“Yes?”
“Since someone sent you the link, do you think there’s any chance my parents won’t hear about this?”
Chelsea looked pained. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t count on it. Someone was trying to make sure that people who are not immersed in hockey fandom see this. It’s connected to you, or I wouldn’t have gotten it. I assume your father’s church has a website? With contact information?”
Of course. “God bless the Internet.”
“Jarrett’s a big deal, Merry. This is going to be news.”
“You just said I shouldn’t be so impressed with myself. I’ll quit if you like.” Maybe she should anyway.
“I left Harper alone there this morning. That’s likely to do Foolscap and Vellum more harm than you ever could.”
“Then you should hurry back.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Of course.” I was all right before I had Jarrett and I’ll be all right again—as soon as I climb out of the debris of this crashed carriage.
The calls started. She could have ducked them, but why? She would have to talk sooner or later.
Her mother: “Merry, what were you thinking?” I was thinking I wanted to go skiing.
Her father: “I don’t understand, but you are my child. I love you. Come home and let us help you.” I love you too, Daddy, but don’t be naïve. Do you want to keep your job?
Gabriella: “Jarrett loves you. It won’t matter.” Ha!
Carmen, from Bridgestone Arena: “You’re a good worker, Merry, and I hate to lose you. But under the circumstances, I’m sure you understand that I have to let you go.” You bet, Carmen. But I was way ahead of you.
Amy: “It was that vile Krystal who emailed the link around because Jarrett rejected her. Now maybe Jan will divorce her.” I appreciate the support, Amy, but it wasn’t Krystal who wrote the blog. More to the point, it wasn’t Krystal who posed half naked.
Harper: “It’s not what I would have done, but you look fantastic. Did you know you can still buy that calendar? I bought one because I wanted to see the real picture with nothing blacked out. And guess what? The site says it’s a bestseller—probably because of what happened today since the calendar’s no good.” The words had not been invented to respond to all that.
Carson Hamilton-Knox, who apparently had a way to get phone numbers: “I want you to know I had nothing to do with this. I did not communicate with that blogger. I am a journalist, but I would never hurt another woman.” No problem, Carson. I did it to myself.
The Dean of Student Affairs: “Why don’t you take today off, Ms. Sweet, and come in on Monday. Your instructors will meet with you privately to go over anything you missed.” Finally, something useful.
There was no call from Jarrett.
• • •
Jarrett went directly to the back of the bus that would take them to the practice rink where most of the team had left their cars. After taking his seat, he called his agent.
What Cal told him had to be a lie or a huge misunderstanding. He said as much. He didn’t even feel bad, because he knew it wasn’t true. He just needed to step on this like a roach, get to Merry’s place, and offer her comfort. He had done nothing to prepare her for the spotlight—though to be fair, nothing like this had ever happened to him before.
“I sent you the link,” Cal said. “Look it up.” Though he was positive this was a hoax, he couldn’t bring himself to do it with so many people around. The bus was uncharacteristically quiet, maybe because Packi was at the front giving everyone the stink eye or maybe because they were intently studying their phones.
“It’s not her.” And it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
“It’s her,” Cal said. “Do you not think I would’ve had that verified immediately?”
“The photo has been doctored. People do it all the time.”
“Not this time, Jarrett. Again, do you not think I would have had that checked out?”
“By who? How do they know?” Maybe he sounded like a man in denial, but some things had to be denied.
“Have you ever known me to deal with people who didn’t know what they were doing?”
He had a point, but there had to be some explanation.
“Someone took it without her knowing.” That had to be it.
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll consider that possibility after you have. I need to talk to the Sound suits and we need to prepare a statement. But I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Perfect idea since I am the one who pays you,” Jarrett said. “I’m telling you, talk to no one and prepare nothing until you talk to me again.”
When he stepped off the bus, most of his teammates wouldn’t look him in the eye, though a few clapped him on the back like he was standing in front of a coffin about to bury someone he loved.
He had to get to Merry.
“Where are you going?” Packi asked.
“To my car.”
“And after that?” Packi asked.
“I’m going to see her.” No point in trying to pretend that everyone hadn’t seen it except him.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I do or I wouldn’t be doing it.”
“You ought to talk to her,” Packi said, “but don’t you think you need to at least get all the facts first?”
He didn’t want any facts. He was afraid of facts. He wanted to go to Merry, kiss her, make love to her, and maybe give her the ring that was riding around in his pocket.
“Would you play a game without practicing?” Packi asked.
I would if I could get away with it.
He didn’t say that, of course. He was a rule follower and rule followers practiced.
“He’s going home with me.” Bryant stepped up behind him.
“Most excellent.” Packi nodded with approval. “Follow Bryant home.”
They acted like this was their decision to make, when he was a grown ass man with his own vehicle—maybe the most manly vehicle on the planet.
Yet, when he came to the intersection where right would take him home, left would take him to Merry’s, and straight would take him to Bryant’s, he found himself going straight.
After following Bryant into the house, he looked around. “I see you finally got a couch. And some chairs.”
“Gabriella’s doings. Why don’t you sit down on that couch? You want a beer? Or something stronger?”
“No.” He sat down. “But I’ll take a laptop if you’ve got one.”
He read through the article five times before he could bring himself to look at the picture. With each reading, he picked up a new piece of horror—topless model, son of the revered late NHL great Scott MacPherson, christened The Saint by his teammates, a celebrity spokesman for Walt Disney World, never having been associated with a whisper of scandal.
He barely glanced at the picture with the censor band. No point in looking at that. No matter what Cal said, that could be doctored. Might as well go to the source. Gentleman’s Club Magazine had been around for a long time. If they printed it, it was real. He went to the site, searched around, and typed in his credit card number from memory.
And there she was, showing the world what he’d thought was private for him. Her hair had been done in curls, her makeup was heavy, and her body sparkled with glitter. He closed his eyes and imagined people—men—clustered around her, combing, powdering, and putting glitter on her breasts. Her nipples were hard and erect, as they always were after he’d caressed and suckled them. Had some asshole run his fingers over them to get her ready for the picture? Was she aroused?
“Maybe it’s not her,” Bryant offered. He did not try to look over Jarrett’s shoulder at the screen.
“Have you seen it?” He had to know.
“Only the blog picture that I got by email. Maybe it’s not her,” he repeated.
“It’s her. Aren’t you going to tell me you told me so?”
> “Told you so what?”
“That she wasn’t what she seemed.”
“Whoa!” Bryant shook his head. “I never said that. I said you dispose of a woman the second she doesn’t live up to your expectations. I said you didn’t know her well enough to get engaged. And I stand by that.”
“This is just a little more serious than refusing to eat Sharon’s food or wearing the wrong clothes. I’m a fool.” She had misrepresented herself from the beginning and he’d bought it. He couldn’t be with a woman he couldn’t trust. It was that simple—though it didn’t feel simple. It felt like the universe had exploded, his heart along with it. He picked up his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“Nobody. I’m deleting her contact information and blocking her.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little rash?”
“I don’t think it’s nearly rash enough.” But he stopped. He had to.
The phone calls started.
His mother: “Honey, are you all right? At least it wasn’t someone you were deeply involved with.” Right, Mom.
Pickens Davenport: “Of all the players on this team, you are the one I thought I’d never have to worry about over something like this. I ought to trade your ass to Buffalo—and I might if I don’t sell you all to Massachusetts.” Go ahead, Pickens. There’s nothing for me here.
Cal: “It would be best for you to go ahead and resign as Disney spokesperson. You don’t want them to have to ask you to.” Sure. Say whatever you like. And tell Mickey I won’t be bringing my girl to see him after all. I don’t have a girl.
Scottie: “Do you want to go drinking?” Sure, because that’s always helpful.
Sharon Orlov: “I’ve tried to tell everybody what a lowlife Krystal is! She is the one who sent the emails. I hired an IT guy to trace her IP address!” That’s not helpful, Sharon, unless Krystal drugged her, stripped her naked, and photographed her. And do you have to sound so triumphant?
Sparks: “Want to get laid? I know someone who has been lusting after you for a while. But you can’t let coach and Pickens find out or she’ll get in trouble.” No, Sparks. That is the last thing I want to do—and even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t be with an ice girl.
Emile: “You should talk to her. You don’t know the whole story.” I don’t know if I can stand any more of the story.
Amy: “Talk to her. She really loves you.” To what end? Would he never stop falling for the wrong woman? A woman who would pose for a photo like that would do anything.
Gabriella: “Talk to her. She really loves you.” Ditto.
Packi: “If you don’t talk to her, you’ll always wonder if there was something you missed.” You might be right.
“What do you think I should do?” he asked Bryant.
“Hell if I know, but I’d start by talking to her.”
Maybe she’d been forced. Maybe she’d been blackmailed. Maybe when she opened the door, she’d say, “I can explain,” and she really could.
Maybe, maybe, maybe there was something—anything—to make it better.
He got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Bryant asked.
“To talk to her.”
Chapter Twenty-One
It would have been convenient if Merry could have convinced herself that she’d never loved Jarrett, that it had been a lark, a fling, a moment of insanity, or just sex.
But none of those things could bring on the kind of misery she felt.
She was too pragmatic to think she was going to die of this, but she understood why other people thought heartbreak could kill you. There was no comfort and there was no hope. Maybe she’d given up too soon on trying to acquire a taste for alcohol.
She wondered idly if Jarrett had come up with the drink recipe he’d been planning to create for her. She hadn’t thought about it again until now. They’d been too busy making love.
And making love was what it had been. She didn’t need a lot of experience to know that. It was the difference in taking and giving, and they’d both been willing to give themselves completely—at least for a minute in time.
But that minute was over and it wasn’t coming back. And who could blame him? He had been utterly humiliated in front of his family, friends, and the whole hockey world. And what would Disney say? Probably not “Come on down and bring that porn star with you. We’ll put her right in a teacup and show her a good time.” Not that she was a star, porn or otherwise. What was it that blogger had called her? Topless model?
The knock on the door startled her.
She didn’t have the energy to run through her brain whom it might be. Besides, it didn’t matter, because she knew who it wasn’t.
But it was. He looked horrible. His hair was a mess, his clothes wrinkled, and there were circles under his eyes. Her heart screamed for what she’d done to him, how she’d hurt him. But he was here, so that must mean something.
Maybe he really was a saint and he was here to tell her it didn’t matter.
“You’ve come,” she said.
“Everyone said I should.”
“What do you say?”
“I guess I’ve come to see what you have to say for yourself.”
What she had to say for herself? That didn’t sit exactly right, but no matter. It had been a very bad day, and wasn’t that just another way of asking what had happened? He was entitled to that.
“Why don’t we sit?” She went to the sofa and expected him to follow. Instead, he sat across from her in a small straight back chair that had not been built for comfort.
“I don’t suppose there’s any way you can say that it wasn’t you,” he said. “I had hoped that, but then it dawned on me that if that had been the case, I would have heard from you.”
“No. It was me. I did it.”
“Were you coerced? Threatened?”
“No. I did it of my own free will. I don’t even have a good reason, like I needed the money for tuition or to pay a medical bill.”
He nodded. “Still, I’d like to hear it.”
“I’ll start at the beginning.” Maybe even before that. She had the feeling when she was finished he’d walk out the door and she’d never see him again. It wasn’t rational, but she wanted to keep him as long as possible. “I went to Samford for my undergraduate degree. It’s a small private Baptist school in Birmingham. It is one of the top schools in the South and is incredibly expensive, but my parents wanted me to go there. There is a discount for pastors’ dependents, and I had a scholarship, but they still had to make sacrifices to send me. I thought I’d go to law school there—Cumberland. It’s very well thought of, though no Vanderbilt. One of my instructors encouraged me to apply to Vandy. She knew of a private scholarship that I could also apply for. It was awarded once every three years by a local law firm. Not only was it a full ride, I could work at the firm part time.”
“But you didn’t get it? And by then you had your heart set on Vandy, so that’s why you did what you did?” He was grasping at straws and people grasping at straws always looked hopeful. It was heartbreaking. Never mind that what she’d been paid for that picture wouldn’t have been a drop in the bucket.
“No. I got it. My instructor said they were only looking for exceptional candidates, and for whatever reason, they thought I was exceptional enough. But I had to sign a morality agreement. I knew going in what was expected of me. They represent one of the mega churches and that agreement was not just a formality.”
He was looking impatient now. “I need you to get to that picture faster.”
She closed her eyes because she didn’t want to see the horror that would be on his face when she revealed the rest.
“I was invited to go a skiing trip. It was expensive. I wanted to go. What I earned at Chassen, Hendrix, and Lee covered my living expenses but nothing else. Then I remembered that one of my classmates had told me she posed for topless pictures all the time. It was how she paid for school. She said no one had ever recognize
d her. I only intended to do it once. I thought no one would ever find out. After all, Shelly had done it dozens of times. But I didn’t know they were going to make me Miss January and put me on the cover of the calendar. So anyone who went looking for those kinds of calendars saw my picture, even if they didn’t click through and buy. So I was recognized. In fact, the first time I met you and you said I looked familiar, I thought you’d seen the calendar.”
She opened her eyes to face the music. What she saw on Jarrett’s face by far surpassed horror. He was disgusted.
“But it was just coffee,” he said.
She nodded. “Just coffee. Or really, just a latte.” Was she condemned to remember every word he’d ever spoken to her?
“You know, I never drank that latte. I don’t like coffee and I threw it away when I got outside. I only ordered it because I was looking at you because I thought you were pretty. And you caught me.” His voice was hard and clipped, making what might have been sweet words like acid. “So what happened next?”
“The law firm found out and I lost my scholarship and job.” Maybe if he understood the extent of the ramifications, some of the disgust in his eyes would go away. She couldn’t hope to preserve the relationship, but if he could just give her a bit of understanding, it would help.
“So I should be in my last year of law school now, but I couldn’t go last year. I went to work at Foolscap and Vellum and Bridgestone and spent the year saving and applying for financial aid and loans.”
His face went blank and he nodded.
If you ever loved me even a little, throw me a bone, Jarrett.
“And you did that to go skiing!” He shook his head in disbelief.
“It was a mistake—one I regret.”
“Well, I would certainly hope so. Is there an apology coming my way?”
“I thought it would be obvious how sorry I am, but all right. I am so, so sorry that what I did put you in this spot. I would not have you humiliated for anything.”
“So let me get this straight. You are apologizing for humiliating me, but not for actually doing it?”
She almost did it, almost apologized for something that was nothing to him. But then she remembered that day on the street when she’d defended herself against that man who thought he had the right to demean her. And she couldn’t.
High Stick Page 20
