by G. K. Brady
Her features pinched together. “Oh. I shouldn’t have presumed. Do you have someone?”
“No!”
Her eyes flew wide. Yeah, he’d been a little overzealous in his response.
“What I mean is, I’m not attached. To anyone. At all. Haven’t been, well, attached … in a long time. Ever! Hockey comes first. Well, that’s not true. Family first. Then the game.”
Amusement crept into her expression. “You’re not what I expected,” she said, bringing a halt to his geyser-like sputtering.
I’m not what I expected either. He usually had no problems maintaining his composure around women. Apparently, this one was special.
She canted her head and smiled. “You’re different.”
A breath fled from him as he corralled his inner middle-schooler. The blame for acting like a babbling idiot, he decided, lay squarely on the attraction electrifying the atmosphere between them. That had to be it.
Fortunately, he recovered and, with a wink, said, “My mom calls it ‘being special.’ But I suspect she was soft-pedaling the truth all those years.”
Another giggle escaped Lily—now she sounded nervous. “You sure you won’t come in for a few minutes?”
His stomach turned a few flips while his mind ran through various scenarios. Not one of them included him leaving. What could it hurt? They could enjoy a drink and talk about music—without Hunter or Blair butting in. Then he’d ask her out. Maybe dinner next week.
Besides, a glass of wine might settle his jangling nerves.
“I’d really like that,” he said.
“Good.” She punched a few buttons on the door’s numeric pad, and he could’ve sworn her hand trembled. The lock clicked, and she pushed the door open.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the gauzy glow through a window, and he took in a small table flanked by two chairs, a fireplace, and a four-posted bed in shadows.
Grasping his hand, she pulled him in after her. It was small and soft, nestling nicely in his own. A mere foot separated them, and he caught her fragrance on the air—flowers, rain, mystery. Moonlight peeking through the window reflected frost-like in her hair.
She motioned toward the seating area. “Wine’s over here. There’s a private deck where we can sit and talk. Maybe look at the stars?”
He nodded his agreement and tracked her with his eyes as she uncorked the bottle and poured dark wine into two glasses. Grabbing the half-full bottle, he opened the deck door for her and followed her outside, where they settled into cushy chairs.
“Here’s to the blues.” He clinked her wineglass. A small smile curved her lips as she took a baby-bird sip.
She set her glass down and tugged at a fine gold chain around her neck that caught the moon’s luminescence. On the chain was a plain gold ring she slid up and down absently. “Are your mother and grandmother here in Denver?”
“No, they’re in the Bay Area. I have a sister, Sarah, who lives in Seattle.”
“Do you see them often?”
A lump rose in his throat, and he coughed it back down. “I carve out time as often as the schedule allows. The off-season is a lot more flexible, though I still have camps, training, and other obligations.”
“And your dad?”
“Not in the picture. He and my mom split when I was a kid, and he’s got a new family in Oregon.”
“Do you see him?”
They were moving into a prickly pear patch, where he didn’t like going. “We trade the occasional obligatory phone call. ‘Obligatory’ applies to both sides.” And it’s awkward as hell.
His dad hadn’t been bad to him and his sis, just uninterested. Opposite of how he treated their step-siblings. When he thought of his dad, a blank avatar came to mind. A placeholder. Add to that how he’d broken Mom’s heart, and Gage had no reason to change the current dynamic.
He lifted his wineglass and gulped, suddenly aware he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “What about you?”
“My mom and dad live in Florida, and my sister, Ivy, and her husband are in Denver. I spend lots of time with them. I guess you could say Ivy’s my best friend.” She seemed to consider him. “Are you close to your sister?”
“Sarah’s my best bud, although she constantly gives me crap.” A chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“That’s what sisters do best.”
“Well, Sarah’s always done one hell of a good job at it.” Another fortifying sip. “Back to you. You used to sing with the band, but not so much anymore?”
“I rarely sing in public these days. I only sang at the wedding because Derek needed a vocalist, and I knew the songs. Though I gotta admit, it was fun to be out there again.”
Gage recalled the guy’s glare. “Is Derek an ex?”
“Ex-bandmate only. No other sort of ex.”
“And he’s not your brother.”
“No.” She let out a sigh. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
Something in her tone told him the subject was closed, and he let it go. “Ah.”
She paused to top off his glass. Jeez, had he polished his off already? He was buzzing like a live wire. This woman was putting him off his game. Assuming he had a game … which he didn’t.
“So what do you do when you’re not singing?” He took another sip.
“I volunteer, I do web design, and I’m a social media consultant.”
“So, like, you help clients post on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, other sites?”
She straightened, as if she were on a job interview. “Yes, exactly. I work up campaigns for them. Sometimes I execute them, and other times the client takes over.”
“Ah. And what kind of volunteer work?”
She slid the ring along the chain more intently. “Grief counselor.”
Her words seemed to punch out of her, and something told him to tread carefully. “Oh, wow. That’s gotta be tough.”
A slow sigh escaped her. “It can definitely be challenging.”
They sat in companionable silence, sipping wine and staring at the sky overhead. The air around them was filled with buzzing and chirping. When she began shifting in her seat, he finished off his wine. “I should probably go.” He stood, gathering up his glass and the now-empty bottle, and led her back into the room.
He opened her door and paused, facing her.
“You’re really sweet,” she said.
He told himself to go with it—right after he reminded himself he needed to leave. But he wasn’t doing a good job listening to the last bit, distracted as he was.
When she rose up on tiptoe, ran her hands up his chest, and cupped his head, he didn’t resist—didn’t want to. Instead, he let her draw his mouth down to hers, telling himself he’d finish the kiss, then leave.
Her lips were soft and sweet; he lingered.
She pulled back, her lips hovering near his. “Please stay,” she murmured.
Another kiss, deeper this time. Who initiated it, he couldn’t say. Didn’t care.
She let out a little mewl. The electrical charge that had been wreaking havoc inside him ratcheted up in amperage. He encircled her small frame in his arms and toed her door closed behind them.
Chapter 3
You Meet the Darnedest People at Strip Clubs
Present day, still at the arena
Staring through the Porsche’s windshield into the nothingness of the arena’s darkened parking lot, Gage startled from his memories back to the present when someone tapped on his window. Jesus, how long had he been sitting here letting his mind amble along its winding path?
He lowered his window, and Travis, the team owner’s son, gave him a shit-eating grin. “Hey, Nelson. We’re headed to the Sapphire Club, and you’re joining us.”
Gage had no interest in going to a strip club. “Kinda tired after the game.”
“Too bad,” Travis said. The guy’s authority came solely from his last name, and he sure knew how to throw it around. Gage would have to be careful how he played the d
emand dressed as an invite.
Behind Travis stood a few Blizzard players whose facial expressions told Gage how they felt about being roped into Travis’s reindeer games. Judging by the width of their grins, Wyatt and Hunter were fully on board. Quinn Hadley looked as uncomfortable as Gage felt.
Shit, why didn’t I go to dinner with T.J. and Natalie? Hell, why didn’t I just drive out of the parking lot while I had the chance?
“No choice, Nelson,” Travis barked. “Get your ass out of your car. My limo’s waiting.”
“Besides,” Wyatt piped up. “You owe me after tripping that squid into my net. Nearly took my fucking legs off.”
Gage suppressed an eye-roll. Goalies. With a long-suffering sigh, Gage shut off his engine, locked his car, and trudged after the frat boys.
Lily Everett pulled in a huge breath and swept her gaze clockwise, taking in every expectant face watching her from the circle—except for Brett, who might mistake it as a sign of interest on her part. Brett was grasping at straws, grasping so he could breathe, and her heart ached for him, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—travel down the path he was heading.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. I get how hard this is, and I love that you participate and support each other.” She paused a moment to gently beat her fist against her heart. “I’m always so awed by your courage and your compassion.”
A chorus of thank-yous and we-couldn’t-do-it-without-yous came back at her.
“Lily,” Eva said, “my daughter’s visiting next week, so I won’t be here.”
“Feel free to bring her, Eva. Maybe she’ll benefit from our time together.” The woman nodded and gathered her purse.
“I’ll see the rest of you next week,” Lily announced, “and, as always, if any of you needs to talk, you have my number.” But not you, Brett, she refrained from adding. She’d been dodging him too much lately as it was.
Rustles and murmurs sounded as a half-dozen people stood from their chairs. Lily glanced at her phone, shocked that it was already ten thirty. Tonight’s session had been more gut-wrenching than usual, making her relive some of her worst memories, and she was drained. A hot bath and bed awaited, and she yearned for both. Maybe a glass or three of wine would numb her so she could send her thoughts back to her mind’s dusty storage locker and leave them there.
She cringed inside as Brett approached in her periphery. Fifteen years her senior, he was a recent widower whose only mission seemed to be to find his next wife. Lily understood—sort of. At least, she understood that feeling of loss, that gaping, unfillable void, just as she understood he was trying desperately to fill up the hole in his soul. But his approach—to replace his lost spouse—wasn’t one Lily could relate to.
“Lily, um,” he cleared his throat, “I wondered if you had a few minutes to talk now, maybe grab a cup of coffee?”
Hopeful eyes lit on her, and her heart squeezed. “I’m sorry, Brett. I need to finish up some notes and lock up, then head straight home. Maybe you can call me tomorrow if you still need to talk, or,” she lifted her chin toward the others, “maybe someone else is looking to grab a cup too?”
The look of disappointment on his face made her feel like a class-A heel. He was lonely; he was lost. But they’d talked and talked since he’d started attending months ago, and she just didn’t have it in her tonight. She wasn’t his salvation. Hell, she hadn’t even saved herself yet. Maybe never would. She’d hoped helping others through their own grief would be her catharsis too, but she often felt as though she were sliding backward instead.
Brett hung his head and nodded, then followed the others out the front door. Lily locked it and went into the back to use the restroom. When she came out, she peeped through a window, unnerved to see him standing in the parking lot, his back to her, as though waiting for her.
Well, shit!
She did have notes to write, but she’d planned to do it at home with soft music playing in the background—and that glass of wine.
“Looks like you’re doing it here,” she muttered to herself.
And that change of plans was also unnerving because of the late hour; this was not the greatest neighborhood at night. Limited funding for the volunteer operation being what it was, the small office was plunked beside a strip joint. A high-end strip joint, but nonetheless, patrons got rowdy.
She’d take her chances with the strip joint.
An hour later, she took another look at the parking lot and blew out a sigh of relief when she didn’t see Brett. She shut off the lights, let herself out, and locked up. Surveying her surroundings, she headed toward her car.
A figure made a beeline for her.
Gage crossed the parking lot to the sidewalk, breath steaming the air in front of him. Behind him, garish lights blinked in the dark.
Where the hell was the Lyft driver?
He scanned the cars, his neon-pink-sign radar on high alert. He checked the icon on the real-time map again. The car seemed to be stuck in the same position it had been stuck in six minutes ago.
How did I end up here again? Wrong place, wrong time. All because Travis the Troll wanted to play BMOC and strut in with a contingent of hockey players. Now that he had what he wanted—namely lots of dancers’ attention—Gage could finally escape his intoxicated teammates and Travis.
He double-checked the Lyft’s position. Ah. Only five minutes away now, he thought dryly. What the hell was the hold-up at eleven thirty at night?
“Hey, Admiral!” Quinn hollered behind him.
Gage turned and eyeballed his linemate trotting over to him. “Run out of money for another lap dance?”
Quinn shook his head. “That wasn’t me getting the lap dances. I was just making sure Hunter and Wyatt stayed out of trouble.”
“And now?”
“And now I don’t give a shit. I just wanna go home.” Quinn shrugged. “If they get in trouble, it’s someone else’s problem. I’m tired of babysitting those idiots. I was hoping to catch a ride with you to the arena.”
As Gage was opening his mouth to reply, his attention snagged on a woman with long curly blond hair talking to a guy in the adjacent parking lot. He squinted to get a better look. Her arms were crossed, and she seemed to be leaning away from the guy. Nothing threatening, but she looked uncomfortable as hell. He took a few steps in their direction.
“Nelson, where are you going?”
“Just need to check on something. Keep an eye out for a white Altima with a pink Lyft sign. That’s our ride.”
Gage increased his stride. As his focus sharpened, his breath caught.
“Lily?”
The woman lifted saucer-wide eyes to him, and the dude, a forty-something, swiveled his head, surprise all over his face.
“Uh, hey, Professor,” she squeaked. “How’s it going?”
Gage pointed at the man. “Is he bothering you?”
A few inches shorter than Gage and obviously not in good shape, the guy took a few steps back. “I-I just wanted to be sure she got in her car safely,” he stuttered.
Confused, Gage looked between the two. Lily’s expression bordered on alarm—whether it was caused by the dude or her seeing him, he had no idea. He made a snap judgment call and addressed the dude. “I’ll make sure she gets where she needs to go. You can take off.”
The guy scrambled away and hopped into a car, though Gage hardly registered it for being hyper-focused on Lily. His heart pounded in his chest.
“You are Lily, right?” He didn’t need to ask. He’d recognize her anywhere.
She seemed flustered. “Identical twin?”
“Nice try.” Shit, she still wants nothing to do with me. What the hell did I do? He blew a forceful breath through his nose, his mind careening like one of Disneyland’s spinning teacups. Where’s she been? Why did she take off?
Behind him, Quinn called, “Lyft’s here.”
Gage spun, which was when he noticed the guy was still sitting in his car, eyeing him warily. Was this guy playing guar
d dog? “You take it, Quinn,” he shouted back.
Quinn saluted and grinned. “Admiral, I expect you to behave yourself and be at practice on time.” There was no mistaking Quinn’s repeat of one of Gage’s worn caveats. In his own defense, however, any guy wearing the A needed to act the part with his teammates—even if it meant keeping their asses out of trouble at strip joints.
Gage watched as the Lyft pulled away. To Lily, he said, “Do you want to go somewhere so this weasel leaves you the hell alone?”
“He’s not a weasel. He’s just …”
He arched his eyebrows. “So you want him following you?”
She shook her head.
“This your car?” He pointed at a gray Toyota Highlander beside her.
“Yes. Could I give you a ride somewhere since yours just took off?” Her eyes darted back to the dude, and she waved at him as if to say, “You can leave now.”
“That would be fantastic.” He followed her to her driver’s side door, opened it for her, then retreated to the passenger side and clambered into the seat, but not before shooting a glare in Weasel’s direction. Weasel seemed satisfied—or defeated—and pulled away slowly.
Good. Because right now all of Gage was zeroed in on his goal: to find out where this woman had disappeared to last summer and why. The incident still grated on him, and he wanted to spout the speech his bruised ego had cobbled together that gray morning when he’d woken up alone. Emotions ran a four-hundred-meter relay race inside him. Shock, anger, curiosity, more shock, wounded pride.
As they waited in charged silence for Weasel to merge onto the road, the front seat—hell, the interior of the whole damn car—felt like an ion storm was brewing. This was different from the electrical rope he’d felt tethering him to her that heady night, though no less powerful.
To his consternation, her fragrance drifted his way and slung him right back into her soft bed, the one in which he’d awoken naked that morning, drifting in a sea of warm contentment, coming to in a fuzzy, leisurely cadence. When he’d reached for her, the sheets beside him had been cold, empty.