“Well, then. I have no idea how a conversation about men’s hockey devolved into a discussion on the sad state of my life, but thanks for your…honesty, Bobbi,” she swallowed. “Much appreciated.”
Billie took a step back from the dining room table. “Oh and Gerry?”
Gerald Dooley, who’d been standing near the doorway for the last five minutes, unsure whether to flee the Barker family madness or stay, looked a tad shell-shocked when he met her gaze.
“You’re flying low, and though it’s nice to know you match your boxers to the color of your dress shirt, I don’t need to see it.”
Billie paused by Gramps side and kissed him softly on the cheek. His gnarled hand, brown with age and sun, grabbed hold of her wrist. “She’s been having a hard time dealing with your Dad. Bobbi doesn’t mean any of it.”
“Liar,” she whispered.
With a heavy heart, Billie pulled away. “I’m going to sit with Dad.” She tossed a dark look over her shoulder. Her sister watched, from beneath lowered lashes and had the good grace to at least look a tad uncomfortable. “Hopefully all the screaming didn’t upset him.”
Less than a minute later Billie let herself into the darkened master suite at the end of the hall upstairs. A frail figure near the window tore at her heart and she watched him in silence for a few moments as he read his paper, near the soft glow from a lamp on his desk.
He seemed to have shrunk even more than the day before, if that was possible. At six foot two, her father had always been a big, brawny man—a person with wide shoulders and generous hugs. A man who was confident enough to raise three young daughters alone and tough enough to do it on his terms. A man who’d always been there for her.
For the first time she wondered if she’d truly stolen most of his time. And love.
She shook her head. It wasn’t possible, was it?
He paused, glanced her way, and the play of light along the sharp planes of his face made her heart turn over. When had he gotten so old?
The sadness inside her doubled and the pain was nearly unbearable. It was like a hard fist, twisting into stone and it wouldn’t let her go.
“Chantal, is that you?” He smiled and gestured, his fingers thin, nothing more than flesh over bone. “Come closer darling, I can’t see you.”
She shook her head. “It’s me, Dad…Billie.”
He cocked his head to the side and she saw his confusion, but it was as if he’d never heard her. “Chantal, when did you grow your hair?” He frowned and seemed to gather his thoughts. “Never mind, doesn’t matter. I’m looking through the local real estate. We’ll need a bigger house for when the babies come.”
Her heart cracked a little more.
His frown deepened and uncertainty rolled under his words. “Chantal, is that you?”
Billie nodded and moved deeper into his circle of light. “Yes, it’s me.” She sat down beside the father who didn’t know her and tried her best not to cry.
Chapter Three
“So what are we going to do about that damn Barker triplet?”
Logan Forest took a swig from his beer and set the bottle on the bar before turning to the group of men a few feet away. It was Friday night—Friday the 13th to be exact—and The Roadside Grill was hopping.
He’d had one hell of a day, the kind when nothing goes right and damned if he wanted to listen to a bunch of grown men act like the world was going to end because a girl wanted to play hockey in their league. Sure, he thought Billie-Jo was going to get a lot of grief, but hell, if she wanted that kind of trouble so be it.
He thought of the defiant gleam in her eye the weekend before and was pretty sure she’d be able to take it. Besides, she was sure to have the best legs on the ice and her hands were great, her stick handling legendary.
Legs. Hell, he’d be willing to bet she had the best legs in the entire county.
Little Billie-Jo Barker was all grown up and in all the right places, judging from the way she’d filled out those worn, faded jeans and T-shirt. With her long, glossy hair and dramatic eyes she looked more like a beauty queen instead of a rink rat. More like her sister Betty-Jo.
For Logan, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
He glanced up at Duke Everett. The owner of The Grill was pushing sixty, with a full head of snow white hair and an equally impressive handle-bar moustache to go with it. A former boxer turned wrestler, Duke had toured the States for many years on a dead end B circuit, until his body couldn’t take the punishment anymore. Fortunately, he’d met one of the Wilson sisters and had settled in New Waterford. They’d just celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary.
Duke glared at the men and threw a towel over his shoulder, his moustache twitching as his face settled into a frown. “Longwood is getting himself riled up but good.”
“He doesn’t seem to have anything better to do,” Logan agreed.
“Ain’t that the truth. He gets his paycheck and blows half of it in here every Friday night.” Duke shook his head. “I’m not complaining, mind you. He tosses a lot of cash my way, but that there is a man who will never amount to anything.”
“I can’t argue with you there.”
Duke’s brows furled and he shook his head. “I’m sick of hearing about your damn Friday night hockey league and some little bit of a girl who’s got half the town in an uproar. Hell, even my wife’s all bent out of shape over it.”
“What little bit of a girl you two talking about?”
Shane Gallagher slid onto the empty stool beside Logan and glanced up at the bartender. “Shit, Duke…you ever going to trim that thing?”
Logan didn’t know how tense he was until his muscles relaxed at that moment. He eyed Gallagher closely. His friend had bulked up quite a bit since Logan had last seen him, muscles stretched tight beneath his leather jacket. His hair, always long, was hacked off to just above his shoulders and the goatee added an air of danger. The thing was, Shane Gallagher didn’t need any help in the danger department. It kind of came naturally to him. He’d always been wild—a teenager who’d lived on the edge with no regard for safety. Shane’s family had never understood him and neither had half the town.
But Logan and he had bonded in first grade and had been best friends ever since. A world of circumstance and bad choices had separated the two men several years ago—Logan headed in one direction,
going to college, while Shane took a sharp left turn that had led him to more trouble than he could handle.
And yet, somehow, he and Shane would always be buddies. Logan had his back and that was something that would never change. It might be a guy thing, but Logan had always found it easier to move forward than to keep your head stuck in the past.
This reunion was a long time coming.
Logan smiled and clapped Shane on the shoulder. “I wasn’t sure you were going to show.”
Shane cocked his head, and when once he’d have grinned with a hint of crazy in his eyes, he just shrugged. “It’s not like I had anywhere else to go.”
Duke cleared his throat and leaned forward. “It’s good to see you back, Shane. Hopefully this time you’ll stick around and stay out of trouble.”
“One can only hope,” Shane quipped, though his lips tightened.
Duke ran his fingers along his chin, ignoring the couple a few stools over gesturing for drinks and narrowed his eyes. “I’m serious, boy. Not too many folks get second chances. You best be making the most of yours.”
Logan watched his friend closely. He saw the anger in his eyes…the resentment, and those things he could deal with. It was the other that made him worry, the wooden tone in Shane’s voice and the cool, blank acceptance that accompanied it.
“Thanks, Duke but I don’t need a lecture. My buddy Logan’s already taken care of that and now that I’m back, it’s a whole new world my friend. New leaf and all that.” Shane flashed a smile. “But right now I’m thirsty as hell. Can I get a large draft?”
Duke frowned. “You sure you can have alcohol?” The bartender glanced at Logan before settling back on Shane.
“Yeah, I can have a drink. You want me to produce the official paperwork my parole officer gave me?”
Logan nodded. He’d seen the form.
“Okay, then.” Duke went to grab the drink and Shane swung around on the barstool. He nodded toward the large table of men. Seth was still harping on ‘that damn Barker girl’, talking loudly with animated hand gestures and a full, red face to go along with it. He looked like a marionette whose strings were pulled by a lunatic.
“What’s got Longwood all riled up?” Shane asked.
“He’s pissed because the youngest Barker, Billie, is back in town and she signed up to play hockey in our Friday night league.”
Duke handed Shane a large, frosty mug and snorted. “Youngest? By what…minutes?”
Logan opened his mouth, but then closed it again and nodded in agreement. Sure they were triplets, but that didn’t change the fact he’d always thought of the hockey girl as much younger than the other two. Bobbi had been a hell raiser back in the day and Betty…a scowl touched his face. Now she’d been leaps and bounds ahead of the other two. Sexy and mature-as-hell, Betty-Jo Barker. She’d gone through boys like they were candy and though he’d like to say he was stronger than the other guys in town, it simply wasn’t the truth.
In a town small enough where everyone knew the Mayor by his first name, but big enough that you didn’t know everyone’s secrets, the Barker triplets had been almost…famous. Three identical girls with movie star looks that were as different from each other as night and day.
Bobbi and Betty had been a lot more social than their sports minded sister, Billie, and she’d never really been on his radar. Hell, he barely remembered her.
He fingered the label on his beer bottle. To be honest, the kid had looked all grown up and judging by the way she’d filled out her jeans and that tight pink T-shirt, he was willing to bet she looked as good in a bikini as Betty did.
Shane leaned back and took a long drink of his beer. “So whatever happened to Bobbi?”
Logan glanced at his friend sharply. “I heard she’s dating Dooley.”
“No shit.”
“She’s no good for you, Shane.”
“No shit,” he repeated and then took another swig of his beer.
“She’s nothing like the girl you used to know, before.”
Shane glanced at him sharply, his face harsh beneath the neon glow from the Budweiser sign on the wall behind the bar. “Before I went to jail?”
Logan watched his friend closely and nodded. “Yeah, before…that.” It couldn’t be easy for him to be home, especially when everyone knew he’d been in prison for the last three years.
Shane rested his elbows on the bar, leaned back and whistled softly. “Speak of the devil.”
Logan followed his gaze across the bar and found himself staring into the dark, exotic eyes of none other than the most infamous woman in New Waterford, at least until her sister Betty decided to return.
Billie-Jo Barker raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin in a way that made him sit up. She was with Tracy Steeles and Lana Holbrook, the Mayor’s daughter.
She sure as hell didn’t look like any damn jock he’d ever seen before.
In a sea of denim and black, her fire engine red dress stood out like a beacon. It clung to her curves, falling to only a few inches below her butt. Black tights and sexy-as-hell knee-high boots created a vision that would be any guy’s fantasy. Her lips matched the color of her dress, her hair hung nearly to her waist and for a second, the urge to cross the room and plant his hands deep into those silky waves rolled over him.
Every man in The Grill turned toward the door. Even Longwood’s never ending ramble stalled. All sound diminished, like it had been sucked into a black hole and for a moment there was complete silence. Billie bit her lip—which on any other woman would have seemed practiced and yet it didn’t seem to be her style. She leaned close to Tracy, whispered something in her friend’s ear, and the three of them walked toward an empty table near the door.
Like the red sea rolling back into place, conversations exploded once more and Longwood’s voice rose above them all.
“That ain’t no hockey player. She looks like a damn whore,” he proclaimed, turning to the group of men at his table. “Do we really want pussy out on the ice with us?”
Normally, Logan was the kind of man who was slow to anger. He’d learned early on, it was best to let discourse find its own solution—that butting your head into someone else’s business usually led to all kinds of crap he neither had the time or energy to deal with. But, once his buttons were pushed he wasn’t the type to lie low and at the moment, Seth’s insults had crossed a line. He wouldn’t stand by while a dumbass like Longwood insulted a woman.
“Easy, Forest. They’re just a bunch of assholes with nothing better to do then bitch and complain.” Shane shook his head and took another sip from his mug. “Besides, do you really want me to violate the terms of my parole by getting into a bar fight with you?”
“Don’t worry about me.” Logan stood and moved toward Seth’s table. There were about ten men seated, all drinking and in varying states of sobriety. Most had been quiet throughout the evening, but now that Billie had showed, they’d become as animated as Longwood.
“Hell, no.” One of them shouted. “I’m playing Friday nights to get away from the old lady and hang out with the boys, not some crazy female who thinks she’s better than us.”
“Damn right. No pussy allowed.” Another piped in.
Logan stopped and slowly rolled his head. At six-four, with wide shoulders and a hard, trim body he commanded a certain amount of respect on sight.
Seth glared at him, his beet red face all puffed up like he was a goddamn blowfish. He was going to have to tune the little bastard up one day. But not here. Not in Duke’s place.
“Longwood, I’d suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut.” His steely blue gaze swept over the table as he flexed his hands. “That’d be a good piece of advice for the rest of you boys.”
“What the hell’s your problem?” Seth’s words were slurred. “Christ Forest, we all like pussy but it has its place.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed as someone yelled, “Hell, yeah.”
It seemed to bolster Longwood’s bravery. He puffed up his chest
even more. “And that sure as hell ain’t out on the ice in our league.”
“You really want to get into it with me?” Logan kept his voice level, but there was no mistaking his state of mind—he was pissed.
Seth’s adam’s apple bobbed as his bravery fled. Nervously he held his hands up. “I don’t want trouble, but I don’t see what’s wrong with us telling it like it is.” He motioned to the rest of the table. “There’s nothing wrong with saying what we feel.”
Logan raised a brow and bent forward, clapping Seth on the shoulder. He gripped the man hard. “You can say what’s on your mind, Longwood. I just think it would be in your best interest to use your brain and choose your words carefully.” He stood back. “Understand?”
“I’d pay close attention to what my friend just imparted, because I’m itching for some action and I don’t mind saying, kicking your asses would ease the scratch real good.” Shane moved alongside Logan and smiled at the now silent men.
They all knew his history, and they knew he wouldn’t hesitate to follow through on his promises—or rather—threats.
Seth’s eyes narrowed. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. None of the captains will draft her. No one wants to play with her.”
“Is that so?” Logan asked.
He glanced over their heads toward the far side of the bar. Billie’s eyes were trained his way and though there was no way she could hear their conversation over the din in The Grill, he knew she had gotten the gist. It was pretty hard to miss with all the curses flying and long, hard looks thrown her way.
He smiled and nodded toward Longwood. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll take her.”
Silence followed his proclamation.
“Logan, what’s going on?”
Shit. He’d forgotten Sabrina was meeting him. Logan swore beneath his breath and turned to the blonde staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. He had been seeing Sabrina for the last six months or so and though they’d had a lot of fun, lately, he found himself bored. There was no reason for it, except, well, she didn’t hold his interest outside of the bedroom and even that had started to diminish.
