Maybe This Time

by Jennifer Snow

  The line changed, and holding his stick firmly to calm the slight shaking of his hands, he skated onto the ice. As before, the crowd cheered briefly to acknowledge one of their own, but he barely heard it as he approached the left side of the goalie, skating after a loose puck. He shot it right toward the other defenseman and the young man skated behind the net with it before passing to their right wing at the red center line.

  Carson caught it expertly and skated toward Colorado’s net, where he took a fast, short, powerful swing at it, shooting the puck at lightning speed just to the right of the goal post.

  The Avalanche’s defenseman collected the puck and passed it to Ben.

  Jackson’s eyes were on the play and briefly met his older brother’s as Ben took control of it.

  Here we go.

  Hanging back near his goalie, he could feel the electricity in the stadium as fans started to cheer their family name. For which brother—maybe both—it was uncertain. It didn’t matter.

  For the first time in his life, Jackson was going head to head against his brother on NHL ice. It didn’t get much more real than this.

  His legs felt like they were on fire as adrenaline soared through him, and all of a sudden he was a young kid again, experiencing the thrill of the game.

  Ben skated toward their net, dodging the offense, past the blue line…

  His famous move was the last-minute high shot to the left corner of the net.

  Jackson positioned himself to block the shot, careful not to obscure his goalie’s view. They all knew Ben’s signature move, but this time, his brother surprised him by passing the puck.

  He must have surprised his teammate as well, as the guy missed the pass, and the other Arizona defenseman took control of it, immediately sailing it across the ice to Jackson.

  The puck hit his stick and he hesitated.

  His brother was headed straight toward him.

  The body check was one he’d taken from Ben a million times. He knew where he would hit, the impact of the hit, and how to defend against it.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead, a second later, his left shoulder hit the boards and his world was rocked momentarily as his brother stole the puck.

  Ben grinned as he skated away toward the net. “Welcome to the NHL, little brother.”

  * * *

  The sound of the home fans cheering and celebrating their team’s third win in a row was in stark contrast to the solemn, exhausted haze lingering over the players in the Arizona locker room.

  “We played well tonight. They played better,” Coach Foster was saying, giving what Jackson assumed was his customary “we lost, it’s over, let’s regroup and refocus before the next game” speech.

  Jackson was barely listening.

  While the coach went over the game play by play, period by period, in his mind, so did he.

  He’d felt good out there, just as he had two nights before in Phoenix. Once he’d settled onto the ice in the third line, he’d fallen into a rhythm. He hadn’t let the home crowd cheering for the opposite team get to him. He hadn’t wavered in his defense, even when the opposition skated toward him with the puck, closing in on his goalie. He hadn’t let his conflicted heart mess up his confidence or skills.

  He’d played his best game.

  Until he faced off with Ben. He almost hadn’t recognized the look in his brother’s eyes as Ben skated toward the goalie, toward him. He knew he was about to be taken out. He also knew he could defend it. A part of him also knew he could have kept that puck.

  But in that brief moment, he’d seen all the years of dedication Ben had put into being the best—the sleep he didn’t get, getting up early for practice, the parties he hadn’t attended, instead putting the time in at the arena. And then everything Ben was missing flashed in his mind—the time in Glenwood Falls with the family, the time to focus on a relationship with one woman, not a string of one-night stands, the life events he missed out on or saw only in Facebook pictures, the last few months of their father’s life.

  And in that brief second which had felt like it spanned a lifetime, he realized why he’d never made it to the NHL before: he hadn’t wanted it bad enough. Not the way Ben and Asher did.

  And even now, after having a taste of the life that realistically could be his if he continued to work his ass off, he still wasn’t sure he wanted it as bad as his brothers did.

  In fact, as an image of Abby’s smile appeared in his mind, he knew he didn’t.

  There were just some things in life he wanted more.

  * * *

  “Mom, quit bouncing!” Dani said teasingly as the three of them waited in the players’ lounge with the other families, while the players spoke to reporters, showered, and debriefed after the game.

  She’d waited countless times for Dean in a similar lounge. Never had she felt so nervous. Never had she been so anxious. And never had it taken so freaking long. She paced in front of the bar, where Dani and Taylor sat sipping virgin margaritas, laughing and recapping the game with Jackson’s mother, Beverly.

  Come on…And they say women take forever getting ready.

  The door to the lounge opened and she turned, holding her breath, as several players entered.

  She looked past them.

  No Jackson.

  “Seriously, dear, you’re going to wear down the floor. Why don’t you have a seat,” Beverly said, pulling out the bar stool next to her. “Trust me, he’ll be here,” she said with a wink.

  Oh God. Everyone else had been so right about them. Why had it taken so many years for her to open her eyes to what had always been right in front of her?

  She sighed as she sat, but then jumped back up again when the door opened and Jackson, wearing the required suit and tie, walked in. His messy gelled hair and his still flushed cheeks nearly buckled her knees.

  Despite just watching him play, it felt like forever since she’d been near him. Since she’d been close enough to touch him, to smell the soft cologne she’d been missing so much. His gaze met hers and she stopped breathing.

  He was hot. Plain and simple. And if they were alone at that moment, talking would have had to wait. Unfortunately, with so many people around, talking about anything important still might have to wait, and she prayed there was an opportunity to say everything she needed to.

  Oh, but God, what she wanted most of all was to jump into his arms.

  His niece beat her to it. “Uncle Jackson!” Taylor said as she and Dani rushed forward.

  “Hey guys! Sorry, I didn’t win,” he said, with a grin, accepting their hugs, looking above their heads to smile at her.

  She held up a hand in a small wave and struggled to get enough air into her lungs as he approached.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said next, leaning forward to hug the woman.

  She kissed his cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

  Abigail wanted to look away, to give mother and son the privacy of the moment, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from him, just as she hadn’t the entire game.

  She was almost about to tug on his sleeve like an impatient toddler, when he finally turned to face her. “Hi.”

  She swallowed hard and cleared her throat, but still no sound came out when she tried to say the word. Her cheeks flushed and she yelled at herself to get it together. There was too much to say, and too little time to say it. She couldn’t waste a second of it tongue-tied like a love-struck teenager. God, had he felt this way around her all those years?

  Luckily, he spoke again first. “Can we go someplace a little less…nosy?” he whispered, leaning toward her.

  The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, and she had to clench her fists at her sides to stop herself from reaching out to touch his face. She nodded. “Do you think they’ll let you leave?” she asked, nodding toward his mom and the girls.

  The door opened and Ben entered, his movie star smile in place.

  “They won’t even notice now,” Jackson said with an easy l
augh, taking her hand.

  Her heart raced as his fingers interlocked with hers and she squeezed his tightly as he led her out to the lounge deck area, overlooking the ice below. The lights were off in the stadium, and the deck was empty. The perfect place, the perfect opportunity to tell him how she felt.

  “Abby, I…”

  “Wait. Please, can I go first?” she asked, afraid she might once again lose her nerve if she waited any longer.

  He nodded, taking a step closer. Releasing her hand, he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her into him. “As long as I can hold you while you talk, because I can’t wait any longer to have you in my arms.”

  She moved even closer, finding courage and strength in his words. “Jackson, I know what I said about not wanting this life anymore. I know I said I just wanted a normal, everyday, quiet life in Glenwood Falls. That I could never…love another hockey player.” She paused. “But…”

  He lifted her chin, staring into her eyes. His expression begged her to continue.

  “But, the thing is, I love you. It doesn’t matter if you’re a coach, a player, a Zamboni driver. I love you. And if a hockey career is what you want, then I’m in. Whatever it takes, wherever that leads, I’m in.” She stared up at him, praying he still wanted her in his life. Hoping he hadn’t changed his mind or his heart since being away.

  “Abby, you don’t want that life anymore.”

  “I want you.”

  “Shhhh,” he said, placing his finger against her lips.

  “The thing is, neither do I.”

  Her mouth gaped. “What? What are you talking about? You’ve made it. You’re playing in the NHL the way you always wanted.”

  He shook his head. “The way I always thought I wanted. I love hockey, and these last few weeks just reinforced how much I love this sport…”

  “Right. So don’t throw it away. Don’t give up this second chance at your dream because you don’t think I’m ready to commit to it as much as you are. I saw your face tonight when the fans cheered for you. This is where you belong.” She touched the stubble along his jaw.

  “I’m not giving anything up. I’ve just realized that the dream I really want a second chance at is a life with you.” He silenced her again before she could argue. “A real life with you. A home with you and Dani. Not being away for months at a time, never being able to settle in one place permanently, missing out on life events and only getting to experience them through a computer.” He shook his head. “That’s not the life I want.”

  She wanted desperately to believe every word because it was everything she wanted to hear, but she wasn’t convinced. “Jackson, I mean it when I say I’m a hundred percent supportive of this. Please don’t walk away from this for me, because you can have both.”

  He smiled as he lowered his lips to hers, placing a soft, gentle kiss there before pulling her into him even tighter and kissing her again, harder, with a sense of wanting, yearning, passion that matched her own. “I don’t need both. I don’t want both. All I want, all I need is you, Abigail Jansen.”

  She swallowed hard, happiness overwhelming her as she squeezed him, never wanting to let go. Still…“So, you really don’t want to play hockey anymore?”

  “I do want to play hockey, with Dani and Taylor on the frozen lake behind the house and with the boys on Tuesday nights. What I don’t want is to play in the NHL or the AHL, or any other team that prevents this…” He paused to kiss her again. “From happening every day…” He kissed her nose. “All day…” He kissed her forehead. “For the rest of my life.”

  “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  “I’ve always been sure. It just took a little while to get enough courage to tell you,” he said. “Come on.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Let’s go home. I want to make two dreams come true in the same night.” His expression was full of desire as he pulled her in closer.

  “I think I can help you with that,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss the man she loved.

  He held back just a little. “Say it again.”

  She smiled. “I love you.”

  “It’s about freaking time,” he said, as his mouth found hers.

  NHL star Ben Westmore is the ultimate player—on and off the ice. But when he runs into smart, sexy attorney Olivia Davis, Ben gets the body check of

  his life…

  See the next page for a preview of Maybe This Love.

  I guess there could be worse ways of finding out you’re married.”

  His beer bottle paused on its way to his lips, Ben Westmore shot a glance across the booth. “Do you not hear something wrong with that sentence?”

  His brother Asher drained the contents of his own drink and set the empty glass on the table inside Airways, a restaurant in the Denver airport. “Look, man I think you’re sweating this whole thing for nothing. There’s no way that marriage certificate you saw was real.” He flagged a waitress as he put his baseball cap on over his hockey hair.

  “You think it’s a joke?” He studied the blurry image on his iPhone. That spirally signature at the bottom looked a lot like his…

  “Of course it’s a joke. This is you we are talking about.” Asher reached for his jacket. “And I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  The waitress smiled at him as she set their bill on the table. She’d been smiling at him since they’d walked in. Nothing new there. Captain of the Colorado Avalanche and MVP in the league that season, he was one of the more recognizable hockey players, and his reputation as a playboy was one he wore as a badge of honor. Getting a pretty woman’s attention was easier than winning a game of pick-up hockey against eight-year-olds.

  He glanced back at the phone. Had he inadvertently, unknowingly married one of them?

  Not a chance. He hit DELETE and tucked the phone away.

  “How was everything?” the waitress asked, still not tearing her eyes from him.

  The required uniform was basic black pants and white blouse, but her black pants were leather and hugged her curves as though they were painted on, and her blouse was open at the top far enough to give them ample view of the lace bra she wore underneath. The messy bun her blonde hair was gathered in looked ready to come undone at any moment, and in another place and circumstance, he’d be more than willing to be the force that shook it loose.

  But unlike the night before on the ice, today Ben was off his game a little.

  “Everything was perfect. Unfortunately, we have to go,” he said.

  She looked slightly disappointed as she asked, “Will you be paying together or separate?”

  “Together,” Asher said. “The least you can do is buy the drinks after taking me out of the NHL playoffs,” he grumbled.

  The waitress finally turned to look at Asher. “You’re both players?”

  Ben tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table to cover the fifty-dollar tab and stood. “Yes, this is hockey’s greatest secret, right here,” he said, draping an arm around his brother’s shoulders. It was true. The Avalanche may have beaten the Devils the night before, taking them out of the playoffs early in the second round, but it hadn’t been from lack of ability, skill, or effort on his brother’s part. Out of the three hockey-loving, hockey-playing Westmore brothers, Asher was arguably the best. Not that Ben would ever tell him that.

  “But didn’t he just say your team beat his?” She shot him a teasing smile, and the temptation to continue the conversation well into the night—at her place—was strong, but he was still in Colorado, and he didn’t mess with women in his own state. Too close for comfort.

  “Bad goalie on his team,” Ben said, grabbing his leather jacket. “Thank you, you’ve been lovely.”

  “Wait…your receipt,” the waitress said.

  No doubt with her phone number on it. Keep walking, Westmore. He pretended not to hear as he led the way out of the lounge and grabbed his baby brother for a quick hug. “Sure you can’t stick around for a few days?”

  Now
that the New Jersey Devils were officially out of the playoffs for that season, his brother was free, unless he got an invitation to play in the World Championships scheduled to start the following week. Which Ben suspected he would.

  “I’ll be back in a few days. I just need to wrap up a few things in Jersey,” he said, slinging his hockey bag over his shoulder.

  “Like getting rid of that playoff beard?” His brother looked more like a bushman than a hockey player the longer his team had advanced.

  Asher ran a hand over it. “You’re just jealous because I can actually grow one.”

  Ben laughed. It was true. A thin covering of stubble was all he could hope for, despite not having shaved since the start of the playoffs four weeks ago. “Anyway, clean yourself up before Mom sees you.”

  His brother shot him a look. “Pretty sure once she finds out the mess you may be in, I’ll be able to do no wrong. Later, man,” he said with a wave as he headed toward security. “Make sure to bring home the cup.”

  That was the plan. After successfully taking his own brother out of the running for the Stanley Cup—no one else stood a chance of getting in the way.

  His team that year consisted of a lot of young players, and while they played hard and fast, they looked up to him as a veteran in the sport to lead them to a victory. He was up for the challenge. At thirty-two years old, he’d been in the NHL playoffs three times before in his career. This was his year to win. The Colorado Avalanche’s year to win.

  His cell phone rang as he headed out of the airport. Kevin Sanders, the team’s lawyer, reminding him of the “mess” Asher had mentioned. No doubt the guy was calling to see why he hadn’t responded to the lame attempt at what he hoped was a joke he’d emailed him earlier that week.

  “April Fool’s Day was two weeks ago, man. That email wasn’t funny,” Ben said, answering the call. The lawyer, a well-known prankster who liked to mess with the players, had sent the email attachment of the copy of a marriage certificate from Happy Ever After, a wedding chapel in Las Vegas, dated December 31 of last year. The spirally signature—a fairly accurate forgery of his own—at the bottom had caused him a brief moment of panic, until he realized he was being punked.