by Jennie Marts
“Thanks.” Did she detect even the slightest hint of remorse in his voice?
“Bye, Colt.”
“Bye, Chloe.”
She disconnected the call and pressed the phone into her pocket. Well, that was that. Easy come, easy go. She’d had a life before Colt James; she’d have one after. Not that the life she had was anything to write home about, but it was a life, nonetheless. And despite the gaping hole in her chest—wounds healed—she was fine getting back to it. No more recently shaved whiskers trailing across her bathroom counter, no more pools of sudsy soap dripping down the side of the shower, no more boot tracks on her kitchen floor.
That all sounded perfect. It sounded wonderful, in fact.
No more warm, hard body curled around me when I sleep. No more stolen kisses and passionate encounters on the kitchen counter or in the shower or in front of the fire in his cabin. No more laughter or companionship or playful affection. No more Colt.
But by golly, her forking house would be clean, and her spice rack would stay organized. She blinked back the tears burning her eyes and pulled the clipboard from her tote bag as she walked out from behind the bleachers. She straightened the edges, lining them up perfectly with the corners of the board, trying to get a semblance of order back into her world.
“Chloe!”
She turned as someone yelled her name. Maddie and Tina rushed up to her, the girl’s skates swinging perilously over Tina’s arm. Maddie threw herself against Chloe’s legs and wrapped her arms around her waist. Her cheeks were stained with smudged tear tracks.
“Chloe,” Tina said again, the word coming out in a rush of breath. “Have you seen Jesse?”
“Jesse? No. Why? What’s wrong?”
“What’s going on?” Logan asked, as he and Quinn came up behind her.
“It’s Jesse,” Tina said. “He’s missing. Rank called while I was at work and left this terrible message on our home answering machine about how he was going to track down Jesse and have a ‘man-to-man talk’ with him. Which in Rank-speak means he’s going to beat him within an inch of his life. Jesse had brought the other kids home, but he left after hearing the message. I haven’t been able to find him all night. I’ve been calling his cell phone, but he won’t answer. And it’s really starting to snow. He could be out there, cold and alone. He could be hurt.” A single tear escaped the corner of her eye, but she rubbed it away with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what to do.”
Logan stepped around Chloe and pulled Tina against him. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him. I’ll help you look.”
Panic tore through Chloe’s chest. She knew Logan leaving was the right thing to do, but that meant she was left to handle the whole team and their first home game by herself.
Logan reached out a hand and gripped her shoulder. He narrowed his eyes as he stared into hers. “Chloe, you got this. It’s three twelve-minute periods. We’ve already created the lines, and you know how to rotate them in and out.” He glanced up at his sister. “Quinn can help. She can find a parent to man the penalty box, and she can assist with the defensive lines. Right, Sis?”
“Sure. Whatever I can do to help,” Quinn said. “Just find Jesse.”
They all knew how dangerous Rank was, and it went without saying that they needed to find the boy before he did.
“Quinn can get Maddie’s skates on,” Logan continued. He fixed Chloe with a hard stare. “You go get the team ready. You can do this.”
She nodded and gave Tina’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry. You’ll find him. And we’ll help look after the game is over.”
“Thank you. I already called Mike—you know the policeman who took your statement—and he’s got the police looking too. But there are only a couple guys on duty tonight.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
Tina leaned down and squeezed Maddie’s small shoulders. “I’m sorry I’m missing your first game, baby.”
“It’s okay, Momma. Just find Jesse before Daddy does.”
Her mother nodded, then rushed out of the ice arena, Logan on her heels.
“I’ll get Maddie ready,” Quinn said. “You go take care of the team.”
Chloe nodded and hurried toward the box where the boys were already getting rowdy and playing keep away with a water bottle. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the door to the box. She could do this. She dealt with rowdy kids every day. But her classroom was organized and tidy and didn’t smell anything like these kids and their sweaty pads. She had her third-graders trained and held a modicum of control in her classroom—it was her domain.
This was nothing like her domain. This domain was loud, and smelly, and chaotic. It was more like a wild jungle. And Tarzan was nowhere to be found.
Stop. I can do this. It’s not even a whole hour. She wasn’t helpless, wasn’t a victim, not anymore. She’d done things this week that before she’d only dreamed of. She could do this too.
I am large and in charge, she told herself, using the quote she often gave her students to build their confidence. In this case, she was in charge. She was their coach. And she’d just been promoted to head coach. These parents and this community had entrusted her with their kids, and unlike a certain cowboy she knew, she wasn’t going to let them down.
She pushed back her shoulders and channeled her inner Jane of the Jungle, then opened the door of the box.
* * *
Colt squinted into the thick flurries of snow spinning through the air. Several inches covered the road, and the storm was getting worse the further he drove down the pass. His chest felt tight, and a sick churning rumbled in his gut.
The snow wasn’t what was bothering him. He’d driven in storms before. And he was heading toward the opportunity of a lifetime.
No, the roiling in his belly wasn’t from what he was heading toward. It was from what he was leaving behind.
He felt like a total shit. It was bad enough he’d ditched the kids for their first game, but the real issue that had his chest hurting was the way he’d acted with Chloe. He’d been a real douche, and that wasn’t like him. He usually tried to be a nice guy, so why had he been such a jerk to the person he was starting to really care about?
Starting to care about? That’s an understatement. He knew it. He knew he was way beyond just starting to care. He’d started to care the first time he’d met her, back during the summer when he’d been at the drive-in with his family, and they’d met while she’d been generously taking her four neighbor kids to the movies. But spending time with her the last week, talking to her, laughing with her, touching her, he’d moved beyond caring and was falling head over bootheels in love with her.
He’d seen her endure crisis and catastrophe, and he’d seen her giggling and teasing him as she’d lobbed snowballs at his butt. He’d seen the serious side of her, the messy side, which was actually the super-neat and sometimes too-organized side, but he’d also seen the tender side, the sweet side, the caring side. And he’d seen the sexy-as-sin side, and he somehow knew that wasn’t a side she’d shared with many other people.
So if he’d seen all these sides to her and still wanted her, what was the problem? What was holding him back from grabbing her and not letting her go? Hell, he’d already let her go. With that stupid comment about there not being an “us.” What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t. He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been knee-jerk reacting and assuming if he started to get too happy, the curse would knock him back on his ass. But the curse hadn’t done anything. Maybe it had never done anything. Maybe everything that had gone wrong for him had been his own doing. The car accident that destroyed his hockey career had been his fault for driving too fast. Losing the girl he loved had been his fault too for acting like such an asshole and pushing her away, and the list went on and on.
His conversation with Jesse played through his mind as he looked bac
k on all the times he’d blamed the curse for what had gone wrong in his life, and he wondered if he hadn’t been doing the same thing as the teenager. Had he bailed before the good things in his life had a chance to bail on him? Had he pushed Ashley away all those years ago because he assumed she was going to leave anyway?
Was that what he was doing with Chloe? Was he pushing her away, not because he was afraid she’d stay, but because he was afraid she’d leave? Not because he didn’t like her or hope for a chance at a future with her, but because he was afraid she would figure out what an idiot he was and leave him?
He’d told Jesse it takes courage to love someone—that a person had to be strong to put themselves out there. He’d given him the whole “love is like the game of hockey” analogy. It had all sounded great at the time, but Colt suddenly realized he wasn’t following any of his own advice.
He was sitting on the bench, missing the game, because he was afraid to get out on the ice. He’d learned the sport, but he wasn’t giving it his all or working hard at trying to win. In fact, he wasn’t trying at all.
He couldn’t win if he didn’t play. That’s what he’d told Jesse and what he needed to tell himself.
He wouldn’t know if he and Chloe had a chance—a chance at something real—unless he tightened his skates and got his ass out onto the ice. Unless he got in the game and played to win. And Chloe was a prize worth playing for.
His phone was in the mount on the dash, and he tapped the screen to call Joe. The coach didn’t answer, but Colt left him a message explaining that he wouldn’t be able to make the special practice tonight after all because his team had a game and they needed him. He said he hoped Joe would understand, and that he truly appreciated the offer and wished he could take him up on it, but he needed to put his team, his ragtag band of eight-and-unders, first.
As Colt tapped off the phone, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. As much as he wanted that job, he wanted Chloe more. And he sought to be the kind of man she would want and one she would be proud of. He felt good, and if he could find a place to turn around, he had a fair chance of making it back in time for the last half of the game.
He spotted a turnoff and slowed to take it, but the brakes didn’t respond. The tires hit a sheet of black ice, buried beneath the layers of snow, and slid across the blacktop.
Losing traction, Colt spun the wheel, trying—and failing—to turn into the spin as he skidded off the road.
The screech of metal as the truck hit the guardrail had his mind and body flashing back to the accident he’d had in high school, and on reflex, he raised his hands as the vehicle plunged down the embankment and crashed through the trees.
His head slammed into the steering wheel as the hood of the truck smashed into a huge pine tree.
The curse is real were Colt’s last thoughts before he slumped against the wheel and everything went black.
* * *
Disorganized was a generous word for the first two periods, but by the time they’d made it halfway through the third, the game had dissolved into utter chaos. Chloe had accidentally sent the defensive line in to cover for the offense, they’d gotten a penalty for too many men (or kids, in this instance) on the ice, and the other team had scored four goals on them. And to add insult to injury, one of the goals had accidentally been kicked in by their own player. They’d had a couple of chances but hadn’t scored, and the game was thankfully dwindling down to the last few minutes.
As the game progressed, Chloe noticed that one of the bigger kids on the other team had been knocking into Max way more times than necessary, trying to trip him and using other bullying tactics. She’d seen it so many times, a big kid automatically targeting a smaller one they assumed was weak. But Max wasn’t weak. He wasn’t strong, but he was smart. And focused entirely on the game.
So he was either oblivious to the other kid’s actions or was just really good at ignoring him, because Max didn’t seem to be bothered and wasn’t letting it affect his focus. Until the other kid pushed him into the boards and grabbed him in a choke hold.
“Hey! Come on, ref!” Chloe yelled as Quinn tried to climb over the boards. She opened the door onto the ice and took a few precarious steps.
The other boy had his arm wrapped around Max’s neck, but to her surprise, Max bent his knees, dropping his weight and dug his chin into the other guy’s arm. The combination of his deadweight and the dig of his chin must have put enough pressure on the other kid’s arm that he let him go, and Max skated deftly away.
Huh. Colt’s trick worked. It really worked. That kid was twice Max’s size and a foot taller, yet the combination of the moves had been enough to get him to release the smaller boy.
Quinn thankfully held her tongue as the ref ushered the bully into the penalty box. All they needed was to have Chloe’s only helper get tossed from the game for laying into one of the opposing team’s players. Not that he didn’t deserve it—stupid bully.
Chloe held the door and waited for Max to skate back to the bench. “Good job, buddy. Way to outsmart him.” She wanted to hug him and tell him how amazingly brave he’d been, but instead she gave him an encouraging nod and patted his shoulder pad in a more coach-like move.
A grin the size of Montana covered Max’s face as he smiled up at her before being engulfed by the rest of the team as they cheered and high-fived him as he stepped into the box.
She let them have their moment, then waved them closer and huddled the team together. “Okay, guys, this is our chance. They’ve got a penalty so they’re down one man on the ice, and we’ve got a full minute and a half to try to score.” She held up her clipboard and outlined a play they’d worked on in practice a few nights before.
The kids were all over it, and she sent the yellow line out to execute the play. Colt had tried to set the lines as one, two, and three, but she’d talked him into using colors instead so none of the kids felt like their line was better or worse. He’d gone for the idea and acted like it was a good one, and she’d really felt like part of the coaching team.
“You can do this,” she yelled and beat the palm of her hand against the boards like she’d seen Colt do.
The ref whistled and dropped the puck, and her team’s forward sent it sailing down the ice. Max had insisted he was ready to play again, so he was back on the ice and caught the puck, cradling it in his stick as he pushed it down the ice. The other team’s two defensemen doubled up and barreled down on him, leaving Maddie wide open at the net.
As the two opposing players focused on Max, he looked up, caught sight of Maddie, and passed the puck straight toward her. She bent forward, her lips pressed together around her mouth guard, and gripped her stick with the concentration of an Olympic medalist.
The puck hit her stick with a crack, and she shot it toward the net.
The goalie deflected the puck, but instead of trapping it in his glove, he sent it back toward her. She caught the rebound and changed her angle, then hit it right back. This time, it sailed past his skate and landed neatly in the corner of the net just as the buzzer sounded, ending the game.
The team broke into a cheer and scrambled out onto the ice to scream and hug Maddie and Max. They tossed their helmets and clapped each other on the back, every face lit with happiness.
Chloe looked at Quinn. “I don’t get it. This whole game was a crazy mess of chaos, and we lost miserably. I thought I’d have to pick these kids up off the floor, they’d be so bummed, but look at them—they’re cheering and laughing like we just won the Stanford Cup.”
Quinn chuckled. “It’s actually called the Stanley Cup, but you get points for the effort.” She wrapped an arm around Chloe’s shoulder. “I think you’re missing the big picture. These kids are brand-new to the game. They know they’re not going to always win, and there will be teams better than they are, but they’re so excited just to be part of the game. They don’t care if it�
��s messy or chaotic. They’re just excited to play.”
Her friend’s words stuck with her as Chloe herded the team into the locker room and talked to parents as they helped their kids change. She gave the kids instructions for the next week’s practice and reminded Gordy’s mom she was on snack duty for the next game. They still hadn’t heard from Tina, and Quinn offered to take Max and Maddie out for celebratory ice cream so Chloe could go home and check her neighbor’s house to see if she’d returned.
Chloe was feeling pretty proud of herself and the way she’d handled the game and the team as she drove home. But the things that were giving her the most pause were the insights Quinn had given her about the kids and their attitude toward the game.
She’d spent so much of her life trying to make sure things went an exact certain way, to keep everyone around her on an even keel, to try to manage everything—from her surroundings to how many scoops of food her cat ate. She somehow had it in her mind that control equaled happiness, but the kids had shown her tonight that even through crazy chaos, they could still have fun.
This last week had been totally chaotic. So many things had been out of her control. Some, like Rank’s attack, were things she couldn’t control if she tried, and others—like the way she’d let her hair down a little and been willing to act wanton with Colt—were in her control, but she let loose of the reins and simply allowed things to happen. And some of those moments were the best of the week.
She was running from a relationship with a man she really liked because she was afraid it was too messy and because she couldn’t dictate the outcomes, but she was missing the point. Love was messy. It was chaotic and emotional and could put her heart through the wringer with a thousand different feelings and sensations. But the thing she wasn’t getting, the big-picture piece she’d been missing, was that chaos and messy were apparently okay.
Just because something was muddled or disorganized didn’t mean it couldn’t still be wonderful and amazing. Just because falling in love was illogical and irrational, that didn’t make it bad. Sometimes doing things that were a little wild and reckless—like dropping her towel and seducing a cute cowboy—could end up having the best results.
