by Jill Shalvis
“I, uh…” She forced herself to stick to the subject and not be too forward. No more uncensored comments, like calling him a sex god, damn it. “I tried to be patient and persistent. It’s impossible to get ahead very quickly because when you’re on the streets you’re so far behind it’s overwhelming to think about acquiring everything you need to build a life again. So you can’t dwell on it. You just have to take small steps toward it. Build your resources slowly and try to stay healthy and safe.”
Her last word seemed to echo in the truck cab. But maybe it was just her ears. Her perspective. Safety had consumed her thoughts every second she wasn’t working at a job to get ahead.
Outside the truck, the nighttime residents of the streets claimed their territory. An old man pushing a grocery cart, his layers of clothes flapping around him like bat wings. A middle-aged woman in a short skirt and ripped stockings, probably between clients, as she plied her dangerous trade. A teenager who walked as if he owned the city strode past them both, flicking a discarded cigarette on the old man as he brushed past.
“I wish I’d been there to protect you.” Vinny’s words called her back from the scene outside.
“Me, too,” she whispered, blindly reaching for his hand as she met his gaze. “I like being here with you. No one hurt me—you know, seriously hurt me. But I woke up once with a knee in my back and—”
She hesitated.
“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready.” He closed his fingers around her hand, his warmth filtering through to her, enveloping her.
“It was a long time ago.” Besides, she trusted Vinny. “I made the mistake of sleeping in an alley in a good neighborhood. I’d cased it for days, checking out what kind of people went through there at night and it seemed quiet. But the first time I let myself fall asleep there, I got jumped by some rich kid who’d come home late and high as a kite.”
Vinny swallowed hard and tried not to let his anger show in his eyes. Because he would have gutted the guy if he’d been there. But obviously, no one would have ever tried to touch Chelsea if he’d been there in the first place.
It was more important that he be here for her in this moment, reassuring her tonight rather than wishing he’d been there to protect her in the past.
“Thank God you got away.” He owed the Almighty big-time for that one, and he wouldn’t forget to pay back.
He double-checked the lots to make sure he was taking good care of Chelsea. Thankfully, tinted windows gave them some privacy from the handful of people who’d drifted past the vehicle.
“I lost a year’s worth of savings in the knapsack I left behind, but I was fast and I fought dirty. I don’t think I would have escaped if I hadn’t scoped the place out for so long ahead of time, but I found my way around in the dark.” She took a deep breath and flexed her fingers between his, squeezing. “I hid in a neighbor’s pool house until the guy got tired of shouting for me and lights started popping on around the neighborhood.”
“Damn.” He shook his head, glad he’d been able to hold back worse curses. “You must have been so scared. I’m all tense just listening to you tell me about it.” Partly because he itched to strangle any man who would lift a hand to her. “Would it be okay if I held you? I don’t know if it would help you, but after hearing that, it would sure as hell help me feel better.”
Her hand still squeezed his, but she nodded.
Relief shot through him because he wasn’t lying. He needed to have his arms around her. Reassure himself she was okay.
Untwining his fingers from hers, he slid closer to her on the big bench seat. But before he could slip an arm behind her shoulders, she ducked her head to his chest and looped her hands around his waist, relaxing against him.
He realized then that he hadn’t exhaled since she’d started her story. Only now could he let out his breath. Resting his chin on top of her head, he stroked her back.
“I’m so glad you fought dirty,” he whispered. “And that you were so much smarter than that piece of crap who came after you. Because I don’t know what I would have done this year without you, Chelsea.”
She stirred, edging back to peer up at him in the cab.
“What are you talking about?” Her brow crinkled in confusion.
“Looking forward to seeing you every day—that’s what got me through the first half of this season when I was playing like crap and the hockey bloggers all said I should pack my bags and go home.” He smoothed a thumb over the creamy softness of her cheek. “I didn’t settle in with the team right away, but you were always there in the stands, cheering me on. I figured I’d stick with it long enough for a chance to ask you out.”
“Thank goodness it took you a long time to ask me because now you’re playing like a super stud.” She blinked up at him from under her long bangs, her lips so full and kissable that he had to take deep breaths to rein himself in.
No way would he scare her off by moving too fast.
“By now, they’ll have to throw me out of Philadelphia to get me to leave.” In fact, he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to let her walk into that apartment building without him. She felt so good in his arms. So right.
“But what if I want to see Minnesota sometime?” she asked, surprising him.
Did she know how badly he wanted a future with her? How much it would mean to him to be able to take her home?
“You’ve got a ride to Cloquet right here.” He patted the truck’s dashboard, then returned his hand to her waist, careful to stay closer to her rib cage than the subtle swell of her hip.
She’d told him she’d been patient during those years on the streets. So he’d damn well be patient however long it took for her to let him touch her the way he wanted.
“Vinny?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I’d like cows.”
“You do?” He grinned and felt her snag another piece of his heart.
“They sound very nonjudgmental.” She reached toward him, her hand alighting on his chest, right above his heart.
She’d never taken the initiative to touch him before, since he didn’t count her falling asleep on him during the flight home. So having her fingers sketch ever so softly along his shirt seemed like the hottest foreplay he’d ever known.
“I don’t know if I can get back to introduce you to them until the season’s over.” He tried to focus on the conversation instead of how good it felt to have her hand on him. “But if I can’t bring you to Cloquet, I can bring a little Cloquet to you. My parents are coming to town next week. Maybe you can meet them.”
His first clue that he’d done something wrong came when her touch evaporated like dew on a hot day. In an instant, she retreated in so many ways his brain could barely calculate them all, but her shuttered gaze was the one that spoke the loudest.
“Your parents?”
He realized she edged backward on the seat so that he’d have to stretch if he wanted to keep his hands on her. Carefully, he released her and tried to soothe her worries.
“Yes. I sent them tickets for our first home game in the playoffs. They’ll only be here for three days, but maybe we could have dinner together.”
She’d already agreed to dinner with him tonight, after all. And he hadn’t even asked to come upstairs with her, so it wasn’t as if he was pushing any kind of physical relationship. Still, she’d backed up so much she bumped the power-lock button with her elbow.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” She gave him a halfhearted smile. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize how late it was and I have to work at the gift shop tomorrow. I really should—”
“Wait.” What had he done wrong? “I don’t want to pressure you—”
“You’re not,” she assured him, snagging her purse and levering open the door.
“I want to at least walk you into the building.” He reached out to keep her there.
She tensed at his touch.
“I’m sorry. I have to go.” She fumbled for her keys.
He hopped out of the driver’s-side door and came around, but she was already at the entrance to her building.
“Chelsea, what’s wrong?” He didn’t want to hold her there, knowing she had issues with being touched.
God knows, he would never restrain her if she wanted to leave, but she was backing away from him so fast she’d never even hear him if he didn’t get closer.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, flipping her key upside down to try it in the lock the other way. “I don’t know what I’m doing and I can’t…I just can’t do this.”
For a minute he thought she meant she couldn’t open her lock. But then she had the lock open and stepped inside, holding the door half-shut to talk to him through a slit as if he was some kind of criminal.
“I’m sorry, Vinny.” Her voice cracked as she squeezed the door in a white-knuckled grip. “You deserve a nice, normal girl. And that will never be me.”
* * *
THE FIRST INSTALLMENT of the documentary series would debut on television tonight.
Jennifer had to leave Ax’s place at dawn to put in some overtime hours editing footage from the game and the team’s plane ride home the night before. She’d see Axel at the practice rink in a couple of hours, but when she’d left his house, he’d still been sleeping. Now, arriving at her temporary office, she peered over her shoulder, certain she’d heard someone behind her. But all seemed quiet.
The morning was still cool as she shoved through the double doors to the conference room, surprised to discover no one else from the crew had reported to work yet. Maybe they’d opted to work late into the night instead.
While she poured water into the coffeemaker, hoping some caffeine would wake her up, her cell phone rang. She set down the carafe and looked at her phone, noticing her sister’s number on her caller ID.
“Hey, Julia,” she answered. “What are you doing awake at the crack of dawn?”
Her gaze went to the photo she’d brought from home, a picture of the two of them shopping for a Christmas tree on a road trip to the country last winter. They had their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, goofy knit hats dotted with snow.
“It’s a school day,” her sister groused, sounding as if she hadn’t had her morning coffee, either. Or whatever it was that fifteen-year-old girls needed in the a.m. to take the edge off. Some days Jennifer felt as if she’d been born decades older than anyone else in her family. “I have no choice.”
“Oh. Right.” Jennifer searched the drawers for a plastic spoon to measure the coffee. “How has school been?”
Julia had switched to a new school over the holidays and the transition had been bumpy. Their mother had never been very involved in either of their lives so Jennifer had made it her mission to ensure Julia could escape the drama of that awful fall semester. Jennifer had paid the tuition, arranged for transportation and bought the wardrobe, wanting to ensure Julia felt taken care of.
“I hate it. I want to go back with my friends.”
Jennifer spilled the coffee she’d been trying to measure.
“You’re kidding.” She set down the spoon and turned her back on the cabinet to focus on the conversation.
“No. That’s why I called. I asked the principal if you can get a refund on the tuition for this semester and he said no. But I’m willing to work a part-time job to pay you back.”
“I don’t want the money back.” She couldn’t believe her ears. “I want you to attend a school where you’ll be happy. Where you don’t have people whispering behind your back.”
A sound outside the conference room startled her and a shadow passed by one of the frosted-glass windows. She hoped it was someone from her camera crew.
“I’m not worried about that, Jen. I know you would have liked to attend a school like this, but it’s not for me.”
“You were miserable,” Jen reminded her sister. “Mortified.” How could Julia suggest that Jennifer had helped her transfer for selfish reasons?
“But I’m over it,” Julia huffed. “And the rest of the class probably would’ve moved on to some new drama by the time we came back from the holidays, but we—that is, I—freaked out and left school.”
“Julia.” Jennifer sat down at the conference-room table, determined to talk some sense into her sister. She straightened the photo of her with Julia—her sister’s freckles circled both cheeks like cinnamon on an apple. “This is your future we’re talking about. How can you earn good grades with the distraction of online gossip and negative cliques using social media to wage a smear campaign?”
“I don’t think it’s that bad.”
“Not that bad? I have a film project in the works to spotlight the dangers of—”
“Stop. Stop right there.” Her sister’s voice rose on the other end of the line, squeaking in a panicky note that only a teen could manage. “I am not going to be one of your causes. You have no right to turn your camera on my life. This is private.”
“It wouldn’t be about you,” she clarified. “But I’ve heard stories about—”
“I don’t care. You can go make movies about the five million other problems in the world, but not this one. Not mine.” In the background, a horn sounded and her sister sighed. “My ride is here. I have to go. But, Jen, I am not a crisis you have to fix, okay? I love you. And if you love me, you’ll let this go.”
“But—” The call disconnected before she could argue, leaving her frustrated.
Since when had a good sisterly deed become such an annoyance? She didn’t see Julia as a cause. She’d simply felt her sister’s hurt and wanted to fix it.
“Knock, knock?” A woman’s voice at the door startled her.
Turning, she saw Chelsea Durant in the open entry to the conference room, a coffee mug in hand. That must have been who she’d seen out the window. Why was Jen so jumpy today?
“Sorry to bother you.” Chelsea lifted the ceramic mug. “I was in search of java and thought I’d see if anyone started the pot yet.”
Her eyes shifted to the spilled grounds on the counter and the open bag sagging against the empty carafe.
“I got a phone call in the middle of starting it,” Jennifer explained, rising. “But I think I’m going to add about ten more cups to my original estimate.”
“I’m having one of those days, too,” Chelsea informed her, entering the room with a surprisingly silent step. “I can make it for us.”
She reached the counter before Jennifer did, so Jen let the other woman take over. The he-man aura of the Phantoms’ conference room meant an abundance of black countertops and a coffee station with lots of real sugar and not nearly enough low-calorie substitutes. Jennifer had been having a tough time finding everything she needed anyhow, and Chelsea seemed to know her way around every part of the mammoth practice facility.
“We didn’t get much sleep last night, did we?” Jennifer observed, wishing that was the reason for her sudden exhaustion when it had more to do with Julia’s teenage psychoanalysis and the dangerous game Axel played with his old gang.
“No.” Chelsea rolled up the sleeves of her Phantoms jersey and measured more water. “But I also didn’t sleep because Vinny and I… There was a misunderstanding. I don’t think we’re going to be much of a story for your documentary.”
“You’re kidding.” Jen had thought that was a go for sure. “I have to say, I’m a pretty good judge of emotions after watching people through a camera lens for so many years.” Although possibly she wasn’t as good reading people in real life since she’d gotten her sister all wrong. “And I really thought there was something special between you two.”
“I know.” Chelsea pressed Start on the coffee machine and turned to face Jen. “I thought so, too. But I’ve got no business being with a guy like him.”
“How can you say that?” She didn’t know Chelsea well, but Axel seemed to think she was a good person who’d had a tough life. And given how much Axel knew about hardship, Jennifer trusted his assessment.
“You deserve happiness as much as anyone else.”
“Maybe.” Chelsea shrugged. “But what if you can’t find a way through the obstacles to reach that happiness? What if there are so many barriers, such a huge gulf dividing your lifestyles, that you can’t even envision how to make a future together work?”
The question so perfectly crystallized Jennifer’s concerns about her relationship with Axel that she couldn’t begin to think of a reply. She couldn’t picture herself in Ax’s world, either. The glitz of fame and fortune, big houses and big car collections, were at odds with her lifestyle.
Finally, the coffeemaker beeped, reminding her she needed to get back to work on the final edit of the documentary footage before showtime tonight.
“I honestly don’t know the answer to that one,” Jennifer answered out loud before she realized Chelsea had already vanished on those silent feet of hers, leaving an empty mug behind.
12
AXEL’S GUT KNOTTED AS the opening credits rolled on the documentary series Double Overtime. He hadn’t wanted any part of television fame and still didn’t, but with Jennifer directing and his whole team gathered at Kyle’s home to watch the first installment, Ax couldn’t very well ignore it.
“I’m nervous,” Jennifer whispered from the leather reclining chair beside him in Kyle’s posh media room.
They’d chosen seats in the back even though none of the crew would be filming the event for next week’s edition of the series. So there were no lenses to hide from for once. Still, Axel would rather have her in his lap than seated beside him with the arms of both chairs separating them.
Now even Kyle’s girlfriend stopped refilling drinks and passing popcorn bowls to take her place beside her man in the front row. Axel had to admit the matchmaker was a good influence on his brother, keeping hockey-crazy Kyle with one foot in the real world.
“Don’t be nervous,” Axel whispered back to Jennifer, lingering by her ear to breathe in the scent of her hair. “You worked really hard on this. It’s going to be good.”
