He scrambled to his feet within the sea of players and looked toward the stands. His family celebrated in the seats behind the home team’s bench. His mother and Asher were hugging. Jackson and Abby were kissing—figures; they’d use any excuse to make out. His niece Taylor and Abby’s daughter, Dani, were already dragging Emma, Asher’s best friend, through the stands, obviously planning to weasel their way into the locker room for autographs and a close-up glimpse of the cup. Fans were still on their feet cheering—a chant of “Westmore!” filling the sold-out arena—and a small smile formed on his lips as emotion welled in his chest. He was happy he could bring this moment to the fans, to his family, to his teammates and coaches, to himself…but the one empty seat in the crowd was the only thing he saw.
* * *
“Water? Are you serious, man? Of everyone here, you should be celebrating the hardest.”
Ben smiled as his buddy sat in the chair next to him the following evening. “You do remember what happened the last time I drank, right?”
Owen loosened his tie and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing two full tattoo sleeves. After the game, he’d gone to a tattoo shop to have an image of the cup added to the eclectic group of designs that he swore meant something. He’d tried to convince Ben to join him in the celebratory tat, but he’d declined. The cup meant a lot to him, and three months ago, he might have. Now, suddenly he knew what he was missing in life and the reality that his career—this fast and crazy lifestyle—was going to leave him behind someday made his victory bittersweet.
Wow, he was depressing the hell out of himself with these thoughts. Maybe he could use a drink. Though the star player and MVP drowning his sorrows at a party to celebrate his hard-earned win was one cliché he didn’t want a part of.
“You know, it could be argued that, hadn’t you gotten completely wasted, gotten married, and gone through this divorce, you’d never have met Olivia,” Owen said, taking a swig of his beer.
“And that would have been a bad thing?” he mumbled. Could he just get through one day without someone mentioning her?
He didn’t need to hear her name to trigger thoughts of her. What he needed was to get hit so hard, he’d suffer memory loss complete enough to forget her. Even five minutes of not having her on his mind would be a gift. He felt as though he were walking in a haze. He’d surprised the hell out of himself with the game seven win because while his body had played on autopilot, his mind and heart certainly hadn’t been there.
“Look, I know the situation with her is complicated.”
Ben looked away. Allowing his friend to assume that once again it had been Ben to end things at the first sign of commitment had been the only thing he could do—a self-preservation thing. Admitting he was ready to put his playboy days behind him and get serious with a woman would have been met with disbelief anyway.
Owen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, maybe you don’t tell the future grandkids how you met…” He shrugged. “But you will never find someone else better for you.”
He knew that. That’s why he was dying inside. He’d been willing to put it all on the line for Olivia. It had been worth it. She had been worth it. Ben nodded to the beer in Owen’s hand. “How many of those have you had?” The mention of future grandkids was making his jaw clench. Her grandkids. Any she had would be hers and a sperm donor’s. And he would no longer be there to support her through it. To be a part of the child’s life.
The fact that he’d wanted to be had never been so vividly clear as it was now that the opportunity had been taken away.
Looking around the room at the players with their wives, girlfriends, dates, his chest tightened. He wished Olivia was there with him. Celebrating this win. Celebrating them. Every part of him missed everything about her.
“I’m not drunk. I’m your best friend. And I have never seen you so completely torn up. The best night of your career, and you’re sitting here realizing none of this shit matters—that’s love, my friend,” he said, pointing a finger at him.
Love. He’d thought it was love once and it hadn’t even been close. Loving Olivia had taught him that there were different levels of love. Some left pain when it ended and, with it, a reluctance to ever put a heart on the line again—like Janelle. Others left an aching longing to feel it again, a desperation to once more feel so alive…that was the kind of damage Olivia left.
Lifting his eyes from his perspiring water glass, Ben’s heart nearly stopped. “Oh no.” He looked around for an escape, but it was too late. “How did she get in?” Sure, she’d dropped the case and signed the divorce papers, but that didn’t make him happy to see Kristina Sullivan walking into the room.
“I invited her,” Owen said.
“You what?”
He shrugged. “When Sanders said that she’d signed the papers, I kinda looked her up on Facebook.”
His friend really was insane. “And she agreed to go out with you?” Ten minutes after divorcing him?
“Not entirely. I just invited her here. She said she was hoping to talk to you, but I’m hoping she’ll consider leaving with me.” He winked.
Ben shot his friend a look. “Careful with this one, man. She’s complicated.”
Owen grinned. “What woman isn’t?”
His friend had a point.
“Hi, Ben,” Kristina said, stopping at their table.
Dressed in a long, green sequined gown, light hair loose around her shoulders, she looked beautiful.
“You look hot,” Owen said next to him.
No wonder his buddy had trouble with the ladies.
But Kristina blushed as she smiled and accepted the compliment. “Thank you for inviting me. This is pretty exciting. Congrats on the win, Ben.”
She looked nervous, so he extended a hand. “Thank you for allowing me the first win. It may have helped fuel the fire for last night’s victory.”
“So, I should have gone after money in the divorce,” she said, but her tone was teasing and her gaze held a hint of nervousness.
“You do look pretty,” he said, relaxing.
“Thank you.” She toyed with the clasp on her clutch in the awkward silence that followed, made even more awkward by Owen’s openly admiring gaze on her. “Can we talk for a second?”
“As long as we don’t end up married again, sure.” He stood and led the way to a quieter section of the five-star hotel’s banquet room.
“I’ll be right here,” Owen called after them.
She laughed. “Is he always this obvious?”
“I think the word you’re looking for is desperate.” Ben glanced over his shoulder where his buddy was using the reflection of the centerpiece vase to check his hair. “He’s a good guy, though. You’re in safe hands tonight.”
She nodded. “Speaking of good guys, Brandon told me what you did for him, so I wanted to thank you.”
“I hope I was able to help.” Giving her what she wanted had obviously been what had changed her mind about signing the papers, but it didn’t matter anymore.
“You did. The coach was impressed by his letter and his actions. He invited him personally to try out for the team again next year.”
“No go for this year, huh?” That was too bad. The kid was a fantastic player.
She shook her head. “But I think it’s for the best, you know? A year in the anger management group will help him work through some issues and make him that much better next time.”
He nodded. She was right. If the kid could learn to control his emotions, he’d be unstoppable the following year. “He’s a great hockey player. A bit of a smartass.”
She grinned. “He comes by that honestly.” She blushed. “He told me he called you Dad.”
“Yes, he did.” Ben laughed. It was actually a little funny now. “And I’ll have you know, I was a pretty damn good one for all of three minutes.”
“I’m sure you’ll make a great one someday.”
This conversation wasn’t he
lping his mood. He’d been ready to be one to Olivia’s baby. He’d been ready to be so much for her.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad it’s working out. Don’t doubt for a second his abilities on the ice. He can go pro if he can get that temper in check, and if there’s anything I can do…”
“Thanks, Ben.”
“Thank you for signing those papers.” He hugged her quickly in a one arm squeeze that didn’t feel as awkward as he thought it would. “They’ll be bringing out the cup in a minute. Are you planning to stick around?” He nodded toward Owen. “I think you’ll break his heart if you don’t.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’ll stay for a while.”
“Great. Have fun,” he said, heading toward the front of the room, where the other players waited to hoist the cup for photos.
“Hey, Ben,” she called behind him.
He turned.
“Where’s Olivia?”
He shook his head as he tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Wasn’t meant to be,” he said. “What can I say? Once a player…” He winked, then turned quickly, feeling the lie strangle him.
The cup was carried out—full of the customary Champagne—and the players gathered around. Coach Bencik waved him over. He’d be the one to drink from it first. It was tradition, and no one was breaking tradition.
Joining his teammates, he forced himself to push everything aside and celebrate the win. After all, the only thing he’d thought mattered was the only thing he had left.
Chapter 24
The Grumpy Stump was at maximum capacity. Everyone in town had shown up to see him—or rather, the Stanley Cup.
From where he sat in a booth with his family, he could barely see it near the bar, surrounded by Glenwood Falls residents taking the best selfies they could.
“So, that guy over there just follows the cup around?” Emma asked, sitting across from him.
“Hence the title keeper of the cup,” Asher told her.
“I thought you were fucking with me when you said the cup had a babysitter.”
“Nope. Guy’s held the job for years,” Jackson said, slipping an arm around Abby.
“Almost three hundred days a year, he travels with it,” Asher said.
“Must be difficult to have a life,” Becky said, her arms wrapped around Neil, standing next to the booth. His brother-in-law had gotten back from overseas the day before, and the two hadn’t taken their eyes or hands off of one another all day.
Did they all have to look so cozy and nauseatingly happy? Ben took a swig of his beer and tried to look anywhere else. Being surrounded by the couples was proving overbearing. Everyone else had someone to celebrate his win with, except him.
“I was thinking, what a great life,” Emma said. “I mean, hanging out with hockey players would get old pretty quick, though.”
Asher punched her arm. “You’ve put up with us long enough.”
She laughed and it turned into a yawn. “Actually, you’re right. I should call it a night. I’m opening the clinic early tomorrow morning for a session before the patient goes to work.”
Emma had been a professional snowboarder, but now she was a physical therapist in town. Ben didn’t know the details, but he knew an injury had put her Olympic dreams on ice. Though compared to most athletes with their futures derailed, she seemed to be adjusting well to her new life path.
He had no idea what the deal was with her and Ash, but even his baby brother seemed to have a constant in his life.
Would he ever have that? Twice in a lifetime suffering through this heartache was probably his limit. He’d taken a risk putting himself out there again. He wouldn’t be in any rush to try a third time.
Emma stood and gathered her things. “Congrats again, Ben. Well deserved.”
He nodded his thanks.
“Hey! I thought you said I was your favorite player,” Asher said as he stood.
Emma shrugged. “I’m a bandwagon jumper,” she said with a grin. “Goodnight everyone.” Turning to Asher, she added, “You sure you can be apart from the cup long enough to drive me home?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have her all to myself next year, and I’ll be spending my day alone with her, not bringing her to some small-town bar to be molested like that,” he said, nodding to the group of men posing for a pic, their lips pressed to whatever free spot on the cup they could find.
“You can certainly try, baby brother,” Ben said. He’d welcome the challenge of taking on his brother in the Stanley Cup finals. They’d been so close this year. Though watching him walk out of the bar, he frowned. The injury from the World Championship game seemed to still be causing him to limp slightly.
“What’s the deal with those two?” Abby asked in a hush. “I’ve been trying to figure it out all night.”
“Deal with Ash and Emma?” Jackson asked, pulling her close.
“No deal,” Ben said. “Best friends for as long as I can remember.”
Abby shot him a look that suggested he was the dumbest man on the planet. “I’m calling bullshit. You don’t see the chemistry between them?”
Jackson laughed. “Just because you’ve fallen for the Westmore charm doesn’t mean everyone has.”
Abby raised one eyebrow, and his brother nearly choked on his beer.
“The boys are right this time, Abby,” Becky said.
“Yeah, I don’t see it either,” Neil chimed in.
“You’re all wrong,” Abby said. “I may have been wrong about Ben and Olivia, but I’m right about those two.”
Ben shifted. One night without someone saying her name. That’s all he asked for. The problem was Abby hadn’t been wrong. She’d been painfully right. “I’ll be right back. Jackson, make sure someone doesn’t knock out the keeper and steal my trophy, okay?” he said, climbing out of the booth.
“I can’t promise I won’t,” Jackson said. “It’s the closest I’m getting to it.” The longing in his voice was so faint only Ben could detect it. But when he moved closer to Abby and she giggled at something he whispered in her ear, he knew his brother would give up a hundred Stanley Cup wins for the woman and the life they had now.
He swallowed hard, jealousy and longing making him irritated.
In the hallway near the bathroom a moment later, he checked his phone. Fifty-six new text messages. He wasn’t surprised. He’d heard the phone chime above the noise inside the bar all evening, but the tone had never been the Olivia-assigned one, so he’d ignored them.
She had to know they’d won the cup. In a few short weeks, she’d become as fan crazy as anyone else. She had to have watched the game.
Yet silence? No congrats even? That was just rude.
He should totally call her out on it.
He scrolled through the contact list to her name and picture and hesitated, staring at her smiling face.
God, he missed her.
“Time’s up, Westmore,” the keeper of the cup said, swinging open the bathroom door.
“Already?” he asked, tucking the phone into his pocket.
“Ten o’clock.” The man tapped his watch.
The rules were clear: twelve hours, no more, no less, with each player. His time with the cup had flown by. They’d brought it to the stadium, where all of the Junior leaguers got a chance to see it, then the sports store, where he’d signed autographs and posed for photos with fans, then the bar. “Okay.” He looked past him and saw Ash reenter the bar. Thank God. If the cup had left without him saying goodbye, his brother might actually cry. “Let’s just let Ash hold it one more time.”
“Fine. Two more minutes. I have to be on a plane at six a.m.”
“Where you headed next?”
“Florida.”
“Jimmy Miller?”
He nodded.
“Doesn’t it get old, man? Babysitting this thing?” Becky was right. What kind of life was the guy supposed to have, traveling all over the world, staying in each place for less than forty-eight hours? Three hundred days a ye
ar? Even the players got a better break than that.
Before the man could answer, several women approached. Great. “Hey, ladies, we were just…” he started, but they ignored him. Their attention was on the keeper.
That was a first.
He stood back and watched the man flirt and laugh with the gorgeous blondes. After he collected their phone numbers for the “next time he was in town,” he turned to look at Ben. “You were asking if it got old?”
“I retract the question.”
Ten minutes later, after peeling the cup out of Asher’s hands, Ben unlocked the Hummer and climbed in behind the wheel. Once he dropped the keeper off at his hotel, he planned on spending the night and the next few days at the lake house before returning to the city, where he would meet with press and his coaches to discuss the season and make plans for the next. October would be there again before he knew it.
Which was good. He’d been looking forward to the break, but now, the thought of all that free time on his hands, on his mind…He hit the button to start the engine as the keeper climbed in with the cup.
“This looks a little small for you, and it’s not really your color,” the guy said, holding up a tiny dress.
Ben’s chest tightened. The dress from his sister’s shop—the one Olivia wanted. He was going to strangle Becky. “Just a cruel joke,” he said, putting the dress on the dash and backing out of the parking space.
“So? How does it feel to have it all?” the keeper asked.
How does it feel to have it all? To anyone on the outside looking in, it must appear that he did. Yet, the big gaping hole in his heart knew better. But he’d tried. He’d put himself out there, risked it all, and she’d denied him.
His gaze fell on the dress. She should at least have it. He glanced at the cup. For many, it was a sign of victory; for others, a sign of hope. Could it be both once more for him? Man, he was reaching, but fuck it. “Hey, do you think we could extend my time just a little bit longer.” Hell, if the cup worked for this guy, maybe it could work for him.
Maybe This Love Page 23
