“Sorry, couldn’t help it. Your phone is bright as hell.”
She shifted in her sitting position to face me. A smile plastered on her beautiful face. At least that was one muscle that wasn’t still recovering from the hottest night of passion I, with utter confidence, say we both ever had.
“I have nothing to hide. From my best friend,” she added after a beat.
With the connection Rayne and I shared, things should have been easy. But we both knew they weren’t. And not all of it having to do with that boy of hers.
“Good. Because I’d be a little difficult to hide in this town. But,” I took her hand in mine. “I know for the sake of Jax, you prefer to keep things on the low.”
“Yeah. Jax.”
“Why don’t you both meet me at the rink next week. Marty will close it up early so we can use it for practice.”
She nodded suspiciously. “Practice for him or for you?”
I shrugged. “For both of us.”
“I thought you’re turning the offer down.” Something flashed her eyes. Was it worry? Fear? Whatever it was came from the possibility of me joining that team.
“I am. But when word gets out that I’m healthy and ready to play, I expect to be getting calls. Starting with my agent.” I shifted to sit next to her on the edge of my bed, my hand on her bare thigh. “And I need to know with confidence, that I am capable.”
She pressed her head against mine and whispered. “You are. And I’m going to help you.”
“Oh yeah? You going to show me what to do with my arms?”
“I’m going to show you what not to do. And you won’t even feel the difference on the ice. At least I don’t think.”
“I know it’s a little late. For Jax and all, but I’d rather be there when it’s empty.”
“It is a school night, but I’ll see how he feels after practice and dinner.”
Slowly and playfully, we dressed. I made her breakfast which took forever because she insisted I give her an inch by inch tour of my “gourmet” kitchen. I loved how enthusiastic she was about it, since it was the only damn reason I bought this place. Luxury was never my thing. Even when I was the second highest paid player in the NHL, the money didn’t matter to me. I told her that growing up, we didn’t have much and learned to appreciate the little we had.
“So the store…” she asked tentatively, “is that just to keep yourself busy?”
I sighed. A question I got often from random customers and old player friends of mine from back home. It was true, I didn’t need a business. I didn’t need the stress of it or the money.
“To be honest, it’s to keep my sister busy,” I muttered first. “T’s Sporting Goods was opened in memory of our brother, Travis. A chunk of our monthly proceeds go to the youth hockey center where Marty worked and Travis trained. The place needs all the help they can get. It’s outdated and staffing dropped to mostly volunteers. There aren’t enough funds to keep it running the way it used to be. But a lot of kids in our old neighborhood depend on it. For the free lessons, for the meals they provide in between activities. For just a safe place to go after school.”
She nodded. “It’s ironic that you support a youth hockey center in memory of your brother but you don’t sell any hockey gear or equipment.”
“Alright Sherlock, eat your eggs,” I chuckled. About a month ago I would have thrown someone out of my store for that comment, but I liked her digging a little. Heavens knew there were things about her I found rather “ironic”, but all discoverable in due time, I was sure. Just as I was sure I’d accept all of it because it made up who she was today. Or who she was in spite of it.
Her lashes fluttered. “Sorry, I bet I could understand wanting to pretend it never existed after what happened to both you and your brother.”
“The sport caused too much pain in my family as it is and selling its products is almost like welcoming more of it, if that makes sense.”
She nodded.
“But mostly, it was for Tisch. She suffered the most from Travis’s death. Started hanging out with the wrong crowd as soon as she hit high school. Using drugs, skipping school—it took everything I had to bring her out of it. Bring her back. She was doing well for a while there. Started working with kids.”
Her brows jumped. “Tisch worked with kids?”
“Up here actually, yes. She moved to Buffalo after I was drafted. Then I had my accident.”
“It was no accident,” she mumbled angrily. Then her eyes shot up at me as if she let something slip.
But she didn’t. I always suspected Withers knew exactly what he was doing.
