by Lia Riley
They’d chopped open Travis’s skull, removed a clot. And that was it. Game over. The brother he had known was gone. In his place remained an angry, erratic man who grasped enough to know that so much had been lost.
But that didn’t have to be Jed’s story.
His jaw muscles tightened. But why? Why did he deserve to keep winning when his brother, his own flesh and blood, had lost so much? Maybe this was karmic balance finally being restored.
Or a wake-up call.
He didn’t have to stick around. If he wanted out, this was the time, having led his team to not one but two championships. He had nothing to prove to anyone anymore. Not to Dad. Not to critics.
But what about himself?
He’d hidden behind hockey for so long now, who would he be if he walked away?
And that was the problem. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
“Boss?” Daisy used the expression without irony, but the deferential expression still made Breezy smile. “You have a call on line three.”
“Take a message?” She peered down from the step stool, halfway through setting up a new display all about the biological diversity of the Rocky Mountains. Right now she was trying to staple a cardboard cutout of a chipmunk, but the darn gun kept jamming. “Got my hands full.”
“I tried,” Daisy persisted. “But trust me . . . you’re going to want to take this.”
Breezy glanced back, unsettled by the high-pitched strangeness in her tech’s voice.
“What’s wrong? Tater Tots ready to start chopping heads?” Jed West’s surprise appearance had circulated through the branch, but so far her boss hadn’t made any particular mention of the coup.
“Define wrong.” Her assistant ogled her like she was a stranger. “Could it be described as having the captain of the Hellions calling me?”
Breezy narrowly missed stapling her thumb. “Excuse me?”
“Jed West is on line three.”
Breezy’s knees became the consistency of Jell-O. She leaned against the bulletin board and took a steadying breath, trying not to melt off the chair she was standing on.
“You must have left quite an impression the other day.”
Images fast-forwarded through her mind. How his stubble grizzled her cheek. How his tongue slid hot and insistent over hers. How freaking adorable he looked doing menial domestic chores. How he sounded when laughing over nerdy high-end kitchen gadgets.
But why call now? It had been two days of radio silence since he’d smooched and skedaddled.
Must have forgotten something. Except that she hadn’t noticed any items left behind or they would currently be part of an “Oh Mah Gawd I Kissed Jed West” Altar of Perpetual Thanksgiving in her bedroom.
“I’ll be right there.” She took a breath and stepped down.
An unreasonable hope flickered, but she blew it out before it could become much more than a spark. No way was he actually interested, right? In her?
And yet here she was, belly tight and breasts aching and heavy. And it wasn’t because he was so hot that he made trees look for shade. For years she’d lusted after him. The perfect fantasy. The Viking-strong body. The lickable jaw. The shiver-inducing voice. The hero.
But what about the guy behind the fantasy? He was a good one. Great actually. The whole package. Nice. Funny and sweet. She’d once read that he’d been an Eagle Scout, and after meeting him in person, of course he had been.
But the first rule of crushing hard on someone who is unattainable is admitting the truth. She was lucky to play with fire. But she had to be smart not to get burned.
As she walked to the desk, the reasons for his call ran through her mind. Sex? Or maybe silence.
Ah. She nodded to herself. That one made sense.
He was notoriously tight-lipped about his personal life. No doubt he wanted to make sure she didn’t go sharing details of their hookup with Neve, having it leak into the press.
At least she could honestly admit she hadn’t told a soul.
She wasn’t sure why. Bragging rights on such a stunt would be a beautiful thing. Her family cred would spike off the charts.
She reached her desk and stood, hand hovering over the phone, and licked her dry lips. The little light blinked on line three.
I wanted to be special. A stupid feeling. An indulgent impulse. But their kissing had felt like a real moment. And if he did this sort of thing a lot, well, she didn’t. Hadn’t.
What did he want?
Only one way to find out. Time to harness the power of her ovaries and get this over with.
“Hello? This is Breezy.” For once she lived up to her name.
“Hi. It’s me. Jed. West, J-Jed West.”
Her heart started to pound. She recognized an awkward verbal stumble, she was a master herself.
“Can I help you with something for a change?” Her hand trembled, then her teeth joined the party with an audible chatter. It was as if the room had dropped to minus twenty, crazy considering she was overheating. A small bead of sweat trickled under her bra strap, down the small of her back.
“Yes. I. Okay.” He cleared his throat. “I have to get a present for a child. And he is a boy. This particular child. And a, uh, big reader like you. I’m wondering if you have any notable recommendations.”
“Age?”
“Uh, eight.”
“What does he like?”
“I don’t know.”
“You want a book recommendation for a child you don’t know?”
“I know the child. He’s my nephew. But we’re not close. We don’t see much of each other and I don’t know much about kid books. I didn’t read much at his age.”
She was a reader, not a writer, but knew enough from that tight tone to understand there was a story there.
“Let’s simplify. Funny or adventure?”
“You choose.”
“What about Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing? It’s by Judy Blume. Long-suffering brother facing off against a seriously pesky little brother. It’s usually a big hit among that age demographic.”
“Tales of a . . . Fourth Grade . . . Nothing.” He repeated back slowly as if he was writing it down. “Great. Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” She winced. God, could she sound dumber? “Glad I could be of help.”
“You take care now.”
“Okay?” That was it? “Bye?” Wait, seriously? That was literally why he had called?
There was a silence.
Click.
Well, then.
She hung up and glanced to the Westy calendar pinned to her cubicle wall. “What the hell? Do you not have access to Google and working fingers?”
Before she could begin what was sure to be a long and eventful obsession session, the phone rang again. She startled at the sharp ring.
“Hello, children’s desk. This is Breezy.”
“Me again.”
She twisted the phone cord around her finger. “Let me guess. This time you want a recommendation for a little girl. Six. Just mastering sight words.”
“No. I wanted to see what you were doing tomorrow. It’s why I called.”
She rocked her head back and mouthed a thank you to the ceiling. Threw in a thumbs-up for good measure. And a promise to be more attentive to recycling. “So there is no little boy.”
“No. There is. But Josh was my foot in the door.”
As if he needed a reason. He was Jed freaking West. She was Breezy “can’t even keep Rory Munge interested” Angel.
“Was that wrong?” he asked, testing the silence.
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Only if it’s wrong that I’m flattered.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” The smile was evident in his own voice. The sound heated her ear. “So about tomorrow.”
Ugh, tomorrow.
“I’ll be getting pecked to death by ducks. At least it’s going to feel that way. I have to go to this Angel Annual Fourth of July picnic. You met two of them. Sharp beaks.
”
“Family thing?”
“One of many. Quality time is big on Mom’s side. But . . . hmm . . . how can I put this nicely, they can be a lot to deal with.” Aka Aunt Shell would drink too much hard lemonade and try discussing politics with anyone in an eighty-foot radius. Mom would follow Neve around encouraging her to eat because she was “skin and bone” while making a tsk sound every time Breezy reached for anything from a carrot on the veggie platter to a whole pie to face-plant in.
“Want backup?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “That all depends on the who, what and why.”
“Me, by your side, because I’d like to get to know you better.”
“My sister will be there too. Neve.” Ah, there she went. Dangling her sister’s name to see if he’d bite.
“I like Neve.” A pause. “But got to say, I like you more.”
It was official. She’d burn in some sort of terrible, disloyal sister hell for the amount of joy that simple sentence brought her.
“I have to arrive by three. Can’t be late on pain of death. I’m bringing the flag cake. I don’t mean to brag but it’s probably the reason at least half of my family is going to be on time. It goes fast.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“You’ve seen my badass kitchen mixer. I don’t mess around.” She barely recognized herself. This bold, confident woman getting sassy and a little sexy on someone who to any outside observer was a solid ten to her average five.
“Now that’s a lie,” he rumbled. “Because you’ve been messing with my head for forty-eight hours.”
“Wow.” She crossed her legs and plucked the phone cord. “That might be the worst pickup ever.”
“Nah. That would be the GMC Syclone. Can’t tow with it. Has limited payload and no chance of ever going off-road.”
She smiled at their banter. “Sounds like you’re talking from experience, wise guy.”
“That piece of crap was my first truck. Dad bought it off a neighbor who was too ashamed to own it a day longer.”
Another fun fact to file away on Jed.
She had so many already.
Her half smile faded to a full frown. That was a little weird actually, knowing so many random tidbits about his life.
Especially when he didn’t know any of that.
But how exactly does one break out with: Hey, so . . . Jed . . . you might find this funny, funny weird rather than haha, but see, I’m your biggest fan. And don’t let that put you off or anything because I’m prepared to focus on the real you rather than the legend.
He’d run screaming for the door.
Anyway, she hadn’t technically said she didn’t like hockey. It was more like an omission. If a miracle happened and she and Jed were ever to start something, that’s when she’d tell him. When the moment was right.
All she knew right now was that their chemistry was mad-scientist-cackling-in-the-laboratory insane. And on top of the fact she wanted to eat his face every time he glanced her direction, she wanted to also just hang out. Make ice cream sandwiches and homemade ravioli. Joke around. Laugh.
“One last thing.” Because there was one thing she couldn’t omit in good conscience. “You do remember that the women in my family are hockey crazy? If you go, I can’t promise that it won’t come up. But even though they are all a little nuts, they are good people.” Her people. And she wanted Jed to like them too, or at least actively tolerate their quirks.
“Can’t wait. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.” What it sounded like was holy fucking shit what is life but that didn’t seem like the best idea to share. “Looking forward to it.”
Understatement of the year.
Chapter Eight
Jed parked his Land Rover on the shady street in front of the old brick home decorated in red, white and blue bunting. By the time he’d climbed out and gotten to the passenger door, Breezy was climbing out.
“Did you need something?” She raised her brows, hands clasping the cake pan wrapped in plastic cling wrap.
“I dunno.” He closed one eye and kicked a broken piece of asphalt. “Just to feel like a gentleman?”
It took her a second to work out his meaning. She glanced between the car, to him and back before a lightbulb went off. “Oh. Oh! You were going to let me out of the car? Well, then, hang on.” She opened the door and climbed back inside. “By all means, proceed.”
Was she mocking him? He frowned the thought away. She didn’t seem like the type to bust his balls. Then again, the only things he could say about Breezy Angel with any degree of certainty was that she liked a wide variety of sex toys, had a laugh that he wanted to hear again and again, a great ass and an authentic quality.
A refreshing realness.
“What are you doing?” he questioned as she pulled the passenger door shut.
She leaned against the window. “No one has ever opened my car door before,” she shouted. “Not a once. There’s no way that I’m missing out.” The glass fogged from her breath and she drew a smiley face in the condensation.
While her eyes danced with amusement, he knew with the same confidence that he knew that the first NHL goal was scored on December 19, 1917 by Dave Ritchie of the Montreal Wanderers against the Toronto Arenas that she was being dead serious.
Which was fucking crazy.
No guy had ever opened Breezy’s car door? What was wrong with his gender? Talk about a pack of morons.
But he didn’t have time to nurse the flash of irritation. Not when she was looking at him expectantly, like having him perform a small chivalrous gesture, like opening her car door, made him the white knight of her dreams.
This was a girl who believed in fairy tales. He could do this small thing for her.
He grabbed the door handle and opened it. She flopped back in her seat and smiled. “Again.”
“What?”
“Please do it one more time?” Her laugh was damn charming. “Really let me savor the moment.”
Now he felt like laughing too, at the pure adorable idiocy of the situation.
He complied with her request, sweeping into a low bow as he helped her outside. Once she was standing, he leaned close, lips hovering against the edge of her ear. “How was that?” He inhaled her clean scent. “Live up to every expectation?”
“And then some.” Her body responded in a subtle shiver as he pulled back. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her lips parted as if she wanted to say something more, but hesitated.
The silence felt loud with all the things that were going unsaid. Their drive here hadn’t been quiet. There’d been music. Pleasantries exchanged. But nothing that dived below the surface. Certainly no acknowledgement of their kissing marathon. Or the fact he’d bolted for the door.
“They’re here! They’re here!” A child’s voice cried from the open door. Excited chatter rose from inside.
Breezy winced, even as a smile appeared. “That’s my cousin Sam. He’s nine, the baby in the family. You sure you’re up for this? My family . . . I wasn’t kidding, they are a lot.”
His own family was small. His mother was an only child and his father had lost his younger brother in a car accident while still a young man. He knew his parents loved him, but they weren’t the type to say it. Instead he’d hear his father bark “you didn’t try enough,” every time Jed lost a game in high school.
It got so bad Jed asked him to stop coming to his games, even though he almost always won. Losing still sucked. And to have your dad up on the bench, his face long with disappointment, made it ten times worse. Dad didn’t say much after Jed’s frustrated request. But after that the focus doubled down on Travis.
And he’d let that happen. Been relieved even.
He froze, realizing Breezy had just asked him a question and he didn’t have the first clue what it was about.
“Can you repeat that?”
“I was just wondering if your family does get-togethers?”
“Nah.” Ho
pefully his shrug looked natural. “My big brother lives in Oakland with his wife and kid. And my parents live in the Bay too. But everyone tends to keep to their individual silos.”
“Ah.” She considered his explanation. “I’m trying to decide if that sounds sad or relaxing. What about Christmas and stuff?”
He frowned. Last year his parents had gone on a cruise in Egypt, on the fucking Nile. The Nile. Denial. That joke had been almost funny after a beer . . . or six.
“Usually I just hang out with Tor . . . I mean, Coach Gunnar. He’s divorced and we used the holiday breaks to catch up on reviewing game tapes.”
Breezy got that look on her face again. The one that seemed to want to call bullshit, but was too polite.
“Oh say can you see . . . someone gorgeous is in front of me.” Granny Dee’s warbling voice rang out as she draped in the doorway wearing a shirt that read Party Like It’s 1776 and winked from under a giant Uncle Sam hat.
If Granny noticed them jump apart, she didn’t let on. “Fancy seeing you twice in one week, handsome.” She made a show of looking around. “Tell me you brought that Patchy Donnelly, please? Please?”
“Sorry, ma’am, I don’t have much communication with him in the off-season.” He wasn’t close to Patch. Goalies were notoriously difficult personalities and Donnelly wasn’t much different in that department.
“That’s a shame, that boy is . . .” Granny Dee glanced down at Sam before clicking her tongue and made a Campbell’s Soup “mmm, mmm, good” sound.
“What?” Sam looked up between the adults, scratching the side of his snub nose. “What’s that mean?”
No one was brave enough to answer.
“Come in, come in.” Granny seized their arms and dragged them inside. “Most folks are out on the back porch.”
“They’re eating already?” Breezy asked. “I brought the flag cake.”
Jed eyed the sheer number of shoes lined by the door. Just how many people were here?
“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Granny Dee shrugged. “Now about you. Big man like you must have one heck of an appetite. You want a burger, Westy? Or a hot dog? There’s ribs going too. And three different kinds of chili. Each of my sons-in-law thinks they’ve got the perfect recipe. But they’re all wrong. Nobody can match me.”