“That’s it,” Rey says, no longer whispering.
She jumps up and turns to the couple. The woman looks up at her, revealing tear-stained cheeks.
“Your hair looks beautiful,” Rey says fiercely. “You are beautiful in every way, and this asshole doesn’t deserve you.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the man demands.
I move to stand beside Rey, and I give him my most intimidating scowl. “You come within two feet of her and I’ll beat your ass into next week,” I tell him. “Try me, asshole.”
Rey points at me and says to the woman, “That’s how a real man’s supposed to be. You’re married to a whiny bitch little boy. You don’t have to put up with it. I’ll take you out of here right now, and I’ll go with you to pack some things and help you get away from him.”
The woman sniffles and says, “But he’s my husband.”
“We all make mistakes,” Rey says. “You don’t have to suffer for it forever.”
“Bitch, you better sit back down before I call the cops,” the man threatens.
“Go ahead,” she challenges, folding her arms in front of her.
“Please just go,” the woman begs, her brown eyes anxious and full of tears.
A well-built Black man, at least six and a half feet tall, approaches the table and says, “You guys okay here?”
“Yeah, we’re cool,” I tell him.
“This guy was verbally abusing his wife,” Rey says, fire in her tone.
The stranger gives the guy in the booth a look and asks the woman, “You need some help?”
“It’s just the way he is,” the woman says dismissively. “I’m used to it.”
“Bro, you got anything to say to her while I’m standing here?” the stranger asks while staring down the man in the booth.
He shakes his head decisively and raises his hands in the air. “We’re fine, okay? My wife and I were having a private conversation. You guys better leave or I’ll call the police.” He takes out his cell phone and waves it in front of us.
“Do you want help?” Rey asks the woman again. “I can help you, I promise I can.”
The woman shakes her head. “No, we’re fine.”
The stranger meets my gaze before shrugging and walking away. I put my arm around Rey’s shoulders and say, “C’mon, let’s go.”
Rey shoots one last glare at the man in the booth and says, “You’re disgusting.”
“Hey, grab your bag,” I say softly. “We’ll go somewhere else.”
She gets her purse and as she puts the strap over her shoulder, I see that she’s shaking with anger. I rest my palm on her back as we leave the deli, unsure what to say to make her feel better.
“What the hell is wrong with people?” she laments as we step onto the sidewalk. “I just don’t get it.”
“Let’s walk a little while and cool down,” I say, taking her hand and leading her away from the deli.
I expect to hear her continued rage over the situation in the deli. Rey’s not one for dropping stuff. But when all I hear is silence, I look over at her and am shocked by what I see.
Tears are welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over, and her expression isn’t angry, but anguished. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so broken.
“Hey,” I say, stopping and instinctively pulling her into my arms. “It’s okay.”
A sob bursts out of her, and once she starts crying, she can’t stop. She’s breathing hard and black streaks of eye makeup run down her cheeks.
I need a fucking handkerchief. I always made fun of my dad for carrying them, and now I feel like I should apologize because this is the perfect situation for one.
“I have…tissues,” Rey says, still crying as she fishes through her bag.
“Here, I’ll get them.” I reach in and find the plastic package, pulling one out and wiping her cheeks with it.
“I’m sorry,” she says, clearly embarrassed.
“Don’t be.” I put my arm around her and keep her close. “My car’s one block over.”
She lets me hold her as we walk, and once we’re both inside the car, she sighs heavily and laughs as she examines her makeup in the passenger side mirror.
“This is why I don’t wear makeup,” she says as she pulls strips of fake lashes from her eyelids.
In the short amount of time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen Rey so vulnerable. I wait for her to get cleaned up before I say, “That wasn’t about the couple at the diner, was it?”
Rey looks down at her lap. “I didn’t mean to get so upset. I just…I guess I wasn’t expecting that, you know? I thought we were going to have lunch and then I ended up next to that massive prick.”
“Yeah. And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but what I saw on your face back there wasn’t about that couple.” I pause, gauging her reaction to my words before continuing. “I feel like maybe you’ve been there yourself.”
It shocks me to think of Rey putting up with any man’s shit. She’s an absolute firebrand. But maybe an abusive situation made her into who she is today.
She looks over at me, her expression sad. “I’ve been there, yeah. But not in the way you might think.” Her exhale is deep. “I watched my father abuse my mother for years.”
My heart sinks. From her strained voice and the tears welling once again, I can tell how deeply painful this is for Rey. I reach over and take her hand.
“I always wondered why she wouldn’t stand up to him,” Rey says softly. “I’d ask her when we were alone why he was so mean to her. She said it wasn’t really him, but alcohol.”
“So seeing that woman back there justifying her husband’s behavior brought that all back,” I say, rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand.
She nods. “It brought everything back. And I wasn’t expecting it so it hit really hard.” She looks out the passenger side window. “My dad broke my mom’s arms and ribs. He pushed her down the stairs one time too. God, it hurt me, because I loved her more than anything in the world. And I hated him so much. I fantasized about killing him.”
I can feel the pain in her voice, hitting me square in the chest. “Jesus, Rey. I’m so sorry.”
“When I was six, she packed our things one day and told him we were leaving,” she says flatly. “I’d never been so happy. He went into a complete rage over it. He started beating her, and it was different than any other time. She yelled for me to run, and…I did. I went to our neighbor’s house; he was a former Marine in his 80s. When I told him what was happening, he called the police and barricaded us inside his house with a shotgun pointed at the front door.”
I’m horrified by Rey’s words. Devastated. The thought of a six-year-old girl experiencing what she did makes me feel physically ill.
“She was dead when the police got there,” Rey says softly. “My father went to prison for life. That’s why I was raised by my grandmother.”
“I’m so damn sorry.” My voice is rocky with emotion and I clear my throat.
Finally, she turns back to face me. “That’s why I do what I do. Protecting women and children is my life’s calling. It’s therapeutic. And I know my mom would be—” Her words are cut off as she crumbles into tears again, “proud of me for what I do.”
“Yeah, she would.” I close my eyes, trying to figure out what to do with the well of emotion opened up inside me now by Rey. “Do you want me to go wait for that guy to come out of the deli and kick his ass? Because I will.”
She laughs and wipes the corners of her eyes. “If I wanted his ass kicked, I’d do it myself.”
“I know you could. I just want to do something, you know?”
Rey nods. “I know exactly what you mean. When the memories hit me hard, I find a shooting range and imagine I’m firing at my father. After a couple hundred shots, I always feel better.”
“You want to go do that right now? I’ll go with you.”
She smiles and squeezes my hand. “I can’t, because
I’m a makeup journalist. That’s the same reason I walked away from that situation back there.”
“I get that.” I think about our options for a minute and say, “It’s not the same, but I know a little ice rink where we can go shoot pucks at a net.”
“You’re a goalie. Do you even know how to shoot?” she asks in a teasing tone.
I laugh heartily at that and say, “You’ll find out. Let’s go.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll pick up some sandwiches on the way,” I say.
“Jonah…thank you,” Rey says as I start the car.
“You never need to thank me.”
She sighs softly. “I guess now you know the anger isn’t just because I’m Cuban. I’ve got another fire inside me, too.”
I squeeze her hand and I don’t want to let go. There’s an attraction building hard and fast inside me that I wasn’t expecting. I want to hold on to Rey, but I’m starting to also want more. To cool the flames she feels inside. Or at the very least, burn with her.
Chapter Eleven
Reyna
The Carson Center is alive with energy. The stands are filled with fans dressed in red, many holding signs and yelling in anticipation of their team taking the ice. A photo of a bald man with flames painted all over his face and head appears on the Jumbotron and I turn to Mia Petrov, lips parted with surprise.
“We have the most devoted fans in the game,” she says simply.
“Wow.” I shake my head, impressed.
This is the first professional hockey game I’ve ever been to. I had no idea it would be like this. The arena is dark, lights dancing along the ice and through the stands as music plays. When the Blaze starting lineup is announced, each player skates onto the ice to a roaring crowd.
“Go baby!” Mia yells when Anton skates out.
Jonah told me Mia would befriend me, and he was right. She’s stuck by my side since I got here a couple hours ago. We’re in a family suite, where we ate from a buffet earlier and spent time hanging out.
Jonah and I have been “together” for about a month now and part of Mia taking me under her wing is so she can introduce me to players’ families, Blaze staff and VIPs. I was hoping Darren Shields would be one of those VIPs, but I haven’t seen him yet.
“Your goalie, Jonahhhhh WEST!” the announcer calls, and Jonah skates out, his expression all business.
He glances up at the box we’re sitting in, and Mia gasps.
“He’s looking for you. He really likes you.”
I lean in so she can hear me over the crowd. “Does he usually not look up at women he brings to games?”
She laughs in response. “He’s never brought anyone but Lily.”
“Oh.”
Oh. It hits me how hard this must be for Jonah, pretending to be falling for someone new. I knew the media would be all over us, but it’s an absolute frenzy. At least one photographer is always following me, and that’s not exactly ideal for an agent working undercover.
I’m vigilant about maintaining the makeover Kai gave me. If I leave the house, it’s with Renee Carlisle’s trademark curled hair and precise makeup. I always wear sunglasses when I’m outside, and Kai makes sure I dress like I know dick about fashion, because in real life, I definitely do not.
“It’s good,” Mia assures me. “This thing with you and Jonah, it’s good. Don’t feel pressured about it or anything. Just enjoy it. It’s been so long since I saw Jonah smile.”
“Did you know him when he met Lily?”
The noise in the arena drops in volume as the opposing team takes the ice, and Mia takes her seat. I follow suit.
“No, that was back when they were in high school,” she says.
“Oh god, I didn’t know that.”
She nods, her lips turning down with sadness. “It was such a shock when she passed away.”
My curiosity gets the better of me and I ask, “What was she like?”
“Lily was…bright,” Mia says, smiling. “She had long blond hair and pretty green eyes and she was nice to everyone all the time. She was happy and you could just feel the happiness coming off her. And I loved her, don’t get me wrong. I truly loved her. But I felt like I needed to be more like her for a long time, and I just…can’t. I’m just not that way.”
“You seem very nice to me. And happy.”
“Oh, I am,” Mia says, smiling big. “I’m so damn happy. But I’m not always nice. I’m a South Side girl, and I’ll cut a bitch if I need to.”
I laugh, feeling a kinship with her. “Yeah, same.”
“Where are you from?” she asks me.
I hesitate, wanting to tell her the truth, but knowing I have to stick with my cover story. “Puerto Rico.”
“Oh, we went there on vacation once and it was spectacular.”
I shrug, because while I’m not really native to Puerto Rico, I studied the country thoroughly for this assignment.
“Parts of it are,” I tell Mia.
“Okay, so this is the puck drop,” she says, and I’m glad to not have to continue telling her about my false persona. “It’s like the tip off in basketball.”
Jonah is bent down in front of the goal, intently watching the action unfolding before him. As soon as the puck hits the ice, players battle for it with their sticks.
“So how did you and Jonah meet?” Mia leans over to ask me, keeping her gaze on the ice.
“In line at a deli.”
“Aw, I like that.”
I ask, “How did you meet Anton?”
“We met when I was married to one of his teammates.”
“Oh, wow.”
Mia turns to me and says, “I know that sounds bad, but it actually wasn’t. We didn’t get together until after I split with my ex.”
“You guys found each other and you’re happy, that’s what matters,” I assure her.
“I feel really lucky to have gotten a second chance,” she says. “And I’ve wanted that for Jonah for a long time now. The first year, we all just rallied around him and tried to be there for him. And then the second year passed, and some of the guys’ wives started wanting to fix him up with friends. He’s always been completely opposed to it.”
How do I respond to that? The truth is, Jonah hasn’t been ready. But he’s supposedly ready to move on with me.
Mia saves me from having to respond. “I think he just needed to find someone who sparked him, you know? That’s not something you can force. I know you guys are still kind of new, but I’m so happy he found you.”
Guilt stabs me in the chest. What will Jonah’s friends think of me when they find out our relationship is nothing but a cover story? They think he’s finally emerged from the darkness of losing his wife, but it’s all pretend.
“I’ll be right back. I need to go to the bathroom and the one in here is occupied,” I say, eager for a break in this conversation.
Mia nods, intent on watching the game.
My mind switches into focus as I leave the VIP box, feeling no urge at all to use the bathroom. Instead, I’m recalling the Carson Center VIP suite map Logan West gave me, with a red arrow pointing to the box Darren Shields usually sits in.
I go into the bathroom anyway, stopping for a second in front of the mirror before leaving again. Instead of heading back toward the family VIP suite, though, I walk toward Darren Shields’s.
My heart pounds with anticipation and hope. I’ve sorted through all the intel the bureau has on Shields many times. He’s a filthy bastard, and I want to bring him down with every fiber of my being. And now, I finally get to lay eyes on my target.
If all goes as planned, that is. Shields doesn’t come to every home game. Apparently he travels a lot, both for his legitimate business and for his criminal enterprise.
It could take me a long time to build trust with Shields, and I hate that because every day that passes is another day he’s abusing children. I paste on a friendly face and walk toward his suite.
“Ma’am, do you need
help?”
I turn to see an usher scanning me in search of a VIP badge. I’m wearing one on a lanyard around my neck, and his face relaxes as soon as he spots it.
“I’m good,” I tell him. “Just stepping out to call a friend.”
“Okay, no worries.” He waves and moves on.
I continue my walk to Shields’s suite, nearly there. I wish I had a gun in hand, but it’s not time for that yet.
Before anyone else has time to see me and question me, I open the door to the suite and walk inside.
It’s full of men, all rowdy with excitement from the game, most with beers in hand. I approach them, trying to see who’s who even though most of them have their backs to me.
“Well, hi there,” a man says, turning to face me.
“Hi,” I say, turning on the fake charm. “I think I must be lost.”
I laugh as another man looks me over from head to toe and says, “No, darlin’, you’re in exactly the right spot. Come on over here and sit down.”
The guy next to him turns to face me and my heart rate kicks up. Darren Shields.
“I was sitting in another box and I left to use the bathroom,” I explain, sounding gushy and dumb enough to be convincing. “I thought this was the right one. I’m so sorry.”
“No worries,” Shields says, grinning. “Hey, aren’t you Jonah West’s new girlfriend?”
I smile, making sure to look pleased. “I am, yes. I’m Renee.” I hold out my hand.
“Hi Renee, I’m Darren Shields.”
His handshake is firm and he maintains eye contact. His gray suit and salt and pepper hair make him look like a nice middle-aged man. He doesn’t look like the devil I know he is.
“Are you the team owner?” I ask him.
He and the others in the suite laugh heartily. I can see from the gleam in Shields’s eye that I flattered him.
“No, just a big fan,” he says. “The owner’s in the box next door if you’d like to meet him. I can take you over.”
“Oh no! No no no!” another guy in the suite yells and gestures wildly with his arms. “Get it, Jonah!”
Jonah: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance Page 7