by Anna Sugden
“Perhaps he was scared. You know, there but for the grace of God.”
“I suppose. Especially because after Adam’s death everyone talked continually about lost opportunities and lost potential.”
“Including his chance to win the Cup.”
“Exactly. Though whether Adam was really good enough is debatable. Definitely not, if he continued to play the way he did last season.”
Something in her voice caught Maggie’s attention. “Did something happen?”
Her friend sighed. “Not really. But those last few months of his life, Adam was wildly inconsistent. No one knew from one minute to the next if he’d be laughing and joking or snapping and shouting.”
“Was he under too much pressure to perform?” The more Lee had been stressed about his play, the more unpredictable he’d been.
“Possibly. Anyway, the point’s moot. Jake wants to honor Adam the best way he can. Who am I to judge?”
“But you’re concerned about Jake?” This conversation was giving Maggie some useful insights, but also raising more questions.
“A tribute’s fine, but changing your whole life is something else. An untimely death can raise a normal guy to near sainthood.” Jenny’s lips twisted. “Adam wasn’t a saint. For sure, he wasn’t any better than Bad Boy. He was also envious of Jake—the parties, the women—and always striving to live up to him.”
“Jake’s penance for surviving was to cut them out of his life.”
“I think so. That’s why I was pleased when he became interested in you. It was a sign he’d come through the worst and was beginning to look forward instead of back.”
“Me?” Maggie’s heart skipped with pleasure. “But I’m nothing like the women he used to date.”
“Which makes you perfect for him.”
Her stomach roiled. “I won’t have another relationship where I’m worried about being perfect for a man. Been there, done that and got the bloody T-shirt. I’m just beginning to be who I want to be. It’s taken too much heartache to get me this far. I can’t go there again.”
“Of course not. No one’s perfect. You have to be yourself. Don’t let anyone interfere with that.” Jenny’s vehemence suggested she was referring to her own past.
Maggie didn’t push—everyone had their secrets. “The thing is, we’re hardly dating, let alone anything more serious. I don’t even know if he’s still interested in me.”
“Oh, he is. Are you still interested in him?”
Jake had sneaked past her defenses. Most of the time, she liked him. Liked being with him. There was no denying her attraction to him—the man could spike her temperature with a single look. He was certainly different from Lee, but being with Jake was never going to be plain sailing. Still... “Yes.”
“Then hang in there. It’ll take time for Jake to work things out. The most important being how to fit you into his life.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Figure out how you want Jake to fit into your life.”
Jenny was right.
If Maggie wanted to be in charge of her life, she had some decisions to make. Jake wasn’t the only one who got to decide how their relationship would work. Or even if there would be a relationship.
Who was she kidding? She was long past the stage of having flings. Aside from what it would do to Emily, Maggie wasn’t interested in getting back on that merry-go-round or in being another piece of Jake’s arm candy.
This time, Maggie wanted to be absolutely sure, from the beginning, of what she was getting into. She wanted both sides to be serious about what was involved in a steady relationship. Even if it didn’t pan out long-term, she wanted the reassurance of exclusivity and that they’d both work at the relationship. She wanted mutual respect. Compromise, not dictates. Give-and-take, where she wasn’t the only one giving.
Maybe it was a lot to ask, but this time, Maggie wouldn’t settle for anything less.
* * *
OPENING NIGHT HAD finally arrived.
In twenty minutes, Jake would hit the ice for real. Warm-up was over. The Zambonis were preparing the ice. The arena was already buzzing with excited fans. Around him, the chilled air rang with the whine of skates being sharpened and the rip of tape. The sharp tang of glue mingled with the scent of popcorn.
Familiar. Reassuring. Home.
This was what he was. What he lived for.
He walked into the locker room, where his teammates gathered for last-minute instructions. Hip-hop blared from the boom box as he sat in his stall. He’d have preferred the pounding beat of heavy rock to get him pumped up. Hell, he’d take country over this crap.
A sharp click and the room fell silent.
Heads turned to the front, where the coach stood to deliver his pregame talk. The mood was somber, intense. The clock ticked down toward zero and game time.
The coach’s words washed over Jake. He couldn’t concentrate. Emotions ricocheted through his body. Anticipation. Dread. Determination.
And a burning in his gut to get out there and play.
The weight of Adam’s lucky penny—a gift from his friend’s mom—hung heavy around his neck beneath his sweater. As the talk ended, players checked their gear and psyched themselves up. Adrenaline gave the air an electric feel.
The clock clicked past three minutes.
This was it.
Jake’s pulse kicked up a gear. A familiar roaring filled his ears.
The captain, Scotty Matthews, rose and went to stand by the door, his expression fierce. “Let’s go out there and show them the Ice Cats play the best damn hockey in the world.”
Ike joined him. The goaltender would lead the team out; Scotty was always the last man. Pride swelled in Jake’s chest as he and Tru stood behind Ike.
With 1:59 glowing red on the clock, the doors swung open and Ike strode out. He tapped the door frame with his stick for luck. Tru and Jake did the same, and their teammates followed. They entered the short tunnel. The bright lights of the arena shone like a welcoming beacon, bringing them home to the ice.
“Please welcome your New Jersey Ice Cats.” The announcer’s voice reverberated around the building as the fans stomped and cheered.
Jake inhaled, letting the crisp air penetrate his lungs, then stepped out onto the ice. Immediately, the noise of the crowd muffled while the scrape of blades amplified.
His heart pounded.
As always, he skated round the net twice anticlockwise, then twice clockwise. Before taking his position on the blue line, he tapped his stick against Ike’s goaltender pads.
“Good game, bro.”
Ike nodded. “You, too.”
Joining the rest of the Cats’ starting line, Jake removed his helmet, and since they were playing a Canadian team, waited for the two national anthems to be sung. He moved his skates back and forth, unable to keep still.
“Maggie’s here,” Tru muttered, beneath “O Canada.”
Jake’s gaze shot to the glass behind the Cats’ goal for his allocated seats. There. Next to his parents. He’d hoped she’d come but hadn’t believed she’d show.
He hadn’t seen or spoken to her since that breakfast. He could blame having been on the road, but that was a poor excuse. Truth was, he hadn’t known what to say to make things right between them.
Her presence had to be a good sign.
As the singer began “The Star-Spangled Banner,” Jake’s eyes drank in the sight of Maggie.
Her gaze met his. Good luck, she mouthed. Joy filled him. A surge of energy charged through his veins. Jake flashed her a grin as cheers drowned out the final notes of the anthem.
“Move it, Romeo,” Tru teased as players took their positions for the opening face-off.
Jake replaced his helmet and sk
ated into position.
In the seconds before the puck dropped, time slowed.
His senses went on alert. His muscles tensed.
His gaze focused and narrowed.
The linesman leaned over and released the biscuit. Inch by inch, it dropped to the ice.
Action exploded.
Jake was back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“WELCOME BACK, Bad Boy.”
Tarkov, Ottawa’s high-scoring left-winger grunted as he and Jake clashed in the corner.
Jake crunched him to the boards, swiped the puck and shot it across the ice to Tru. “Good to be back.”
Within seconds, the Senators had possession once more and Jake and the Russian resumed their battle.
“I won’t take it so easy on you in the second,” Tarkov taunted as he hip checked Jake.
“You and which army?”
“Stemgarder.”
Jake’s response about the opposition’s goon was blunt and coarse. Again, he stripped Tarkov of the puck. He passed it to Juergen, whose slap shot rebounded off the crossbar and flew high into the netting, stopping play.
As Jake skated to the bench, he passed Stemgarder. They exchanged glares; they’d never liked each other. While he waited for the TV break to finish, he glanced across at the stands. Maggie was frowning.
He didn’t have time to consider why, as his shift was called.
When Tarkov skated toward the Cats’ goal, Jake cut him off. They collided and the Russian ate ice. Grinning, Jake skated behind the net ready to start a rush back the other way. As he did, his gaze strayed to Maggie.
She looked annoyed. Why?
During that momentary lapse in concentration, Tarkov took the puck off his blade and chipped it behind Ike for a score.
“Damn it, Jake.” Ike was furious. “Concentrate on the game, not your girlfriend.”
Jake tapped his friend’s pads in apology and skated to the bench.
The horn went for the end of the period. The Cats trooped off toward their locker room, giving him heat for his stupid mistake. While the coach talked tactics for the second period, Jake tried to get his head back in the game.
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never lost concentration like that before. Fans had been yelling crap at him for years—he’d always blocked it out. Yet one angry look from Maggie and he’d been thrown off balance like a damn rookie.
As the team prepared to take the ice, Jake squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t think about Maggie for the rest of the game. Focus on winning.
Just before they stepped out, Ike growled, “Keep your mind out of your shorts for the next twenty minutes.”
Jake nodded sharply, then skated into position.
The second period was hard fought with possession swinging back and forth. Just before the intermission, Jake tipped the puck to JB, who banged it in the net for his first NHL goal.
“Glad you’re back in the game,” Tru said as they walked to the locker room.
“Sorry about earlier. It won’t happen again.”
Tru studied him closely. “Bad memory?”
He shook his head, unwilling to explain.
“Why don’t you get laid and do us all a favor?” Ike muttered.
Anger surged. “It’s got nothing to do with Maggie,” he lied.
“Yeah, right.”
Jake glared at Ike. His friend backed off.
He returned to the ice for the final period with renewed determination. His focus was complete, his concentration intent.
The Cats went ahead with a couple of quick goals, making the period even more frenetic. As the Senators tried to claw the score back level, Jake and Tru were pressed into extra shifts.
With seven minutes to go, Jake knew Ottawa needed a change of momentum. “They’ll send Stemgarder out soon,” he panted to Tru as they climbed back over the boards.
“Yeah. He’ll want you to drop the gloves.”
“I don’t fight. He’ll have to pick someone else.”
Tru laughed. “Get real.”
Jake’s gaze flicked to the stands. The last thing he needed was for Maggie to see him fight. But he realized with a sinking feeling it was inevitable.
He’d barely got back on the ice before Stemgarder goaded him to go.
When Jake ignored him, the goon chased him, crashing him into the boards. Jake got up, told Stemgarder to do an anatomically impossible act then skated off.
Back at the bench, he squirted water over his face and rotated his aching shoulder.
Tru groaned. “Stemgarder’s calling you a turtle.”
“I’m no damn coward!” That challenge left him no choice.
Jake headed back out, his heart heavy.
As the puck dropped, Stemgarder shoved him, sneering.
Gloves dropped. Sticks scattered. Helmets came off. Fists flew.
The referees circled. The crowd was on its feet screaming. Players on both benches banged their sticks against the boards.
A punch bounced harmlessly off his pads. Then one caught him under the chin.
Enough. Time to put this jerk down.
Two sharp punches. Stemgarder wobbled. Tried to retaliate and missed.
Uppercut. Right hook. The goon hit the ice.
Victory.
Jake gave Stemgarder a succinct assessment of his sexual preferences while the refs separated them. He tried to avoid glancing at the stands as he skated to the penalty box but couldn’t resist. His heart contracted.
Maggie’s seat was empty.
His gaze scanned the section. Movement at the top of the stairs caught his attention.
Maggie was marching up the steps with Emily.
For a moment, he thought they might be going to the bathroom. But they had their coats on and Emily kept turning back to look at the ice.
They were leaving.
He’d won the skirmish on the ice. But he’d lost Maggie.
* * *
AM I THE only sane person in the building?
Maggie was definitely the only one not to take pleasure in the fight, she thought as she pulled her reluctant daughter toward the exit onto the concourse.
The noise level was deafening. Everyone was on their feet screaming. Fans banged their fists on the glass while those in the balconies stamped. There was a raucous cheer as Jake and the other bloke skated toward the Sin Bin.
Then play resumed as if nothing had happened.
“Why aren’t we watching the game?” Emily’s voice echoed in the near-deserted concourse. “We’re going to miss the end.”
“I know, Em, but I didn’t like the way things were going.”
A minor understatement.
Maggie had sworn that Emily would never be exposed to violence again. Though she’d prevented Lee from taking out his “bad moods” on their daughter, it hadn’t been possible to shield Emily totally. That final night had been the first time Lee had touched his daughter in anger. The first and last. Thankfully, Emily hadn’t been hurt. Maggie had got between them and taken the brunt of the contact. She’d never let anything frighten her daughter again.
Yet she’d let Emily watch Jake beat the hell out of some bloke while everyone around them bayed for blood.
This was worse than the fight during the preseason game. Perhaps because she was in the crowd rather than cocooned inside a luxury box. Perhaps because the fight had been so brutal, with each player intent on hurting the other.
Perhaps because Jake was involved, not some helmeted bloke she didn’t know.
It was probably all of those things. One thing was certain—it had been a mistake to bring Emily to the game. An even bigger mistake to let her get close to Jake.
“That’s not fai
r.” Emily pouted. “Mr. Jake won.”
“Fighting is never a good thing.” Maggie took a deep breath. The heavy smell of popcorn and burgers lingering from the closed concessions made her stomach turn.
“But he didn’t want to fight. It wasn’t his fault.”
The thug from the other team had been goading Jake.
“Even so, violence doesn’t solve anything.” She hated that the words sounded prissy.
“I think Mr. Jake was a hero.”
Startled by Emily’s vehemence and conviction, Maggie stammered, “Wh-why?”
“That man was picking on the Ice Cats. Mr. Jake protected his friends by standing up to the bully. My teacher said standing up to bullies is very brave.”
“I see.” Maggie studied her daughter carefully as she considered what she’d said.
Rather than being scared about Jake punching the living daylights out of someone, her daughter was defending him. Putting a totally different spin on the situation.
Her heart lifted at the impatience in Emily’s face as she bounced from foot to foot. The rosy-cheeked imp trying to sneak glimpses of the game on the concourse TV screens was a far cry from the pale, trembling child she’d been only a few months ago.
Clearly, Emily had listened to what Jake’s father had told her earlier, when Gio had explained about The Code. Her daughter had no problem understanding and accepting that aggression on the ice was used to right a wrong, to defend a position, to protect a teammate. She also seemed to have no fears about that aggression spilling over after the game was over.
Unfortunately, Maggie couldn’t dismiss her own concerns as readily.
Jake had switched from hard-playing athlete into bloodthirsty fighter in a heartbeat. Though the anger in his expression had been unmistakable when they’d first dropped the gloves, his taunting smirk had grown with each landed punch. A satisfied swagger had accompanied his victory.
How could she ignore his transformation into something she recognized...someone she didn’t want to recognize?
A burst of noise roared through the concourse. Chanting and cheering.
Emily grabbed her hand and tugged. “We’re missing it, Mummy. Can we go back now?”
Maggie weighed the options. If she stopped her daughter from watching the rest of the game, she’d draw more attention to the fight. She also risked confusing and upsetting Emily. Besides, she didn’t want to give her daughter a reason to be scared of Jake. Emily hadn’t drawn any comparisons with her father—better it stayed that way.