by Avery Flynn
“Yes, Linus,” the woman said. “Thank you so much. It was good to come back, but I’m ready to get home to Italy.”
He caught the last bit in full as he was passing by and jolted to a stop. Airport? Italy? Now?
Shit.
Zara would be devastated. She’d been waiting for the ball just to be able to meet with Ms. Carlyle. He was moving again before he even thought about it, powered forward by instinct and the undeniable urge to help Zara.
“Ms. Carlyle?” He stopped a few feet away, making sure to stay out of her personal space as the words rushed out. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I overheard you’re leaving and my girlfriend— Well, she’s not my girlfriend, not yet, but she’s a miniatures artist and she’s been working her ass off—pardon the language—to put together the perfect piece to show you. Are you really going to miss the ball?”
“I’m afraid I am,” Ms. Carlyle said. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Zara Ambrose.”
She looked up toward the sky as if she was going through her mental contacts list. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard of her.”
“Here, hold on.” He grabbed his phone and pulled up some pictures of the dollhouse that he’d taken last time he’d been at Zara’s apartment. “These aren’t the greatest photos, but you can see she does amazing work.”
She took his phone, giving him an assessing look as if she was trying to place him. “What was your name?”
“Caleb Stuckey.”
“The Ice Knights defenseman?”
Okay, his wasn’t a household name for most people, let alone someone known for her bank account and art collection rather than for being a rabid hockey fan.
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t be so shocked. A mother always takes an interest in whatever fascinates her children.” She glanced down at the phone, enlarged the photo, and made several little hmmm sounds. “I truly am sorry to miss seeing her work.” She handed him back his phone. “It is impressive.”
As she made her move to get into her limo, the determined desperation that came in the final minute of a game when his team was down by a goal slammed into him.
“Her studio is only a few blocks away,” he said, trying like hell not to sound like someone her driver should be giving serious side eye and possible a hard elbow to. “You could get a look for yourself in person before your flight, if you have time.”
One steel-gray eyebrow went up. “And you say this Zara isn’t your girlfriend?”
“It’s a long story.” But starting to feel shorter by the minute.
“Well, I hope you can squeeze it into a short car ride.” Ms. Carlyle slid inside the back seat. “Are you coming, Mr. Stuckey?”
A soft buzz of warning vibrated against the back of his skull, but there was only one answer he could give. Zara deserved to have her chance.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and got into the back of the limo.
…
Zara was on her hands and knees in the bathroom, scrubbing the base of the toilet with a rag made from an old T-shirt soaked in a mix of cleaning product and water that still smelled strong enough that Anchovy was keeping his distance. The dog may not be thrilled with this turn of events, but deep cleaning was her go-to fix for when nothing in her life made sense. Her room in high school had always been beyond clean.
Shocker.
The rest of her apartment was a wreck, but she was going to clean the bathroom until her life started to make sense again. She’d spent her entire life depending only on herself. The idea of being able to depend on someone else had her cleaning her toilets like she worshipped at the altar of Pine-Sol and Magic Erasers.
She had just wrung out the rag when Anchovy let out an excited woof half a second before the knock on her front door. Peeling off her protective gloves, she stood up and went to the door. After scooching Anchovy over so she could get in front of the peephole, she raised herself on her tiptoes to see who it was. Her heart sped up the moment she spotted Caleb. Just the sight of him on the other side of her door settled all of the whirling mess of anxiety that had knocked her off-balance.
He was here. Just like he said he would be.
The realization that she could always depend on him for that nearly knocked her off her feet—well, that and the fact that Anchovy’s tale was thwacking her.
Excitement bubbling up inside her, she flung open the door and all but jumped into his arms. “Caleb.”
He wrapped his strong arms around her, deftly dodging Anchovy’s attempts to join in on the fun, and kissed her. The brush of his lips electrified her all the way down to her toes, but it was over too quickly. He set her down and took her by the shoulders, turning her to face the woman he was with. Zara had never met her before, but she didn’t need an introduction.
Helene Carlyle was standing in the hallway outside her apartment.
Zara’s brain had to still be functioning because her lungs were working and she hadn’t keeled over from a heart attack, but she couldn’t manage to get any words out of her mouth.
“It’s so good to meet you, Zara. Caleb has said so many interesting things about you this morning,” Helene said, looking every bit like the Harbor City grand dame who spent half her year in Italy with her second husband. “May I come in?”
Still mute, Zara nodded and led the way inside her apartment. The bleach smell of cleaning that had been comforting only a moment ago hit her nose like a stinging slap. There were dishes in the sink. The box of cereal she’d had for breakfast was still on the counter. Her bed, visible from where they were just inside the front door, was unmade, and Anchovy sat on it with a bedraggled toy that at one time had been an oversize neon ball. He thumped his tail hard against the bed but thankfully had gone into visitors mode and would stay on the bed until given permission to come say hello thanks to the gate set up in front of the bedroom door.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said, immediately comparing every inch of her messy apartment to the immaculate Helene and finding herself more than wanting.
This was not the impression she wanted to make. The only thing keeping her from drowning in a puddle of embarrassment was the fact that she’d get a second chance at the Friends of the Library charity ball.
“Well, I was leaving the Carlyle Building when your young man stopped me, and I just had to come look at your work right away,” she said, glancing around the apartment, her gaze stopping on Zara’s near-barren worktable. She walked over to it, Caleb going with her. “I was intrigued.”
My work?
A horrible realization began to dawn. This was her shot at impressing the country’s most influential miniatures collector, and she had nothing to show her. Her gut twisted and her palms turned clammy. What had Caleb done bringing Helene Carlyle here?
Okay, there’s a way to save this. Everything isn’t lost. Not yet.
She pasted on her best everything-hasn’t-just-turned-to-shit smile. “I’m so sorry, but everything is with the Friends of the Library to be auctioned at their charity ball.”
“That’s too bad,” Helene said, the initial interest lighting her eyes dimming as she turned away from the workbench. “I’m flying back to Italy tonight and won’t be able to attend the event as planned.”
“What about the antelopes?” Caleb asked as he handed two of the animals over to Helene, sending a look of apology to Zara.
The other woman gave the pieces a cursory once-over but handed them back to him with only a quiet, “How lovely.” Zara took a shaky step back, her pulse thundering in her ears as she watched the dream she’d nurtured in secret and then taken the first baby steps toward fall apart before her eyes. She knew what how lovely meant. It was half a step above bless her heart when it came to dismissal disguised by pretty words.
She turned to Helene, desperation clawing at her as she tried to stay calm and recover the moment. “I’d been really hoping to meet you at the ball and get a chance to show you my work t
hat will be featured there.”
She flinched at the sound of her own voice. It reminded her so much of every time her dad had promised that this time, this plan, would be different. And he’d been wrong just like she was.
However, the carefully neutral look on the other woman’s face told her just how late it was for that. There would be no recovery. This was it. The best option now was just to accept it.
Fighting to keep her shoulders from slumping in defeat, she lifted her chin and faced Helene. “I’m so sorry for wasting your time today.”
“It’s never a waste to meet someone with a vision.” The other woman traced a finger over one of the planning sketches on Zara’s workbench before picking up a small stack of others and quickly flipping through them. “Perhaps I’ll see your work at next year’s ball.”
Translation: Don’t close your Etsy shop.
“I hope so,” Zara said, managing to keep her voice even.
The word hope left a bad taste in her mouth, and as Helene offered a quick goodbye, saying that her driver was waiting out front for her, Zara had a hard time concentrating on the other woman’s words.
As soon as the door closed behind Helene, Zara sank down onto the couch, her legs too shaky to hold her anymore. “Why did you do that?”
For a big man, Caleb looked so small to her. He seemed to have shrunk into himself. Walking toward her, he opened his arms as if to gather her up.
She stopped him with a look. “What in the hell was that, Caleb?”
“Me helping,” he said, squatting down so they were eye level as she sat on the couch.
“Wow. I’d hate to see what you not helping is like.” The words spilled out of her, harsher than needed, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Hurt and frustration churned through her, twisting her insides into thorn-covered knots. “Do you know what just happened? You showed leftovers and commercial dreck to one of the country’s foremost miniatures collectors.” A hot rush of humiliation blasted through her. “My best work probably isn’t ready for Helene Carlyle, let alone a collection of antelopes bound for Peoria.”
“I know it’s not the outcome you want,” he said, taking one of her hands in his. “But she did mention next year.”
How could he still be so damn hopeful? How had she missed that he was just another dreamer like her dad, convinced that something not just better was around the corner but something amazing? What in the hell had she been thinking? It wasn’t his job that had made her hold back or the strangeness of the circumstances that had brought them together—it was the fact that deep down she’d known all along that Caleb Stuckey was another foolish dreamer.
“She was being polite.” Zara pulled her hand away. “She didn’t actually mean it, which you’d understand if you could ever read a room.”
“What the fuck?” He jerked back and stood up in one fluid motion. “I try to do something nice for you—to help you—and you throw reading in my face?”
Hating that she’d said that, hating that she hurt, hating that she’d been wrong about a possible future with Caleb, she reached out for him, but he evaded her touch. “That’s not what I meant.”
“If only I was smart enough to follow along, huh?” he asked, his voice quiet with a ribbon of pure, cold fury wound around each word. “Well let me tell you what I am smart enough to understand. You’re scared and you react by pulling into yourself. You can’t depend on anyone else? More like you can’t stand to let yourself even try to. And do you want to know why you’re really acting like this? It’s not because of Helene. It’s because you finally let down your guard with me, and it scares the shit out of you.”
He was wrong. He couldn’t be more wrong. While his anger might be cold, hers was burning hot, stoking a fire in her that turned the last of her self-control to ash. She stood up on the couch, giving herself enough height to look him straight in the eye.
“Fuck you, Caleb,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion that made her entire body jittery. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You think you can just waltz in here and tell me what to do just like your mom or your coach does to you? Is there anyone in your life who doesn’t tell you what to do, or is there a decision you can make for yourself that doesn’t fuck something up?”
The air crackled around them with a low, mean energy that made the hairs on her arms stand up. Adrenaline poured through her as she stared at him, her breaths coming in fast bursts as if she’d just run at full speed down a mountain. From that angle, she had the perfect view to see the change in Caleb’s expression as he shut down in front of her, leaving only a mocking sneer in place of genuine emotion.
“That’s a low fucking blow, Zara.”
“I’m short; that’s where my punches land.” She hopped off the couch and stalked over to the front door, yanking it open. “If you can’t take it, why don’t you just leave?”
He strode to the door, his long legs eating up the space between them until he was right next to her, looking down. “Don’t worry. I’m already gone.”
She slammed the door shut behind him and made it three small steps away before she crumpled to the floor, her chest heaving with tears coming so hard and so fast that she couldn’t even make a noise.
Chapter Eighteen
Caleb was at home in the penalty box. Tonight, he’d spent a good chunk of the last home preseason game against Philadelphia in there, snarling about that high-sticking asshole on the other team who’d drawn penalty after penalty. And after the game, he was still salty enough that his teammates gave him plenty of space in the locker room—everyone but Blackburn, Phillips, Christensen, and Petrov.
The nosy foursome crowded in front of him while he was tying his shoes. He ignored them. For once, his mouth wasn’t moving faster than his brain, because he wasn’t talking at all and didn’t have any plans to change that.
“What in the fuck was wrong with you?” Petrov asked, breaking the silence.
“It’s the last preseason game,” Caleb said, not bothering to look up from what he was doing. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Bullshit,” Blackburn all but growled. “It always matters when you have that A on your jersey.”
So much frustration was boiling just under the surface that it took everything he had not to step to his captain. So instead, he straightened up, giving the other man his full attention and letting just how much he did not give at that moment show on his face. “Then take it back.”
Blackburn’s jaw tightened, and the vein in his temple bulged. He didn’t move, not even an inch, but Caleb knew if he could push just a little bit more, he’d get a reaction. That was what he wanted. He wanted to brawl. What he’d left out on the ice tonight wasn’t enough to cancel out all the angry dark swirling around inside him.
He stood up, but instead of getting in Blackburn’s face, Christensen put his pretty-boy mug in between Caleb and the captain.
“What’s wrong, Zara decide she’d rather date me?” Christensen asked. “I heard you telling Coach that a fifth Bramble date wasn’t going to happen. I’m thinking I’ll give her a week and then go tap that a—”
That was as far as Christensen got before Caleb snapped. He vaulted forward, taking the other man down to the carpet right on top of the Ice Knights logo. They rolled, battling for superiority, but Christensen wasn’t a fighter, had no idea how to brawl, and Caleb not only had the skills, he had enough pissed-off in reserve to take on the entire first line. The forward didn’t stand a chance. Caleb had the other man down on his back and his fist pulled back ready to let loose when an unmistakable voice cut through the angry red haze.
“Caleb Stuckey, treat that logo with some respect and get the hell off it,” his mom said.
Britany walked in like she owned the joint—then again, that was pretty much how his mom entered any room. No doubts. No panic. No fear of failure. She didn’t fuck up over and over and over again until she ended up sprawled out on the floor of the locker room trying to take one of her frien
ds’ head off.
Caleb got up, hands still curled into fists, and looked around at the men who made up his line. Usually they watched over one another on and off the ice. Last season when the world found out about what Blackburn’s parents had done to him, it was their line who got him furniture and refused to let him lone-wolf out anymore. And now every one of those men was looking at him the way they’d all looked at Blackburn: not with anger or pity but with sympathy.
“You’re all a bunch of assholes,” Christensen said, brushing himself off as he stood up. “Why did I have to be the one to push him until he snapped?”
“Because out of all of us, you’re the one who needs to be popped in the head most often,” Phillips said.
All the fury whooshed right out of Caleb. “What are you talking about?”
“Psychology,” Blackburn said, looking too satisfied by a mile. “You were so busy thinking about whatever it was that fucked up things with Zara that resulted in no date number five that you couldn’t concentrate on how to move forward and fix it.”
Stunned at how well he’d been punked, Caleb just stared slack-jawed at Blackburn. It took about three seconds for the reality of what he said—and how right he was—to sink in.
“Zach, you just might make a good coach someday,” Caleb’s mom said before giving the rest of the guys in the room the look that sent her players scurrying for cover. “Now, do you boys mind giving me some time with my son?”
She didn’t have to ask twice—everyone scattered. Caleb sat back down on the bench in front of his locker, letting his head rest against the wood frame. Now that he didn’t have the anger to fuel him, weariness seeped in, dragging him down.
His mom sat beside him. “So why don’t you tell me what happened.”
Letting his shoulders droop, he exhaled, and then he gave her the entire story, from the rules he and Zara had agreed to on the first date to the fun they had on the other dates to the barbecue with the team to the fight.