by Amy Olle
Then a thought struck.
Luke. Maybe his brother knew where she was. Or, more specifically, maybe his brother’s sweet little wife did.
Haven’s nails were polished, black that time, as were her toenails. She’d read all the magazines in the house and several books from the inn’s library.
Left with nothing, she paced in front the large picture window, trying to pretend she wasn’t holding her breath until she caught a glimpse of Jack on the TV screen or heard the announcers make mention of his name.
It was game seven of Detroit’s first-round matchup, with the winner advancing to the second round.
She chewed her thumbnail as players took to the ice for the start of the third period and the brothers clustered around Emily’s TV.
All except one brother.
At her side, Luke appeared, a freshly poured Guinness in his hand.
She kept track of him out of the corner of her eye. He was a sneaky sort. At first glance, he seemed so relaxed and easygoing, but every once in a while she caught him watching her. Not with sexual interest or anything that would’ve made her kick his ass for eye-cheating on Emily, but more like a partner in crime. As if she and he were old friends, sharing a joke no one else was privy to.
Except Haven didn’t get the joke.
She caught him doing it then. “What?” she snapped.
“My brother, he likes you.”
Haven’s spine snapped straight.
Jack had talked to Luke about her? Now that she was no longer his boss, they didn’t have to hide their relationship anymore. But that didn’t mean he wanted people to know about them, did it? Was there still even a “them” to speak of?
Her heart lurched. “He-he does? Did he tell you that? What did he say?”
Luke’s expression turned bewildered. “He didn’t have to say anything. You’re the only one who can beat him at poker.”
The air left her lungs in a rush. Leo. He was talking about Leo.
“I was wondering….” He seemed to pull back the words, but then change his mind again. “If maybe you could get him to talk.”
“About what?”
Lines of worry pulled at his puffy mouth. “Anything. Does he have friends? A girl? Maybe he’ll talk to you about his time overseas. I don’t care what he wants to talk about, just as long as he talks.”
After that, the puck dropped and they became caught up in the game. It took a sudden death overtime goal, but Detroit advanced to play Ottawa in the second round.
Two days later, the thrill of the win stayed with her while she sipped from her coffee mug and flipped through a celebrity gossip magazine. Next to her at the kitchen table, Luke stirred sugar into his cup.
“Emily still sleeping?”
The softest of soft curves touched his lips. “She’s in the shower.”
A few minutes later, his cell phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen. “It’s Jack,” he said, reaching for the device.
Heart in her throat, her hand shot out and clamped onto his wrist.
Startled green eyes flew to her face.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t tell him I’m here.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why not?” There was no surprise in his expression, and while the device continued to buzz with annoying persistence, he appeared unhurried to answer it.
“It’s, uh, complicated.”
“Okay.”
He waited.
She licked her dry lips. “Answer the phone first.”
“If I’m going to lie for you, I need to know why.
“It’s just…” She bit off with an exasperated groan “If you keep your mouth shut, I’ll get you playoff tickets.”
That did surprise him. “That’s impossible. Even if you could get your hands on some tickets, they’d cost a fortune.”
She rolled her eyes. “My dad’s a billionaire and owns a pro team. Pretty sure I can manage it.”
“Jack doesn’t want us there.”
“That’s a lie. He wants you there really, really, really badly. I know he does.”
Luke silenced the phone and lifted the device to his ear. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
He was quiet while he listened.
“That was a great series. I like the matchup against Ottawa.” They talked about hockey for a time, and Haven’s heart slowed somewhat, though it couldn’t return to its normal rhythm knowing Jack was on the other side of that phone connection.
Her Jack.
Luke’s gaze landed on her face. “Oh, yeah, what was her name?”
What name? Whose name? She gulped.
He snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Haven. I heard you two hit it off at the wedding.”
She kicked his shin under the table.
The bastard smiled. “I don’t know if they’ve talked. Let me ask Emily.”
Haven bounded to her feet. With her eyes clamped on his devious face, she backed away from the table.
“You sure? I don’t mind,” Luke said. “Will do. You’ll be the first one I call if I lay eyes on her.”
She fled.
With round two of the playoffs set to begin, Jack still hadn’t found his passion, but as the two teams took to the ice and he stared down his opponent on the other side of the puck, he found something better.
Pure, unbridled hatred.
It whipped through him with the frenzy of an attack dog that’d scented its target.
Bryce Lovejoy.
Jack didn’t bother searching the faces in the crowd, as he had every other night in every other arena. He knew she wouldn’t be there. She was never there.
But she was with him, a part of her always would be, and so he prepared to battle for her. His passion.
He didn’t know how, or when, exactly, it would happen. Maybe the moment the puck dropped or maybe it’d take him five, or six, or all seven games to find his moment. The timing didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Jack would get his revenge.
For Haven.
Turned out, the guys were right. It was extremely difficult to get playoff tickets, but she did it. Sort of.
She wasn’t able to get anything for the current series being played against Ottawa, but if Detroit won and advanced to the third round, then in game three in Detroit, Jack’s brothers would get to see him play live for the first time in his pro career.
But first, Detroit had to put Ottawa away, which they could do that night with the win.
As the family gathered for the puck drop, Emily groaned and rubbed a hand over her now seven-month-pregnant belly.
Luke grew instantly alert. “You all right?”
“I think I’m entering the beached wh-whale phase.”
His smile turned devious. Triumphant.
“It’s not funny,” Emily grumbled.
A flash of pity had him reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry if you’re miserable, baby.”
“You’ll be sorry wh-wh-when I’m fat.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Never. No matter what size or shape you are, you’ll still be the hottest woman on this island, even though you pee a little when you sneeze.” Green eyes shifted to Haven. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Haven laughed at the pink spots of pleasure staining Emily’s cheeks.
The commercial break over, the TV honed in on the players gathered on the ice for the ceremonial playing of both countries’ national anthems prior to game action. As the music started, the camera panned down the line of players. The men, sprouting serious expressions behind varying lengths of playoff beards, fidgeted or rocked from side to side with their nervous energy and pent-up tension.
Except Jack. Instead, he stood still as a statue, his gaze focused on his opponents across the ice.
She’d never seen that look on his face, or in his eyes, before. Angry and dialed in. A niggle of unease slithered down her spine.
With the puck dropped, Jack erupted into action. He was faster th
an the other players and hit harder than anyone else on the ice, and his intensity carried over to the rest of his team.
The Ottawa players grew frustrated early as Detroit took command. With less than a minute to go in the game, and with a two-goal lead, Jack and Bryce Lovejoy squared up for the face-off. The TV cameras showed Bryce’s mouth moving as he skated twice around Jack. In the face-off circle, Jack stared straight ahead.
Until Bryce made one last comment and Jack snapped. With a flash of movement, he shucked his stick and both gloves, and lunged. He took Bryce to the ground with a jarring strike and then he started to hit.
Fist after fist after fist crashed into Bryce’s face. The refs trilled their whistles and when that didn’t stop Jack, they tried to pull him off Bryce. Players from both teams ventured into the fray, but Jack was relentless. He held onto Bryce’s jersey and pummeled him with sharp, merciless blows.
Finally, several Detroit players were able to haul Jack back. He shook off his teammates and skated away while Bryce lay prone on the ice.
Haven felt sick.
Emily’s living room had grown deathly quiet. On TV, the Detroit commentators spoke in grave tones about the fight and the fact that Jack would likely face a multi-game suspension for instigating the brutal attack at the end of the game.
“Who is that guy?” Leo asked in a low, lethal voice.
“Bryce Lovejoy,” Shea said.
“Played in Milwaukee with Jack,” Luke noted.
All eyes turned to Haven.
It was her fault. He’d risked it all because of her.
The Cup, his career, his reputation, his brothers’ chance to watch him play, their respect. All of it tossed aside, for what? The pleasure of punching Bryce’s smug face? Okay, that was tempting, but seriously, what the hell was he thinking?
She was going to kill him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jack received a two-game suspension, and he couldn’t say he was sorry. He was sorry he’d made things harder for his teammates, and Neal, and he was sorry the bastard Bryce skated off the ice under his own power. Eventually.
When the time for game three rolled around and he waited with his teammates in the tunnel prior to taking the ice, he tried convincing himself the passion was there after having to sit out two games. He didn’t need the hatred to fire him up. He was a professional. Besides, if he couldn’t manufacture a little passion for a Stanley Cup semifinal game, with the series tied at 1-1, then he should hang it up right now.
The teams ran through a few warmups, and as Jack skated behind the net to pick up a loose puck, fans started banging on the glass near his head with the fervor of game action.
He looked up, and then stumbled back at the sight of them.
His brothers. All of them.
But also his seventeen-year-old nephew, Finn, and the little ones, Maisie and Connor, plus two of his three sisters-in-law, Isobel and Mina. All decked out in the team’s red-and-white gear. With flags and towels and pom-poms. They were downright obnoxious.
But they were all there. For him. To watch him play. And they even appeared to be sober.
His heart lifted and a smile tugged up one corner of his mouth. With a jump in his step, he took to the ice with enough fire to melt ten rinks, and three periods of frenzied playoff hockey later, Detroit came out on top with the win.
In the tunnel, Jack’s brothers leaned over the railing and he smacked their hands.
“What are you doing here?” he called out to them.
“We got lucky and some tickets landed in our laps,” Luke said. “Figured we might as well come see you play.”
“Nine playoff tickets just landed in your lap?” Jack laughed. “I need your kind of luck.”
“We’ve got connections,” Luke said.
“Where’s your wife?” Jack teased him. “Lose her already?”
Luke’s green eyes glittered. “She has a friend staying with her and couldn’t make it. They’re happier without me around.”
An electric shock zapped Jack, snatching the breath from his body. The hairs lifted on his neck and arms. “What friend?”
“You remember Haven, don’t you?” he said casually.
Jack couldn’t even be pissed at the smug smirk on his brother’s face. Triumph roared through him.
He’d found her.
“Your connection, I take it?”
Luke lifted one shoulder.
Haven had done this? She’d brought them all there, with their ridiculous amount of fan gear, to watch him play. For the first time. As a whole family.
But why would she do that and at the same time refuse to return his calls? Did she know how much it’d mean to him?
Of course, she knew.
She got him. She understood what made him tick, and she cared enough to try to make him happy. Because she loved him.
His heart soared.
She. Fucking. Loved. Him.
Then why the hell wouldn’t she pick up the phone and call him? What was she so afraid of?
Understanding hit him like a punch to the gut. That was just it. She was afraid.
Well, tough shit. He was afraid, too. That didn’t grant them permission to give up on each other. To throw away the best thing that’d ever happened to either one of them.
Jack charged down the tunnel. He had to get to her.
In his rush, he knocked into a man wearing a dark suit and holding a vodka tonic in one hand. Jack apologized even as he registered the man stood with a group of league executives. Semifinal playoff games were a big draw, and everyone associated with the game wanted to be there, no matter their title or team affiliation.
The man turned, and Jack recoiled.
Hank Callahan.
Haven’s dad recognized him. “Jack, congratulations.” He held out his hand. “I’m still pissed my daughter traded you.”
“Honestly, so am I,” Jack said carefully.
Hank laughed. “Good luck the rest of the way.” He started to turn away.
Jack hesitated only a moment. “Your daughter’s a great girl, Mr. Callahan.”
Slowly, Hank turned back. His dark eyes narrowed. “Do I have any reason to kick your ass, Nolan?”
“Not one.”
“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
“Sure thing.” Jack headed down the tunnel.
“She’s gonna throw a lot of crap at you, you know.”
Jack twisted back around.
Hank sipped the drink in his hand. “If you can put up with her bullshit, she just might be worth it.”
Might be?
Jack forgot all about contracts and trade deals when he faced Hank Callahan. The man had disappointed his daughter in countless ways and yet there he stood, two months out of rehab sipping an alcoholic beverage, while passing judgement on her.
His voice shook with his fury. “Oh, she’s worth it, but it takes a real man to love her.”
Unbelievably, her dad just smiled. “You’re probably right about that. I’ve been trying to give her the apology I owe her for weeks now. If you see her, tell her to return my calls, would ya?”
Jack bristled. His weren’t the only calls she wouldn’t return? She was avoiding her dad, too? Who else was she hiding from?
But he already knew the answer to that question. She was hiding from the world. Hiding because she was hurting, and she thought if she ran far enough, stayed far enough away, the hurting would stop.
His heart ached for her, a dull throbbing pain in the center of his chest. Damn it all if the whole world didn’t owe her an apology.
He met Hank Callahan’s gaze. “I can do better than that.”
With the brothers gone, Emily and Haven stayed up late talking and eating cookies. Haven asked about the bed-and-breakfast and found out some of Emily’s first guests had begun booking rooms for the fast-approaching tourist season.
“I should probably think about getting a job,” Haven mused. The money from her dad wouldn’t last that long, and
she’d need to move out soon to get a place of her own.
“Wh-What do you do?” Emily asked.
Haven experienced a little beat of hesitation. “I bartend.” She snuck at glance at Emily from beneath her eyelashes. “But I think I might want to try something else. Maybe finish my degree.”
The possibility might never have occurred to her if it weren’t for the phone call she’d received from ESPN asking her to appear on a late-night talk show.
A regretful smile touched Emily’s lips. “You didn’t finish either?”
Emily had dropped out the semester before Haven did to move home and take care of her ill mother.
Haven shook her head. “Maybe we should go back to school together.”
“Oh, lets. Except let’s skip the dorms this time.”
“Deal,” Haven said.
Emily picked an imaginary fuzzy off the armrest of her chair. “Actually, I w-wanted to apologize to you.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For not w-writing or staying in touch after I left school. I w-was overwhelmed w-w-with my mom.” She swallowed convulsively. “Little things like checking in w-with my friends became too much.”
Haven gave Emily’s hand a quick, tight squeeze. “Don’t you dare apologize to me for that. I didn’t exactly stay in touch either.”
“So w-we’re even.”
They shared a smile.
“But, Em, I do want you to know how sorry I am about your mom.”
A whole bunch of words tangled and twisted in Haven’s mind, condolences and such, but she knew not a single one of them could possibly heal the hurt.
Instead, she just held onto Emily’s hand. “I hate death,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” Emily whispered back.
A soft jingle disturbed the quiet in the room and Emily checked her cell phone.
She read a text message and the soft, secret smile Haven had grown used to seeing on her friend’s face reappeared.
“That’s Luke. They’re on their w-way back from the game.”
