Читать книгу A Perfect Trade - Anna Sugden - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCHAPTER THREE
THE LETTER HAD looked like a harmless piece of fan mail.
Tru’s hand shook slightly as he smoothed the scrunched sheet of paper. There had been nothing special about the handwriting. Even the Boston return address had seemed innocent.
As innocent as a puck bouncing up your stick and into your face, at ninety miles an hour, and just as damn painful.
He tossed the letter onto his kitchen table and paced the room.
Why now?
As if Tru didn’t have enough uncertainty in his life. Trade rumors had exploded with the announcement of the new general manager. Callum Hardshaw was a known rebuilder, with a reputation for clearing out deadwood fast. According to most sites and blogs, Tru was at the top of that pile of logs. Not the news he’d wanted or needed, with the Draft only weeks away, followed by free agency.
Now this letter.
After so many years of silence, what had prompted his father to write, asking to meet? And why to Tru? Ike was the eldest, it would have made more sense to reach out to him.
Tru halted, staring down at the lined, white paper as if it could answer his questions. But it offered no more explanation than the few lines he’d read a hundred times.
“Did you think I’d be a softer touch?” His voice echoed in the empty apartment.
An all-too-familiar guilt tightened his shoulders. He’d had to bear the pain of keeping quiet about his father’s infidelity, then the anguish of knowing the action he’d taken had blown his family apart.
His gaze lifted to the family snapshot on the refrigerator. His mother looked tiny, almost fragile, next to her broad-shouldered, towering sons. But Tru knew the strength behind the delicate appearance. The determination that had kept her going when her husband had walked out, leaving her with four young boys; one still an infant. The stubbornness that had enabled her to keep her family together no matter how hard things got.
A second photo showed his mother laughing with Jake’s mom. How would things have turned out if Tina and Gio Badoletti hadn’t stepped in to help?
The doorbell rang, followed almost immediately by several loud knocks.
The cavalry. Sort of.
Jake pushed past Tru as soon as he opened the door. His blue eyes scanned the apartment. “What’s up?”
Now his friend was here, Tru wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing by calling him earlier. He’d needed to share this with someone. As close as one of his brothers—they’d grown up together—Jake knew all about what had happened between his parents.
Well, not all.
“Thanks for coming, bro,” he hedged, leading the way back to the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee? Beer?”
“You said it was urgent.” Jake shot him a disbelieving look. “I broke the speed limit getting here and you’re playing freaking hostess?”
“You speeding is unusual, how?”
“Funny, Truman. Don’t give up your day job.”
Tru tried not to squirm under the all-star defenseman’s penetrating gaze. Normally, it wouldn’t have affected him, but with his emotions in turmoil, Tru’s nerves were raw.
He grabbed the letter and tossed it to his friend. “See for yourself.”
Jake groaned. “You called me over here to read some puck bunny’s fantasy?”
His friend’s words sent a dart of pain to Tru’s chest. An image of one particular puck bunny sprang to mind.
He hadn’t seen Jenny since her boss’s collapse. Tru figured she had to know he’d inquired after Sturridge several times, yet she hadn’t reached out to him. He shouldn’t be surprised or hurt; it would take more than keeping her company in the E.R. to regain her trust.
Worse, memories of the past had plagued him over the past ten days. Now, with this letter, he felt as if he was in some weird kind of hellish purgatory—the misdeeds of his life being held up before him so punishment could be exacted.
Hadn’t he already paid the price—over and over again?
“Is this serious?” Jake’s disbelief mirrored Tru’s initial reaction to the letter.
Tru tried to sound nonchalant. “Crazy, huh?”
“What’s your old man after? Does he need money?”
Jake’s assumption that Radek Jelinek had an ulterior motive stung, even though Tru had thought the same thing. “Why would he need money? He ran off with that Boston heiress.”
“Maybe she dumped him. Maybe he cheated on her, like he did your mom.”
“Which is why he wouldn’t approach us for money.”
“You don’t think it’s strange he wants to meet his rich hockey-star son?”
“Maybe he wants to reconnect with his kids.” The words escaped before Tru could stop them.
Jake shook his head sadly, his apologetic expression acknowledging the unspoken emotion roiling through Tru. “Why didn’t he get in touch before? He could’ve contacted you guys at any time over the past twenty-plus years. Why now?”
“Perhaps he’s sick and wants to see us all before it’s too late.” God, he sounded desperate. Pathetic.
“Possible.”
Tru slumped into a chair. “But you doubt it.”
“I think he’d have mentioned a terminal illness.”
“He might not have wanted to play the sympathy card.”
Jake sighed and sat next to him. “You’re giving your old man way too much credit.”
His friend was right. Perhaps Tru was eager to believe the best of his father because he’d always hoped he’d have a chance to put things right for his family one day. Because, since he’d opened the envelope, he’d wanted the letter to be that chance.
“He’s still my father,” Tru said softly. “He deserves the benefit of the doubt.”
“Does he? He didn’t care that much about you guys when he was around and until now he made no attempt to reach any of you for all these years. This sudden change of heart stinks. I’d be wary about his motives, bro.”
Tru hated to admit it, but Jake was right. He sighed with frustration. “My mind has been working overtime trying to figure out what to do.”
“That’s your problem. You shouldn’t think.”
Tru punched Jake in the arm. “Like your nickname’s Einstein.”
“Hey, I can use my brain.” Jake hit him back, harder.
Chairs scraped as the two men jumped up and squared off.
“We all saw what using your brain did. You almost lost Maggie with your stupid ideas.”
The mention of Jake’s wife brought a big goofy smile to his friend’s face. “I was smart enough to go after her and win her in the end.”
“With a little help from your friends.”
“I know.” Raising his hands in mock surrender, Jake sat back down. “You didn’t do so well with Melanie, though.”
“I tried.” Not hard enough. He should feel worse; couldn’t explain why he didn’t. “Probably for the best.”
“Yeah. Probably.” Jake made it sound like definitely.
Tru went to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of soft drinks. Passing one to Jake, he popped the top on his and took a long swig, before grabbing a chair and straddling it.
The letter lay on the table between them. Demanding his attention. Demanding action.
They both stared at it. The silence lengthened.
“Are you going to tell your mom?” Jake asked finally.
Tru shook his head. “Not until I’ve checked my dad out. I don’t want her upset unnecessarily. If he turns out to be on the level, I’ll consider telling her then.”
“Ike may disagree with you.”
“Ike won’t know.”
Jake’s head snapped up. “What?”
“I’m not telling any of my brothers,” Tru said firmly. “Not yet anyway.”
“Why the hell not? You can’t keep them in the dark about this. It’s too important.”
“I have to be sure my dad isn’t screwing with us again. I won’t raise their hopes, only to have them shattered.” Tru thrust his fingers through his hair. “Kenny’s finally got his shot at making the Cats full-time and is working like crazy to be ready for training camp. Linc has to decide whether to stay in college or turn pro.”
“And Ike?”
He had no excuse for keeping his older brother in the dark. At least, not one he could admit. Tru had to be the one to get to the bottom of this; he owed his family that much. He’d been the one who’d made sure his mom had found out about his father’s infidelity. It was Tru’s fault their old man had left.
No damn way he’d let Radek Jelinek hurt them again.
“I’ll tell Ike, just not right now. Dad leaving hit Ike the hardest. I think because he’s the oldest, he felt responsible somehow.”
Tru hadn’t had the courage to tell his brother what he’d done; not then, and not since. “It shouldn’t take me long with the internet to research my father. Then I’ll bring them all up to speed.”
God, he hoped his old man really had changed and this was a genuine attempt to reach out and reconnect.
Concern filled Jake’s blue eyes. “Ike’ll be mad as hell if you blindside him.”
“He’ll understand, when I explain.”
Jake didn’t look convinced. His friend opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by a knock and the sound of the front door opening.
“Hey, bro,” Ike called out.
Tru swore. “Don’t say anything about this, okay?”
“Damn it, Tru.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck.
“Come on, man. I need you to go with me on this.”
Jake puffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m not happy about it, but I’ll keep quiet. For now.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.” Tru raised his voice. “We’re in the kitchen.”
He snatched up the letter, shoving it in his back pocket as his brother walked in.
“Glad I caught you both together,” Ike said. He slumped into a chair, his expression grim. “Saves having to say all this twice.”
Tru exchanged concerned looks with Jake. “What’s up?”
“There’ll be a conference call with all the Cats players tomorrow, but as union rep, I got a preview. I wanted to give you guys a heads-up on what’s going to be said.”
“Sounds ominous.” Jake leaned forward. “Don’t tell me the Scartelli brothers are moving us to Kansas City.”
Ike didn’t crack a smile at the old joke.
Tru’s stomach rolled with uneasiness. “They’ve just changed the GM, what else is...” He broke off. “Crap. They’ve fired Max.”
Ike nodded. “There are some critical decisions to be made over the next few months—who to pick at the draft, which contracts to renew, who to trade, who to keep—so Callum Hardshaw wants his own man in place ASAP.”
“Any word on who the new coach will be?”
“Not yet, but Hardshaw must have a name in mind. He may even have tapped someone already. I’m guessing it won’t be long before he announces Max’s replacement.”
Which made Tru’s position with the Cats even more precarious. He tried to look on the bright side. “There are a few coaches with good track records looking for jobs. Maybe Hardshaw will choose one of them. The Scartellis want to win, so a veteran coach would make sense.”
“Yeah. Not so sure about that.”
The way Ike avoided his gaze made Tru nervous. “Spill, bro. What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything for sure.” Ike sighed. “The phrasing Hardshaw used about the future of the team smacked of blowing everything up and starting afresh.”
Jake frowned. “We knew that was a possibility when he was hired. The guy’s known for making something out of nothing. Look at the job he did with Columbus. So, what’s put a bug up your ass?”
Ike’s gaze swung between Tru and Jake. “Hardshaw said the Scartelli brothers have promised him time to achieve success. They want the Cats to be another Pittsburgh.”
“You’re kidding. They want us to molder in the league basement for a few seasons in order to get high draft picks, in the hopes that we’ll become a serial Cup contender?” Tru swore. “That’s my career with the Ice Cats done. I’ll be gone this summer. I wish I’d hired an agent before I negotiated my last contract. I might have got a no-trade clause. Then they couldn’t just ship me out to the highest bidder.”
“Andy will get you a great deal.” Jake crushed his empty can.
“But it won’t be with the Ice Cats.” What a difference a few years made. From hero to zero. “The last time my contract was up, I was the team’s MVP. The Cats were terrified they’d have to shell out major money if they let me reach free agency.”
“I told you agreeing to your contract early was crazy.” Ike crossed his arms. “You’d have got way better terms from most other teams.”
“I was happy to take a hometown discount to stay with the team who drafted and developed me—and to keep playing with you. I was damn loyal to them. Where’s their loyalty to me?” Tru threw his arms up in disgust.
His brother shrugged. “There’s no loyalty in professional sports. Especially when you’re losing. They only care about the bottom line.”
“Ike’s right,” Jake said quietly.
“Doesn’t make it suck any less.”
Neither Jake nor Ike disagreed.
When they left a short while later, Tru threw himself onto his couch. His hockey-playing future was looking bleaker by the minute.
With his current run of luck, he’d end up without a team at all or worse, bussing it in the AHL. Damn it! He didn’t want to play in the freaking minors. He still had good legs and decent skills.
The room darkened as afternoon turned into evening, mirroring his darkening thoughts.
Maybe he’d have to resort to playing overseas in Europe or Russia. The money was great, but the other leagues weren’t as good as the NHL. Plus, he didn’t want to become one of those guys he’d always felt sorry for; a has-been, desperately clinging to a career everyone else knows is already over.
He’d rather walk away from the game than be a laughingstock.
Can the pity party.
Jeez. He was going to drive himself crazy if he didn’t get away from his own thoughts. He had to get out of the house. Go to the Plaza. Plenty of options at the mall to keep himself occupied for a few hours.
Tru leaped up, grabbed his keys and headed out to his car.
Dealing with the crazy drivers on Route 17 helped blow some of the self-pity from his head, so he was able to walk into the mall with a sense of purpose. He’d check out some stores, grab a bite to eat and maybe take in a movie.
He was in the sporting goods store, looking at athletic shoes, when his plans went awry. An unfamiliar male voice came over his shoulder.
“Hey, you’re Tru Jelinek.”
Tru tensed. He put down the shoes and, plastering on a polite smile, turned slowly to face the speaker.
A balding guy in an Ice Cats away sweater grinned at him and stuck out a meaty hand.
Tru shook his hand. “Good to meet you.”
“I’m Don. This is Dirk.” He pointed at his buddy, whose blue Islanders sweater strained over his beer belly.
“Thought you’d be on the golf course,” Dirk sneered.
Tru didn’t point out that the Islanders may have made the play-offs, but they’d been knocked out in the first round by Toronto. It wasn’t worth the aggravation. “Not really a golfer. I like more action to my sport.”
“Yeah.” Don shot a glare at his pal. “So, Tru, watcha think of the latest rumors about you being traded out west?”
* * *
THE SINGLE PINK line confirmed what Jenny had known since yesterday.
“Damn it.” Half-whispered words caught on a broken sob.
Jenny had allowed herself a few moments of hope as she’d waited for the pregnancy test, even though she’d known deep inside there was no way she’d get a positive result. The IVF nurse had said there was a tiny chance that Jenny could be pregnant, despite the bleeding, so she should take the test, to be sure.
Pain stabbed at Jenny’s heart. And in her womb. An aching tightness gripped her throat. The hollow feeling within her was real.
The test isn’t perfect. Maybe it’s wrong.
Logic drowned out her desperate inner voice. No mistake.
Tears welled as reality stamped out the spark of hope. There was no baby.
Her body had let her down; one more betrayal in her life. She should have known better than to expect anything else. How many more times did she have to be shown for the message to sink in? Good things only happened to good people. To people who deserved them.
Stop!
That was his thinking. Douglas Boult’s ranting had no power over her now. His ornate casket was six feet under in the Blessed Peace Cemetery. He couldn’t hurt her, or anyone else, ever again.
Still, Jenny couldn’t silence the lingering doubt. Had she done something wrong? Questions whirled in her head as she revisited the days since the embryo had been implanted, trying to analyze every action, every movement. Desperately seeking an answer while hoping not to find one.
Finally, she drew in a shuddering breath then rose slowly, her muscles aching with suppressed grief. She had to let the IVF nurse know the result.
Jenny dialed Sally’s number and the nurse answered her call after one ring.
Anguish rose, threatening to overwhelm Jenny. Her words were little more than a whimper. “I... It...”
“I’m sorry,” Sally’s sympathetic tone soothed.
Relief that she didn’t have to say the words eased some of the tension in Jenny’s body. “Was it my fault?”
“Of course not.” The nurse’s tone brooked no argument.
“But I...”
“Stop.” Sally’s voice softened. “We don’t know why you miscarried, but it wasn’t anything you did. Unless you went bull-riding or bungee-jumping.”
Even in her misery, Jenny’s lips twitched. “No.”
“No drinking, smoking, drugs or partying?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I’m afraid this is just one of those things.”
“What do I do now?” Jenny’s voice broke.
“Give yourself time to grieve. To heal. When you’re ready, we’ll talk options.”
There were no options.
Jenny cleared the lump from her throat. “I can’t afford any more attempts.”
“You’re still young. Things could change, giving you another opportunity. You could meet Mr. Right and try again.”
“There’s no such thing as Mr. Right.” Once, she’d thought Tru was Mr. Right. But he’d shown himself to be Mr. Totally Wrong.
“You don’t know that,” Sally chided.
Sadly, she did. But the nurse couldn’t understand, not without knowing the whole story. So she moved on and thanked Sally for her help.
For a long time after Jenny hung up, she sat cross-legged on her bed, hugging her pillow, thinking about the past and what she’d lost. Eventually, her mind shifted toward the present and how she would deal with the problems facing her.
One thing was for sure, Lizzie came first. Always. From the minute Jenny had turned eighteen and they’d left their uncle’s house, she’d tried to give Lizzie a good life. The sacrifices she’d made had been worth it; her sister was bright, well-adjusted and happy.
Jenny would do everything to ensure her sister stayed that way.
Which meant she couldn’t sit around here feeling sorry for herself. She had to make money. To do that she had to find a job. Maybe several jobs. As nervous as she was about putting herself out there, she had no choice.
Forcing herself to move before the anguish lingering within took over, Jenny rose stiffly and walked to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face and ran a brush through her unruly hair, grimacing at her too-pale reflection.
Back in the bedroom, she took off her sweatpants and T-shirt, replacing them with black jeans, a crisp striped blouse and her favorite spiked heel sandals. Like donning armor, the layers encased her vulnerable self within its protection, enabling her to face the world.
Jenny was applying lipstick when the phone rang. At first she didn’t answer. The wrong words, the wrong tone and her fragile control would shatter. When it rang a second time, she checked the caller ID.
Why was Maggie so keen to get hold of her?
Drawing on every ounce of reserve strength, Jenny answered.
“You sound odd.” Worry tinged her friend’s words. “Is everything all right?”
Jenny injected a bright note into her voice. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. What’s up?”
“I have good news. How would you like to be a godmother?”
“A what?” The lipstick dropped out of her suddenly nerveless fingers.
Maggie giggled. “A godmother.”
Her brain took several seconds to make the connection. “You...you’re pregnant?”
Pain seared through her.
“I’m due in November.” Maggie bubbled with excitement. “I can’t believe it. Jake and I have been trying for so long, I’d almost given up.”
As Maggie chatted away about ultrasounds and due dates, Jenny tried to pull herself together. To stop the wrenching in her stomach.
She was happy for Maggie. And she’d tell her...in a minute...when she had the strength. “Congratulations. Jake must be thrilled.”
“He says it’s like winning the Cup all over again.”
“With him scoring the winning goal.” Jenny’s laugh was watery, but genuine.
Each moment the call continued was agony, yet she couldn’t spoil her friend’s happiness by cutting her short. Jenny had no idea what she said, but somehow she managed to keep up her end of the conversation.
Just as she thought she couldn’t take a moment more, Maggie released her.
Jenny had barely hung up when her knees gave way and she slid to the floor.
Grief washed over her in waves. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to mute the sobs that escaped. Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked back and forth.
But she couldn’t hold back anymore. Mewling cries, wrenched from deep within, echoed around the empty room.
Darkness had fallen by the time the storm inside Jenny began to calm. Her throat was hoarse, her lips parched, her eyes scratchy. Her muscles ached.
But her heart was numb, at last.
I have to get out of here.
Where could she go? She looked a mess. Hell, she was a mess. She needed a place where she could sit alone. She couldn’t face bumping into someone she knew.
Memories of an old stomping ground surfaced.
Jenny hadn’t been to the Exeter Diner in a long time. A hole-in-the-wall, with dim lighting, where the regulars kept to themselves. She’d escaped there as a teenager when she couldn’t handle being in Douglas’s house. Then later she’d hung out there with Tru.
How many times had she driven past over the years? She’d never stopped because the place held too many memories. Of Tru’s friendship turning to something more special. More precious. Of their first tentative kisses in those shadowed booths. Of whispered secrets and stolen moments.
Of that final night when he’d promised to keep her safe, then destroyed her safety. The night he’d wrecked their friendship and killed their blossoming love.
Yet, as much as she shied away from the memories the Exeter Diner evoked, she was drawn to its siren call. To its familiarity and to the peace she could find by sheltering in the cocoon of those high-sided bench seats.
What did she have to lose? Tru wouldn’t be there. Nor anyone else she knew.
Jenny got to her feet and hurried back into the bathroom. She washed her face again, then grabbed her purse and hurried out the door.
* * *
A COLD BEER, a rare burger with all the trimmings and not a hockey fan in sight.
Exactly what Tru needed. The tension that had tightened his shoulders since that damn encounter with Don and Dirk in the sporting goods store finally began to ease. He leaned back against the padded leather seat in the dark booth and took a long drink from the bottle the gum-snapping waitress had just served him.
He’d nearly forgotten about this diner, back in the old neighborhood; he hadn’t been here in years. When he’d stormed out of the Plaza, he hadn’t wanted to go home, but also hadn’t wanted to risk going anywhere fans would recognize him—that had ruled out most of the sports bars in the area. He’d considered going round to Jake’s, but his friend had taken Maggie out for dinner. And going to his mom’s had been out of the question—Tru wasn’t ready to face Ike or his mom, not with that letter burning a hole in his conscience.
Then he’d remembered this place. Quiet, great food and nobody would bother him.
“Jack. Rocks. Easy on the rocks.” The familiar husky voice almost made him choke.
Desire slid through his veins like flames licking at dry wood. Anger, frustration and guilt soon mingled with the desire, as they had since he was sixteen.
What the hell was Jenny doing here?
Just like old times, his mind whispered. Except Jenny wouldn’t be rushing toward him, her blue eyes bright with anticipation. She wouldn’t be sliding into the booth, into his arms, her lips raised for his kiss. There would be no entwined fingers as they shared a milk shake.
The diner had been “their place.” They’d found it one evening, after hockey practice, and had begun to hang out there regularly. When their friendship had turned to something more, it had become their private haven. He’d only realized how much of a sanctuary this had been for Jenny when he’d discovered the truth about her uncle.
The click-click of high heels on the wooden floor came closer. Tru shifted into the shadows of the high-sided booth as Jenny took a seat across the room.
“Why don’t I get you some food to go with that drink?” The waitress’s gentle question belied her hard, brassy look.
He couldn’t make out Jenny’s response.
When the older woman moved away, he got his first good look at Jenny’s face.
The change since he last saw her shocked him. Her pale skin was almost translucent. There were dark smudges under her eyes. What could be wrong?
It couldn’t be her boss; the nurse had told Tru there was no change when he’d last called.
For some reason, his mom’s comment about pregnancy vitamins, the day of Harry’s stroke, popped into Tru’s head. At the time, it had raised painful questions he hadn’t wanted to know the answer to, so he’d deliberately scrubbed it from his mind.
Could Jenny be pregnant? A knife twisted in his gut.
He watched her drain the bourbon and knew the answer was no. Jenny wouldn’t drink if she was carrying a baby.
“Here you go.” The waitress placed a plate topped with a burger, fries and onion rings in front of Jenny. “Eat up.”
“Thanks.” Jenny’s smile was wooden.
As soon as she was alone, the smile faded and her shoulders slumped.
Tru was partway out of his seat before he stopped himself. What are you thinking? Slowly, he sat down again.
Think you can help? His inner voice laughed, a mocking, pitying sound. Haven’t you helped her enough?
All he’d wanted was to save the girl he loved. Instead, he’d screwed up badly and made things worse. Dangerously worse.
No matter how many times he replayed the events, he couldn’t find any way he’d have figured out that the man Jenny had refused to name had been the pastor everyone had adored and trusted.
Eat and get out of here. Tru turned back to his burger, but his gaze kept straying across the room. Half of him wanted her to look up and spot him. The other half was scared she would.
He’d barely taken a bite of his burger when he caught a movement at the edge of his vision. Jenny’s fork clattered to the table. She pushed her plate away and cradled her head in her hands.
Before Tru could question his actions, he was standing by her side—with no idea what to say.
“You’re a long way from home.” Were those gruffly spoken words the best he could do?
Jenny’s back stiffened, but she didn’t look up.
Where was her usual snappy comeback? Her lack of reaction worried him. Whatever was wrong, was bad. He had to do something to spark a response. “Didn’t think this was your neighborhood anymore.”
She lifted her head, glaring at him. “Excuse me?”
“Look around. No hockey players.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. At least, no good hockey players.”
Ouch. Still, fire had finally flashed in her blue eyes.
He slid into the booth, opposite her.
“Go away, Truman. I’m eating.”
“Uh-huh. And what was that you were doing when I came over? Praying?” He winced inwardly. He’d wanted a reaction, not to hurt her.
“You, of all people, should know I don’t believe in God.”
“My point exactly.” He helped himself to a French fry.
“Hey, get your own fries.”
“You used to be better at sharing.” He plucked an onion ring from her plate and offered it to her. When she continued to glare, he shrugged and ate it himself.
Jenny stood, marched over to the waitress station and grabbed a bottle of ketchup. When she returned, she deliberately poured sauce over the fries and rings.
His heart kicked. She’d remembered he didn’t like ketchup. “Now, that’s just mean.”
He went to collect his own dinner and returned.
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Do you always force your company upon women?”
“I never have to force anything. They flock to me.”
“Like lemmings to a cliff?”
He grinned. “Not bad.”
“I’m just warming up.” She ate some of her burger and sighed. “I’d forgotten how delicious the food was here.”
“Not been back for a while?”
She shook her head. “Not for a few years.”
What had brought her back tonight? “I’m surprised you’re not at the game in Pittsburgh.”
“I’ve retired.”
“What? When?”
“When the season ended. I’ve handed over the puck bunny crown to Candi-with-an-i.”
“You’ve done all the players in the league?” The question, tinged with disbelief, slipped out before he could stop it. Crap. So what if she’d never slept with him. He didn’t compete with other players for women, or take up with their leftovers.
The fire in her blue eyes was replaced with ice. “I may have missed a few, but then I don’t sleep with married men or guys in steady relationships. Or jerks.”
Time to change the subject. “Why are you here tonight?” he asked gently.
Jenny blanched. Her vulnerable look had him worried enough to press. “What are you hiding from?”
Silently, she pushed her food around on her plate.
“Come on, Jenny. You look dreadful.”
“This from a man with a couple of still-raw scars on his face.”
“You don’t need me to tell you you’re beautiful. You get enough compliments elsewhere. You need the truth.”
She flinched. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Well, ‘nothing’ obviously doesn’t agree with you.”
Jenny shrugged. A small, heartbreakingly defiant gesture he’d seen before. A long time ago. Before he’d convinced her she could trust him. Before he’d destroyed that trust.
“It’s not important,” she said flatly.
Irritation bubbled within at her dismissal. He should have known better than to come over here. There would never be anything but pain and rejection when it came to Jenny Martin. “I give up. Enjoy your dinner.” He stood. “Whatever’s wrong, it’s eating away at you. Even this dumb ice-jock can see that. Talk to someone. Talk to Maggie or Lizzie.”
Fear twisted his gut as tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Now he knew for sure something was wrong. Jenny never cried.
* * *
DAMN. DAMN. DAMN.
Damn fate’s irony for bringing her full circle at the most vulnerable point in her life. Back to the first man she’d ever loved, and trusted. Talk about adding insult to injury.
Her heart had jumped when he’d slipped into her booth. The concern in his green eyes and in his deep voice had warmed her.
Jenny swiped at the tears and tried to compose herself. It had been hard enough to control her feelings tonight, without having Tru so close. She couldn’t handle him right now. She was too raw. The pain of her loss ached, deep inside. Yet the urge to lean on him, to absorb his strength, whispered through her.
No! That’s how it had started last time. She was still paying the price of that mistake.
She should leave before the emotions coursing through her made her do something she’d regret. Jenny stood.
As she pushed past him, Tru’s hand caught her wrist. “Don’t go. I’ll leave you alone.”
Her pulse fluttered—fight or flight? She didn’t have the energy for either. She sank back into the booth. “All right.”
The sight of the cooling food—fat congealing, covered in red sauce—was too much for her roiling stomach. She pushed the plate away and reached for her drink. The burn of the bourbon as it slid down her throat was strangely comforting.
“Can I call someone for you?”
Using the sharp pain of her memories to bolster her strength, she stiffened her spine. “No, thanks. I’m just tired.”
“Bull.”
“Excuse me?” One eyebrow arched haughtily.
“You heard me.” He leaned over and planted his palms on the table. “This is more than being tired.” A tenacious look settled across his face. Glib answers wouldn’t cut it this time.
Yet she couldn’t share the truth with him. “If you must know, I lost my job.”
“I’m sorry.” Tru straightened and slid into the seat opposite her. “You’ll find another one. Maybe not with the same perks, but a decent job.”
Disappointment sliced through her. She knew what he meant by perks, but couldn’t be bothered to set him straight. “That’s not the problem.”
As she explained, she signaled the waitress for another Jack Daniel’s. The perfect anesthetic to numb the pain and chase away the misery.
It might even help her deal with Tru.
“The bastard.” He looked ready to deal Irving some old-style hockey justice.
She tamped down the pleasure that flared at his support. “It’s my own fault. I should’ve made sure my contract had been updated. I just assumed. Now it’s too late. At least until Harry wakes up.”
Her drink arrived and she took a large swallow. The second shot went down more smoothly, warming her tight throat. Jenny raised the glass to her lips again.
“What’s really going on?”
The bourbon went down the wrong way, making her splutter.
Tru was beside her in an instant. He swapped her Jack for a glass of water.
By the time she could breathe again, she realized Tru’s thigh was pressed against hers. His arm lay across her shoulders as he encouraged her to drink more water.
Heat flooded through her. She tried to edge away, but her bag took up the remaining space between her and the wall.
“Jenny?” The worry etched into his face was nearly her undoing.
“I’m fine.” She pulled her bag onto her lap then moved as far as the enclosed booth allowed. “Look, I appreciate the concern.” She hardened her voice. “But it’s none of your business.”
She reached for the glass of bourbon, drained it, then deliberately raised her hand for another. The waitress brought it almost immediately.
Tru’s intense gaze seemed to penetrate her defenses and see into her soul. “Whatever’s going on is tearing you apart.” He paused and sighed heavily. “I’ve never seen you cry.”
Because she’d never let him. Not even when she’d told him about the abuse.
She couldn’t bear the conversation another second. “I have to go.”
She swallowed the refreshed drink, but this one didn’t go down as smoothly. She swayed slightly as she stood. Damn. She should have eaten more of that burger.
Once again, Tru stopped her. But his touch only added to her light-headedness.
Great. Just what she needed. She shrugged off his hand. “If it’ll get you off my back, I promise to talk to someone.”
He didn’t need to know there wasn’t anyone she could tell.
Her head pounded. Waves of fatigue swirled around her. This time, she managed to push him away, but she didn’t get far.
“Come on.” He tossed some bills on the table then took her arm. “I’ll drive you home.”
The whiskey lay heavily in her stomach. “My car,” she muttered, as she walked unsteadily, each step taking serious effort and concentration.
“I’ll bring you by to pick it up tomorrow.”
She didn’t like leaning on him, but knew she couldn’t make it to the door without his support. “I’m not drunk. Too little food. Tired. Sick.”
“Will she be all right?” the concerned waitress asked, as they passed.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Jenny snorted. His kind of care she didn’t need.
Outside the diner, the cool air cut through some of the haze in her brain. Pain filled her. Pain from the past. Pain from the present. The image of that one pink line swam before her eyes. No baby. No chance of a baby. Her knees crumpled beneath her.
Tru caught her before she hit the wet pavement and lowered her gently to the ground.
Jenny welcomed the damp seeping through her clothes as she rested her cheek against the cool stone.
“You can’t stay here.” Tru’s sharp words made her frown.
Why was he being mean? “You’re not the boss of me.”
“No. I’m not.”
She nodded, pleased he’d agreed. The motion made her head swim. She moaned softly.
Tru swore, then swung her up into his arms.
Jenny thought about struggling, but it took all her energy to control her roiling stomach. Focusing on the hard chest beneath her cheek helped. She’d bet he was ripped beneath his shirt. She trailed a finger down the corded sinew of his neck. Mmm. Yes. Definitely ripped. Tight, flat abs, thighs like tree trunks, rock-hard biceps.
“Stop that.” Tru sounded strained as her finger slid beneath the open collar of his shirt. “If you don’t stop wriggling, I’ll drop you.”
Settling her head against his shoulder, she closed her increasingly heavy eyes. She barely registered him putting her into his car, or the drive home. As the car stopped, she tried to rouse herself. But her stomach began to churn dangerously. When Tru went to lift her into his arms, she shook her head. Acid rose in her throat. Not in front of Tru.
She pushed away from him. But it was too late. Jenny dropped to her knees beside a large bush and threw up.
