Mister Hockey

by Lia Riley

  “That’s not false modesty,” Breezy murmured, leaning in. “No one is absolutely sure how she does it, but it’s good. Better than good.”

  The noise from the backyard was deafening. Sounded like everyone was having a good time. Jed hesitated, not wanting to go in and mess up the dynamic. Conversation would grind to a halt. People would point and whisper.

  “Tell you what, I’ll take a glass of water,” he told the grandmother. It was hard to look her straight on in that hat.

  “Water? That I can do. Take out the cake, Bumper Butt, and make your uncles happy. I’ll hydrate Westy and see if he wants to help Sam with his board game.”

  “Board games?” Breezy pulled up tight. “Weren’t those uniformly banned from Angel parties after the fight two years ago?”

  “After the Monopoly fight?” Granny asked.

  “When Aunt Lo head-butted Uncle Spence!”

  “Well she’s into transcendental meditation now. And this is The Settlers of Catan.”

  “It’s long,” Sam announced. “That’s all I know. The grownups want to keep me occupied.”

  Breezy frowned at him. “I don’t know if Jed is up for long.”

  “Sounds fun,” he said quickly. The real reason he was here was because he wanted to be closer to Breezy. Not because he was interested in socializing with a mass of strangers, especially ones that fight over board games. His family didn’t verbalize feelings. You knew Mom was upset if she poured a glass of Chardonnay and went in her bedroom.

  “So the rumors are true,” a deep voice boomed. An intellectual-looking man with thick black glasses and a trimmed gray beard sauntered down the hall. “All of hell is empty and the devils are here, am I right?” He gave them a look of mock seriousness before booming a laugh and clasping Jed on the shoulders. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “I’m grabbing him a water, Spencer,” Granny said. “This is my son-in-law. He teaches Shakespeare at the community college.”

  “Water?” The guy waved her off. “This is Jed West. Get this man a beer. A quart of ale is meal for a king and besides the foolery is in full swing.”

  “Heya, Uncle Spence, rhyming this early in the day?” Breezy patted the man on the shoulder of his sweater vest before dragging Jed into a hallway alcove. “You don’t have to drink or eat anything they try to shove down your throat, nor do you have to play board games with my cousin and ninety-year-old grandma.”

  “Game sounds good.” His vision began to warp on the edges. It took effort to keep his features steady. “Nice and low-key.” At least he could sit and wait for it to pass.

  “I’m going to drop off the cake but then I’ll be back in fast. You okay?” Breezy gave him a concerned look. “You look a little funny.”

  “Me? I’m fine. Fine.” He’d used the lie so often in his life that he could deliver the untruth smooth and polished, like rock from a tumbler.

  The Settlers of Catan turned out to be anything but low-key. Grandma and Sam took their places at a small table in the library, the room lined with wall-to-ceiling bookshelves.

  He couldn’t read a single title, or the directions that Granny handed him as Sam spoke fast about things like victory cards and hexes, robbers and tokens.

  From another room, Breezy’s name was called again, this time heavy with intent. Gossip was clearly floating throughout the party, like dandelion fluffs on the breeze.

  He suspected he was the source.

  Shit. He ground his teeth. He’d wanted to spend more time with Breezy, be normal. But he was kidding himself. There was nothing normal happening here. The slow metronome of his heart began to pick up the tempo.

  “I gotta pee,” Sam announced with the abruptness of a child.

  “I’ve been waiting for it to be just you and me.” Granny leaned in and punched his arm. “Tell me a story.”

  “A story?” Jed shifted on the plush chair. It was too soft. Hurt his back. “I’m not much of a reader.”

  “You’re funny.” She paused to take a noisy sip from her frosty tumbler. “I like it.”

  The beverage inside was lime colored and icy. His mouth was dry and his stomach felt as small and hard as a walnut.

  “I’ve been trying checking up on you.” She swayed a little to the Bruce Springsteen piping in from the backyard. “There’s not a lot of juicy material out there.”

  He nodded. “I’m pretty dry.”

  “Your love life seems like it.” Her gaze was appraising. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  “Guess I haven’t found the right one.” His parents’ marriage didn’t inspire wild fantasies. Unlike Breezy, he didn’t believe in fairy tales. Instead he believed in quiet, strained silences, the din of cable news television drowning out unhappiness.

  “Hmm. And family? You see much of them?”

  Despite the wrinkles, her eyes were sharp. This wasn’t befuddled questioning from an elderly woman. Hell no, this was an experienced bloodhound. There could be little doubt where Neve inherited her skills.

  Jesus.

  Talk about getting the third degree. He glanced to the hall and it was empty. Where was Sam? The kid must have a bladder like a camel. And Breezy was nowhere to be seen. It was like being alone with the Godfather.

  Part of him suspected that this might not be an accident.

  “I wasn’t asked in here to play a game, was I?”

  Granny’s eyes widened even as they glinted. “Whatever do you mean?”

  He leaned forward, clasped his hands and set them on the table. “Mrs. Angel—”

  “Good lord, son, don’t call me that. Makes me think my mother-in-law is back from the dead and standing behind my shoulder.” She gave a visible twitch. “That woman was a dragon lady of the highest order, although I don’t like to speak ill of the dead. Now, please, Granny Dee. That’s what family and friends call me. And I’d like to think we could be friends.”

  This wasn’t how he expected the day to go. Although again, what did he expect?

  So might as well roll with it. He rubbed his temple. It wasn’t one of the headaches per se. More a twinge. An ache. Right where he’d been hit. His vision smearing continued without any sign of improving.

  “I’m a straight shooter, Mrs . . . uh . . . Granny.” Despite his best effort, his voice was strained. “If you have something you want to say. Hit me.” He fought for a grin. “I’ve got experience in that department.”

  “Don’t I know it. You’re not one of the flashy players, but you’re one hell of a workhorse. Good instincts, one of the best shot blockers in the league. But we can talk shop another time. Right now I want to know what a guy like you is doing with Breezy.”

  He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He bristled.

  “You don’t think she’s a little . . . ordinary for the likes of you?”

  The memory of her weight in his arms. Her kisses on his lips. The way she made him feel warm, anchored, actually in his body rather than floating along rose within him. That big hair and bigger smile.

  “That’s the last word I’d use to describe her, ma’am.”

  “Go on.” Granny slid her drink over. “Have a sip, sonny. Before you burst a blood vessel.”

  He picked it up and took a long swallow. That’s it. This vision problem had been hanging around for too long. He’d have to ball up and make an appointment to see a neurologist.

  “I call it the Greenie Meanie. Made it up myself. Like it?”

  “Yeah.” He wheezed. It was stronger than jet fuel. Christ, this woman must have rum instead of blood in her veins. No wonder she was so well-preserved.

  “You’re a good man, Jed West. And one hell of a hockey player. But I’m glad to hear you have an inkling about my Breezy, because let me tell you, she is extraordinary and it’s high time someone has the brains to notice.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was official. Her family had eaten Jed West. Not literally, after all, there he was standing by the BBQ looking all lovely and m
uscly, nothing like a gnawed pile of bones. But they’d devoured every second of his time at the party. She’d lost all control of him the second she’d entered the house and realized it would look bad if he stumbled on a photograph of her in face paint screaming at hockey games. So she’d let Granny Dee ferry him away for what was likely a grilling session under the subtext of playing a board game.

  In the end, the damage wasn’t too bad. Her sleuthing unearthed only two photos on the fridge and she hid those under the fruit bowl, then upended a Hellions Angel group shot from last winter facedown on the mantel.

  Each act of subterfuge hit her with a pang. This wasn’t being honest. But she didn’t have the right words to tell him the truth without looking like a crazy fan. She was a little ashamed of herself, and a lot afraid of his reaction.

  Because what would he say if she confessed her obsession with his image, the sexy, bearded captain of the Hellions.

  The version of Jed West that was growing more and more unrecognizable as she got to know Jed West the man.

  If she wanted him to stick around, she couldn’t give him any more reasons to run, especially when Uncle Spencer would not stop with the Shakespeare jokes and Granny was on her third Green Meanie. She’d just conveniently leave out a few facts, and if he wanted to draw his own conclusion that she didn’t like sports, no harm, no foul.

  Later she’d tell him. Yes. Yes she would.

  If they had a later.

  She snuck a second slice of flag cake and shoved a whipped cream-covered strawberry into her mouth, biting down. Chewing, she stared straight ahead, refusing to look over at her mom whose disapproving gaze was burning a hole in the side of her face. Out of spite, she forked off an even bigger bite, this time all cake, and forked it in her mouth.

  Jed West was here with her. And she was eating cake.

  Take that.

  Her swallow felt like a raised middle finger to the status quo.

  But even while this small victory felt awesome, she really had no idea what was going on. Halfway through the car ride over here, she’d almost leaned over and grabbed Jed’s shoulder, given it a shake and yelled, “Hello? Can you please tell me what is going on? What are you doing here?”

  She checked her mouth for crumbs. The truth was that if she wanted to get to know him better, it wasn’t going to happen lurking over the dessert table. No, she had to stride over and . . . and . . .

  A cornhole game was set up on the lawn.

  Yesssssss. Perfect.

  She sauntered over to a board, picked up a bean bag and tossed it up and down in her hand. “Hey, Jed,” she called, casually. Like oh, yeah, Hey, Jed. Jedy Jed. Jedmeister. What’s up, Jed West. Aka the dude-she-made-out-with-and-who-drove-her-here-and-is-now-stranded-with-her-crazy-family.

  She lobbed a bean bag at his feet, but her aim went wild and knocked off the sunglasses propped on the top of his head.

  The entire party fell silent. Proof positive if any was needed that everyone had been silently monitoring the situation.

  “Oh my God, I’m so so—”

  “That’s some arm you’ve got, Vixen.” Jed bent down and picked up his shades with an easy grin.

  “Vixen?” she heard Aunt Shell murmur to a table. “Who the heck is Vixen?”

  “Want to play a game?” she asked quickly.

  “With a challenge like that, how can I resist?”

  He sauntered over and the crowd resumed their chatter.

  She reached out and touched the red mark on his forehead. “Sorry about that. I was cut from the high school softball team. With good reason.”

  “Their loss. You have power in that arm.”

  “Sorry about my family too. I know they’re a little intense.”

  He leaned in and brushed her hair back from her ear before whispering, “Make me one promise for the rest of the day.”

  She shivered at his hot breath on her neck. He smelled a little like cinnamon gum and a lot like heaven. “I never make a deal without knowing the terms.”

  He chuckled, low and deep. “No apologizing.”

  She pulled back, raising her eyebrows.

  “I’m serious. Not one. Not for the rest of the day.”

  She nodded, cautious.

  “And what are we playing for?”

  “Like a prize?”

  “Sure, every good competition needs a prize. Tell you what. I win, you tell me what’s in your granny’s Greenie Meanies.”

  Her eyes widened. “You drank one? Those suckers are lethal.”

  “She shared hers with me and it tried to knock me on my ass.”

  “It’s the secret to her longevity.”

  “Then I’ll toast to that. And if you win . . .”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Shouldn’t I get to name my spoils?”

  “You could, but I wouldn’t make you do that in front of family.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.” She was half-flirtatious and half-confused. It seemed like he was being a little dirty, and it wasn’t like she minded, but she also didn’t want to assume . . .

  “You win the game and your wish is my command. You do like to play games, don’t you, Breezy? You have a lot of . . . toys.”

  Good lord.

  He spoke casually enough. Anyone watching them would think he made a passing observation about the weather, or asked for clarification on the game’s rules.

  But the glint in his eyes? That was pure devil.

  “You’re bad,” she whispered, her cheeks heating. And that wasn’t the only place getting a little warmer. Her toes curled.

  He didn’t blink. “You’ve got no idea.”

  She didn’t actually. But if there was a benevolent god, he’d grant her a miracle and the opportunity to discover what hid behind his famous “boy next door” persona.

  Soon. She shifted, her jeans slick against her secret skin. Soon.

  He might have run out the other day. But he didn’t look like he was going anywhere now.

  They played cornhole for the next hour. “Why do I get the distinct impression you are throwing the game?” She laughed as one of his bean bags landed near the kiddie pool.

  He winked. “Because you have a brain.”

  That’s it. If she got any wetter she was going to require a raincoat. Time to hit the road. She’d made an appearance. The flag cake was demolished on the table. The music was a little louder. The laughter a little more raucous as Granny Dee’s Greenie Meanies circulated the adult crowd and the kids began to feel the effects of the red soda they’d been guzzling by the plastic cup. Sparklers were brought out. Firecrackers began popping.

  “I think this might be our cue to leave,” she said as Jed missed his next toss. She’d won 9–1.

  “You’re the winner. Take me home and decide what to do with me.” He said it calmly, not a trace of licentiousness. But those were packing deadly intent. Full of wicked promise.

  “I’ll g-go grab my bag,” she stammered.

  She bolted into the house and found her handbag in the first-floor guest room. Coming out she froze, hearing her name.

  “I’m telling you, it doesn’t make sense,” her mom was saying in the kitchen. “Breezy? What’s the catch?”

  “He called her Vixen,” Auntie Shell responded. “Vixen. Like . . .” She made an exaggerated rawr sound. “I think he likes her.”

  “Of course he does. She’s nice. Likable. Everyone likes Breezy.” Mom’s snort made it sound like it wasn’t a great thing. “Now you know I love my little girl, but she doesn’t have an ambitious bone in her body. She’d rather read about life than live it. Something isn’t adding up here for me.”

  Breezy found herself unable to move, not to step forward and call her mom out for always dismissing her, never valuing her interests. Never letting her feel like . . . enough.

  But at the same time, she was unable to walk away, to plug her ears and quit listening. It was such a strange experience to hear herself being described so honestly, not filtered by any
white lies, just pure unvarnished truth.

  For her whole life, she’d been trying to uncover that magical potion that got her mom interested in her accomplishments, in her interests.

  So she sucked at skating and her mom loved it. So what? Did that one issue have to be the be all and end all of everything?

  If she’d known that as a kid, maybe she would have tried harder. Because as much as she didn’t like skating, she disliked having her mom write her off even more. Maybe that’s why she embraced hockey as much as she did. It was the one connection they shared, a shaky patch of common ground. Otherwise what did they have to talk about? Mom’s pointed comments about some stupid new fad diet that had apparently worked wonders for so-and-so at the gym.

  But it was true that they had an unspoken war about skating, about Breezy not trying to succeed in a sport that meant so much to her mother. A long silent battle that wasn’t so unspoken now that Breezy could hear her talking shit. Dismissing her.

  It hurt.

  It wasn’t fair.

  And there was nothing she could do about it right now.

  Because she didn’t want to get into it with Mom. Not when she could get into it with Jed.

  And right now, that score seemed like the sweetest revenge.

  Chapter Ten

  “We’re going. Now.”

  Jed glanced down at the hand slotted into his like it belonged there. Glancing up, he locked into a pair of silvery blue eyes that held an expression that he recognized. Determination. They shone like a porch light and he was hit with the uncanny feeling of being home.

  Digging into his back pocket he pulled out his car keys. “M’lady. Your chariot awaits. Should we go say our goodbyes?”

  “No.” She was firm, her chin jutting up a little. “We’ll vanish in a puff of smoke.”

  Something had lit a fire in her. And that’s the way he liked it. He was drawn to her even though he had a sense he was going to get burned. No one noticed them driving off into the dusk.

  “Hey, that was the turnoff to my house,” she called a few minutes later, her head swiveling as she jerked to attention. “But if you go up here and take a—”