“I don’t understand. I know a scout was supposed to come from New York. I was told they had and I assumed you’d told them to take a hike.”
“I knew a scout was coming. Merc told me. He never came.”
“You sureMercdidn’t hide it from you? Maybe he’s not keen for you to leave him at the end of the season.”
“He said the same thing about you, Rhett. Maybe there’s something you’ve hidden from me?”
“I would never hurt you.”
“You did hurt me.”
“Not on purpose,” he corrects. “But something is fucking fishy. I know the scout came because I’ve had you followed by my PI team.”
“Jesus, Rhett. But yeah, I know. Merc told me that too. Wouldn’t they have seen something, I dunno, fishy?”
“They’re still human and humans miss things. Besides I … haven’t looked at their reports in detail since your last phone call.” His voice is worn and broken. “I ask if you’re okay and leave it at that. It’s too painful, sunshine.”
No one tells you that even the breakups you want are still shitty. I don’t want Rhett to hurt, but the only way to make his pain go away is something I can’t give him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m the one who fucked up. I never should have let you go. Regardless, I meant it when I said I’d always look out for you. I’ll have a look at the files, see if there’s anything. Make some phone calls.”
Merc’s overwhelmed at the moment. Between playoffs and the child he’s getting in a few weeks that he just found out about, he’s dealing with so much bullshit that he doesn’t need mine too. Maybe letting Rhett figure this out could take the load off both of us?
“Yeah, okay. I’d appreciate that.”
Chapter25
Hung the Moon
Mercy’s Log
MERCY
Ifinally know what it’s like to be over the moon. I know what he hung the moon means. I want to fly to the moon. To the moon and back doesn’t seem like enough love to give you, Jack.
* * *
He bustles into my condo like a broad-shouldered hockey whirlwind, overturning couch cushions, lifting the carpet, and mining through every inch of my apartment at a frantic pace. “My lucky hat, Merc. Have you seen it?”
“This is why I told you to have a spot for that thing.” He loses it several times a week. Half the time, he finds it on the head of one of his friends, which I don’t like.
Jack glares in my direction. “Not the time for a lecture. I’m gonna be late.”
I should just put him over my knee now, instead, I stop my life to join the search, checking the usual places he leaves it—on the fridge, on the hook, in the entryway closet—or he’ll be impossible. He fully believes in the magic of that ratty old thing.
“Don’t appreciate the attitude, Jack. You know what I do with brats.” He doesn’t answer, fully consumed with his recon mission. I won’t have his full attention until it’s found. “Did you check your hockey bag?”
“First place I looked.”
“What about your friends’ hockey bags?”
“Yep. Nada.”
My memory sparks and I want to be the hero, so I walk into the bedroom without a word and reach behind the headboard. “Gotcha! OooOooh, Jack. I think you should come in here a minute.”
Jack strides in like a rolling boulder intent on taking out whatever’s in his path. “If you called me in here for sex at a time like—oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” I hold the hat out for him but swipe it just out of his reach when he grabs for it. “Bend over the bed.”
