Powerplay

by Heather B. Moore

  Jax pulled up Meg’s last text. She’d texted him this morning. Good luck today.

  He’d replied: Thanks.

  She’d sent a heart emoji. Which he was now staring at.

  He knew that his decision to trade was bigger than himself. It would affect other things in his life. Things he didn’t really want to think about right now.

  He climbed out of the truck and headed through the garage.

  Clearly his father was getting ready to leave, and even more clearly, he’d be surprised to see Jax. They hadn’t exactly spent time around each other recently, and it had been months since he’d been in his parents’ home. He knew his mom was at some New York City event and wasn’t due home for another day, so in Jax’s mind, this was the perfect opportunity to talk to his dad without any interference.

  Besides, as disconnected as his mother was with reality in general, Jax didn’t think she needed to hear anything that he was about to tell his dad.

  His dad was a tall man with deep-brown hair now peppered with gray. His briefcase was on the kitchen counter, and his laptop was open. Impeccably dressed as always, he was typing with one hand while eating a banana with another. Todd Emerson looked up as Jax strode in.

  Despite Jax not having walked into this house for months, his dad set down the banana and continued typing with both hands. Ten seconds later, he looked up and folded his arms.

  “Lindon called.”

  Jax perched on the edge of a barstool. “It’s all over, sir. What’s left to be determined is whether or not I expose you both to the NHL for recruiting infractions and donor violations.”

  His dad closed the lid of his laptop and slipped it into the briefcase. “No laws were broken. Lindon can distribute any donations as he sees fit. Whether or not he used them as player salaries is entirely up to him, not the NHL. As you’ll see in the paperwork I’m having my lawyer send over, everything was done by protocol.”

  Jax breathed out slowly. “My entire career has been a sham, thanks to you. Why didn’t you just put me in band or drama? Save us both this hell?”

  His dad snatched a copy of the local newspaper, sitting in the middle of the counter. He flipped to the sports section, then held it up. The headlines read Powerplayer Jax Emerson Continues Scoring Streak. “Does this look like a sham? You are a phenomenal player, Jackson. Always have been. When the hockey teams weren’t taking a nineteen-year-old seriously, I reached out to Lindon. Like hundreds of parents do for their high school athletes. Sent him some video. Believe me, if Lindon hadn’t seen the potential in you, he wouldn’t have offered.”

  This is where his dad didn’t get it.

  “He offered because you gave him millions of dollars,” Jax shot out.

  His dad shouldered his bag and came around the counter, his half-eaten banana forgotten. “He took a chance on a high school player. Lindon would have offered the base of a rookie contract, and you would have taken it. But because he had more in the coffers to give you, or any of his other recruits, a better offer, it was just an added bonus. Whether he used it on you or someone else isn’t for us to determine.”

  “You controlled it from the very beginning,” Jax said. “You. Not the coach. Not the team. You. Just how you like it. Keeping everyone as your puppets.”

  His dad didn’t even flinch. “Sponsors donate all the time, some a lot, some a little. I’m no different than the guy down the street pimping his business with a real estate company banner at the arena.”

  “Yeah, a banner. With the name of a business on it.”

  Now his dad’s face colored. “What’s wrong with putting my money where it will benefit my family the most? My own son? Bring some happiness into his life?”

  Jax took a step back. “Do you see me happy, Dad?” He scoffed. “You bribed a coach to make an offer to your son. I’ve put my heart and soul into this team—beating up my body day after day, night after night—and now I find out that I’m an imposter. That makes me feel like the dirt beneath all of Chicago’s feet.”

  “You’re not listening, son—”

  “Don’t call me son.” Jax took another step back, his stomach feeling like lead. “This is about you and your ego. This isn’t about me at all. You’ve screwed around with my life enough. I’m applying for a trade. The farther away from Chicago, the better.”

  “Jackson, you’re making a mistake.”

  But Jax was done with the conversation. He’d said what he needed to. It was time to leave. Time to move forward in his life. Chicago had nothing left for him. He headed toward the door connecting with the garage.

  “Jax!” his father called. “The headlines don’t lie! Stats don’t lie! You’ve earned every success on that team, and if anything, you’re underpaid.”

  Jax pulled the door shut. It was all noise. His dad’s master manipulation.

  Humiliation pounded through him as he climbed into the truck. Without looking at the texts on his phone from The Pit, he turned the phone off. He’d be reporting for tomorrow night’s game, but he’d be a shell of himself. All about the mechanics. In and out of the arena. Nothing more.

  Meg hadn’t heard from Jax all day, but she’d thought about calling or texting him about every thirty seconds. The wait was killing her. Of course, her impatience was probably a far cry from what Jax was going through.

  It was after 10:00 p.m., and a headache had started as she double-checked the numbers her accountant had sent over. The numbers didn’t lie. January 1, she’d be starting the liquidation process. One of her mantras was never to hold sales. The clothing she brought in was top quality, expertly designed, and the value never diminished. But she figured she’d need to get rid of at least half her inventory. The wholesalers offered pennies on the dollar, and Meg hoped she could continue selling through her online shop without too much of a hiccup.

  Tomorrow she’d need to tell her employees that she could only pay them through Christmas. She’d also have to call the landlord of her shop and give him the required thirty days’ notice.

  Meg took a sip of her tea. It had grown cold, and she grimaced. She should go to bed, get some sleep, and maybe she’d be able to think more clearly in the morning. And maybe she’d hear from Jax tomorrow. He had a game. Surely he’d be there. She could grab a ticket and go watch from the nosebleeds, if only to assure herself that he was okay.

  Now she had a plan. That made her feel better, right?

  Meg was about to close down her laptop, but she decided to try one more thing. She pulled up Instagram and followed Rocco De Luca. Then she sent him a message. Hear anything from Jax today? I’ve been worried.

  Her heart about flipped over when a reply came seconds later.

  Not since his coach’s meeting. You?

  Nothing, she wrote. I didn’t know if I should reach out.

  You should. We’re all worried. He hasn’t texted since after the meeting. Told McCarthy to set him up a meeting with his agent. Then Jax said he was going to talk to his dad. That was the last I heard. Hours ago.

  Meg read through Rocco’s message twice. She was both relieved and more worried. Jax had gotten through the coach’s meeting, and if he was looking for a new agent, that meant he wasn’t quitting hockey completely. Right? She had to believe that was good news for now.

  Okay, I’ll try calling him. Thanks, Rocco.

  Let me know if he’s okay.

  Will do.

  She closed down the app, then took a deep breath. Should she call? Text? Was he home? At a bar? Still with his dad? She pressed CALL on his contact. The call went directly to voicemail, so he must have his phone off. Did he usually turn it off at night? She didn’t want to leave a message, but she listened to his deep voice on the message system. Jax Emerson. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon.

  Hearing his voice didn’t lessen her worry. Maybe she should drive by his place, see if he was home. See if there were lights on. No . . .

  Meg snatched her purse and keys and cell phone. Then she scrawled a
note to her grandma in case she woke up and noticed Meg was gone. On impulse, she loaded a grocery sack with dinner fixings. It could be an excuse if—well, if she needed one.

  Her nerves were completely frayed by the time she slowed to a stop in front of Jax’s house. His truck was in the driveway, and a faint light glimmered from the living room window, but maybe he always left a light on?

  She hated how she didn’t know the little things about him.

  As she walked up to the porch, she second-guessed herself over and over. But the cold night air was seeping into the jacket she wore, so she either needed to knock or get back into her warm car.

  It turned out that knocking wasn’t required, because Sheriff started barking, about giving Meg a heart attack. There was no way she could escape undetected now.

  The porch light flipped on, and her pulse skyrocketed. She heard Jax’s voice telling Sheriff to keep quiet.

  Then the door opened, and Jax was standing there. In gym shorts and nothing else.

  He’d obviously been working out, if she were to notice the sweat on his skin and the dampness of his hair. But she was trying not to notice, because she was pretty sure her entire face and neck had turned a bright pink.

  “Hi.” She swallowed.

  He didn’t say anything for a second, and his gray eyes were completely unreadable.

  She should go. Right now. But her body decided to involuntarily shiver.

  “Come in,” he said. “You look like you’re freezing.”

  She couldn’t feel the cold, but she was grateful for the invitation and stepped inside. Would it be rude if she asked him to put on a shirt? To stop looking like he was in some sort of workout equipment photo shoot?

  Sheriff nudged her leg, and she’d never been so grateful for a distraction in her life. “Hey, buddy,” she said, her voice sounding about an octave higher than it should be.

  The front door clicked, which meant that Jax had shut it.

  Meg kept her gaze trained on Sheriff. “Sorry, it’s kind of late. I tried to call, but . . .”

  Why wasn’t he saying anything? Helping her out? She peeked up at him. No expression. He’d folded his arms. No hint of whether he was pleased or annoyed that she’d appeared uninvited at his house.

  She had to drag her gaze from his sculpted torso and start again. “I called, but I think your phone’s off, and I wanted to be sure you’re okay.” She bit her lip and took another peek. Yep. Arms still folded like he was the mighty Zeus looking over his kingdom or something. “So I asked Rocco if he’d heard anything.”

  “You talked to Rocco?” Jax unfolded his arms and set his hands on his hips.

  Finally, he was speaking. She straightened from her vigorous petting of Sheriff, who promptly whined for more attention. “Well, I messaged him on Instagram. It’s not like I have his phone number or anything.” Her face was hot again, and she should really stop talking.

  Jax stood there, mute again. He was pretty good at letting her trip all over herself.

  “So I decided to, uh, check on you.” She pushed some hair off her face that had fallen when she’d bent to pet Sheriff. “To see if you’re fine.” Letting her gaze stray just a tad to his neck, his muscled shoulders, his broad, bare chest. Heavens. Could men really have eight-pack abs? It wasn’t like she was counting . . . “But you look fine. Perfectly fine. Better than fine. And I clearly interrupted your, um, workout. So I’ll just leave—”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  She inhaled, exhaled. “Groceries. I thought you might be hungry for dinner. When I have a bad day, my go-to is comfort food.”

  “You brought groceries to make me dinner?”

  Again, she couldn’t read his tone. He didn’t sound pissed, though. Was that progress? “Yeah.” She met his gaze, fully this time. “It will take about thirty minutes. I just have to put the lasagna together and bake it. The meat is already precooked. So thirty minutes, tops.”

  His gaze flicked over her. “Lasagna, huh?”

  She nodded, her pulse thrumming.

  Sheriff whined, and Jax ignored him. “I’m not great company right now, Meghan.”

  “Oh.” She tightened her grip on the grocery bag and reached for the doorknob. “No worries. I should go—”

  Jax’s huge hand closed over hers, stopping her from turning the doorknob. “Stay.”

  He was a lot closer now, and she could smell his sweat and spice, and everything male about him.

  “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  “I’d be a fool to turn down your homemade lasagna.”

  His eyes were lighter now, and that alone gave her hope. Maybe he was going to be okay.

  “All right,” she said, withdrawing her hand from beneath his. “Do you have a cake pan?”

  “There’s a bunch of pans in there,” he said. “My realtor gifted me a set a while back.”

  Meg was breathing easier now. Baking she could do. “Great, I’m sure something will work.” She moved past him, keeping her gaze averted from his undressed state. “And can you put on a shirt, Jax?”

  She headed into the kitchen, so she had no idea what his expression was. Hers, most likely, was a blushing mess. Sheriff trotted after her. A distraction. Good.

  “I’m going to shower,” Jax said from somewhere behind her. “And I’ll see about a shirt.”

  His tone held amusement, but Meg still didn’t dare turn around and check for herself just what he thought about her request.

  It didn’t take long for her to locate a cake pan and switch the oven to preheat. Jax had disappeared, and Sheriff had become her sole audience. Meg couldn’t believe she was standing in Jax’s kitchen at ten thirty at night. Making lasagna. Had she lost her mind?

  She pulled out her phone and messaged Rocco. Jax says he’s fine. Well, that wasn’t exactly the case, but she wasn’t about to divulge anything else. Rocco would probably say something to The Pit, and that would be mortifying, because Jax would see it.

  She didn’t wait for Rocco’s reply but set her phone in her purse. The ringer was on, so she’d hear it if her grandma called. For the next few minutes, she busied herself layering the lasagna, then by the time the oven was preheated, she slipped the pan inside.

  Sheriff had grown bored after all, or it really was his bedtime, because he’d lain down in his bed by the window. Chin on his paws, his eyes watching everything.

  Next she shredded the half head of lettuce she’d brought and added the other salad ingredients. She didn’t have bread on hand for garlic bread, and the bread in Jax’s pantry was some sort of sprouted wheat. So they’d skip the bread.

  She pulled out the final thing from the grocery bag—a brownie mix. After locating another pan, she found some eggs and oil, then mixed everything with a fork. She heard Jax’s footsteps just as she began to pour the batter into the pan.

  “Smells good,” his voice rumbled next to her.

  She didn’t turn around, intent on scraping the bowl with the spatula she’d found, one that looked brand new. “Should be ready soon. Sorry I don’t have any garlic bread.”

  His footsteps neared, and her heart rate zoomed.

  “What’s that?” He was close, really close.

  “Brownies,” she said. “From a mix, so probably not the best ever.”

  Jax’s fingers brushed her neck, and he moved her hair to the side.

  She drew in a breath as goosebumps skittered along her skin. He was right behind her, and his chest pressed against her back as his hands settled at her waist. She was pretty sure she wasn’t breathing, and she had to concentrate as she used the spatula to even out the brownie batter.

  Jax rested his chin on her shoulder, and his breath warmed her neck.

  “Do you even like brownies?” she managed to say without her voice squeaking. “I should have asked.”

  “I love brownies,” he said, his voice low.

  Meg’s hands stilled. The batter was even enough. “Good to hear.”

  One of his ha
nds splayed across her hip, while he reached his other hand forward and dragged a finger through the batter. Then he popped the brownie batter into his mouth.

  “Hey,” she said, slapping at his arm.

  He chuckled, and she couldn’t help smiling. Then he turned her around to face him. “Want some?”

  Thankfully he was wearing a shirt, and she could keep her wits about her. Although his hands resting on her hips made it sort of hard to keep her thoughts platonic.

  “I’ll wait until they’re baked.”

  Jax rested his forehead against hers. “You’re a wonder, Meghan Bailey.”

  His hair was damp, and his skin smelled like soap and pine. She looped her arms about his waist, because he hadn’t released her yet. “It’s just dinner, Jax.”

  He lifted his head and gazed at her, those gray eyes of his looking past all of her defenses. “It’s not just dinner.” He raised a hand and moved his fingers along her jaw.

  For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, and she wouldn’t mind in the least. But then he released her and walked to the bay window, his hands clasped behind his head. The tension had returned to his shoulders.

  “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” she said. “If not, we can just eat dinner.”

  Jax didn’t answer.

  Meg didn’t mind. She wasn’t going to push him. This was his life, his decision, anyway. She set the brownies in the second oven. Then she scoured for plates, cups, utensils, and napkins. No napkins in sight, so she used paper towels as she set the table.

  The lasagna smelled almost done.

  “I think I screwed things up,” Jax said.

  Not even the delicious smell of food or the bewitching woman in his kitchen could ease Jax’s heart and mind. His conversation with his dad had been playing over and over in his thoughts. The meeting with his lawyer hadn’t been as victorious as Jax had hoped. His dad had donated though legitimate channels, and all the paperwork was in place.

  There was no concrete proof that the money Todd Emerson had donated had been used directly in Jax’s salary.

  But Jax had stuck to his resolve of firing his agent, Scott. About an hour ago, he’d spoken with the McCarthy brothers’ agent. Jax was impressed with Marcus, and Jax knew that signing with the new agent would be a step forward in his career.