“Hope it’s a good sound,” Jarrett said.
“Noisy for sure.” Neyland rolled her eyes. “I found that out at that New Year’s Eve party at Thor Eastrom’s house.”
“You were there?” Bryant asked.
“For about three minutes. Carson Hamilton-Knox called and invited the whole family. Of course, it was Jackson they really wanted, but he wouldn’t even talk about it. Neither would any of the others. But you know Gabe. He says he’s never met a party he couldn’t rev up and shut down, so we went with Nickolai and Noel. Even Gabe couldn’t stand it. We barely got in the door before we backed out. We were in bed before midnight.”
The best place to be. Jarrett resolved that he would always be in bed by midnight on New Year’s Eve. His groin warmed at the thought. He would never get enough of her.
“We were there,” Bryant said. “It was like Hieronymus Bosch goes on the road with Sparks and Scottie driving the wagon.”
Jarrett didn’t know what that meant, but Neyland must have because she laughed.
“I’ve got your rings ready, Bryant. I’ll get them out of the safe.”
“Safe?” Jarrett said. “That sounds like you’ve bought a lot of ring.”
“Only the best.”
While Bryant made a big deal over what looked like a couple of plain old gold rings with some stones, Jarrett looked around, waiting for something to catch his eye. Probably because everything was unique and handmade, there weren’t a lot of pieces in the shop—maybe fifteen, and only six rings.
He’d almost decided there was nothing here for him when he noticed a small glass case with one little pedestal. He walked toward it without a lot of hope. It might not even be a ring. Neyland seemed to like necklaces.
But it was a ring and he was mesmerized. It had the look of a little crown and the main stone was an emerald—like Merry’s eyes and like the top she’d worn New Year’s Eve night. He was surprised that he was drawn to it. The stone wasn’t anywhere nearly as large as the one in Gabriella’s ring—maybe the size of a blueberry. But it was so feminine, so different.
“What do you think of Atarah, Jarrett?” Neyland had stepped up when he wasn’t looking.
“Who?”
“Atarah. It means crown. She was inspired by a crown, circa 1820.”
She? Who? Jarrett was thoroughly confused.
“Neyland names all her pieces,” Bryant said.
“Yeah? What’s the name of Gabriella’s engagement ring?”
“Gabriella,” Neyland said. “It was designed especially for her.”
Should he do that? Have Neyland design something special? He looked back at the ring in the case—Atarah, was it? Why go to that trouble when the perfect ring already existed? Perfect ring for a perfect woman.
Neyland unlocked the case, took out the ring, and handed it to him. “This stone is very special. You don’t find an emerald very often with this kind of color and clarity. Emeralds tend to be cloudy. Notice that it has a smooth surface rather than facets. The inspiration piece had an unfaceted stone, and I felt it was important to honor that. The diamonds and smaller emeralds provide the sparkle, letting the central stone be serenely beautiful.”
He didn’t understand a lot of what she said, but enough that he knew he had to have it.
“I’ll take it.”
Neyland’s head jerked up and her eyes went wide with surprise. Clearly, she had not been trying to sell him the ring. She’d been talking about it like mothers talk about their children. She was proud of it, loved it. And Merry would love it, too.
“What?” Neyland said.
“I’ll take this ring. I want to buy it. Now.”
Bryant groaned and put his head in his hands.
“But you haven’t even asked . . . ” Neyland’s voice trailed off. As the wife of a first-rate professional athlete, she knew there wasn’t much Jarrett couldn’t afford.
“I don’t care how much it costs,” Jarrett said in case she didn’t know.
This was a forever ring—just like his mother’s. She still wore the ring with the three tiny diamonds that Scott had given her before he went to the NHL. He’d bought it with money he’d earned bussing tables at The Shooting Star. Later, he’d wanted to buy her a bigger ring, but she wouldn’t have it. “I want this ring.”
“All right.” Neyland recovered quickly. “Does it need to be sized? It’s a seven.”
“I don’t know,” Jarrett said. “I’ll deal with that later. I want to take it with me now.” He didn’t know when he would give it to her. Maybe tonight—though probably not. Right now was special all on its own. So maybe Valentine’s Day. Maybe when they went to Disney World. He’d wait for the right time, but when that time came, he’d be ready.
“I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone, Jarrett,” Neyland said. “She a lucky woman to get Atarah.”
“Excuse us, Neyland,” Bryant said, “and hold up on that.” He turned to Jarrett. “Could I talk to you outside, please?”
Bloody hell. He should have come back on his own.
“Are you out of your mind?” Bryant demanded when they were on the street.
“No. I’m just participating in commerce.”
“You can’t buy that woman an engagement ring.”
“Who said it’s for Merry? Who says it’s an engagement ring?” He paused. “But what if it is?”
“You don’t know her!” Bryant practically screamed.
“I do. I know more about her than I know about you. Besides, how long did you date Gabriella before you got engaged? Fifteen minutes? But then, you didn’t date her so much as you took her upstairs during her brother’s engagement party.”
“But I’d known her five years, Jarrett. She’s Emile’s sister. For all you know, this Merry may be—well, anything. She could be like Thor’s ex.”
“You don’t know her,” Jarrett said coldly.
“That’s the point. I’m one of your best friends and I don’t know her. Gabriella and Amy like her, but they only know her a little from that paper store. You don’t even know her ring size.”
“Did you know Gabriella’s? After five years? Did you and Emile sit around and discuss Gabriella’s ring size?”
Bryant’s expression glazed over.
“I knew it,” Jarrett said. “Ring size does not a relationship make.”
“This is lunacy.”
“Then call me a lunatic. Because I’m doing it.” Jarrett marched back into Sparkle, reaching for his credit card as he went.
Chapter Eighteen
“Once I get some furniture into Bryant’s house—our house,” Gabriella corrected herself and laughed, “we can watch the games there sometimes.” And just like that, Merry was included. She was one of them. Gabriella’s new engagement ring sparkled when she lifted her wine glass to sip.
They were gathered at Amy’s again to watch the Sound/Kings game. It was a half hour until time for puck drop, but they were already in the media room settled in with pizza.
“I’m sorry we never caught up with each other at Thor’s party,” Amy said.
“I’m sorry we went at all,” Gabriella said. “We stayed maybe fifteen minutes.”
“We stayed about a half hour,” Merry said, “but only because we couldn’t get out.”
“Not us,” Amy said. “What y’all saw as a hell that had to be escaped, Emile saw as an opportunity. I’m pretty sure he talked to everybody there. We stayed until almost 3:00 a.m.”
“I liked my night better,” Gabriella said. “After we left, we got takeout Chinese and ate it while we watched Jane the Virgin.”
“How about you, Merry?” Amy asked as Merry raised her tea glass to take a sip. “Did you and Jarrett do anything fun after you left the party?”
Unholy hell! She hadn’t seen that coming. She choked and sputtered into her napkin. She felt her face catch on fire. “I—” What to say, what to say?
But it didn’t matter. Amy and Gabriella knew immediately. They looked at eac
h other and laughed. Gabriella gave her hands a little clap.
“The Saint has succumbed. You have no idea how happy this makes me.”
“It’s been such a short time,” Merry said. “I wouldn’t want you to think—”
“Think what? Us?” Amy said. “Honey, I hadn’t known Emile a week when I practically assaulted him in the kitchen.”
“And I have no room to talk,” Gabriella said. “I’d known Bryant for a long time, but we had not so much as had a meal together or kissed when we snuck upstairs at Pickens Davenport’s house at Amy and Emile’s engagement party.”
“You did?” Amy said. “That’s where you were?”
“That’s where I was,” Gabriella said. “The point is when you know, you know.”
“And I do know,” Merry said. It was going to be a long three days until he got home.
Everything was going to be perfect.
The snowflake-wielding gnat buzzed, but she waved it away.
Perfect, dammit.
• • •
“Are you okay?” Packi asked. “It’s almost time to skate out.”
“Does it ever get better?” Jarrett asked.
“What?” Packi asked.
“The road trips.”
“I thought you liked road trips.”
“I did,” Jarrett said. And it was true—clean sheets every night in nice hotels, room service, beating opponents in their own houses, and—most important—not being alone. He’d always loved being on the road. “Not anymore. You love Mrs. Packi.”
“With every bit of my being,” Packi said.
“Does it ever get easier being away from her?”
Packi shook his head. “No, it never does. And it shouldn’t.” He paused. “So it’s that way with you now?”
“Yes.” He did not want to go to bed alone tonight and it had nothing to do with sex.
“And for her?”
“Yes.”
Packi looked at him for a long moment. “All right then. I hope you don’t get any surprises.”
“Ah, Packi, surprises are the best.” He thought of this morning when he’d wakened to find himself fully aroused with Merry’s sweet mouth wrapped around him. “I’ve never done this before,” she’d said when she realized he was awake. “I find that I like it.” And she went in for another taste.
“Put on your helmet. Don’t forget your mouth guard,” Packi said.
Like he needed to be reminded.
Everything was going to be perfect—perfect woman, perfect ring, perfect life.
Chapter Nineteen
Merry dreamed someone was building a house, hammering boards in place—and hammering and hammering. Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. Someone was knocking on the door.
Jarrett! He was back. He’d been due back late last night after the game with Arizona—which they had unfortunately lost. But the game hadn’t been the only thing that had gone bad. Thunderstorms had prevented the Sound’s plane from taking off. He hadn’t been sure when he’d be home, though he’d hoped in time to see her before she needed to go to class—her first class of the term—this afternoon.
She glanced at the clock. 9:20 a.m. Late, but not late for anything. She was off work today, and it was no wonder she’d slept so long after talking to Jarrett into the wee hours. But it was early, too. Plenty of time before she had to be on campus at one o’clock.
She was smiling when she threw open the door, but the smile stilled and faded.
Not Jarrett. Chelsea, who had never been to her house before, and she was not smiling. Something bad had happened. The shop had burned down. Or Harper was dead. Or the shop had burned down with Harper in it.
Or worse. The Sound plane had crashed. Yes. That was it. It was always a sports team.
She put her hand on Chelsea’s arm and drew her in. “What’s happened?”
“You’d better sit down.”
Chelsea led her to the sofa, sat close beside her, and removed her iPad from her bag.
• • •
Jarrett went to sleep on the plane before the wheels were up and didn’t wake until the bounce of the landing.
Though they were supposed to remain in their seats until the plane stopped completely, his teammates were up and about. They didn’t listen. They never listened. He remained in his seat, but he switched on his phone, which was allowed. He scrolled quickly through his text messages first to see if there was anything from Merry. No, but small wonder. She was probably still asleep, as late as he’d kept her up last night.
He’d been cranky. He was always cranky after a loss but he’d been even crankier because he’d been stuck in Glendale, Arizona. But she’d been patient and sweet, assuring him she wanted to see him, too. That had helped.
The plane was still taxiing, so he took a closer look at his texts. He grandfather was sorry about the loss, but there was next time. His sister sent pictures of Patrice skating on the pond. Hockey Monkey was having a sale. Cal, his agent, wanted Jarrett to call him IMMEDIATELY and before deplaning. It was URGENT. Well, it always was with Cal. Probably some underwear or deodorant people wanted to buy his face—or more correctly, his ass and underarm. The seat belt light went off, which meant he was one step closer to getting to Merry. Cal could wait.
He got up and got behind Scottie and all the other non-rule followers. He used to think it wasn’t fair how the rule followers were always last, but he’d come to appreciate the satisfaction of being right.
He moved methodically down the Jetway and through the airport. When he looked down from the top of the escalator and saw the gang of reporters, he looked behind him wondering what country music superstar was about.
He never imagined they were here for any Sound player, let alone him—until he stepped off the escalator and a microphone appeared in his face.
“Do you have a statement?”
“I, uh.” Statement? Losing to the Coyotes had been no picnic, but since when was losing by one point in overtime newsworthy? It wasn’t the playoffs.
Another microphone, another voice. “Mr. MacPherson, did you know about this before the story broke this morning?”
Still another. “Jarrett, how is this going to affect your relationship with Disney World?”
And a mean voice. “Are you feeling like a saint right now?”
“I, uh.”
A strong hand gripped his forearm. “Mr. MacPherson has no comment.” It was Packi’s voice.
“What is this, Packi?” Jarrett asked.
“No idea. I’ve been on the airplane, too. Walk, Jarrett. Walk straight to the bus.”
Chapter Twenty
So this was what a carriage crash felt like.
“What’s the Face Off Grapevine?” Merry had read the article, seen the pictures, but she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, so she asked about the source.
“It’s a gossip blog about the NHL,” Chelsea said. “I didn’t know either. I had to search around a little to find out.”
“Then how did you get this?” She gestured to the iPad.
“It came in an email. Not my personal email, but Foolscap and Vellum’s. It wasn’t just the link. I wouldn’t have opened that. The article had been cut and pasted into the body of the message.”
Chelsea crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She was patient; that was for sure.
Merry made herself read it again.
The headline, Looks Like Miss January’s Out on the Town, was followed by two pictures—the one of her and Jarrett that had appeared on the Twang blog and the calendar picture, except there was a black censor band over her breasts.
Nashville Sound star forward, Jarrett MacPherson, was seen stepping out on New Year’s Eve with Merry Sweet, a Vanderbilt law student and topless model. Ms. Sweet appeared in the yearly Gentleman’s Club Magazine calendar two years ago. The couple was caught on camera at a party given by MacPherson’s teammate, Thor Eastrom.
Two time Stanley Cup winner and son of the revered late NHL great, Sc
ott MacPherson, MacPherson is a celebrity spokesman for Walt Disney World. Christened The Saint by his teammates, MacPherson is known for his squeaky clean behavior and for never having been associated with a whisper of scandal.
Or he was.
Merry turned the iPad off and handed it back to Chelsea. There was a block of ice in her stomach that could have sunk the Titanic, and her mouth was a desert. She needed to say something, but speaking was a physical impossibility. Water. She needed water. She got up, went to kitchen, and drank straight from the tap—something her mother vehemently disapproved of. Though, considering the context, that was rich.
“Sorry,” she said when she returned to Chelsea.
“Take your time. I’m sure this is a shock.”
Merry nodded. “It probably shouldn’t be, but it is.”
“I see. So it is you? In that picture?”
Merry let out a laugh devoid of any humor. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Chelsea shrugged. “These things can be faked. I didn’t want to assume.”
“You can assume,” Merry said. “I did it.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons.”
“I did. They weren’t good reasons, but they were reasons.” She wasn’t going to share that with Chelsea. That would have been too much to endure. “Are you going to fire me?”
Chelsea looked confused. “Fire you? After going on two years of faithful service? Of course I’m not going to fire you. You’ve taken care of my shop like it’s your own. I am your friend.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose business?”
Chelsea smiled. “Don’t be so impressed with yourself. People aren’t going to be that interested in you. And if they are, they are welcome to buy their napkins at the grocery store and print their invitations off the Internet.” Chelsea rose. “Can I do anything for you? Anything at all to help?”
“No. I appreciate more than you know that you came here today to keep me from hearing it from somewhere else.” From Jarrett. Or someone else. “Wait. Chelsea?”
High Stick Page 19
