Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “Mason, this is hard for me too, but—”

  “It doesn’t have to be. We can make this work. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

  She continued to stare at his chest, lost. She didn’t have a checklist for him to follow. What she wanted—no, needed—from him went far deeper than that. But before she could find the words, his next remark caused her heart to flip then plummet.

  “You still love me, Jules. Don’t you?”

  She brought her eyes up to him then, taken aback by the question. Did she still love him? She couldn’t deny it, so she didn’t. She also knew he could see the answer in her eyes, and she didn’t bother hiding it.

  “I still love you, Jules. I’ll do whatever it takes to make our marriage work.”

  “Anything?”

  She studied him closely, wondering just how willing he was to stand by his word. During one of their lowest moments, she had made a suggestion that would help repair their marriage, but he had swiftly shut it down.

  This time, however, he squeezed her hand and nodded. “Anything.”

  3

  Anything…

  Mason shook his head at himself. “Anything” turned out to be the last thing he wanted. But if Jules believed marriage counseling would help them, then he would do it.

  The only problem was getting there.

  Mason glanced down at his watch for the third time. “Harlan, when is this going to start? I have somewhere to be in an hour.”

  “Soon,” Harlan Axel murmured, his attention focused on his phone. “Give it about another ten, fifteen minutes. The press room is getting prepped as we speak.”

  “And the reporters understand that they’re just covering my promotion, right? I don’t want my marriage brought up in this thing, or any other crap that’s being said about me or my wife.”

  Harlan finally looked up from his phone, and the shrewd look in his dark eyes was somehow reassuring. “If they want to be invited back, they’ll stick to sports. They know the rules. You stick to your promotion and coaching. I’ll field the rest.”

  Mason nodded, trusting Harlan to run a smooth press conference. It was one of the things their team’s publicist was exceptional at.

  Once the press conference was underway, he and Harlan sat behind a row of microphones and fielded several questions about his promotion, Thibodeault’s retirement, and the future of the Cajun Rage. Mason spoke briefly about the team and his plans as head coach. He even managed to dodge a few queries about his players and their recent troubles in the press.

  But no one was as persistent—or sneaky—as Harrison Stacey.

  “Coach, did your recent promotion have anything to do with your wife filing for divorce?”

  Mason clenched his jaw and leveled the bold journalist with a hard glare.

  “Thanks, everyone,” Harlan smoothly broke in. “But that’s all the questions Courage is going to answer for today. If we didn’t get to your question, you can thank Mr. Stacey for that.”

  Mason shoved away from the table as the press began to shout questions at him. He ignored them as he headed toward the exit, Doug at his heels. Harlan hung back, allowing Mason a quick escape before he said something he would regret on camera.

  “Coach, wait.”

  Mason turned to find Harrison rushing toward them. He ignored him and continued down the hall.

  “Come on, Courage,” Harrison said as he fell into step beside him, his blonde hair still neatly in place. “Give me something. I just need one statement. Haven’t I always been good to you and the Rajuns?”

  Mason cocked a brow at him, not slowing his stride. Did Harrison honestly consider his mundane stories and gossip-filled coverage of their team good reporting? The man spent more time prying into their team’s private lives with cynical commentary than actually reporting on their games.

  “No comment, Harrison. Now, if you don’t want to lose your press pass, I suggest you get lost.”

  “Why don’t you want to put those rumors about you and your wife to bed? Your silence only makes it worse.”

  Mason refused to dignify this bullshit with a response.

  “He said no comment.”

  Harrison disregarded Doug’s crisp response and forged on. “Who’s the guy in the picture? Is he the reason behind your divorce?”

  “Hey, I have a headline for you,” Doug said. “‘Sports journalist gets a red-hot Rajun kick in the ass.’ Now, seriously. Get lost.”

  Mason couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. His personal assistant certainly had a way with words. Maybe he should have Doug double as his enforcer.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Harrison continued, ignoring the jibe. “You’re married to a beauty queen. With a wife like yours, every guy in the county has been waiting out your marriage.”

  Mason came to a complete stop and whipped around to Harrison, his shoulders bunched. “What did you just say?”

  “Uh oh…” Doug muttered.

  Harrison shrugged. “It’s no secret your wife’s a knockout. There must be guys lined up waiting to take—”

  Before the journalist could finish his sentence, Mason drove his fist into his jaw. It connected with such impact that the man lifted slightly from the ground and landed on his back.

  In a distant part of his mind, Mason registered the gravity of what he had done, but he couldn’t think of the consequences right now. His attention was focused solely on the man on the ground and the fury pulsing through him.

  He took another step toward him, but the blood on his mouth stopped Mason cold. Clearly dazed, Harrison touched his lip, then stared down at the blood on his fingers. He scrambled to his feet and, to Mason’s surprise, started to laugh.

  “You just gave me an even better headline,” he muttered. “‘New Rajuns coach wins Cup, loses wife, temper, and job.’ How does that sound?”

  Mason balled his hands at his sides, not taking the bait this time. Without another word, he spun on his heels and continued to his office. He barely made it there before Harlan managed to chase him down. His typical composure and flat expression were unusually ruffled.

  “Damn it, Mason,” he snapped. “What the hell did you do?”

  “If you’re referring to Harrison Stacey, that son-of-a-bitch had it coming the minute he started talking about Jules.”

  Harlan ran a hand through his neatly groomed brown hair. “Everyone is talking about her. She’s a rocket. She’s also America’s former beauty queen who filed for divorce from the hottest coach in the league right now. Get used to it.”

  Mason ground his teeth together, hating to be reminded of that bit—and hating that Harlan was right. Being in the public eye wasn’t anything new for them. It had started ten years ago when the media had gotten wind that the beloved American beauty queen was now dating a Canadian jock—or “hockey’s short-tempered bad boy,” as they had put it. The media had built their relationship into some kind of fairytale, when all he had wanted at that time was to build something special with the most fascinating woman he had ever met.

  Luckily, he and Jules had managed to build a strong, lasting relationship. He would be damned if he let the media or anyone invade their privacy and further destroy what they had managed to build.

  “Harrison is a gossip columnist, a wannabe sportswriter, who has no business in our press room. If he wants to report this to the league, let him. I’ll pay the fine and you can work on getting his press pass revoked.”

  Harlan frowned. “The league is the least of our worries, and revoking his pass will be the last thing I do now, thanks to you. If we want to keep this little incident from hitting the papers—or worse, land on a police report—I now have to play nice with the guy.”

  Mason muttered a curse. Once again, Harlan was right. Harrison wasn’t a player and had never been one. Throwing the occasional punch might be how some of them in the league settled disagreements, but a weasel like Harrison could make serious trouble.
/>   As if he needed any more.

  “Fuck.”

  Harlan sighed. “Why don’t you take off and I’ll deal with Harrison.” He pulled out his cell and was nearly down the hall before he called over his shoulder, “Try not to slug anyone else on your way out.”

  Mason watched him leave, then caught a glimpse of Doug hovering nearby. He blew out a weary breath.

  “You should head home too, Doug.”

  “All right. But can I just say how freaking epic that was! You were like”—Doug threw a swift jab in the air—“Bam, motherfucker!”

  Mason cocked a brow. Though it had felt good hitting that son-of-a-bitch, the fleeting moment of satisfaction was about to cause a shit storm of problems.

  “Goodbye, Doug.”

  Doug glanced at him sheepishly and cleared his throat. “Right. I’m leaving. But just so you know, it’s three thirty.”

  “And?”

  “And you have an appointment now. I would have rescheduled it, but it’s marked private on your calendar.”

  Mason glanced at his watch, then shut his eyes. Shit.

  Jules was going to kill him.

  Mason rushed into the therapist’s office and hurried pass the startled assistant at the front desk.

  “Excuse me, sir. You can’t go in there!”

  Mason ignored the petite young woman and pushed open the door. Two pairs of dark eyes stared back at him, stunned. He glanced from the older woman sitting on the sofa to the younger woman sitting across from her. Before he could say anything, the young assistant rushed in behind him.

  “Sorry, Dr. Kahn. I tried to tell him you were with a client, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  The woman on the chair plastered a smile on her face and nodded. “It’s all right, Debbie. You’re Jules’ husband, correct? Mason Courage?”

  He nodded stiffly. “We had an appointment with you. Where is she?”

  “You did, but your wife left here about an hour ago. As you can see, I’m with another client. If you would like to reschedule your session, please see my assistant Debbie about my next availability.”

  Mason glanced down at his watch. “Our appointment was for three thirty.”

  “No, it was for two thirty. We waited for you until three before she left.”

  He grimaced. Fuck. “Why didn’t she call me?”

  Dr. Kahn shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her.”

  But deep down, Mason knew why. He was the one who had pushed for a second chance, yet once again he had let her down.

  How could he have screwed this up?

  “Did she make another appointment?”

  “That, you’ll have to check with Debbie about. Now, if you’ll please excuse us?”

  This time, her tone was sharp with irritation. Her client, on the other hand, simply shook her silver-gray head as she peered at him over her large eyeglasses. The disapproval on her face only added to heavy lead settling in his gut.

  Mason backed out of the office and followed the assistant back to her desk. From her hard expression, it was clear she wasn’t a fan of his.

  “Can you please check to see if my wife rescheduled our session?”

  “I can tell you now that she didn’t. I tried to ask, but she was pretty upset when she left here.”

  Mason winced internally at the thought of Jules leaving here angry and hurt. She was good at keeping her composure and not letting strangers know when she was upset or in pain. The fact that this woman had been able to see that made him think Jules’ pain was too great for her to mask.

  That thought made him feel even more like shit.

  “Would you like to reschedule a session with Dr. Kahn?”

  “I’ll have to circle back with my wife. Can I have her card?”

  The assistant handed him Dr. Priya Kahn’s business card, and Mason skimmed it. All of her accreditations were listed under her name, and her areas of expertise were outlined in the back. Mason understood why Jules had selected her. He slipped the card into his pocket.

  As he made his way to his car, he pulled out his cell and dialed Jules’ number. Her voicemail instantly came on.

  “Jules, it’s me. I’m at the therapist’s office now. Somehow I got the times screwed up. I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t miss this.”

  He reached his car, but instead of getting behind the wheel, he leaned against the trunk. He was at a loss for the words that would redeem him. I’m sorry just didn’t seem to cut it.

  “Let’s reschedule, all right? I won’t screw it up next time. We can even ride over here together.” He shut his eyes, wanting to kick himself again for this huge blunder. “Let’s talk more when I get home. I love you.”

  Mason ended the call and rushed home. He hoped during his twenty-minute drive that she would return his call. She didn’t. Instead, his phone buzzed with messages from Doug and Harlan. He ignored them all.

  When he pulled up to their two-story Acadian-style home, he was relieved to see her car in the driveway. In his place on the driveway was a silver sedan he didn’t recognize.

  Mason pulled up alongside Carrie’s car and got out. He thought of what he would say to his wife as he made his way into the house. Whatever he had thought up quickly vanished when he caught sight of the dark-haired man sitting in his living room. Right beside his wife. Their backs were turned to him, but the image of the unidentified man having dinner with his wife instantly came to mind.

  Juliette Courage’s Mystery Man.

  That was what the local news stations, and practically everyone on social media, were calling the man in the photo. Mason clenched and unclenched his hands into fists.

  “Jules, who the hell is this?”

  They both snapped their heads around to face him, clearly surprised by his presence. Or was that alarm? Either way, it didn’t lessen his irritation, and he didn’t wait for her to answer him.

  He turned to the man, who had risen to his feet. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Mason!” Jules shot to her feet. “Language. Jeremy’s right here.”

  He pressed his lips together and came fully into the room. At the foot of the sofa, he found his son sitting on the rug, his knees curled up to his chest. To his relief, Jeremy was completely engrossed in his tablet. But that reprieve was short-lived when he realized Jules had brought some strange man near his children.

  Was this one of the bastards waiting to take his place?

  That thought was enough to send Mason’s blood boiling.

  “What are you doing in my house?” Mason fixed his gaze on the baffled man, his eyes darting to Jules then back to him. “I asked you a question.”

  “Mason, don’t be rude. This is Jeremy’s new speech therapist.”

  The man started toward him, his hand extended. “My name’s Leigh Young.”

  Mason gave the man a quick once-over, and Leigh let his hand drop. Leigh was a far cry from Jeremy’s former therapist. Nothing about Mrs. Reed had been this young, tall, or athletic. Where the hell did Jules find this guy?

  Mason fixed his glare on his wife. “What happened to the last one you spoke to me about? Ashley something.”

  Jules’ brows pulled together. “What are you talking about? This is Ashleigh.”

  “My friends call me Leigh.”

  “So you consider all your clients your friends,” Mason said tersely.

  “Only the ones I like.”

  Leigh smiled in a way that made him want to knock his teeth in. Instead, Mason went to stand by his wife.

  “My wife can be very likable,” he said evenly, placing his hand on the small of her back.

  Mason didn’t give a shit how possessive it made him look—or that Jules was shooting daggers in his direction with her pretty amber eyes. Whatever thoughts this guy had in his head about his wife, Mason hoped to squash them, quick.

  “Mind telling me what you’re doing here in my home, with my wife and son?” His hand involuntarily tightened around her, and she shot him a quick glance.

>   “Sure. I was just telling Jules how much progress Jeremy has been making with the new communication app we’ve started him on.”

  “That’s great. Why don’t you fill me in?”

  Mason sat next to a tense Jules as Leigh explained the new alternative communication program to him. They spent the next twenty minutes going over methods to implement the new tool in Jeremy’s day-to-day routine whenever he went nonverbal. Though Mason didn’t like to push their son into something that could lead to sensory overload and a possible meltdown, he had to admit that the new communication method seemed like a simple enough process for Jeremy to adopt.

  Throughout the meeting, Jules nodded and smiled and asked all the appropriate questions. She was pleasant throughout the entire debrief, but from the rigidity in her slender frame, Mason knew she was a dam waiting to burst.

  When it was over, Mason walked Leigh to the door. Whatever Mason might have thought of the guy at the beginning, it was clear he was serious about his work and committed to helping their son.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to bite your head off earlier,” Mason said as they reached the door. “It’s just I can never be too careful who comes around my family.”

  “No, of course you can’t. You and the Cajun Rage are celebrities around here. I have a friend who’s a big fan of yours. He’s been following your career since we were in high school.”

  Mason’s lips tightened. Leigh couldn’t be that much younger than him, and yet Mason felt older than his thirty-nine years. It didn’t help that he was staring forty right in the face—or the fact that with every year he aged, Jules seemed to get younger and more beautiful.

  “Tell your friend I appreciate the dedication.”

  Leigh nodded, and Mason shut the door behind him. When he turned, he was surprised to find Jules standing behind him.

  “This doesn’t change anything, Mason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Coming here, playing the jealous husband, which was completely uncalled for. And humiliating. You clearly haven’t paid any attention to what’s been going on in this house, and today only proved where your priorities lie.”