Win Big

by Kelly Jamieson

  I lock myself in a stall and sit there. Okay. I got this. I don’t need to be so freaked out by it. Yes, I thought I loved Gage. Yes, I thought he loved me too, when basically he was a lying, cheating pedophile. Sixteen wasn’t even the legal age of consent in California. He was fucking a sixteen-year-old girl.

  I inhale slowly. He got traded away and his career never took off after that. My dad was responsible for trading him, obviously, but as for his career tanking, I don’t know how much Dad had to do with it. I’d bet my condo Dad had something to do with it, though. I was stupid and immature and looking for attention from my dad, and I’ll regret all of it to my dying day. But I also hate Gage for his part in what happened. He should never have come near me. He should never have led me on.

  He probably hates me too, and I guess he’d have every right.

  I’m reliving what happened back then, until I realize I’ve been gone a while and everyone’s going to wonder what happened to me. I wash my hands, touch up my lip gloss, and swipe a bit of smudged mascara from beneath one eye. I fluff my hair and then I can’t put it off any longer.

  With my chin up and my spine straight, I walk out of the ladies’ room. And there’s Gage, standing there, apparently waiting for me.

  “Everly.” He gives me a cold smile. “I can’t believe we ran into each other like this.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Well, like Wyatt said, it’s a small world. Especially the hockey world, I guess.”

  “I hear you’re working for your dad now.”

  “Not really. I’m the director of the Condors Community Foundation. It’s a separate organization.”

  “Sure.”

  “I should get back…”

  “Wyatt Bell, huh? Does he know what happens to guys Bob Wynn’s little girl dates?”

  My jaw drops in outrage. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Not really.” One corner of his mouth deepens. “I could tell him.”

  My eyes pop.

  “He doesn’t know about us, huh.”

  For a moment my blood is bubbling so hot through my veins I can’t speak. “How many people have you told about ‘us’?” I fix my most forbidding look on him. “Are you proud of dating a sixteen-year-old girl when you were twenty-eight? Because I think most people wouldn’t be very impressed by that.”

  His face tightens. “You were a very willing participant.”

  “Hey.” Wyatt’s voice has us both jumping around. He tilts his head, a notch of concern between his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.” I’m sure I look guilty and panicked and terrified. “Everything’s fine. I was just on my way back.”

  He nods, his gaze sliding back and forth from Gage to me. He slaps a hand on Gage’s shoulder. “I’m following you to the bathroom, man.” And he almost shoves Gage down the dimly lit corridor.

  I walk back to the table slowly, my hand over my mouth. I feel like crying. I can’t cry.

  Baz is there, relaxed in his chair, surveying the patio bar, his foot moving to the music. He smiles at me as I take my seat. “Nice place,” he says. “I love coming to L.A.”

  I smile too. “Yeah, I guess Calgary’s a bit different in February.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Toronto. My parents emigrated to Canada before I was born, and that’s where they ended up.”

  “They’re still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They must be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  He laughs. “They don’t get hockey at all, but yeah.”

  I cast a worried glance toward the inside bar, where Wyatt and Gage still are. Wyatt looked annoyed. And Gage…is he telling Wyatt about us? It reflects even worse on him than it does on me. He wouldn’t. Would he?

  Chapter 21

  Wyatt

  I don’t know what the fuck this dude was doing talking to Everly in the hall and looking like he was pissed at her. I don’t like it and I’m glad I interrupted. Everly looked petrified. But why?

  He’s a big guy, but I’m bigger and stronger. I can tell. Pretty sure he hasn’t played hockey in years, and it doesn’t look like he works out either. So I kind of use my physicality to separate him from Everly and hustle him into the men’s room.

  I don’t look at him as we stand at the urinals. “So you and Everly met before, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was what…ten years ago?”

  “About that. Maybe eleven. That’s when I got traded to the Wild.” His tone has an ugly edge.

  “Huh.” There was something about the way he’d looked at her that I don’t like. Eleven years ago, Everly was sixteen.

  And I remember what she told me, about some trouble she’d gotten into when she was a teenager.

  My stomach heaves.

  We wash our hands side by side at the sinks.

  “Be careful with her,” Gage says. “Her dad’s pretty protective.”

  I tug paper towels out of the dispenser and dry my hands. “And you know that how?”

  His face ruddies. “Everyone knows it.”

  I react without thinking, adrenaline flashing through my veins. I shove him up against the tile wall. “Did you touch her?”

  He eyes me defiantly. “Ask her.”

  I stare him down. “You better not have touched her. It’s not only her dad who’s protective of her.” I give him a hard thrust against the wall and step back. As he winces, I straighten my suit jacket, eye him with disdain, and walk out.

  Back at the table, the fire flickering from the center, I sit. I’m tense. Edgy. Pissed. I don’t even know for sure why. I turn to Everly. “We need to go.”

  She has her arms wrapped around her stomach, her lips tight. “Oh. Okay.”

  Baz seems surprised but stands as we do. He holds out a hand. “Great to see you, man.”

  I take it and slap his shoulder with my other. “Yeah, you too. I’ll take care of the bill on my way out.”

  “No, no…I got this.”

  “You don’t even drink, dude.” I shake my head, my lips curved into a smile that is not happy. “No worries. Hope you and Gage have a good talk.”

  I take Everly’s arm and lead her out with long strides that nearly trip her up. I slow my roll and take more care with her.

  We stop at the valet parking out in front of the hotel and wait for the attendant to bring my car around. I turn to face her. It’s cooler here, the ocean not far away. I grasp her upper arms. “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes are big and shiny, fastened on mine, her head tipped back. She nods. “Are you mad?”

  “Mad? Uh…fuck. I don’t know what the hell I am.” I shake my head. My insides are clenched and my chest tingles with dread. I don’t even know why.

  The valet helps Everly into the SUV. I see how the guy looks at her. She looks smoking hot tonight, expensive and classy, the black turtleneck and pants outlining her slim figure, gold and diamond accessories glinting at her ears and wrist. I take a deep breath.

  I’m fucking jealous.

  Seriously? Is that what this is?

  I rub my mouth as I pull out of the hotel driveway, hanging a left onto Ocean Avenue. I blow past Wilshire, then Santa Monica, and Everly tentatively says, “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  “No.” She lifts her chin, her lips tight. “I want to go home.”

  For a moment, I don’t answer. Then I say, “Fine.”

  I make a left at the next intersection and zoom up whatever street it is. I control my frustration enough to check out some street signs and get my bearings. I haven’t gone that far out of our way, so a few turns get us back on track and soon I’m pulling up in front of her place.

  She unfastens her seatbelt and shifts so she’s
facing me. “You don’t have to come in.”

  My jaw clenches. “I don’t, huh? Is Gage coming by later?”

  She gapes at me and, at the look of pain and repulsion on her face, I instantly regret the jibe. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  It means I’m an asshole. “I gather you two…knew each other.”

  Her lips tremble but she lifts that stubborn little chin and tosses her hair back. “That was a long time ago. Look. I think we’ve taken this too far. We were supposed to go out a few times and get some media attention. We both know there can’t be any more than that. So we can’t see each other again.”

  My molars are grinding and I force myself to relax my jaw. “What the fuck?”

  “You’re all bent out of shape over nothing.” She waves a hand. “Come on, you’re Mr. Fun. Clearly you’re not having fun.”

  She’s right. Dammit. But she’s not making sense. I don’t want to have fun right now, I want to punch someone. Preferably Gage Gregoire. My life isn’t just about having fun all the time, for fuck’s sake.

  “Okay, so we’re good.” She attempts to suck in a breath and nearly sobs. “Thanks for lots of fun, Wyatt. See you around.”

  Incredulously, I watch as she opens the door and hops out of my vehicle. Even in her high heels, she runs lightly along the sidewalk to her door.

  What the hell just happened? I think I’ve been dumped.

  I also don’t think I’ve ever been angrier in my life.

  I watch her unlock her door and enter the condo. The outside light extinguishes. I sit there longer, my body buzzing, my hands clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. I don’t even know what to do. Chase after her and argue with her?

  I don’t want to end things with her.

  I slam the vehicle into drive and pull away from the curb. My vision is hazy. I probably shouldn’t be driving. I only had one drink, so it’s not that.

  Why am I so pissed? She’s right. Mr. Fun. Ha. Good one. But that’s me. Life is too short to be miserable. And unlike hockey, there’s no replay in life.

  I focus on the road so I don’t screw things up even worse by crashing into someone, and drive home.

  There, I pour myself a big glass of scotch and throw myself down onto my couch.

  I can’t stop thinking about Gage Gregoire. The way he looked at Everly. The way she looked guilty and afraid.

  But why? Did she look that way because I caught them together? Or because of something else?

  Yeah, I’m fucking jealous. It’s been a long time since I felt this. It might have been in high school, when Shelby dumped me to date the captain of the Rimouski Océanic. It’s ugly. My chest and stomach are burning inside, and once again my jaw aches from clenching it without even realizing.

  This feels worse than high school, actually. The jealousy is mixed with something else. Something even more painful.

  I gulp down some scotch. That heats me up nicely, sending a tingle all the way to my fingers.

  It’s more painful because not only am I jealous, I’m…pissed. Furious. I think…nah.

  That can’t be my heart breaking. That shit doesn’t happen in real life.

  More scotch sears its way down my throat.

  I don’t like this. I don’t like feeling like this. These intense emotions remind me of when Hank died. I didn’t want to analyze my feelings then, and I don’t want to now.

  So I wallow in agony as I try to drown my emotions in scotch.

  It doesn’t really work.

  * * *

  —

  It’s a good thing we’re flying to Vancouver today. I won’t think about Everly or Gage fucking Gregoire or the shit that went down last night. I’ll just have fun with the guys. Road trips are great for hanging out together and bonding.

  It’s pissing rain when we land in Vancouver. Fine with me. We check in at the hotel and don’t have much time before we get back on the bus to go to the Rogers Arena for a game day skate. I’m pumped. Humming with energy. I can’t wait to get on the ice and burn off some of these damn feelings.

  Our opponents don’t know what hit them. I’m slamming guy after guy into the boards, playing the body, standing up in the neutral zone. I even score a goal, beating their goalie clean with a sizzling wrist shot from the blue line. And we win, three–one.

  From Vancouver we fly to Calgary. I settle down Sunday between games, but Monday, the day we play Calgary, is the trade deadline, and everyone else is on edge about that. You never know what can happen on the trade deadline. Teams that want to make a push for the playoffs are looking to bolster their team; other teams, who know they’re out, might want to clear up some cap space by getting rid of someone. I have to admit I’m a little tense myself. Last year, it was me being traded, except I’d asked for it, hard as it was to leave the bunch of guys I was so close with in Detroit.

  The team doesn’t escape unscathed, with Théo making a few moves. They don’t have a huge impact, though; two of the guys play for the Pasadena Condors, although they’ve been up and down; and in a surprise move our backup goalie is gone, which kind of sucks. He’s a good guy. But we have a lot of depth at the goalie level, with a couple of guys in Pasadena that can take over that role. It’s probably good for Bolton; he’ll get to play a lot more in Pittsburgh.

  That night, playing against Baz again revives my muddled feelings. It’s not his fault his agent is an asshole; it just reminds me of Friday night, and I’m flying up and down the ice again. And we win again.

  Hell. If this is heartbreak, I should experience it more often.

  Except, alone in my hotel room after the game, phone in hand, staring at social media pictures of Everly and me like a sappy teenage boy, the ache in my chest returns full-on, eclipsing the soreness of my body after two extremely physical games. Coldness seeps into my bones, my arms and legs heavy. Jesus. I should be listening to an Adele song, or something.

  I pause on an Instagram image of just Everly. She’s so beautiful. Inside and out. I called her a perfect princess, and yeah, she damn near is perfect, but I’ve seen she’s not afraid to get messed up and dirty. Damn, in more ways than one. Sure, Everly hot and sweaty in bed is fucking fantastic, but she was also sweaty that day she was cooking lunch at the homeless shelter. And the day we went hiking in the hills. And she was still beautiful. My lungs burn as I breathe in.

  She’s my boss’s daughter. And she’s right. We let this go too far. It should have just been a few very public dates, and now emotions have gotten involved and….and…I’m all fucked-up. Shit.

  I lean my head back against the headboard and close my eyes.

  * * *

  —

  I walk into Heather’s house a few days later. The roast chicken smells fantastic. I take off my jacket and drop it over the arm of a chair. I look around. The place is quiet, other than some music playing. “Where’s Owen?”

  “He’s over at a friend’s place.”

  “Oh. I could’ve picked him up. Do you want me to go get him?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. She’s holding a wineglass and now I notice that her fingers are trembling a little and her face is tense. “He’s staying there for dinner. I’ll go get him a bit later.”

  “Well, damn.” Disappointed that I don’t get to see him, I sit down in a chair. “You should have told me. We could have made it another night.”

  “Would you like a drink? I have this red wine.” She holds up her glass. “Or beer.”

  “Uh, okay, a glass of wine would be nice.”

  She moves into the kitchen and pours from the bottle sitting on the counter, then returns to hand me the glass. The ruby liquid is sloshing in her shaking hand.

  “Is everything okay?” I eye her with concern as she sits too, on the couch, turned to face me.

  “I’m, uh, yes, fine. Fine.�
� She gulps some wine. “I didn’t change the plan for tonight because I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”

  “Oh.” I sip my wine too. “Are things okay with Owen? Did something happen at school?”

  “No, nothing happened. I wanted to talk to you about…Everly.” Her voice shakes and she swallows.

  “Everly?” My eyebrows shoot up and heat stabs through my chest at hearing her name. “Why?”

  “Are things serious with her?”

  I shift in my chair. “Uh…”

  I haven’t got a hot clue how to answer that. She dumped me. But I’m miserable as hell about it. I can’t stop thinking about her. I keep remembering moments, when she made me laugh, when she pissed me off and then made me laugh, when she served dinner to homeless people, and when she got down on her knees in the shower and looked like she loved what she was doing…

  I suck air into my lungs.

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” I tell her, my voice scratchy, not exactly sure where her question is coming from and wanting to reassure her. “I’ve told her that we’re just friends. I told her that you were married to my best friend and I help look after you and Owen now that Hank’s gone.”

  “Oh.” Her lips quiver. “Just friends.”

  “Yeah.” I study her. “Heather…”

  She presses her lips together and lifts her chin. “I’m not just friends with you, Wyatt. Since Hank died, you’ve been around so much, and…I mean at first I was grieving for Hank…but now…I’m in love with you.”

  Holy shit. I stare at her, trying to keep my mouth from falling open, trying to keep my expression calm, but inside I’m a freakin’ typhoon.

  “I thought maybe you were feeling the same,” she continues in a soft voice. She scoots to the edge of the couch and leans toward me. “You do so much for us. You haven’t had a girlfriend since you moved here. You love Owen. I thought maybe you were developing feelings for me too…” She swallows. “We get along really well, and have a lot in common.”