He yawns. “Yeah. Guess I should go, but I think you just took the last of me. I’m not sure if I can walk.”
I want him to stay right here with me, but that’s plain a bad idea. Exhausted and sex-drunk like he is, he’d sleep on a bed of nails, but in the morning he could have regrets and I don’t want to risk that.
“Up, Leslie. I’m returning you to the care of your hockey brethren.”
He groans. “You’re so mean, Coach.”
“You’re right. I am mean. Just a sec while I grab my hairbrush.”
“Hairbrush? But—” He puts it together and then animates, sitting up, green eyes blinking open. “I’m up. I’m up. No one needsthathairbrush in their lives.”
His words are colored with playfulness. He’d enjoy a hairbrush spanking in the funishment realm.
I help him find his clothes and once we’re dressed, I deliver him to his room. Stacey—who seems to be their greeting committee—answers. His face lights up. “You’re not who I expected to see. Thanks for bringing him home, Coach.”
I’ve got my arm around Jack. I pull him in and give him a kiss on the head. The only way I’m bigger than Jack is via height. I’m using it every chance I get. “Go to bed, Leslie. Night, Alderchuck.”
From beyond the door is a symphony of, “Is Leslie home?” and “Jack’s home!” and “If Elkington’s there I’m gonna twist his nuts off.”
Good. At least one of them doesn’t like Rhett either.
Jack turns to give me a soft parting smile as Alderchuck drags him inside, but not before leaning out the door to tell me, “We’re glad you’re the one who brought him home, Coach. Also, thanks for not murdering us earlier. We would have deserved it.”
The door shuts with a thud, followed by rancorous laughter. To be in my twenties again, but I’m not so I turn around to head back to my sweet hotel suite.
Rounding the corner, I almost smack into a mountain, one whose stenchy Tom Ford cologne I recognize before I see his face. “Elkington.”
“Coach Meyer. If I might have a moment of your time?”
With what I know of Rhett, I kinda saw this coming. I’m surprised it took him this long. “Sure, kid,” I say, rubbing it in that I’m older and therefore wiser and better for Jack than he is.
His nose wrinkles. “Come.”
Chapter15
HIS
Mercy’s Log
MERCY
What did you see in that guy? I don’t see it. He drinks Courvoisier on the rocks like he’s a rich old man who’s survived both world wars. His turtlenecks are too turtleneck-y. That cologne of his burned my nostrils. While he might be a hockey God—I can’t deny it with stats like he’s got—the guy isn’t all that smart because he thinks he knows you. He thinks he sees you. He thinks he owns you.
He couldn’t be more wrong about that.
I feel you in my bones, Jack. When we’re together. When we’re apart. It’s become an ache. I’m so fucking pathetic for you.
It’s why I’m scared that you might be caught up in thinking you’re his too.
Because the two of you together are never gonna be like we can be together. He’s got a lot of power over you but he’s lost the most important one.
He doesn’t make you smile anymore.
Also, he haunts you. It’s always there, playing in the background and sapping your life force away.
* * *
Ijoin Rhett in the hotel’s lounge bar. He and his hulking muscles barely fit into the seat. He’s smooth and debonair—is that what Jack sees in him? So far, Jack doesn’t seem to care about money in the same way a guy like Rhett cares about money.
