by Stacey Lynn
I wake to an abrupt start, the screeching sound that woke me echoing from behind the closed door in my room followed by a heavy thunk of something hitting the floor.
It takes me a second to remember last night and I fling myself off the bed. Jude’s side is empty, and his shirt is on my floor, so I gather it up and grab a hair scrunchie off my dresser. I button the shirt while I hurry to the kitchen and toward the strange sounds.
“Quiet.” I hear Jude whisper harshly and I can only see his profile, but I instantly know where the screeching is coming from. Usually Whiskers is in my face early in the morning, so I don’t have the luxury of her early-morning demands for food being muted by a door.
“She’s hungry.” My hands go to my hair and I drag my fingers through it, gathering up the wild and tangled mess into a messy bun up top. Jude watches the movements with some weird fascination as I head toward the closet where I keep her food. “And her food is in the coat closet.”
“Of course it is. Because that totally makes sense.”
The perils of city living in Chicago is that the old apartments barely have closet space and even though my place is renovated and updated, I don’t exactly have a family-sized pantry. So half of my groceries get shoved into the coat closet because that’s where there’s space.
I grab a can of wet cat food and her bag of dry stuff and push the closet door closed with my hip. “What was that sound I heard? Like a thump.”
“Your cat was winding her way through my legs, hissing and I swear she screamed at me. My crutch slipped, fell, and I slammed into the counter.” At my expression, he lifts a hand. “And don’t freak out. I’m fine. Honest.”
He doesn’t need me mothering him and I’ve already learned he gets grouchy when I try to. “All right. Whatever you say.” I feed Whiskers in order to end the hissing slash screech sound she makes. I swear my cat is part mutant and once I’ve trashed the can of wet food and washed my hands, I notice there’s already water ready in my Keurig and there’s an empty mug next to it.
“You made coffee? Thank you.”
I grab a pod from the box in the cupboard above it and while my machine whirs to life and fills my mug, I turn to see Jude at the island, hip braced against it, wearing only his boxer briefs from the night before.
And… well, wow. Just… WOW. Moisture pools in my mouth at the almost naked sight of him and I turn back to the machine before I tackle him or slide to my knees on the wood floor.
“I was up early,” he says and since I’ve filled my mug, I turn back to him with a quick reminder to keep my eyes above his waist. Probably above his shoulders is a good bet too, but who am I to kid? I can grow speechless at the sight of Jude’s face as well.
Luckily for me, I have enough brain cells not to and take my first sip. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Agent called early. He seems to keep forgetting that one, I don’t have to be on the ice by seven-thirty in the morning right now and two, there’s an hour time change.”
“Oh? Was it important.”
He shrugs, but there’s a tightness in his jaw I don’t particularly like. “Matthew Errands believes everything is important.”
I remember a brief flash of a memory the last time he spent the night with me, the morning I woke up to him on the phone when he’d just received a call from said agent and then twenty minutes later he was gone. It’s difficult not to remember the slash of pain that came with that day, but I try to hide it and instead ask, “What’d he want?”
“He’s curious about my recovery, so I told him to call Logan tomorrow.”
“Is that normal for him to call so early on a Saturday?”
He huffs a laugh that chills me straight to my bones. “Matthew does whatever he wants, actually, but no it’s not really normal. I think he’s getting nervous and is trying to stay on top of things.”
“What does he have to be nervous about? Surely he knows your recovery is fine.”
“My contract is up at the end of the season.”
“What?”
“Yeah, when I signed, when they called me up, it was only for five years. He’s been trying to keep me with the team, but now…” His voice trails and I get a sense of what’s been making him so frustrated beyond the usual.
If he doesn’t recover and quickly and return to full strength, he might not only be dropped, but who would pick him up? That’d put him in free agent status, or potentially sent down to the pro’s minor division, where he’d have to work harder to get called back up.
Quite a blow to the ego for the guy who’s currently ranked the best winger with goals scored.
“I see,” I mumble around the rim of my coffee mug. His future is uncertain. It makes my spine itch which travels to my scalp.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. Coach sent me here so I could recover. And probably because I was being a grumpy pain in his ass when I was there.”
But if they don’t see his attitude changing or his recovery improving, that might mean not so great things for him, too.
“Would it be better for you to be in Charlotte then? Doing your therapy there so the organization can see your progress?”
He’s silent for a moment. Then two. Then way too long and as his teeth grind together, I know the answer.
If he wants to stay on the team in Charlotte, it would definitely be better for him to get back.
“Jude—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“No. We’re not talking about this.”
“You can’t stay here for me.”
“Yeah?” he asks, and there’s such venom in the one word my shoulders snap back. “Why not? You want to come with me? Leave all you got here? Leave Lizzie and your job and everything to take a chance on a guy who might not play again?”
No. That sounds like the scariest leap I’ve ever taken. Is he worth it?
It’s a million-dollar question I don’t know the answer to and my face must show it because he grabs a crutch and puts his back to me. “I’m going to get dressed. We don’t need to talk about this. Not after a great night.”
He’s irritated and I don’t blame him. He’s full of fear and I don’t blame him for that either, but one thing I do know is if we have any chance of working things out this time, we need to do better at communication.
A spark of an idea comes to me and it’s so brave, so risky, my body trembles from it.
I kick it to the curb before it fully forms and instead, I grab my phone. It has barely any battery in it left, but I type out a quick text to Lizzie.
Is Garrett playing tonight? If not, come to Jude’s. Seven o’clock. You in?
I don’t expect a reply. It’s early and she’s either sleeping in or out running, something she does to her heart’s content and constantly encourages me to join her in, but no thanks. I enjoy my yoga, an even more rare Zumba class, but running is not my thing.
Leaving my phone in the kitchen, I head to my bedroom to find Jude already dressed, looking just as grumpy as before but no less sexy.
He freezes me with a glare as I enter the bedroom and I know he’s pissed. I know he doesn’t want to talk about it.
We need to, but it doesn’t have to be now.
“Any plans for tonight? I can come to your house?”
He examines me a moment, and I’m sure he’s trying to ferret out if this is a trap.
It is… but I must hide it enough because his tense shoulders drop and his jaw finally loosens. “Yeah?”
I wink and take a drink of my coffee. “Yeah. I want more of last night.”
He laughs, shakes his head and comes to me, clasping my face with his large hands. “You want it, you got it.” He kisses me then and steals the rest of my words, but that’s okay. We have time. And maybe Garrett can knock sense into him. “Now, I’m starving. Any chance you have eggs or bacon or something in this kitchen or am I taking you out?”
Going out is risky. Lucky for him, I usually keep a stocked fridge.
“I’ve got everything you
need,” I tell him cheekily.
His response is anything but. “Yeah, you do.”
And then he’s gone, limping out of my room and I have the distinct impression he’s not talking about my food.
15
Jude
“Everything looks like it’s going well, then. I saw the reports from the therapist’s office today. How do you think you’re doing?”
Coach Woods is a great guy. I see why he wanted me rehabbing back near home. The boon is I get Katie too, but even outside of her, it’s felt good to be back. It’s the threat of never returning to Charlotte that has my teeth grinding together whenever I think about it. But it’s the thought he sent me away so in case it comes down to cutting me, it makes it easier for him.
“It’s good, Coach. I’m out of the brace, working hard, doing what I can. Feels good though.”
“And your head?”
“Not a headache in two weeks. I’m just as hardheaded and dumb as ever.”
He laughs, but it doesn’t sound quite right. Hockey players joke all the time we take enough hits to the head that we’re all dumb as a box of rocks. It’s one of Woods’s most common shouts in the locker room when we’re not playing well.
“Good. Good. That’s good.”
I limp toward my kitchen. Now that I’m out of the brace like I told him, I can feel my walking improve more every day. I hate the crutch even if Logan and Katie think I should still use one, but being on the phone makes it tricky, so when I’m at home I don’t bother using it.
“Something else you want to say, Coach?” I ask when he seems to be stalling. He’s not a man usually at a loss for words.
“How would you feel about coming back?”
I stare at the speckled granite of my counter until it blurs together. It’s the exact same thing my agent tried to talk me into earlier this morning and I get why it’s important for me to be in Charlotte, working out with my team, cheering them on. If I wouldn’t have been injured this season, I could have been nominated captain by the end of it. I need to do my part for the team even if I’m not on the bench with them. “You’re the one who sent me here in the first place.”
This is the crux of it. If he thought it best to get me out of town, why be in such a hurry now to get me back.
I can almost see him run his hand over his graying comb-over as he sighs. He’s probably nodding too, making his second chin jiggle a bit. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I know that, Taylor. Only because I want what’s best for you. Always have. Listen.” He sighs and it’s the worst kind of sigh. I’d brace myself for the bad news, but I suspect I already know what it is.
“Listen, Jude. Management is talking. Lutzko and Newman, they’re doing good. Great, you know?”
“I’ve been watching the games.” And Newman is still playing smoothly with Jason. He had an off game in Edmonton, but that’s not surprising on such a long road trip. They’re back in a few days though.
“Good. That’s good, too. Glad you’re supporting us back there, but management—”
I cut him off. I can break my own news. “Management is worried I won’t return and they’re considering upping Newman’s contract in case. So they want to see where I’m at.”
He huffs. “Damn, you been around long enough to get it, you know?”
“And you? You want me back there?”
Coach Woods is a man I respect. And when he replies without hesitating, without dropping a beat, my respect grows for him so large my chest hurts. “You’re my forward. Our someday captain. Best damn kid I’ve ever coached in the league, but don’t go telling your brother that. I need you on this team and the team needs you on it. Healthy. Strong. With your head on straight. If that’s happening in Chicago, then I’m glad I sent you back and you don’t even have to tell me I was right to do it.”
This time, I’m the one laughing. He’s a smart ass. But he’s right too.
I’m not ready to leave Katie. Not yet.
But for my career? One of only two things in my life I’d fight and kill for to keep, Katie being the other? I see his point.
I need to get my head out of my ass. Kick the worry and fear to the curb and work my ass off to prove I’m still one of the best forwards in pro hockey.
“Give me until the new year,” I tell him, and somehow saying the words releases tension in my shoulders I don’t realize I’ve been carrying. Perhaps it’s the weight of all that damn fear I’ve been holding. “Give me a couple weeks here with the family when they all come back. Couple more weeks to rehab, then I’ll impress the hell out of everyone when I get back. Deal?”
A heavy silence grows on the line and I almost check the phone to see if the call dropped when he speaks. And when he does, my throat thickens.
“Damn proud of you, son. January second. Want you at the rink for practice. Deal?” His tone is heavy and proud. Mostly, he’s pleased, which tells me how much he really wants me there.
“Deal.” A knock hits my door, making me almost jump. It’s a pounding sound, so much louder than Katie and her usual gentle knock. “Gotta go, Coach. Good luck with the rest of the series.”
I end the call with a quick goodbye and shout at the door. “It’s open!”
Figuring it’s Katie, I take a quick second and swipe my face, hoping it erases the concern I have. Christmas is next week. Which gives me less than two to talk her into giving something long-term and long-distance a chance. But that can wait until after Christmas. I need to cement her into my life first.
“What the hell? You too old to answer the door?”
My jaw almost comes unhinged as Garrett, my long-time friend and old roommate and college teammate, barrels through the door. He’s so large he ducks in the doorframe and turns so his shoulders don’t bounce off the frame.
“What the hell?” But I’m smiling. Because a few days ago, Katie was right. I am avoiding him and I shouldn’t be. “What are you doing here?”
He’s cleared the doorway and he’s barreling toward me and behind him, I get a glimpse of two women and now I know who’s to blame for this.
Lizzie and Katie duck out from behind the behemoth in front of me right before he throws his arms around me and lifts me off my feet.
“Fuck.” I grunt and steal myself for impact when Dubiak lets me go. It’s no wonder he’s a top five goalie with his size and strength. Plus, I’ve seen the six-foot-four giant do the splits which is eery as hell and even more painful to watch.
“You’re such a fucking loser,” he tells me right as he sets me on my feet, nicer than I expected him to. I barely have to lean on my good leg for balance.
“Good to see you too, Dubiak.” I slap his shoulder and then Katie comes up next to him. “This your idea?”
“Yeah.” She tucks her chin down, almost shy, or worried, but there’s no need to be. “I texted Lizzie this morning.”
The girl in question lifts her hands in the air and she’s holding two six-packs. “And we’ve got pizza on the way. We’re partying tonight. Old school!” Her shout is so loud it makes my ears hurt. But I pull her in for a quick hug.
“Long time no see. How you been?”
“Great.” She gives me a quick hug and turns to the fridge where she helps herself, settling the beer inside and coming back with four, a questioning look for me. “You want one?”
“Yeah. Let’s do this.”
Like they’ve been in this place a thousand times, Garrett and Lizzie haul off toward the living room and he grabs the remote like any man typically does which leaves Katie and I in the kitchen area.
“I thought it’d be fun to get together. You upset?”
I look down at her and my chest warms, shooting heat down to my hands and my legs and my groin. She’s hesitant and I don’t blame her for it, but there’s no need. The conversation with Coach gets pushed to the back of my mind. After Christmas, we’ll talk.
Tonight is for old friends. “No. I’m not mad. Thanks, actually, for calling them. I shouldn’t have hidden fr
om him.”
“He understands.”
As if he hears us, Garrett shouts out a gleeful curse word and throws his hands in the air. “St. Louis lost! You know what that means?”
“Yeah, dumbass.” I slide my arm around Katie’s back and pull her close to me. “Means once Charlotte kicks your ass, we’re headed to the playoffs and your season is over.”
Dubiak makes a choking sound and raises his beer. “You wish. Without you, they’re nothing.”
My smile falters for only a second. He’s wrong, because they’re wracking up wins left and right without me, but I get what he’s saying. At least what he’s trying to do.
I grab my beer, kiss the top of Katie’s head and shout back, “Damn straight.”
“Come on,” Katie says, and she slides out of my reach and grabs her own drink. “Let’s go see if we can stop Garrett from getting the cops called on you with how loud he’s being.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.”
She laughs, shaking her head and we join our old friends in the living room where I take a seat and prop my leg up. It aches like a bitch at the end of the day and I shouldn’t even be drinking, but one or two won’t hurt too much.
I settle back on the couch where Dubiak and Lizzie get into a shouting match over what we watch. He’s already turned on the hockey network and Lizzie is jumping in the air, grasping at the remote he holds over his head.
“Netflix! No hockey!”
“If there’s no hockey, there’s no point in having the TV on, shrimp!” He puts his hand out and presses it against Lizzie’s forehead, holding her back while she tries to fight against his strength. Good freaking luck to her. Next to me, Katie settles close and covers her laugh.
“Are they always like this?”
“I don’t know,” she replies. “I don’t see them together often, but whenever I do, they’re usually fighting like brother and sister. It’s… bizarre.”
Bizarre is one word for it. Lizzie is all blonde and wild and tiny with her shoulder-length hair flying out behind her as she tries to get out of Dubiak’s hold. Standing next to him, she looks like a pixie and he an ogre.
