But after that, things got murky.
The dishes clinked behind him as Meg set the table. He should be helping, but nothing about him was functioning normally. Even Sheriff had kept his distance. The dog was sitting in his bed, head down, as Jax stared into the darkness out the bay window. The only thing he could see was his own reflection gazing darkly back at him.
Meg wasn’t pushing him for answers, which he appreciated. Things were far from sorted out in his own mind, so how could he explain to someone else? She hadn’t commented when he’d said he thought he’d screwed things up. Just continued setting the table.
A buzzer went off, and he turned. Apparently his oven had a timer. One he’d never used. He watched Meg use one of his kitchen towels to pull out the steaming pan of lasagna from the oven.
He crossed over and shut the oven door, then turned it off. She had the brownies in the second oven, something else he’d never used.
Meg looked at him over her shoulder. “We can start on the salad. The lasagna needs to cool for a few minutes before it can be cut.”
“Okay,” Jax said.
Her gaze held his, and he found that he was enjoying the flush of pink on her cheeks—likely from the heat of the lasagna pan. She was dressed more casually than he’d ever seen her. Her black jeans hugged her legs. Her formfitting V-neck shirt was a dark green, making her eyes look even greener.
She wore no makeup and no jewelry, and he liked that she didn’t feel like she had to get all fancy for him.
“I’ll sit,” he said. “But you first, ma’am.”
Her brows lifted, and a smile stole onto her face. She moved toward him and took the chair he’d offered. Then he sat in his own chair.
“What’s this?” he asked, picking up a mason jar full of something white.
“Salad dressing. Homemade.”
He unscrewed the lid. “I can’t remember the last time I had homemade dressing.” After Meg took some salad, he piled a bunch onto his plate. Then he drizzled the dressing across the greens. His grumbling stomach told him it had been neglected for far too long.
It took only one bite for Jax to consider proposing to Meg on the spot. “Wow,” he said, then took another bite, and another. “You’re spoiling me for all future salads.”
Meg finished long before he was done eating his second helping of salad. When he looked up, she was gazing at him, her chin resting on her propped hand.
“It’s amazing,” he said. “Clearly.”
She laughed, and he felt some of his cold insides thaw. Whatever had possessed Meg to come over tonight, he was grateful for it.
“I think the lasagna should be done.” She popped up from her chair, and in a moment she’d returned, carrying the entire pan to the table. “Seeing how much you’re eating, I decided that the pan belongs on the table.”
“I think you’re right.”
She remained standing as she cut a large square and set it on a fresh plate for him, then cut a smaller square for herself. Much smaller.
“Not hungry?” he asked.
“I don’t usually eat this late,” she said, sitting again.
“Me neither, but you don’t see me turning anything down.”
She smiled and picked up her fork. “Dig in, Jax, and be prepared to be amazed.”
“I’m already there.” He dug in, not having to be asked twice. The combination of melted cheese, hot pasta, and spicy meat made his eyes slide shut as he chewed. When he opened them again, Meg was holding back a laugh.
“That expression was worth every second of preparation.”
Jax reached for the water glass and took a long swallow. Then he used a paper towel to wipe his mouth. “Come here,” he said.
Her brows tugged together. “What are you talking about?”
He grasped the edge of her chair and pulled it closer to him. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she rested a hand against the pulse of his neck as she welcomed his kiss. Her scent of vanilla and cinnamon wrapped around him. “You smell good,” he whispered against her mouth.
She smiled, then moved her hand lower and pushed against his chest. “Jax, eat.” After tugging her chair back into place, she pointed her fork at his plate of lasagna. “It’s warm.”
“Oh, so you’re one of those women.”
Meg laughed. “I guess so. Do you have a problem with that?”
“If you’d come closer,” he drawled, “I’d prove that I don’t.” Her blush was gratifying.
She speared a piece of lasagna and popped it into her mouth. He did the same, but not before he tugged her chair a couple of inches closer. This time she didn’t move it back into place.
The food, the teasing, the presence of Meg in his house had begun to ease the tightness of his chest. But it didn’t ease the situation he’d found himself in. He took another bite. The perfect blend of tastes was like heaven, and he wanted to delay the inevitable just a bit longer. When he told Meg about his various meetings and conversations that day, the impossibility would crowd back in.
“This is fantastic,” he said after another bite. “You should market and sell this. You’d be richer than Lucas.”
Meg’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, then it wouldn’t be homemade anymore. Besides, it wouldn’t taste as good packaged, frozen, and reheated.”
“You’re probably right.” He finished off the lasagna she’d served him and went for a second helping.
Meg had finished her small portion, and when she began to clear the table, he grasped her arm to stop her. “I’m cleaning up.”
“It’s fine. You finish eating, and I can get a head start.”
He didn’t let go of her arm, not yet. “Are you in a hurry?”
She blinked. “No.”
“Then sit,” he said. “I’m cleaning up.”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes sparking with amusement.
“Tell me about your day,” he said.
While she talked about some of the customers she’d encountered that day, he continued eating.
“You really want to hear about this stuff?” she asked after a few moments.
He set his fork down. “I do.”
“This isn’t one of those things where I talk and you fall asleep, is it?”
Jax drank the rest of his water. “No,” he said, rising to refill his glass. “First of all, I’m not fresh out of the hospital, and I still haven’t had the brownies.”
“Oh!” Meg jumped up. “I forgot to set the timer.” She rushed to the oven and cracked open the door.
Jax met her there and flipped on the light. “You can see inside.”
“I know, but I want to smell it too.”
“What do you think?”
“They’re perfect.” She moved past him to grab the kitchen towel. Then she took the brownies out and set them atop the stove.
Jax began to clear the table, then he rinsed off the dishes and set them in the dishwasher. Once he had them loaded, and the pan of leftover lasagna in the fridge, he bent to study the buttons on the dishwasher. “I’ve never even used this thing. Never had enough dishes to worry about it.”
Meg laughed. “Are you serious?” She joined him at the dishwasher. “First you need to put in dishwasher detergent. Do you have any?”
“Sure, I got some a couple of years ago.”
Meg smirked and opened the cupboard beneath the sink, then she nudged him to the side with her hip.
“Hey,” he said, capturing her around the waist. He pulled her close and kissed her neck.
She laughed and wriggled away from him. “You’re a horrible staller.”
“I’m not stalling.”
“You are.” She put the detergent pod into a miniature compartment at the base of the dishwasher, then she closed the door. “Here, look.”
He moved closer, his arms sliding around her again.
“Focus, Jax.”
He nuzzled her ear and inhaled the sweet scent of her. She elbowed
him playfully, but he didn’t budge.
“Okay, it’s running.”
He lifted his head. “It is? I can’t hear anything.”
“You got the top-of-the-line. Hardly any sound.”
Jax frowned. “How do I know that it’s on, then?”
She pointed to a red light on the dishwasher. “This means it’s on. It will turn off when the cycle is finished.”
“Okay,” he murmured, pressing his mouth against her jaw. “Sounds good.”
She turned slowly in his arms until their bodies were flush and her arms were looped around his neck.
This was better, Jax decided. He ran his hands slowly up her back, and her smile grew. “What?” he whispered.
“You,” she whispered back.
“What about me?”
“You’re looking better,” she said. “My grandma was right.”
He raised his brows. “About . . .”
“A well-fed man is a happy man.”
“Hmm.” He brought his hands around to cradle her face. “Partly true.”
“What’s the other part?”
“You. I’m happy because you’re here.”
She laughed, and he was done waiting. He leaned down and kissed her. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she kissed him back. Her taste, her touch, her body pressing against his made his heart hammer. He rotated so that his back was against the counter, and he drew her closer, kissing her deeper, more deliberately. Memorizing her. Things were going from zero to sixty in just a couple of minutes.
He needed to slow it down. “Meghan.”
She sighed. “I know.”
Inch by inch, they disentangled from each other, and Jax slid his hand down her arm, then linked their fingers. “Come on,” he said, leading her out of the kitchen.
She followed as they walked down the hallway to the office, which overlooked the frozen backyard. He released her hand, then turned on the two lamps and flipped on the gas fireplace. The office was more of a suite, with a large desk, a leather chair behind the desk, several bookcases, and a leather loveseat by a coffee table.
He crossed to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and pulled out a photo album.
After setting it on the coffee table in front of the couch, he sat down and patted the cushion next to him. When Meg had sat by him, he said, “My mom made this for me last year as a Christmas gift. It’s probably the first homemade thing she’s ever done for me.”
“A baby photo album?”
“Not quite,” Jax said, turning to the first page. “More like hockey memories.”
“Oh wow, that’s you?” Meg said, pointing to the picture of him when he was about six and had put on hockey skates for the first time.
“Yeah.” Jax wasn’t looking at himself, though. He was looking at the man standing beside him—his father—and the proud smile upon his face. Jax’s mom had been behind the camera that day, and he clearly remembered her making them pose for more than one picture.
Jax had shed a few tears that day as he learned that falling on the ice hurt, caused bruises, and took his breath away. But that night, after his first try on the ice, he remembered his dad coming into his bedroom and handing over a magazine with a picture of a top hockey player on the cover.
“He started skating when he was six years old too,” his dad had said. “Now he’s a pro hockey player in the hall of fame. If you stick with something like he did, you could be anything you want.”
The gleam in his dad’s eyes had stoked a fire in Jax’s chest that night. A fire that had carried him through months and years of practices and games. And he knew it was still there. Despite the icy disappointment that had been crushing him lately.
Meg hadn’t expected Jax to get so personal with his childhood and, frankly, with his entire life tonight. The photo album showed pictures from his youngest experiences in hockey up to his club days with the Northbrook Hockey Elite team. He paused on a picture of him at about ten years old, holding a giant trophy, surrounded by his parents, and it made her smile. His mom was a gorgeous redhead.
“So that’s where the red comes from,” she said, tapping the picture of him with his parents.
“Yeah.” Jax’s arm brushed hers. “What do you think?”
“About red hair?” she asked, looking up to find his steady gray eyes on her. She rested her hand on his neck, her fingers brushing the edge of his beard. “It’s okay, I guess.”
One side of his mouth lifted, and she leaned close enough to whisper in his ear. “It looks good on you, Jax Emerson.”
He stilled, and she could swear she heard his heart thumping. Her own pulse was racing a mile a minute, and she knew that she should probably stop touching him if she wanted to see the rest of the album.
She pulled away and flipped the next page. “There’s Rocco.” It was a younger version of him, but he was still intimidating even as a teenager. All the guys were, including Jax, although she’d seen a much softer side of him now.
His vulnerability was both surprising and endearing.
“Yeah, he was a beast even back then,” Jax said, resting his hand on her back. “You’ll have to meet the other guys.”
Meg’s heart skipped a beat at how casually Jax had said that, as if . . . they were already a couple, and he wanted her to meet his friends. Well, he had taken her to that team party.
“Which ones went pro?” she asked.
“There were five of us called up soon after club. Some played in the minor leagues, but we’re all pro now.” He leaned forward, bringing them closer together, and pointed to a picture of a tall guy with crooked grin. “That’s Clint McCarthy. He got injured his senior year in high school, so he wasn’t recruited. Did some college, then he went into the Marines for four years. When he returned, he ended up playing in the minors. Last month he was offered by the St. Louis Hawks. We play them tomorrow night.”
“Oh wow,” Meg said. “Who’s that? He looks like he’s going to kill someone.”
Jax chuckled. “Zamboni? Yeah, he doesn’t mess around when it comes to hockey.”
“His name is seriously Zamboni?”
“Nah,” Jax said. “Zane Winchester. Plays for the Tennessee Hounds. Spoiled with all that nice weather. Although we can’t give him too much crap, since he’s a single dad now and he’s gone through some rough things.”
Meg nodded. “What about this guy?” She pointed to an olive-skinned, dark-haired man.
“Declan Rivera,” Jax said, his fingers skimming along her back. “He was the most recruited of our group. Had offers from all over the country. Dice has broken a million records with the Denver Chargers.”
“Dice, huh?” She peeked up at Jax. “I’m sure there’s a story there.”
He winked. “Yep.”
That wink zoomed straight to her heart. This was nice—Meg sitting next to Jax as he talked to her, his low voice rumbling in the cozy room.
“Who’s the other guy that was recruited pro?”
“Trane Jones.” Jax pointed at a guy on the far left. “He’s as tough as they come. During his teen years, he was about a heartbeat away from being homeless. My dad paid all of his club fees.”
Meg heard the sigh in his voice.
“It was a wise investment, of course,” Jax said. “Coach Fenwick was like a dad to him, and he taught Trane to be a man on the right side of the law. I’ll never forget the day he punched Zamboni in the face and laid him flat on the ice. Zamboni had called him a beggar.”
“Wow, did the coach get mad?” Meg said.
“Fenwick didn’t have to,” Jax said. “That day, Trane earned both respect from all of us and his nickname Diesel.”
“Did they ever become friends?”
“Friends isn’t exactly what I would have ever called them,” Jax said. “But they were teammates, and they worked together. Sometimes that’s more important.” He flipped another page in the photo album, to a picture where Jax was sitting at a table—obviously signing day. And behind h
im were both his parents, smiling for the camera. The pride in their eyes was immense.
“Your mom is really beautiful,” Meg said. “She looks happy too.”
“Those were the good days,” Jax said in a quiet voice. “Things have been strained between us for a while.”
She heard the disappointment in his voice. “I’m sorry.” She really had no advice; she’d never even met the woman. Besides, both of Jax’s parents seemed to live in an entirely different world than she did, so what advice could she offer?
“Well,” Jax said, moving his hand from her back and snapping the album closed. “She was disappointed that I broke things off with Lacy.”
Meg frowned. “Even after how she let your dad bribe her?”
He gave a short nod, then leaned back on the couch and folded his arms. “Here’s the thing. I talked to my dad earlier today, and he was adamant that he donated through completely legal means. So I had my lawyer pull all the accounting reports this afternoon, and it turns out that my dad’s donations were legit.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Which doesn’t really make my decision easier.”
Meg felt the breath leave her. “What decision?”
“To accept a trade before the February deadline.”
Meg tried not to react. So he was going to leave the Flyers, leave Chicago? “Where will you go?” Her voice sounded faint.
“I don’t know yet,” he said, his gaze slipping away. “Could be anywhere. I had a phone call with Clint McCarthy’s agent, because I fired mine today. Marcus is really hopeful that I’ll get a strong contract. Probably five years minimum.”
She nodded, although her mind was reeling with all of this information.
“I realize, now that I know what my dad did was legal, he was doing what he thought was best,” Jax said. “Although I still think it’s messed up. At least I’ll not be suing him now.”
She didn’t know what to say. It was good he wasn’t going to sue his own father, but did he really have to leave Chicago to prove a point? “What did your coach say in the meeting?”
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