“Here’s your worthless dog,” he said as she finished tying the belt of her terry-cloth robe. The dog gave him a big lick across his lips. “Jesus!”
“She loves Papa.”
“I’m not her papa.”
After a brief conversation about what a “tool” Pete was, and the pros and cons of Chinook enforcer Kevin “KO” Olsen meeting Pete after his return from Acapulco, Lexie took her dog and headed back to bed. She couldn’t help but replay the last few days in her head. She’d made one bad decision after another. She’d hurled herself and her business into a total free fall. This morning, she’d landed with a big splat on national television.
So much had happened since the night she’d run from the Fairmont, it seemed like five weeks had passed instead of just five days. It had only been five days since she’d jumped aboard the Sea Hopper and stared up into Sean Brown’s dark face and the question in his green eyes. Two days since she’d pulled him into a small hotel room and stripped naked. Just two days since she’d sworn like a porn star/hockey player during unforgettable sex. Two nights later, her cheeks burned with the memory.
There was one thing that made her feel the tiniest bit better, and that was she wouldn’t ever have to see Sean Brown again. A few days ago she’d thought it might be nice to see him and show him the real Lexie. Well, the real Lexie had sunk to the lowest point in her life. She had little hope that things would get better, and the last thing she needed was further humiliation.
To her shock, the next afternoon Lucy Broderick called and threw her an unexpected lifeline. Her appearance on the Today show hadn’t been a total disaster after all. The response had been the opposite of what Lexie had feared—she’d somehow managed to appear sympathetic, while Pete’s attack had come off as bullying. The fake and real tears she’d shed had made her seem vulnerable and despondent, filled with agonizing remorse for what she’d done to Pete and the fans of Gettin’ Hitched. Pete had sounded belligerent to the very end. Viewer opinion was shifting against him.
Lexie knew she should feel bad, but she didn’t feel the least bit sorry for Pete. He’d done it to himself.
Three days after the Today show, the tide was definitely turning in her favor. She did a short call-in interview with Extra and was scheduled to tell her side of the story for Us magazine next week.
The world didn’t hate her. Even Gawker and PopSugar seemed to be finished crucifying her. Her business wasn’t totally dead after all. Yum Yum’s Closet had been resuscitated and put back on life support. With hard work, she expected it to make a full recovery.
That was until the moment Marie walked into her apartment and slapped the National Enquirer on the table between them. Lexie drank a sip of coffee and moved aside her plate of cantaloupe and a bagel. “What’s this?” She slid the paper to her and choked. Hot coffee slid down the wrong pipe and her heart stopped.
“Wha—wha?” she wheezed. On the front cover was the headline: Hitchin’ Bride Jilts Groom for Mystery Man. A picture of her pinned up against the door of room seven at the Harbor Inn took up the entire page. The quality was a bit grainy, but even if she hadn’t known it was she, even if she hadn’t lived it, even if her eyes weren’t blurry from hacking, she was clearly recognizable.
“Who is that?” Marie asked.
Lexie cleared her throat and coughed a few more times, unable to take her eyes from the picture of her pushed up against a hotel door. While her face was clearly visible, Sean’s back was to the camera. The only visible parts of him were his hands, wrapped around her wrists and pinning them above her head. “Sean,” she choked out. The man with beautiful green eyes and dark hair, who’d felt like the only steady thing in an upside-down world. The man whose kiss made her warm up from the inside out and throw caution to the wind—along with her clothing.
“Sean who?”
“Brown.” At least that was his mother’s last name. She didn’t know for sure, but decided not to confide in her friend, who was acting a little judgmental.
“You look like you were either kidnapped or about to jump this guy’s bones.”
Lexie cleared her throat once more. “You know I wasn’t kidnapped.”
“So you hooked up with some random Canadian?”
“It wasn’t like that.” She looked across the table at her friend, who trolled Tinder. “He was on the plane with me. I was scared and freaked. He took my mind off everything for a while.”
“It looks bad.”
“I know!”
After Marie left, she checked the online gossip sites. They all had the same picture of her. The caption at TMZ read: Runaway Bride or Seductress?
“It wasn’t like that,” she told her mother that evening. “I helped him take care of his sick mother while we were in Sandspit. I didn’t seduce anyone!”
Georgeanne looked across the couch from her and said, “I’m sorry about his mother, but I just really care about you.” She shook her head, and her dark hair slid across one shoulder to the front of her red silk blouse. “Cryin’ all night, Lexie. I can’t believe it. This just keeps getting worse.”
“I know. Someone leaked my phone number.” She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes, hating the disappointment in her mother’s face. “I had to turn it off for a while. I really can’t change the number until I notify all my business contacts.” Thank God she still had her prepaid phone from Sandspit.
Georgeanne took several deep breaths and said on a sigh, “You’re a grown woman. I’m not going to ask you what went on in that hotel room. Although your father might when he gets back from his five-day grind.”
Lexie closed her eyes. After a five-day grind, her dad was probably going to be cranky.
She was right.
The next night, her father stood in her open kitchen, watching the television above the fireplace in the living room. E! News flashed the now infamous picture onto the screen and Jason Kennedy asked, “Who is the mysterious man with runaway bride Lexie Kowalsky? The world wants to know: Is this a photo of force or fling?”
“This is crazy.” She opened a bottle of her father’s favorite beer, then reached for the remote control on the counter. She punched the red button three times before the television went black. And yeah, she fudged a bit when she said, “I helped take care of his terminally ill mother.”
“That isn’t what it looks like in that picture.” A scowl pulled at his dark brows as he raised the Molson 67 to his lips. He took several long pulls, then lowered the bottle. “That guy”—he paused to point his bottle at the television where the infamous photo had splashed across the blank screen just moments before—“might be blurry as hell and unrecognizable, but his intentions are real clear. He’s either forcing you into that hotel room or he’s seducing his way in.”
The seducing had been mutual, and she shook her head.
“They’re talking about it everywhere. I saw it on TV in a sports bar in Detroit.”
This new story was getting even bigger and more devastating than the original.
“If you really weren’t being held against your will, I can’t exactly hunt this son of a bitch down and feed him my fist.” He set the bottle on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Not a good sign. “You have some accountability in this mess.”
“My head hasn’t been right since I went on Gettin’ Hitched.” She wanted to show him she was a strong woman and not a child he had to protect. She clenched her jaw to keep her chin from trembling, but a tear spilled from her bottom lash. “I take full accountability for the mess I’ve made of my life and the pain I’ve caused everyone. Especially my family.” She hated the disappointment creeping into his eyes. “I was confused and scared. He seemed like a good person. I thought I could trust him.”
He dropped his hands. “Don’t cry.”
“Okay.”
“Christ.” He reached for her and wrapped her in his big arms. “Not all men can be trusted, honey.” She rested her head on the one place she’d always felt protected
, his shoulder. “Some sons of bitches have little balls and have to coerce vulnerable women just to get some attention.”
Sean didn’t have little balls, and he hadn’t exactly coerced her, but she didn’t bother to correct her father. She nodded, relaxing in the warm solace she always found with her dad.
“The guy needs his ass handed to him for taking advantage of you.”
She nodded again, because what did it matter? She didn’t know Sean. He was a guy she met who probably worked for the CIA. More than ever, she was relieved that she would never see Sean Brown again.
A raucous wave of cheers and cowbells rolled through the Key Arena as “Who Let the Dogs Out” blasted from the speakers. High above the center of the ring, the jumbotron’s three screens replayed a blistering one-timer off an Avalanche’s blade and into the left pad of Chinooks goalie Adam Larson.
It had been a while since Lexie had donned her Chinooks jersey and stepped foot into the Key. Even longer since she’d sat in the ticketed seats. “I think we might be more comfortable at the Encore,” she said, and gazed longingly up to the secluded club on the third tier.
“We’re not hiding up there. Remember?” her mother reminded her through a smile. “We have nothing to hide.”
She knew her mother was right. They’d debated it and determined that the only way to keep from going into hiding again was to act as if she had nothing to conceal. Once the cameraman spotted them, she had little doubt her face would flash across all four screens on the jumbotron and be beamed out on television.
She’d taken care to appear modest in a gray turtleneck, team jersey, and gray jeans. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail and wore minimal cosmetics. She walked a fine line between flaunting herself and appearing guilty. Once the Enquirer photo appeared, the good feelings that came out of her Today show appearance went down the tubes. She’d gone from sympathetic to villain in no time flat. No amount of apologizing was going to help her out this time, and she couldn’t count on another miracle to save her behind. She was seen as a cheater and was back to playing a villainess, only worse. She was now the lowest of lows, the bottom rung, in reality television:
Slut.
Bitch.
Psycho.
Slutty bitch psycho.
Lexie took an aisle seat next to her mother and little brother, Jon Jon, in the lower bowl. Her brother took after their dad in looks and temperament. He was protective and ready to do battle for his big sister, which added to Lexie’s guilt. It was supposed to be the other way around. She should be looking out for him, but she felt like a coward and had to fight a strong urge to sink down in her seat and shield the side of her face with her hand. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to keep from hyperventilating, but there was nothing she could do about the sick knot in her stomach.
As a kid, Lexie had loved sitting in the front row just behind the glass. She’d loved the raw energy arcing through the crowd. She’d loved the grunts and thumps and the shhh-shhh of skates meshing with cheers and screaming fans. She forced herself to raise her chin and gaze out onto the ice.
“That’s the new guy Dad complains about,” Jon Jon told her as the puck passed from stick to stick. All she could see was the back of a jersey and short sweaty curls beneath his helmet. “I like him though.”
Lexie had more important things to worry about than the Chinooks’ newest superstar. Like appearing calm, cool, and collected when what she really wanted was to run away before someone in the control booth recognized her and flashed her face on the jumbotron.
With a hard thwack, the puck shot around the boards and was stopped in the corner seconds before players from both sides slammed into each other and shook the Plexiglas. Elbows flew, and thuds and grunts punctuated the air as they all dug for the puck.
A boom and vibration she could feel beneath her feet, and the number 36 flattened against the Plexiglas. “KNOX” was sewn across his shoulders, and his helmet fell off in the scrum.
“You wanna have a go?” one of them asked.
“On your mother, you tit baby.” Thirty-six threw a fist and his big blue glove connected, knocking the player off his skates.
Lexie drummed her fingers on the armrest. Mothers and sisters and tit babies were all fair insults with hockey players.
Whistles blew and two referees entered the fray. They pointed to the biggest offenders, and Lexie leaned forward to look down the boards to where her father stood with his arms folded across his blue blazer. She couldn’t see his face, but by his stance, he wasn’t happy.
From the other side of the glass she heard, “You’re a pussy, Kuch. Go back to the minors with the other girls.”
Her brows creased and she returned her attention to number 36. He shoved one glove beneath his arm, then bent forward and disappeared from her view. An odd jolt ran up her spine to the back of her neck. For a split second, she felt as if she’d stepped into an alternate universe where she recognized something that she couldn’t possibly know. That split second hung in the air, confusing and bizarre.
“Welcome to the Jungle” blasted through the arena and she raised her gaze to the jumbotron. Dark hair at the top of his head filled the large screens, then 36 straightened and combed his fingers through a damp lock of hair curling over his forehead like a big C.
Everything within Lexie came to a shuddering halt except the jolt shooting up her spine to the back of her skull. On the huge screens, his green eyes glanced up at the scoreboard and his oh-shit smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
The screens cut to a loop of him throwing his big fist and the Avalanche player going down. The crowd around Lexie went wild, and the jolt at the back of her skull zapped her brain. The knot in her stomach clutched her chest. On the huge screens, number 36 calmly shoved his helmet on his head. He chewed one side of his mouth guard, and Billy Joel’s “An Innocent Man” played overhead as he calmly skated toward the penalty box.
Chapter 9
•i love the way you lie
Sean grabbed his blue blazer off a hook in his locker and shoved his arms inside. The ends of his just-washed hair wet the collar of his white dress shirt. He’d scored two of the four points put up on the board tonight and secured his worth on the team.
The usual hazing period seemed to be over, although some of the guys still resented the trade. Sean understood that. During the season, players spent more time with their team than anybody else. They were on the road half the season, and the other half was spent working out at the team’s clubhouse inside the arena, watching game tapes and practicing for the show. Inevitably, the guys got close. Sometimes closer than their own families, which explained the high divorce rate.
Sean shoved his feet into his calfskin loafers and reached inside the open locker for his wallet. He’d played for several different NHL franchises. He had good friends in all of them, even though it might take him a bit longer to get as close to his teammates as some of the other guys. He wouldn’t say they were family. At least not as he understood family.
He stuck his wallet in the back pocket of his khaki trousers and looked across the locker room filled with hockey players. Some half dressed, others completely naked. He’d been around naked guys since he’d played peewee and hardly noticed anymore. A few of the guys sat on a bench, watching an iPad and betting on college hockey.
Left defender Brody Comeau groaned as he tossed his towel on the bench and rolled his left shoulder.
“Still feeling the Russell hit?” Sean asked.
“I hate that guy.” Brody was built like a pylon and had a long scar on his right cheek. Since Brody was thirty-five, Sean imagined it was harder for him to shake off the pain.
“He’s probably feeling a hell of a lot worse after Kevin put him in the third row.”
Brody chuckled. “How’s your hand?”
Sean flexed his fingers and made a fist. His middle finger felt a bit stiff. “Fine.”
“Next time, you let someone else drop the gloves.” Brod
y reached in his locker and pulled out a pair of boxers. “KO or Letestu or me. One of us will be your shadow. You break your hand and you’re fucked.” He stepped inside his underwear and pulled it up. “That means we’re all fucked.” He looked up. “Got it?”
There had been a time when Sean might have taken offense to another player telling him what to do like he was back in the shinnies. When he’d walked around with a chip on his shoulder the size of a log. When he’d sought attention by glove rubbing his points in everyone’s face. When he’d hotdogged to shove the facts home.
“Got it.” He hadn’t been that guy for a few years now. Not since he’d realized that his talent was overshadowed by his need for attention. He’d also realized that he was more like his mother than he’d ever let himself think was possible. She sought attention through her hypochondria, he through his ability to hit a puck between the pipes. He’d had a girlfriend to thank for the revelation. “You’re an attention whore,” she’d told him. She hadn’t meant it as a compliment or to be helpful. She’d yelled it as she’d kicked his Maybach. He’d broken up with her for denting his car door, but she’d been right. Sure, he might ride his stick when he scored a hat trick, but he let his talent speak for him these days.
Again Brody chuckled. “Decent muck-up though.” Ever since he’d returned from Sandspit and hit the road with the team, things were better. No more prank calls to his room at two a.m. or smashed crackers between his sheets. The roster shakeup was now cohesive, and he was getting to know each player and their style and quirks.
“Good game, Knox,” Coach Kowalsky said as he passed, even going so far as to pat Sean on the shoulder.
“Thanks.” One thing he’d learned about John, the man didn’t blow unwarranted sunshine up anyone’s ass. A “good game” from him was like excessive praise from anyone else. Despite himself, Sean almost smiled, and retucked his white dress shirt into his trousers. He didn’t want to like the guy. John was an asshole, but since his return, he found himself playing smarter. Maybe to prove to the coach and to anyone else that Sean Knox was a team player. He wasn’t out for just himself. If they thought otherwise, they were wrong. If they mistook him for a pussy, they were wrong about that, too.
The Art of Running in Heels Page 12
