by Amy Olle
A soft curve played over her mouth as she watched him with large, round eyes. He’d grown so used to seeing a sarcastic tilt on her wide mouth that his gaze lingered a moment, appreciating the novelty.
“Wow, Jack, that’s really noble.”
He laughed.
“No, I’m serious. I mean, I serve beer for a living.”
He slowed the vehicle as he approached a red light. “Do not underestimate the value of a bartender. In order of importance, it goes your priest, your therapist, your bartender, and if you don’t have the first two, your bartender gets promoted.”
Her wide smile lit up the dark interior of the car.
“And it’s not noble. Hockey saved me,” he said. “I owe it everything I have.”
“Saved you how?” she asked, her tone suddenly serious.
“I was not a good student. I struggled in school. Hockey was my escape. The one place I exceled. When I have a stick in my hand, everything makes sense.”
“School is hard for a lot of people. Most of them don’t become highly successful professional athletes to compensate.”
A wry smile touched her mouth. “True, but most people aren’t dyslexic.”
He watched closely for her reaction, but saw only a soft sorrow and not a hint of pity.
“I didn’t know,” she said softly.
The light changed and he eased the car forward. “I don’t tell a lot of people. I’m a hockey player. It doesn’t matter if I have a bad brain.”
“You don’t have a bad brain.”
The snap in her tone warmed his insides.
“Your brain is why I picked you.”
He shot her a look.
“When they were discussing which players to take, Coach said your hockey IQ was remarkable.” Then her voice turned all soft and slippery when she said, “I knew then that I had to have you.”
Staring through the windshield, Jack marveled at her words. “You picked me for my IQ?”
“Well, that and your big, powerful thighs.”
At the next stoplight, he pondered why he’d told her all that stuff, but he couldn’t come up with a reason, other than she’d asked and then listened to his response.
“I thought I read you have a degree in communication.” She laid her head on the headrest. “You must’ve done pretty well in school.”
“It took me eight years to get my bachelor’s, with tutors and all kinds of extra help. When I was kid, I hid it for years, but eventually Noah figured it out and told Shea.”
“Noah, the professor? And Shea?”
“Shea’s the oldest. He sort of did all the stuff for us a parent is supposed to do. Anyway, by the time Shea found out, Neal had offered me a spot with his club, and Shea decided there’d be more options available to me if I went to live with him.”
“You left your family? How old were you?”
“Fifteen. And it was for the best. Lord knew they had enough to deal with already.” Light from the streetlamp passed through the car’s dark interior. “It worked out. Neal found the tutors I needed and with the extra help, I managed to get through high school and college.”
“Who’s Neal?”
“Neal Thompson. He’s a retired player, now the GM in Detroit.”
“He’s why you want to play in Detroit?”
“Partly, yeah. He’s been good to me. I don’t know what I would’ve become if he hadn’t offered me a spot on his roster and a place to live.”
At Hamilton Place, Jack steered the SUV into the lot.
“They must love watching you play. All of them. Especially your brothers.”
He frowned as he eased into a parking spot.
“Jack? They’ve seen you play, haven’t they?”
He killed the engine. “They don’t come to my games.”
She twisted in the seat. “Why not? Don’t you get along?”
“We get along fine.” He rolled his shoulders. “They’re busy.”
Her mouth fell slightly open. “You asked your brothers to come to your games and they said they’re busy?”
“I don’t need to ask them. I already know.”
She gasped his name.
“What? Noah and Leo have lived overseas most of my career.”
“But the other two live in Michigan, don’t they?”
“Shea’s married with three kids. Luke’s a newlywed.”
The sarcastic slant to her mouth reappeared. “Yeah, you know how marriage is. Like a life sentence without the scenery. Those poor guys. Wonder what will become of them?”
“So says she who can’t commit to a brand of shampoo.”
She poked his arm. “Don’t you judge me.”
“Not judging.” He held up his hands. “Just happy to prove you wrong.”
“You haven’t proven anything, except you don’t want your brothers at your games.” Her dark eyes softened with gooey warmth. “Why?”
He stared through the windshield while words that didn’t come close to explaining anything curled and tangled inside his head. Shame at the memory of the last time one of his blood relations had showed at one of his games. Guilt that he got out, leaving them behind to deal with their dad’s black soul.
He opened his mouth and then, shaking his head, snapped it shut again. “It’s just easier that way.”
In the silence, he turned his face to her. Her expression, one of pure heartbreak, wrenched something inside him when she reached over and placed her hand over his heart.
“I understand, Jack. I really do.”
Chapter Seventeen
Haven woke early Monday morning, eager to get to the arena and deal with the offer from Ottawa.
It’d been a week since Darby blew up at her for firing the ice girls, and she hadn’t seen him since. The team traveled the first part of the week, and she’d assumed he’d joined them on the road, but when they returned Wednesday after winning won one game but losing the other and Darby still hadn’t shown up, she asked Mel to look into it.
Come to find out, he wasn’t ill or abducted.
“What do you mean, he’s not coming in?” Haven had asked Mel.
Mel held up the pink slip of paper where she’d scribbled Darby’s message. “He said, ‘If she thinks she knows so much, then she can go ahead and do it all without me.’”
Haven had scrunched up her nose. “So, did he quit?”
Mel peered at her over the rim of her glasses. “I think he’s pouting.”
At first, Haven thought about freaking out, but frankly, things had hummed along nicely without Darby in the building distracting everyone from their work.
Now, in the elevator at Hamilton Place, she pressed the button for the first floor and leaned back against the wall as the car started its descent. But at the eighteenth floor, the elevator stopped. The doors eased open and a strikingly beautiful woman climbed into the car.
Haven gave the woman some side eye as the elevator carried them down.
She was stunning. Tall and fine-boned, with silky blonde hair, not a color obtained from a bottle but real blonde, that shimmered around her shoulders and floated down her back. Her eyes were the purest blue, and her impeccably formed features retained the softness of youth.
Haven decided she disliked her. To be that pretty, she had to be a bitch.
The beauty offered Haven a sweet smile, and Haven begrudgingly smiled back.
Then the woman gasped and whirled on Haven. “Omigosh, you’re Haven Callahan, aren’t you?”
With extreme reluctance, Haven admitted the truth. “Yes.”
Blondie squealed. “Omigosh, I can’t believe it’s you. I heard what you said, about women, and hockey, and omigosh, thank you. Thank you so much for that.”
“Um, you’re welcome?” Haven said, unsure whether the woman was joking or not.
“I kind of want to ask for your autograph, but that’s probably weird, right?”
That pulled a laugh from Haven.
Her hand shot out. “Hi, I’m Sutton
. It’s so great to meet you.”
Haven reached for the woman’s hand. “It’s really great to meet you, too,” she said, and she wasn’t even lying.
By midmorning, the warm glow of Sutton’s sweetness had deserted Haven.
“You did what?”
Haven held Darby’s gaze. “I traded Bryce Lovejoy to Ottawa.”
“You can’t do that,” Darby spluttered. “He’s our best player.”
“He’s a locker room cancer, and he hasn’t produced for us in eight seasons.”
“He’s our star. We’ve built this team—hell, our entire franchise—around him.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Darby why, if he meant to make Bryce the centerpiece of the team, he hadn’t included a no-trade clause in the man’s contract, but she chose to focus instead on the battle in front of her.
“We need to make a change. What we’ve been doing isn’t working.”
Darby gaped at her as though she’d sprouted a second head.
“Why are you even here? I thought you were on strike or something.”
He sputtered, bristling with indignation. “I’m trying to stop you from destroying this team. Get Ottawa on the phone. I’m going to try to undo this idiotic deal.”
“We gain two forwards and a defenseman, and we free up five million in salary cap space. I had to take their offer.”
A cursory knock sounded on the office door and Mel poked her head inside. “Mr. Lovejoy is here to see you.”
“Please, send him in,” Haven said. “Oh, and Mel? Will you see if Coach Chambers is available to come see me? And Jack Nolan, too, please?”
“Nolan?” Darby asked when Mel closed the door. “What’s he got to do with this?”
“Coach and I agree that Jack should take over as the alternate team captain.”
“You talked to Chambers about this behind my back?” Darby seethed with fury.
“You weren’t here,” Haven reminded him. “I needed to consult with somebody, and Cal’s the one who has to deal with any moves we make.”
With another sharp rap, the office door opened and Mel ushered Bryce into the room.
Darby held up his hands. “I don’t want any part of this. You want to take this team down, you’re going to have to do it without me.” He stalked from the office, slamming the door shut behind him.
Bryce’s large body seemed to take up all the space in the roomy office. He watched her with cold eyes, his expression holding that inscrutable aspect she’d become used to seeing on his face when he looked at her.
The hairs lifted on her arms, but she ignored the splinter of fear. “I wanted to personally thank you for all you’ve done for the Renegades organization, but we—I—feel it’s time we take the team in a new direction.”
His eyes flashed. “What are you saying?”
“You’ve been traded to Ottawa. Congratulations.”
Shock and rage warred for dominance of his features. Rage won out. “You traded me? Are you fucking serious? I’m the best player on this team.”
Not even close, she thought.
“I’m sorry if it’s upsetting to you, but the deal’s done.” She crossed to the office door and pulled it open, suppressing the urge to suck in a desperate gulp of air. “That’s all I have.”
A wild, reckless light came into his eyes, and she wondered if that’s how he’d looked the moment before he started hitting his girlfriend. He moved toward her with slow, predatory steps, his gaze never leaving her face.
She snuck a glance at the reception area. Mel was not at her desk.
Drawing close, he pushed into her space. “You’re going to regret this.”
“I don’t think I will.” She could feel his breath on her skin.
In a sudden flare of fury, he punched the door beside her head. “You stupid bitch.”
Her heart walloped against her breastbone as she steadied the door behind her. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
In the hall, she heard a faint sound. Mel was on her way back.
“You deserve what they did to you.”
She blinked at him. “What?”
His lips curled. “I hope you get raped again. It’s what you deserve.”
Her mind grappled with his words, but they were all out of order, and no matter how many variations she tried, she couldn’t line them up in any sensible pattern.
“Get your hands off her. Now.” Jack’s distinctive baritone brimmed with violence.
Dumbly, she looked down at Bryce’s fingertips driving white indentations into her flesh. He released her arm, but with a hard shove that knocked her back against the door.
With measured strides, he crossed the reception area, but as he neared the door, Jack refused to move from his path. The two men stood eye to eye, their muscles coiled, while a charged tension swirled around them.
The trembling in her body carried to her voice when she spoke. “Jack. Please, come in.”
She retreated into her dad’s office, and a moment later, Jack appeared in the doorway.
When she found the courage to look into his eyes, his fierce green-gold gaze pierced her. Unspoken questions hung in the air, but she didn’t have the answers he sought.
She hadn’t seen him in two days and her mind latched on to the changes in him. The slight shadow touching his jawline. The fresh bruise darkening the corner of his right eye.
“Haven?” His throat worked when he swallowed. “What he said…?”
Oh, how she regretted this moment. “It was a long time ago.”
The color leached from his face.
Coach Chambers’s head poked around the doorframe.
She managed a weak smile and he stepped into the room.
“Have you told him?” he asked.
She shook her head and made a motion with her hand. “You go ahead.”
Cal faced Jack. “Bryce has been traded to Ottawa.”
Jack’s discerning gaze swung to her. She pretended something on her desk had captured her interest, but her hands shook so badly when she shuffled through the scattered papers that she abandoned the pretense.
“We want to name you the alternate captain.”
Surprise flickered across Jack’s features. “I’m honored,” he said carefully. “But I think you should consider one of the other guys who’ve been with the team longer than I have.”
“We all agree it should be you,” Cal said.
She made the mistake of looking him directly in the eye. “Say yes, Jack. You deserve it.”
“If the guys accept it, so will I.”
“They’ll accept it.” She didn’t have to force her smile this time. “You’re the leader of this team. They know that as well as Cal and I do.”
Cal’s bright smile dimmed. “I saw Bryce in the hall. He didn’t look too happy.”
Haven could feel Jack watching her. “He wasn’t.”
A frown pulled at Cal’s features. “That’s too bad. But for the record, I think this is a good thing for the team. Has the press release gone out?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Can you give us twenty minutes?” He turned to Jack. “We should talk to the team before the news gets out. You ready?”
Jack’s gaze drifted to her. A lifetime’s worth of words played across his features.
“Go,” she said. “The team needs you.”
When the men left her office, the adrenaline rushed from her body and she collapsed into the leather desk chair. She went through the motions of the rest of her workday, but the whole time her mind did combat with the dark memories of that night a decade past.
The memories had never been clear or sharp, which should’ve been a blessing, but instead had only served to heighten the nameless demons stalking her from the shadows.
As dusk settled over the city, she gathered her things, flipped off the office light, and pulled the door closed behind her.
At the penthouse, she kicked off her shoes
and went to stand before the east-facing windows. She stared out into the darkness, in the direction of a little island beyond the horizon. She longed to be there again. To be the girl who found herself enamored with a boy. A boy who thought her pretty and treated her with kindness and respect.
She wasn’t aware how much time had passed when a knock sounded at the penthouse door, though she knew who she’d find on the other side before she pulled open the heavy wood.
He held himself unnaturally still, as if keeping some raw emotion in check. His army green sweater picked out the moss-colored flecks in his troubled eyes. “Can I come in?”
She moved aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.
In the living room, she sat in one of the leather club chairs and tucked her feet under her.
Through the room’s glass walls, snow had begun to fall. Large fluffy flakes floated down from the sky.
He lowered himself into the club chair next to hers. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you can talk about what happened, I’d like to hear—” He stopped abruptly. “I’d listen.”
“You showed me yours. I suppose it’s only fair if I show you mine.”
Pain slashed across his face. “That’s not how this works.”
“I know,” she whispered. “My therapist says I use sarcasm as a coping mechanism.”
He waited.
Knots of dread twisted in her stomach. “I was in college. I went to a party and—” That’s as far as she made it before she stumbled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
When she could speak, she started again. “I drank too much and blacked out, or passed out. It wasn’t until I woke up in the hospital that I found out what they’d done to me.”
She watched the snow falling while inside her clenched fists, her fingernails dug into her palms. “I pressed charges.”
“And?”
“And….” The memories lashed at her. “After that, I was no longer a victim. I was a perpetrator. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened that way, except the boys were all scholarship athletes. A football player and three hockey players.”
When his hand came up to smooth over his mouth, she saw that it trembled.
“People demanded to know who I was and why I was trying to ruin those boys’ lives. They kept my name out of the papers, I think maybe because they were all convicted, but everyone on campus knew it was me.”
