“Hey, Tru, you coming to eat?” Jean-Baptiste Larocque called out as he walked past.
“I’ve got other plans.” Tru nodded toward Melanie, who was applying lip gloss. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
J.B. grinned. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”
“With your track record, that gives me a pretty free rein.”
“Be careful. For an old guy like you, that might be dangerous.”
“This ‘old guy’ can still grind your candy-ass to dust, kid.”
“You keep believing that.” Larocque laughed, before sliding into his Porsche.
Melanie pursed her lips as Tru fastened his seat belt. “You never let me go to dinner with the team.”
Tru swallowed a sigh at the familiar complaint. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t want Melanie at the postgame meals. It just didn’t feel right. Perhaps because taking a girlfriend felt like too much of a statement about their relationship. He and Mel weren’t at that stage yet. Would they ever be?
Would any woman ever be?
He pushed the questions aside. He didn’t want to think about something that deep tonight. Bad enough that the past had raised its ugly head with that newscast about Douglas Boult’s death.
And the torturous encounter with Jenny afterward.
He’d thought he’d dealt with the fact that Jenny would never forgive him. After trying over and over to make up for his mistake, he’d realized a few years back that he was hitting his head against a brick wall and decided to cut his losses. Since then, he’d done his best to stay out of Jenny’s way.
When, like tonight, they did meet, his body reacted for the first few moments as if nothing bad had happened between them. As if she was imprinted onto his DNA.
Melanie continued her complaint. “Jenny always goes. Why can’t I?”
“You know why Jenny goes.”
“It’s not fair. I should have more rights than a puck bunny,” she huffed. “Jake takes Maggie to the team dinners.”
“They’re married.”
Tru swore silently, wishing he hadn’t mentioned the M-word. Melanie had been pressing hard lately to move their relationship to the next stage, but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t need another emotional fight about commitment tonight. With weariness clouding his brain, whatever he said wouldn’t be right.
Time to steer their discussion along an easier path.
He flicked the turn signal. “How about we go to the little Italian place you love? I’ll take you into the city for dinner on Saturday.” He named a couple of hot restaurants in the Meatpacking District. “Your choice.”
Melanie perked up. “Okay.”
The tension eased. For the rest of the drive, she chattered about what she’d been doing all week. At La Trattoria Paulina, the effusive personal service and a complimentary glass of champagne put her in a better mood.
Tru was beginning to think he might escape the evening unscathed, when Melanie dropped her bombshell.
“I think we should move in together this summer.” She flashed a dazzling smile.
The chicken parmigiana turned to rubber in his mouth. Tru gulped down ice water, but still felt as if he had half a puck stuck in his throat.
He forced himself to sound calm, despite the dread rising in him. “We agreed to hold off discussing that until the off-season.”
“Why wait? You’ve only got a few weeks left and there are decisions to be made if we want to be settled before you start again. Like where we’ll live. I think we should sell our places and buy something new together.”
“Whoa. Slow down.” Tru held up a hand. “I don’t even know if I’ll still be in New Jersey next season.”
Melanie frowned. “What do you mean?”
Jeez. Hadn’t she been paying attention? “You know I’m a free agent this summer, right? That means my contract is up with the Ice Cats.”
“Yes.” She shrugged. “But they’ll renew it.”
“Not necessarily.” His poor numbers had sparked rumors that the team wouldn’t offer him another deal, but would instead try to trade him for younger, fresher legs.
He knew his best years were behind him. If he could stay healthy, he might manage another seven or eight seasons. He’d been lucky enough to spend his entire professional career with one organization and had banked on one more contract, so he could finish his career there. Sure, trades were part of the game, but he’d never dreamed it would happen to him.
“We shouldn’t make any decisions about the future, Mel, until we know how it’ll all shake out.”
Melanie wasn’t about to be fobbed off. “So you go to a team that’s close by. There are two in New York. Or we could move somewhere nice, like L.A.”
“It doesn’t work that way. I don’t get to pick where I go. I could end up in Edmonton or Detroit or North Carolina.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then we could do the long-distance thing, right?”
Damn it. He really didn’t want to discuss their relationship or his future tonight.
“Let’s table this until I know for sure where I’ll be.” Tru rubbed his temples, trying to ease the brewing headache. “There’ll be plenty of time to make decisions then.”
Melanie’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t want us to move in together, do you?”
Crap. Like that moment when he knew he’d been caught too far out of his zone and couldn’t beat a streaking winger back, Tru could see the disastrous play unfolding. “Look, I’m tired and sore. We can talk about this on Saturday.”
“I want to discuss it now.” Her lips pinched. “We agreed we wanted more commitment.”
“We agreed to think seriously about where we wanted our relationship to go.”
“I know where I want it to go.” Her voice rose in pitch. “I want to get married.”
His stomach twisted. “Marriage is a big decision,” he said carefully.
“That’s why we should live together first. I know you’re scared of commitment because things were tough after your dad left your mom.” Her smile had a brittle edge. “This way, you’ll see it works, before you have to wear the ring.”
Tru drained his glass. She was right. He wouldn’t get hitched unless he was sure the marriage would last. He didn’t want his kids to go through what he and his brothers had.
The problem was, he couldn’t convince himself to take even the first step with Melanie. That should tell him something, shouldn’t it?
He tried one last time to delay the inevitable. “Let me think about that and we’ll talk on Saturday.”
“You don’t love me, do you?” Her voice wobbled.
Double crap.
Tru wished he could say what she wanted to hear—the words he’d said only once before—but he couldn’t. Not yet. “I care about you. With time...” His voice trailed off, as she shook her head.
“I hoped I was wrong.” Her voice hardened. “You’re still in love with someone else.”
“What?” He blinked, surprised. “Who?”
Even as he asked the question, an image of Jenny flashed into his brain. Her shiny, straight blond hair falling past her shoulders to rest against the scooped neckline of her black top. Faded black jeans that clung lovingly to every inch of her knockout legs and black, spiked-heel boots with buckles and studs that could make grown men whimper. Fire shot through his veins.
He tamped down the unwanted desire and scrambled to cover his ass. “I’m not in love with anyone.”
“Come on, Tru. Don’t try to tell me there isn’t unfinished business between you and Jenny.” Her lip curled.
His short laugh was humorless. “What there was between us has been finished for over a decade.” How could it not be, after what he’d done? “We’ve both moved on.”
“Have you?” Her question rang with disbelief.
Jenny sure as hell had. He’d been reminded of that every damn time she’d left the arena with her player of choice. It had taken a while, but he’d moved on, too, even if he’d never learned to ignore her fully.
“There’s nothing left between me and Jenny.” His tone was flat, uncompromising.
“There’s too much emotion between you, for former high school sweethearts.”
If only she knew. He’d never told anyone—not his best friend Jake, nor his brothers—the truth about what had happened with Jenny. “We weren’t exactly sweethearts.” Not quite a lie. Their relationship had barely started before he’d blown it to hell. “We were buddies, played hockey together. We grew apart.”
Melanie shook her head. “I doubt it’s that simple.”
“It is.” It had to be. He changed the subject away from Jenny to one that wasn’t any more comfortable; it too was littered with guilt and betrayal. “I’ve told you before, I’m cautious because I don’t want to make a mistake. Divorce is painful all round.”
“If you believe that’s the only reason you don’t want commitment, then you’re lying to yourself as well as me.” She rose. “I want you to take me home.”
He knew he should try to rescue their relationship, but he couldn’t find the energy. Where was his “fight till you hear the buzzer” mentality? Gone. Like his chances of winning the Stanley Cup this year. He knew which he felt worse about.
“Okay.” He motioned for the waiter to bring the check.
As he paid, Tru wondered what he could have done to make the evening end differently.
His depressing conclusion was nothing. He didn’t question too closely whether he couldn’t think of a solution to the issues they—he—had or he didn’t want to.
The drive to Melanie’s place was tense and silent. There was nothing left to say. After a stilted goodbye, Tru headed to his apartment.
He closed the door and relief filled him. He should be upset. His relationship with Mel had lasted longer than any other. If there was a chance of him having a happily-ever-after with anyone, he’d have thought it would’ve been with her. Yet, now that it was over, he knew this was the right outcome.
Maybe he wasn’t meant to be married. He thought enviously of Jake and his wife, Maggie. Of the obstacles they’d overcome to be together. Of their happiness. Their marriage would last, for sure.
Tru wanted to believe there was someone special out there for him. Unfortunately, it looked as though the odds of finding that person were as slim as him being voted the league’s most valuable player this year.
He pulled an ice pack from the freezer and pressed it to his shoulder, then slumped onto the sofa and flicked on the TV to catch the Kings’ game.
He should forget about relationships and stick to hockey.
It was simpler. You win or you lose, you move on to the next game. On the ice your only commitment was to the logo on the front of your sweater.
Sure he wanted more than his career, but not unless what he felt for the woman was absolutely right. In hockey and in love, second-best didn’t count.
* * *
JENNY DIDN’T KNOW how she made it home. By the time she closed her front door, her body was trembling. Despite the balmy spring evening, she was chilled through.
She should be dancing through the house, yet she couldn’t shake off the gloom that shrouded her, extending its cold, snakelike tendrils deep inside.
Perhaps it was shock. Jenny had been looking over her shoulder for so long, waiting for her uncle to take revenge for leaving and taking Lizzie with her. Even when Lizzie had grown too old to be of interest to Douglas, he’d made sure Jenny knew that he could make their lives miserable if she took one wrong step.
She lit the fire in the living room, made a mug of hot chocolate and curled up in her rocking chair, her parents’ wedding-ring quilt wrapped around her shoulders. She drew comfort from the handmade quilt, as if her parents were hugging her.
The heirloom was the only thing of her parents that Douglas had let her take when she’d left. Jenny hadn’t cared; Lizzie’s safety had been worth more than everything she’d had to leave behind. And a small price to pay for ensuring her uncle would leave them alone.
Not that she’d trusted him to keep his word. But her only leverage against him would have been to tell the truth about what he’d done to her. But that would have destroyed her and, worse, Lizzie would have been wrenched from her care.
Slowly, warmth seeped into her body, relieving the tension that had tightened her muscles. A tiny spark of joy lit deep inside and she allowed it to glow.
The doorbell rang, jolting her out of her reverie. Jenny debated not answering, but her visitor was impatient and leaned on the bell again. Slowly, she rose and went to the door. Checking through the peephole, she was relieved to see her boss’s craggy face.
Harry didn’t say anything when she opened the door, simply enfolded her in his arms and pressed her to his barrel chest. The familiar smell of Old Spice and the cigars he wasn’t supposed to smoke clung to his tweed jacket.
The tears she’d held back spilled over.
“No need for waterworks,” his gravelly voice rumbled beneath her ear as he patted her back awkwardly.
Jenny stepped away and led him to the living room. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
His jaw set. “They’re tears of happiness. We’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I’ve never been happier to hear of someone’s passing.”
Harry had insisted she tell him her story the first time they met, when he’d rescued her from a shoplifting charge at the local grocery store, not long after she and Lizzie had left their uncle’s house. Surprised a teenager would steal milk and bread, instead of candy or alcohol, he’d paid for her haul and offered to buy her lunch.
She hadn’t trusted Harry’s motives, but with no money and desperate to feed Lizzie, she’d grudgingly accepted his help. It hadn’t taken long for her benefactor—a billionaire with fingers in multiple media pies—to coax the story out of her.
Harry had been shocked. Impressed that she was trying to take care of her sister, he’d promised to help her keep Lizzie. Despite her lack of qualifications, he’d given her a job and helped her find a place to live. He’d also encouraged her to get her GED and to save her money so she could buy this house.
Harry had threatened to expose her uncle, but Jenny, fearful of the fallout that would rebound on her, had begged him not to. He’d agreed reluctantly, but had sworn that if Douglas ever came after her, he would deal with the man himself.
“You didn’t need to come.” Jenny poured him a glass of his favorite malt whiskey. “I’m all right.”
“I can see that.” Harry eased his stocky frame into an armchair by the fire.
“No, really. The news was unexpected. The emotions overwhelmed me, but I’m fine.”
Harry nodded. “Well, now the old bastard’s gone, it’s time to take a good look at your life and decide what you want to do with it.”
“What’s wrong with my life? Thanks to you, I have a great job, a lovely house and a social life most women would envy.”
He arched a gray eyebrow. “You must want more than that. What about marriage, a family? You’re not getting any younger, missy.”
Jenny had abandoned her dream of a husband and children long ago. She carried too much baggage to trust any man. She’d learned the hard way the only person she could rely on was herself. Safety and security were far more important than romance.
“Lizzie only has a couple of years left at college,” she hedged. “Plenty of time to figure things out when she’s done.”
“Bull crap.” He puffed out a breath. “Don’t wait for the right moment to sort yourself out. Otherwise, one day, you’ll turn aroun
d and it’ll be too late.”
At his somber tone, she studied his face anxiously. “Is everything all right? You’re not sick, are you?”
“Fit as a horse.” He waved away her concerns. “Only the creaky joints you’d expect in a man my age.”
Harry looked good for his seventy years. His hair wasn’t fully gray yet and his only wrinkles were the laugh lines around his eyes and bracketing his mouth.
“Then why the heavy sigh?”
“Felicia and Irving want their allowances increased. I should’ve cut the pair of them loose years ago.” He shook his head. “Alice will be rolling in her grave at the mess I’ve made of bringing them up.”
Though Harry was overindulgent with his children, Jenny felt their self-centered greediness was a character flaw that said more about them, than the man who’d raised them single-handedly after his wife’s early death.
“Why couldn’t my kids have been more like you and Lizzie? Thank God I have you both in my life, or I’d be a miserable old goat.”
She laughed. “I’m not touching that comment!”
Harry chuckled, then sobered. “Enough dillydallying around the subject, missy. I want to know what Jenny Martin wants from her life.”
What did she want?
With her thirtieth birthday approaching, she’d been asking herself the same question. She’d been surprised to realize that over the past year she’d slept with very few men; none in the past nine months. The players coming into the league seemed too young and she couldn’t drum up any interest for those already in the show.
The lack of sex didn’t bother her; she’d never been that excited by it. Being a puck bunny had given her a sense of power and control—in a safe environment, among a fraternity she’d trusted—at a time when she’d had none. She didn’t need that anymore. Perhaps it was time to pass her figurative crown to someone younger.
But what would she do instead? There would be a void in her life, especially now Lizzie had pretty much left home. Then there was the tick of her biological clock.
She wasn’t going there. “I don’t know what I want.”
A Perfect Trade (Harlequin Superromance) Page 2
