by Addison Fox
“Because no one cares about it like you do.”
He turned to face her again. “Maybe they should care.”
He kneeled once more and she was curious when she saw how he twisted himself on the way down.
“How bad does that knee hurt?”
“It’s not my knee,” he muttered before she moved closer.
“Are you all right?”
His entire body stilled before he turned to face her once more. “Fine. I’m fine.”
• • •
Roman wanted to scream in frustration, the reality of his injury a roiling embarrassment in his gut. He hadn’t missed the way Avery had zeroed in on his inability to fully see the board without shifting his position. To compensate, he made a big show of examining his knee and brushing at the tender spot.
As Roman stared at the cut on his knee—evidence of his monstrous professional problem—one question pounded in the same heavy beat as his pulse.
How was he going to keep this from her?
Pushing bravado into his tone, he focused on the immediate problem at hand in hopes of distracting her. “I’ll talk to Sophie about it. As mayor, she needs to understand what a liability this is for the town. More so because the town owns the rink.”
“I hadn’t thought about that. But no one here would sue.”
“Avery, it’s not about someone with a grudge. A kid could really hurt himself. The boards are dangerous enough as it is, but to physically go through one? It would be a disaster.”
She nodded and he saw her acceptance. “You’re right.”
They continued around the perimeter of the rink and he pulled out his phone to take pictures and document some of what he was seeing.
“It’s not as fun anymore, you know.”
“What’s not as fun?”
“Coming here. The games. They’re not as much fun to watch anymore, since you’ve been gone.”
“I’ve been gone over thirteen years. This town turns out good players. I have to believe there’s been a good game or two played since I left.”
“None of them are as good as you.”
“Maybe if they played in a half-decent rink they might be. The kids must be scared half the time to take a hit or to play hard.”
“I doubt that. Don’t you remember being fourteen and invincible?”
“I’m thirty-four and I still feel that way.”
“Modest as always.”
He only grinned, finally relaxing now that the immediate threat of discovery was well past. “Did you expect anything less?”
“No.”
“Good.”
The cool air felt good on his skin and that sense of invincibility roared up and grabbed him as he stared at her. The friendly camaraderie fled on swift feet as something deeper and more intense took its place.
He wanted her.
It was so simple, really. And once acknowledged, he was forced to accept the fact that the feelings for her—his need for her—had never really gone away.
He’d simply buried it in hopes it might vanish with enough time and distance.
His gaze roamed over her face, the lines so achingly familiar. The vivid, interesting brown eyes. The soft flush of pink that perpetually rode her cheekbones. The long, solid strength of her athletic body that was both strong and feminine at the same time.
He reached for her hand, the simple gesture a tentative question as he tested the waters.
“Roman!”
The moment of awareness vanished as if it had never been. Avery pulled her hand away and turned toward the greeting, all the while putting a few feet of distance between them.
Roman held back a curse and turned to face the interruption.
Chapter Six
If given the opportunity, Avery would have gladly strangled John Wilcox Jr. to within an inch of his life. His poor timing, coupled with that odd, worshipful expression the entire damn town seemed to take with Roman, chafed at her like sliding across the rink naked.
He wasn’t a bad guy, per se, but he’d always lumped around town with about as much personality as his father. And now that he had a bona fide sports star in his rink—an event he could bandy about town for the next few days—he was sure as hell not going to let the moment go without a long, drawn-out conversation.
“You had a good season, Roman. Damn good. I was sorry to see the Metros kicked out of the play-offs.”
“Not as sorry as I was,” Roman quipped with a good-natured smile to round it out.
The tall form and stature she’d noted before grew impressively aloof as he shifted into what she often thought of as his “on-camera” mode. His vivid green eyes lost their luster, and the pitch of his deep voice altered. What came out the other side was a guarded, near-automaton set of responses she’d have bet her last dollar had been used before.
“What do you think next year looks like?”
“Management’s working on some acquisitions over the off season. We’ll see when training kicks off again.”
“You like your odds?”
Roman’s smile amped up until he practically glowed like a hundred-watt bulb, and patted John’s shoulder. “I always like my odds, buddy.”
Lost in the glow, John just nodded and smiled back, and Avery marveled at the change in the guy. Where he usually barely tolerated everyone, John was practically ready to do figure eights down the ice.
“Look, John. I wanted to ask a favor of you, if I could.”
“Of course. Anything.”
“I’m going to be giving the kids a few lessons over the next couple of weeks and I noticed the boards are looking a bit rough. I’d like to talk to Sophie about getting the town rallied around this place to help fix things up.”
“Sure thing.”
“Great. You’ll be hearing from me.” Roman gave him a quick handshake and turned for the door. “We’re going to get going. I’ll be in touch.”
“I look forward to it.”
Roman ushered her out the door, and Avery didn’t even bother with a backward glance. She might have been invisible for all John cared.
“He looks like you just asked him to the prom,” she muttered as they cleared the front door.
“That doesn’t require a comment, but I’ll give you one anyway. Eeew.”
“No, I mean it. He totally fan-girled all over you.”
Roman moved off the front walkway and into the grass. “I was buttering up the locals.”
“Locals? You’ve known him since you were four, Roman.”
“Yeah, well, he looked at me like he’d never seen me before, so I call it a fair trade.” The pitch of his voice was back to normal and she sped up to keep up with his long-legged strides as he circled the building.
“What’s that supposed to mean? And where are we going?”
He glanced back over his shoulder and slowed his step. “It means no one in this town talks to me like I’m a human being. And we’re marching around the building because if the inside looks that shitty, I’m sure the outside needs work, too.”
“The roof does have leaks.” The angry expression that narrowed his jaw and tightened his lips had her taking a step back. “They put out big tubs to catch the runoff.”
“It’s a fucking disgrace.”
He turned from the building, his hands on his hips, and Avery knew what was coming next when his gaze caught on the outdoor bleachers about fifty yards from where they stood.
The town used the indoor rink most of the time, but the site had been selected so they had a second practice area as well as a larger set of bleachers for outdoor games on one of Indigo’s larger ponds.
“Those bleachers are falling apart, too.”
“They did get fixed a few years back but they require so much upkeep no one’s been taking care of them.”
When he didn’t say anything—just stared—she questioned his earlier comment.
“And people do think you’re a human being.”
“No, they don’t. I�
�ve had a long time to deal with that, but don’t delude yourself, Ave. I’m the homeboy who made good and that’s all I will ever be to these people. They don’t see me as a real person.”
She watched as he crossed back to the building with those same long-legged strides but stood where she was. Roman had his phone out again and was snapping photos every few feet.
He did have a point, she mused. Hell, she’d spent her entire adult life hearing about the great Roman Forsyth, hockey god and living legend. Even when they were kids, his talent was already manifesting itself and he was as feted as a teenager as he was now as an adult.
Indigo’s hopes rested on Roman Andrew Forysth’s shoulders. For the first time in her life, she began to wonder what a terrible weight that must be.
• • •
Grier rolled over at the sound of heavy footfalls from the front room. Her voice came out scratchy and she grabbed at her head as a single syllable echoed through her skull. “Mick?”
“Yeah, babe?” He came through the bedroom door, looking all hot and rangy and delicious, a big smile on his face. “How are you feeling?”
“Like an idiot.”
“Well, I have something that may make you feel a little more human.” He pulled the take-out container from behind his back and the distinctly blissful smell of pancakes wafted toward her as he opened the lid.
She scrambled to sit up, her headache be damned. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“No, I mean I’d cover myself with honey and let fire ants crawl all over me. I have that sort of love for you for bringing me this amazing breakfast.”
He produced a fork and a small plastic container of syrup as he sat down next to her on the bed.
“Why don’t you leave off the side of fire ants and save the honey for later.” His firm lips came down on hers before he moved back to settle himself against the headboard.
“You’re on,” she murmured, secretly thanking the heavens she’d brushed her teeth a short while ago while hunting in the bathroom for aspirin.
Grier made quick work of the syrup and dug in. “Oh my God,” she moaned around a mouthful. “You’re like a breakfast ninja. These are awesome. You are so getting the honey later.”
They sat quietly and Grier thought about how lovely it was to just sit there. Together.
Even with her raging headache and sizable embarrassment for the massive drunk-fest, he was with her. And he loved her enough to not only not be upset about that fact, but to also bring her pancakes.
“To add further credence to my breakfast ninja skills, I also come bearing a significant piece of gossip.”
“Do tell.” She reached for the coffee he’d placed next to the bed earlier. It was cold, but still packed a punch.
“I had breakfast with Avery.”
Grier eyed him sideways. “Was she hungover?”
“Nope, fresh as a daisy after she got over her precoffee morning puss.”
“Bitch.”
“Would you let me finish?” He snatched a piece of bacon from the open container.
“Go on.”
“Roman joined us, looking like he’d gone a few rounds with a pissed-off moose.”
“What happened?”
“He was all scraped up on his leg. Claimed he took a fall on his run.”
Mick’s words set off a string of alarm bells and she set the container on her lap. “Claimed? Why would he lie?”
“I can’t explain it, but something’s up with him.”
“How so?”
Mick shrugged and reached for a cube of roasted potato, dipping it in a pool of syrup. “I’m not sure. He just seems off and that’s the best I can explain it.”
“The entire town is giving him and Avery the full-court press. That’s got to be difficult. For both of them.”
“There is that, but I think there’s something else he’s holding back.”
“He cares for her, too. And despite her protests, she cares for him. It’s got to be tough for them to be around each other.”
“He about came off his chair when she started tending his wound.” Mick must have seen the question in her gaze because a big, cocky grin spread across his face. “Sweetheart. It doesn’t matter how badly wounded a man is, if a woman goes sticking her hands all over his thighs he starts suffering a bit differently.”
“I see.” And she did, Grier realized, as the image of Avery tending to Roman’s wounds rose up in her mind’s eye.
She’d seen it—hell, they’d all seen it—the way the two of them fell into this natural pattern they probably weren’t even aware of. There was a history of genuine love and affection between Roman and Avery, and when neither was busy fighting the here and now, that history reached up and grabbed both of them by the throats.
Or by the thighs, as it were.
She took another bite of pancake and chewed for a moment. “You think there’s something there? Something that can be salvaged?”
“I know there’s something there. But as for salvaging it? I’m honestly not sure.”
“Everyone deserves a little hope, babe. I think we’re a product of that.”
He kissed her once more, this time lingering over her lips. “I know. I also know we got very, very lucky.”
“Let’s hope a little of it rubs off on our friends.”
• • •
Roman was pleased the outside of the rink wasn’t nearly as bad as the inside, but it still needed a new roof and there were sections of brick that definitely needed some repair work. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and resolved to talk to Sophie about it that afternoon.
“Where am I going to take the kids?”
“You can take them on drills until things get fixed.” Avery had done her part, snapping photos with her own camera and taking some notes she’d promised to e-mail him. “Hockey’s not only about the ice.”
“They’re going to be expecting time on the ice, though. Not jogging drills through town like they were at boot camp.” He turned over a few ideas in his mind. “We could use my mom’s van. The one she does airport runs with.”
“Most of the wedding guests are leaving tomorrow. She needs it.”
“Tasty still have his Suburban?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?”
“What about Hooch? He and Chooch have to transport all their sled dogs somehow.”
“He’s got a big SUV and a trailer.”
“I’ll see what I can work up. Call a guy I know in Talkeetna to see if I can borrow his rink for a few hours.”
“Do you really want the responsibility of taking fourteen kids on a field trip?”
Roman shrugged. She had a point, but he’d made a commitment and he wasn’t shirking it. “In for a penny.”
“Or a pound of crazy.”
“I’m the great and all-powerful Roman Forsyth, hockey god and revered town son. What could happen?”
Even as he spoke the words—solely in jest—an immediate vision of paying for his hubris hung in the air like a storm cloud. What could happen?
“Please tell me you haven’t forgotten our class trip to the Denali National Park.”
Memories lit up his mind like a pinball machine, and he had to give Avery points for picking one of the worst moments in his entire school career.
“The guinea pig was an accident.”
“Is that what you’ve consoled yourself with after all this time?”
Roman could still recall the trip vividly, the images so clear they could have happened the day before. “It was Walker who stole the fourth grade’s class mascot, not me. He just had no idea it would spend the trip peeing and pooping in his coat pocket.”
“Which was why he let it go the moment he set foot off the bus.”
“He was only going to set it down for a minute. Told Mick and me to watch it. Who knew they could run so fast?”
“Poor, sweet Randall. He’d spent his life in a cage and that single moment of freedom was all he needed
to make his escape.”
A happy grin lit his features. “That little thing could run. He was off down a trail and out of sight before we even knew what happened.”
“I looked over and all I could see was you and Mick, high-stepping your way through the far side of the rest area we’d stopped at before heading into the park.”
They walked back toward the front of the building. “How did you manage to escape detention for that one? Nearly every memory I have of getting in trouble involves Mick and Walker as well as you.”
Avery’s voice rose an octave with fake politeness, and Roman didn’t even need to look to know that her spine stiffened along with the change in her tone. “For whatever reason my mother decided to chaperone that trip, and right about the time Randall took off on his adventure I discovered the doctored coffee in her thermos.”
Roman remembered Alicia Marks coming along to chaperone the day, but didn’t know about the liquored coffee. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Why did you keep it from me?”
“It was a long time ago, Roman.”
“Doesn’t matter. It had to have been upsetting. And we were dating at that point.”
“I hadn’t told you yet. About her drinking problem.”
Roman came to a halt and reached for her forearm, effectively stopping her in place. “My mom told me about last year. About the end.”
She nodded and he wished there was something he could do about the pain. The horrible, emotional roller coaster she’d spent a lifetime dealing with stamped her face with a mix of emotions.
Grief.
Sadness.
Shame.
It was the last that he questioned—she had nothing to be ashamed about—but he knew her too well not to understand that emotion accompanied the others. With infinite gentleness, he ran a finger down her cheek. “What’s that look for?”
“It was pretty bad.”
“I know.”
A loud breath whistled through her teeth on a heavy exhale. The cautious, hopeful light he’d seen in her eyes when he touched her vanished, replaced by something dull and lifeless.
And empty.
“Do you really, Roman? How? Because someone told you? Your mom or grandmother? Mick or Walker? Because I never talked to you until that lone call after it was all over. I never even saw you while any of it was going on.”