Thank God? His body claimed otherwise.
“Help me,” Becky said, giving up the struggle and falling back against the couch.
“Forget about food for a second and help me,” he said. “This is your fault for suggesting she move into my house.” He picked up a throw pillow from the couch and threw it at her.
“I made orange raspberry muffins.”
His favorite. He sighed as he helped her up, then followed her to the kitchen. “Becky, come on. What am I supposed to do?”
She opened a container and retrieved two muffins. Handing him one, she said, “I don’t know why you’re so freaked out. You’ve been dying over this woman for years, since we were kids. You saw your chance last night, and you almost grew balls big enough to take it.” She bit into the muffin.
“Last night was not my chance. I don’t get a chance. Not with her,” he said, popping a chunk of his own muffin into his mouth. His friendship with Dean may not be as strong as it had been when they were kids, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to pounce on his ex-wife in a moment of vulnerability.
Dean had been the first kid to really include him after moving to Glenwood Falls, and their shared love for hockey had made them fast friends. His buddy was an only child, his parents wealthier than most families in Glenwood Falls. They’d spoiled their son, and he’d reaped the benefits as well, attending hockey games in Denver with Dean with the family’s season tickets, getting to enjoy the family’s mountain cabin.
But more than that, Dean had been the one to encourage him to stick it out with the Colorado Eagles. He’d helped him train and get ready for open tryouts, and he’d been the one to call bullshit when Jackson hadn’t played a game once he’d been called up to the majors.
Bottom line: If roles were reversed, his friend would never be going after a woman he’d once been involved with.
Would he? The old Dean wouldn’t. He wasn’t so sure about the guy his friend had become recently.
Jackson shook his head. “Abby is not an option,” he said but with a lot less conviction than he’d aimed for.
“What are you talking about?” Taylor asked, stumbling into the kitchen.
“How did you get home?” Becky asked. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “It’s only ten thirty. I thought I was picking you and Dani up at Angela’s house at noon.”
“Her mom decided to drive us all home.”
“In other words you were all driving her crazy,” Becky said with a knowing look.
Taylor shrugged. “Whatever. What are you two eating?”
“Orange raspberry muffins. Third container on the right.”
Jackson leaned against the counter and tossed the rest of the muffin into his mouth. So much for getting advice from Becky. Unfortunately, he had no one else to go to for it. His brothers would only torment him about his undying childhood crush if they knew. And well, his best friend wasn’t exactly an option. “I’m outta here,” he said, rustling Taylor’s hair and stealing the rest of her muffin on his way out of the kitchen. “See you at practice in a few hours.”
Where he’d also be seeing Abby.
* * *
The sound of her cell phone ringing was met with a welcome sigh of relief. Finally, a valid distraction to take her eyes and mind off of Jackson standing, with his arms folded, near the players’ bench, calling out instructions to the kids playing a practice game on the ice. He didn’t seem to be struggling with the same problem as he’d barely glanced at her, shooting her a quick nod as she and Dani had entered the arena twenty minutes before.
She wasn’t sure the source of her irritation, but she couldn’t deny the way her nerves were standing on edge being around him after the night before’s brief…what? What had occurred between them? He’d mentioned kissing her—to which she could only come to the conclusion that he must have been high—and then he’d quickly dismissed the idea.
Which she should be relieved about. Drop-kicking her daughter’s hockey coach and her new landlord was sure to make things even less friendly between them…And that was what she would have done, right?
The phone rang again, stealing her focus, and she reached for it, checking the caller ID. It was Jocelyn, another hockey wife from L.A. She hadn’t heard from the woman since they’d consumed three bottles of wine at her place the night she’d officially filed for divorce. Part of it was her fault; she’d distanced herself from the ladies as the divorce had dragged on, and especially after deciding to move to Glenwood Falls. Keeping in touch when she was no longer one of them felt odd. She hadn’t been sure their friendships had run that deep.
Picking up her nearly empty disposable coffee cup, she moved away from the glass in the front row and went out into the hall near the locker rooms. “Hello?” she said, her voice echoing off of the concrete surroundings.
“I saw that you removed your contact information from the hockey wives site.”
“Well, technically, I’m not a hockey wife anymore. How are you?”
“Fabulous.” It was her standard remark. She claimed that even on her worst days, she could always find one fabulous thing about it to cling to. “How are you?” she asked, sounding as though Abigail should be hiding under a pillow, drowning her sorrows in more wine.
“Actually, things are going well. I have a job teaching at the elementary school. It’s temporary for now, but I’m hoping it will turn into a full-time position next month.” She was happy to have positive news to report. No doubt it would find its way back down the gossip chain to the other women, and for some reason, ego maybe, she really wanted them to know she was surviving and doing okay.
“Teaching? Like children?” Jocelyn said the word as though she were talking about rattlesnakes.
Abigail laughed. “Yes. You know, those little short people your company caters to.” Jocelyn ran a successful high-end baby and toddler boutique in Beverly Hills. Baby Couture was located on Rodeo Drive, and frequent shoppers included celebrities and movie stars. It had shocked Abigail to learn the woman disliked children when she’d made a successful livelihood from their existence.
“My company caters to the mom-to-be with something to prove,” she said. “So, what was the settlement?”
Blunt, direct, and completely oblivious to societal rules. That was Jocelyn.
“We haven’t reached one yet.” Abigail switched ears as she paced the concrete floor. She took a sip of the lukewarm coffee and glanced around for a garbage can, but didn’t see one.
“Asshole is dragging it out. What a surprise,” she said. “Is he also fighting for custody?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s good at least. Ashlyn’s husband—Kyle, the left wing for Detroit—fought for the entire off-season in their divorce. She’s devastated every June when she has to ship her kids off to Detroit for the summer.”
Abigail bit her lip. Being away from her daughter for three months every year? That would be awful. Maybe she had been lucky.
“Well, if he’s not taking time with her, you should be entitled to a great child support and alimony settlement.”
Abigail sighed. She wasn’t at all opposed to making Dean pay as much financially as needed to support his daughter, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about accepting alimony. At first, she’d been terrified about the idea of starting over and doing it all on her own—her confidence had been shattered—but now she was starting to feel better, stronger, and she didn’t want that taken away. Besides, she was enjoying the teaching position. “Honestly, I really don’t care. At this point, I just want the papers signed.”
“I guess I can understand that. But darling, the man was in bed with two Dallas Stars cheerleaders when you walked into the hotel room—on your anniversary—to surprise him. Try to keep that in mind when deciding how tight to squeeze the vice grips you’ve got on his balls.”
An image of the green and gold cheerleader uniforms lying on the floor of the hotel room and the perfect, tanned, stretch-mark free bodies str
addling her husband on the hotel bed flashed in her mind, and she felt ill. “Trust me, it’s not an image I can easily forget.”
“Good. Have you bought a new place yet?” she asked.
Her cheeks flushed at the mention of her soon to be new home. Jackson Westmore’s house. If anyone had told her she’d be back in Glenwood Falls renting a home he owned, she would have laughed. “I found a place last night, actually. We can move in next week. It’s just a rental for now, but I may decide to buy it once the divorce is finalized.”
“How many mil?”
She smiled, shaking her head at her friend’s lack of tact. “It’s five hundred a month to rent, and I would think it will be worth about three hundred thousand.”
Jocelyn was silent.
“Joce?”
“I’m sorry. I’m picturing you and Dani living in a dingy one-bedroom home in a bad neighborhood.”
Jocelyn had never ventured beyond Beverly Hills; her father being the owner of the Kings, she’d grown up ridiculously rich. She’d never understand that outside of L.A., nice family homes could cost a lot less.
“It’s two thousand square feet, three bedrooms, three baths, right on a lake, with a fantastic view of the mountains. We’re doing fine, Jocelyn,” she said with a smile, grateful and happy that it was the truth.
“Well, if you need anything…”
“Thanks, Jocelyn. Take care.”
Disconnecting the call, Abigail smiled as she made her way back to the arena. Things were going to be okay, and word that she’d landed on her feet would reach her old “friends” in L.A. A new surge of hope flowed through her.
But her smile faded as she reached the bench near the glass where she’d left her purse and winter jacket and looked toward the game in time to see Dex body-check Dani into the side boards.
She dropped the coffee cup as she watched her daughter crumble to the ice.
Running to the door leading out onto the ice, she collided with Jackson, rushing toward it from the opposite direction. “I’ve got this,” he said firmly, gripping her shoulders to steady her quickly before releasing her and skating away.
Her jaw clenched and her eyes filled with tears of worry as she turned to stare where her daughter lay motionless. The other players had stopped to gather around, and the high school–aged referee held them all away as Jackson lowered to his knees on the ice.
Her baby girl lay injured, and there was nothing she could do but stand there and watch. Her hands clutched at her chest, and she ignored a tear that escaped her eye and slid down her cheek.
Becky joined her a second later, placing a supportive arm around her shoulder. “I’m sure she’s fine,” she said, but Abigail only heard the worry in the other mother’s voice, not the words that were meant to reassure and provide comfort.
On the ice, Jackson was speaking to Dani, but she’d yet to move. Abigail could see her eyes open and her lips moving, so at least her daughter was responsive. Then an excruciatingly long moment later, she saw Jackson help Dani to her feet.
Applause sounded around them from the stands and the other players on the ice, as Jackson led Dani toward them. Abigail’s heart pounded loud in her ears and Jackson’s reassuring nod almost buckled her knees.
As they approached, a million thoughts clouded her mind. This sport was too dangerous. Playing in the same league as the bigger, older boys was just asking for someone to get hurt. Would her daughter realize that now and reconsider?
A big part of her—like ninety-five percent—hoped so, but the small, almost insignificant part wondered what that would teach her daughter about life, if she quit after falling?
Damn it! If she could pay someone for the right answer right now, no price would be too high.
But as Jackson opened the door, her daughter was smiling as she left the ice.
Behind Dani, Jackson’s gaze was the complete opposite—stone cold, anger blazing in his eyes as he looked toward the stands on the opposite end of the arena.
Letting her gaze lift momentarily from her daughter, Abigail turned to follow the direction of his stare. Kurt Miller sat on the top bleacher with several other hockey dads, a wide grin on his face. The others at least had the decency to appear concerned.
But the boy’s father was smiling?
A second later he gave his son a thumbs-up sign, and Abigail’s blood ran cold. He was encouraging this dangerous and aggressive behavior? Forgetting her daughter in her anger, she swung around to head for the stands, to smack that stupid grin off of the guy’s face, but Jackson’s hand caught her wrist before she could get far.
“Whoa. Hold up.”
“Did you see…”
“Yes, I did. And I’m going to deal with it. Take Dani to the locker room, and I’ll be in in a minute,” he said.
“But Coach, I want to keep playing,” Dani said, standing between them.
Jackson’s expression softened as he tapped her helmet. “You’re a champ, but safety first. There’s always next practice.”
Her face fell.
“Hey, chin up. You did great today. And besides, he may have checked you, but he didn’t get the puck,” he said with a wink.
Dani beamed at the praise.
Abigail’s stomach did an involuntary lurch when the coach’s prideful, concerned gaze met hers. Oh God. Jackson Westmore was stirring up more than his fair share of emotions in her these days.
She shook it off. It was just how awesome he was with Dani and the other kids that had her softening toward him, she told herself.
Dani and the other kids had been nowhere in sight the night before, a nagging voice reminded her.
Shit. Glancing away quickly, before he could successfully confuse the hell out of her even more, she said, “Let’s go, honey.” Leading her daughter toward the locker room, she asked, “Are you really okay?” She stared at Dani, looking for any sign of injury. Of course, concussions or internal bleeding couldn’t be detected…Oh God, she had to stop thinking the worst, or else she would be the one needing medical attention for an anxiety attack.
“I’m fine, Mom. It was a good, clean hit,” she said with a shrug and Abigail winced.
How often had she heard similar comments from Dean after getting injured during a game? Too many.
At first she’d gone to all of his games, finding an intense attraction in watching him play, but her pregnancy had changed her thoughts and feelings on her husband’s chosen career. She’d become much more aware of Dean’s risks every time he stepped onto the ice. Three concussions in ten years…she often wondered how much more he could take.
While part of her couldn’t give a shit anymore—the hurt he’d inflicted hardening her heart—he was still Dani’s father, and that meant he would always be an important part of their lives. Her life.
And it seemed her little girl was more like him than she’d ever realized. The sigh that escaped her lips held far too many levels to count.
* * *
All he saw was red as he climbed the bleachers toward Kurt.
He forced a breath. Be professional and calm. Deal with this with a cool head. A good minor league coach didn’t knock a parent out.
But boy was it tempting when he noticed the same stupid grin on the man’s face. Maybe he should have let Abby deal with him.
“Hey, Kurt. A word?”
The man nodded as he stepped down onto the lower bleacher, away from the other fathers. “Don’t tell me. I’ve got a future NHLer on my hands, right?”
Jackson’s jaw tightened. “Actually you’ve got a suspended minor league player—two games—and Dex is sitting out the rest of practice.”
Kurt’s smile faded as his gaze turned steely.
Not as satisfying as a punch, but still quite satisfying…until Jackson glanced toward the players’ bench, where Dex watched them nervously.
Shit. It wasn’t the kid’s fault his father was an asshole, pushing him in this direction. The poor boy was always so focused and disciplined, Jackson was
fairly certain he’d lost the thrill of being on the ice a long time ago. It was sad. At this age, they should be playing for the love of the game, not any unreachable goals of an NHL career someday.
“It was a clean hit,” Kurt argued.
“You know checking isn’t allowed in this league.” They’d disallowed any fighting or body-checking years ago, much to the relief of many parents.
But not all. He prepared himself for the argument he knew was coming next.
“So what is he supposed to do next year on the Peewee league and then the Bantam team with older kids who know how to check?”
“He will learn. Besides it looks like he has it nailed already.” He took a breath before continuing. “Look, I’ll spend some time with him this season teaching him how to defend against the check and how to set it up properly.” He didn’t want the kid going into the bigger league unprepared, either, and there was no doubt the kid was good enough to make the division the following season.
“Whatever,” Kurt muttered.
Knowing he would get nowhere with the guy, Jackson turned to leave. Next was the hard part: telling the kid he was suspended. Disappointed looks from the kids he coached were his downfall. But he couldn’t allow unsafe play on his team.
“Girls shouldn’t be allowed to play hockey,” he heard Kurt say behind him.
He turned. “I’m sorry?”
“I said, hockey is a men’s sport. Little girls can expect to get hurt when they’re playing with the boys.”
His teeth clenched. “Look, I understand the changes to the league may not be what everyone wanted, but I think any kid who wants to play should have the opportunity.”
He snorted. “I bet you’d see it differently if Taylor was a boy. The truth is, you know these minor leagues are the only chance your niece will get to play.”
Jackson forced a deep breath. Getting into this with Kurt was not the right thing to do here. “I’ve got a team to coach,” he said.
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