That evening, his own men’s league was playing their first game of the season, and he needed his skates in their best condition. With his younger brother drafted to the NHL as well, he was the last Westmore left to lead the local team to victory. The other men were previous high school athletes, most of whom now had a million things on their priority list that came before a game of small-town hockey—wives, families, real jobs.
As he walked the aisles of the sporting goods store, he reached for his cell. He’d checked the team’s email that morning, and there was still no sign of the release form from Dean. Dialing his friend’s cell number, he scanned a row of sticks. He really could use a new one, but his was broken in and molded perfectly to the shape of his hand.
It was the same stick he’d used since his last season with the Colorado Eagles, the year after his younger brother was called up to the majors. It was then that he’d known it was time for him to quit chasing the dream. Ben had played three games in the AHL before being called up. Asher played two years.
He’d put in his time, and Jackson had known when to pack it in. He’d spent his savings on a fixer-upper house and flipped it, turning a $20,000 profit, and then bought another one, pretending he was okay with life in real estate, away from center ice.
And in three years, he’d gotten real good at both—flipping homes and pretending.
“Hello,” Dean answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, man, how are you?”
“Hey yourself. Long time, buddy,” Dean said, sounding distracted.
The sound of a woman’s voice singing in the background made him frown. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Um…I got a minute,” he said, before obviously covering the mouthpiece and speaking to someone else.
He heard female laughter, then the sound of a door closing. “So, it turns out your little girl is a better stick handler than you,” he said, trying to keep the mood light and erase the nagging feeling in his gut. It could be Dean’s housekeeper…
“I wouldn’t doubt that,” his friend said above the sound of wind and waves.
He’d taken the call outside. “Yeah, she’s quite impressive. She made the local Junior team. It went co-ed this year.” As he spoke, he wasn’t sure if his friend was even paying attention as he heard the door open and close again, and then whispering close to the phone.
“Huh, huh. Yeah, I heard. That’s great. Listen buddy, can I call you back?”
Jackson frowned. “Actually, Dean, I won’t keep you, but I was calling about the release form to see if you could send it in the next day or two.”
“What release form?”
“Abby said she sent you a release form for Dani to be allowed to play. Can we get that signed and emailed back before Tuesday’s practice?”
“I didn’t receive any email from Abigail.” Dean’s hardened tone matched Abby’s from the night before. The hostility between them obviously went both ways, but something in Dean’s voice gave Jackson reason to doubt what he’d said. He knew his friend well enough to know when he was lying, but he couldn’t get why he’d be lying about this. To make Abby look bad?
“Are you sure? She said she sent it from the school’s account. Maybe check your spam folder.”
“Jackson, she didn’t send it. Just another ploy to keep me uninvolved and out of Dani’s life.”
Shit. The last thing he’d intended was to get in the middle of their conflict. He wanted nothing to do with their arguing or pawn playing with Dani. Though, he’d like to smack their heads together to make them realize the effect their stupidity would have on her. “Well, no problem. I’ll resend it this afternoon.” He paused as he heard Dean cover the mouthpiece and say, “I’ll be there in just a sec, darling.”
Darling? So much for the housekeeper theory. Irritation seeped through him. Over the last few months, he’d refused to believe the crap the media was saying about Dean, but Jackson couldn’t ignore what was right in front of him. His friend obviously wasn’t as innocent in all of this, a victim of the tabloids’ eagerness for scandal, as he’d hoped. His jaw tightened when he thought about how hurt Abby must have been to see those photos of her husband with another woman. How could his buddy give up so much? For what? Random hook-ups with strangers who couldn’t possibly come close to what he already had at home?
Unbelievable.
“So, I’ll resend it and you’ll sign and email it back before Tuesday?” he asked tightly.
“You’ll have it sooner. You’d have it already if Abigail had sent it in the first place.”
He swallowed the argument on the tip of his tongue. He had no idea what had really happened with the form. “Okay, great. Thanks, Dean.” He hesitated. “Hey, man, you’ve got a fantastic kid.” One who deserved her father’s love and attention. Dani was so much like Dean, he wished his friend realized what he’d had and lost.
But his words were met with dead air. Dean had hung up.
* * *
“Mom!”
Dani’s voice echoed down the stairs to the kitchen where Abigail was pouring coffee into a travel mug. “In the kitchen,” she called back.
“Mom! Where are you?”
She pressed the cover firmly over the cup and left the kitchen. “I’m downstairs by the door,” she called up the stairs.
Dani appeared on the landing. “I can’t find my blue sweatshirt. The one with the Colorado Avalanche logo on it.”
“I think it’s in the wash,” she said, opening the closet door to retrieve her boots.
“In the wash?” Her daughter’s voice was shrill and Abigail winced as she turned to look at her distraught expression.
Wow, what she wouldn’t give for her preteen’s problems. “Yes. Why don’t you wear your white one?” Half of the clothing her daughter owned had some sort of hockey logo on it. And she owned most items in both the home and away colors.
“Taylor’s wearing her blue one to the sleepover,” Dani said with a pout.
“Well, I’m sorry. I haven’t gotten to the laundry yet.” Between reviewing the divorce settlement counteroffer documents from her lawyer and going over her proposed plans for the next fundraising meeting, she’d barely had time for a quick shower before needing to drive Dani to a new friend’s sleepover party. She’d been hesitant to let her go, but Becky had reassured her it would be fine.
“What’s all the fuss out here?” her mother asked, appearing with a laundry basket full of their clean clothes. Sitting on top was Dani’s blue Colorado Avalanche sweatshirt.
She felt like kissing her mother.
Dani flew down the stairs and grabbed it. “Thanks, Grandma!” she said, shooting Abigail a look.
“Put that look away or I’ll be adding laundry to your list of chores,” she said, zipping her boots. She slid into her jean jacket and lifted her still damp hair over the back. “Do you have everything you need?”
“I do now, thanks to Grandma.”
Abigail suppressed a sigh. “Thank you for doing our laundry, Mom. Please just lay it in my room and I’ll fold it as soon as I get back.”
“Folding laundry on a Saturday night. How fun,” her mother muttered.
Abigail ignored it. What else was she supposed to do? A night out on the town in Glenwood Falls meant going to the only real bar: the Grumpy Stump, where far too many faces from her past might be.
Besides, who would she go with? Walking into a bar alone on a Saturday night would be just asking for trouble.
Nope. Folding laundry was the extent of her exciting plans. And maybe a bubble bath with a good book. She might even get a little crazy and pick up a bottle of wine on the way back.
“Ready?” she asked Dani as the girl slid her feet into her running shoes without untying them, crushing the backs. No wonder she went through shoes so quickly.
“Ready. Bye, Grandma,” she said with a quick wave, heading outside.
“Have fun, darling,” Isabelle called, carrying the basket upstairs to Abigail’s room.
“Be back soon,” Abigail said closing the door behind her.
Ten minutes later, they pulled into Taylor’s driveway. The little girl was waiting in the window and bounded outside as soon as the vehicle stopped moving. Becky followed much slower behind.
“Hello, Ms. Jansen. Hey, Dani,” she said, opening the back door and climbing in next to Dani.
“Hi, Taylor,” she said, but the girls were already chatting, oblivious to their chauffeur.
When Becky finally reached the passenger side, she opened the door and climbed in.
“Um…hi?”
“Hi. I thought I’d come along for the ride to drop off the girls,” she said, struggling to reach for her seatbelt, stretching it across her belly.
“Oh, okay, sure.” She knew Neil was an Air Force pilot who was often overseas for months at a time, and Taylor had told Dani that her stepdad would be gone until the beginning of November. Abigail knew what it was like to have an absentee husband—on a much lesser scale, of course.
As she backed out of the driveway, Becky added, “I was also hoping I could convince you to go for a drink. Not a real one for me, of course,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I have some things to do tonight…”
“Yeah, like fold laundry,” Dani said, rolling her eyes in the backseat.
Abigail shot her a look through the rearview mirror, which just made Dani grin and stick out her tongue.
“I know all about folding laundry on Saturday nights. I swear between cooking, cleaning, and laundry, that’s all I do, but I could use a break, and I bet you haven’t been out since you moved back.”
That was true, but for good reason: she didn’t want to. “No, I haven’t, but I didn’t even do my hair or put on any makeup. I was expecting to drop off the girls and just go straight home.” She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Without her foundation, blush, and eyeshadow, she felt naked. The wrinkles around her eyes had deepened in recent weeks, and her hair floated in unruly waves around her shoulders.
If this were L.A. she never would have left the house like this. She could just imagine the look of shock on her hockey-wife friends’ faces if they saw her now.
Becky, on the other hand, eyed her enviously. “I’d give anything to look as good as you do with wet hair and no makeup,” she said. “I’m not even sure I put on matching shoes.” She leaned around her stomach to try to get a look at her feet. “Close enough.”
Abigail laughed. “Really, Becky. I’d rather take a raincheck.” Though she’d used it as an excuse, she really wasn’t too concerned with what people might think of her un-made-up appearance. In fact, she didn’t give a rat’s ass about looking good. It wasn’t as though she were looking to meet someone.
That day was a long way off. So far off in fact she wasn’t entirely sure that day even existed. Her mother claimed her heartache was still too raw, the wound too fresh to see how maybe someday she could love again, and maybe she was right. But right now, she was happy planning a future that included her and Dani and no one else.
So the thought of Jackson Westmore popping into her mind at that moment made her stomach uneasy. Since the night before at the arena, she hadn’t been able to shake the memory of his smile and then the tension between them in the parking lot. Why was every interaction with the man—good or bad—so electrically charged?
“Oh, come on, Mom. You should go,” Dani was saying, surprising her.
She hesitated. Why was everyone encouraging her to go out?
“This may be my last free night…ever. Please?” Becky said.
“It would make me feel better about leaving her alone,” Taylor added, glancing up from her phone.
“Jeez, I’m starting to feel like I was set up here,” Abigail said, peering at her daughter through the mirror.
Dani just smiled.
She sighed. “Okay, why not?” It was just one drink with a friend who would be exhausted in an hour and have to call it a night anyway, she thought.
Or not.
Staring across the bar at Becky two-stepping with Old Man Wilson, the owner of the Grumpy Stump, two and a half hours later, Abigail couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. Watching her pregnant friend twirl around the floor at breakneck speed to a fast-tempo song with the town’s self-proclaimed old-school cowboy, she couldn’t see through the tears.
Becky mouthing the words “help me” each time they swung past the booth where so far she’d miraculously been able to stay, turning down several dance offers of her own, only made it all the more amusing.
This outing had been Becky’s idea after all, and she’d tried to warn her about Old Man Wilson.
“Another round?” the waitress asked. She had blonde hair cut in a cute pixie style and a hummingbird tattoo on her chest, and she didn’t look much older than Taylor.
“Um…” Abigail checked her watch as the song ended and Becky slid back into the booth.
“Yes, please,” her friend said, out of breath and clutching her stomach.
The waitress nodded as she headed toward the bar.
Guess they were staying for another round. “You okay?”
“Yes, my sides hurt from laughing. This is fun.”
When their drinks arrived, Becky asked, “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” She forced a smile.
Becky nodded. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job of hiding it.”
“Hiding what?”
“The heartache and struggle you must be feeling.”
An unexpected lump rose in Abigail’s throat and she forced it back down. “Some days it’s tougher than others, but Dani’s been a source of strength, and I’m hoping once we settle into a new place and I secure the full-time position at the school, this place will once again feel like home.”
“It will. And then you’ll start making new memories. Better ones,” Becky said, covering her mouth as a yawn escaped her lips.
“Ready to call it a night?” She was. She reached for her jacket.
But Becky glanced at the neon-rimmed tequila-bottle-shaped clock on the wall. “Um…not yet. Maybe another few minutes.” She was avoiding her eyes as she glanced toward the door.
Something was up. “Becky, what are you doing?”
“Nothing. I just haven’t finished my drink,” she said, picking up her glass and taking the tiniest sip possible. The liquid barely dropped a millimeter. At that rate, she’d be ready to leave by morning.
“You’re up to something…” Abigail stopped as the “something” walked in through the door.
Oh hell no.
She grabbed her jacket and purse and slid out of the booth. “Look! Your brother’s here. He can drive you home,” she said in mock surprise. “I’m heading out.”
Becky struggled to reach for her. “No, wait, please.”
“You set me up.” Or was attempting to. And with Jackson? Was Becky out of her mind? Pregnancy brain was obviously a real condition.
“No, I didn’t.” She offered an innocent look that Abigail wasn’t buying. “Okay, sort of, but I just think Jackson can help you with some things.”
“Ha! Your brother hates me.” Or at least she’d been fairly certain he did…until a few super awkward, tension-filled moments and an earth-shattering smile had given her reason to think she may not be entirely right in her assumptions.
Becky’s look clearly stated she thought Abigail was the dumbest person on the planet. “Abby, you know that thing where little boys tease and are mean to little girls they like because they don’t know how else to deal with the strange feelings they’re experiencing?”
She wasn’t sure she bought into that crap—she’d taught her daughter if a boy was mean to her to punch him in the nuts, not fall in love—but she sighed, hating that she was curious about where Becky was going with this. “Okay…”
“Well, most guys move beyond that immature, awkward stage. Jackson never has.” She rolled her eyes.
“You’re not making any sense. Are you sure those were virgin Bloody Marys?” She reached for Becky’s glass, took a sip, and gagged on the heat level of the Tabasco sauce in the drink. That baby would be doing summersaults all evening after that taste explosion. “I can’t feel my tongue,” she said, quickly reaching for her own drink and sucking hard, desperate for the last little bit of alcohol mixed with melted ice at the bottom of the glass.
“Okay, fine, forget about that. But, the thing is, Jackson flips houses for a living. He may be able to help you with a place of your own.”
That stopped her. Jackson flipped homes? That’s how he made money? She’d heard he was a contractor, but she just assumed he did construction work for one of the local companies when he wasn’t wearing skates. “He does? Really, Jackson?”
“I heard my name,” he said behind her a second later.
Turning, she gulped at the sight of him in a pair of jeans, ripped at one knee, and a black T-shirt visible beneath his leather jacket. Once again, she figured it must be his personality keeping the women at arm’s length. Maybe he was an acquired taste that most women just didn’t stay around long enough to acquire. It certainly wasn’t the ice blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes or the full lips that looked tempting as hell. She licked her own lips as her gaze fell to his chest muscles straining against the fabric of the shirt. Definitely must be the personality keeping them away.
He looked at her with a confused, amused expression on his face, and she realized she was staring. She looked away quickly, and he turned to his sister. “What are you doing out so late?”
She raised one eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“I’m just saying you’re pregnant and…”
“Exactly. Pregnant. Not dead. Sit down,” she said, gesturing across the booth.
He shifted from one foot to the other, looking as though he wished he hadn’t approached them.
Well, that made two of them. She couldn’t explain her recent attraction to him, but she didn’t like it.
“I’m actually here with the guys. We just finished playing a game against Springdale.”
Maybe This Time Page 7
