by K. A. Tucker
“Brenna?” I call out.
“. . . And a long time ago, this man fell into the wood chipper and it chopped his legs up into little bits.”
“Brenna!”
“Yes, Mommy?”
They both turn in time to catch my grimace.
“Can you go with Brett’s dad and Mrs. Polson?”
She wanders over to take in the three looming males.
“I’m the one you’re looking for. Hi, my name is Richard.” He reaches out to shake her hand. She eyes it warily, but finally accepts it.
He doesn’t seem at all offended. In fact, his warm smile grows wider. “So what happened to the man who fell into the chipper?” he asks, leading her out the door.
All caution disappears. “Oh, they pulled him out before it could chop up the rest of him and then he got fake legs and . . .” Her voice fades as she disappears into the main room.
“Goodness. I think we might have to talk to the museum hosts about what they’re teaching these kids!” Clarisse laughs nervously.
I sense a wall of strength next to me. Trying to calm my heart rate through a few short breaths, I finally turn to meet Brett’s gaze. There’s so much emotion swirling within his eyes—some of it I’ve seen before, some of it I can’t even guess at—and I find myself struggling to manage a simple “Hi.” It comes out throatily.
“Hey.”
“I thought you’d be in—”
“Okay, everyone. If you’ll follow me, please. Brett and Catherine, if you could come in last.”
Brett and Catherine.
We’re ushered into the main room, where at least a hundred sets of eyes latch on to us.
“I’m right here if you need me.” The low whisper comes just as we’re waiting in line to take our seats in front of everyone. Brett knows I’m nervous. He knows I’d rather be anywhere besides heading for a small stage to collect an award.
I glance over my shoulder and see that same expression on his face as he wore during the interview—of worry, of awe, of . . . what everyone is so desperate to label adoration. It’s only been two and a half weeks since I saw him last, and yet it feels like I’ve been waiting an eternity.
All I can manage is a small smile and nod before facing the crowd, focusing on the familiar faces in the front row. My parents, Emma and Jack, Lou, and Leroy? Who’s running the kitchen? Misty’s blonde curls bob as she ducks in to stand at the back, the Diamonds orange-and-white uniform somehow flattering her. Jack has a wide grin plastered across his face—for me or his idol behind me, I can’t say.
“Okay, this way!” Clarisse directs in a whisper, waving us forward. I sense Brett’s hand skate across the small of my back in the faintest of touches, reminding me to breathe.
“Please tell me that’s the last one?” I plead behind my fake smile. Keith nods toward the photographer as he passes us, his camera lens already in pieces. “It’s the last one. I should charge you a management fee.”
“You certainly seem to be orchestrating things for me. Especially behind my back.” I glare knowingly at him, but smooth it over quickly as Coach Roth and Sid Durrand pass by, nodding their final farewells to me. They were both great sports during the event, serving mostly as photo ops for local media. Though Sid did say a few words of thanks to me on behalf of the NHL that turned my face red. Actually, I’m certain my face was red throughout the entire ceremony.
“Admit it, that wasn’t so bad.”
“It was better than I expected,” I grudgingly admit. It only lasted twenty minutes, and no one so much as hinted at the idea of me giving a speech, thankfully. Even Brett’s words were brief, but from the heart, expressing his appreciation for me being at the right place at the right time, for him. But he didn’t gush, he didn’t say anything that made me overtly uncomfortable.
“See? It won’t always be a complete circus around him. Don’t use that as your excuse for pushing him away.”
I stare at him, taken aback. Keith hasn’t uttered a single word about the romantic spin Wethers put on this story, and I wasn’t about to ask him for his opinion, not when I suspect his own feelings for me. But I’ve seen it weighing on him, the worry evident in his eyes. I’ve sensed him biting off words before letting them escape. I’ve assumed he was against the idea entirely.
“I better grab some of those tiny sandwiches before Jack eats them all.”
I follow his sight line to the small crowd milling around the patio, an elaborate three-level stone construct. Sure enough, my brother is hovering over one of the waiters who carries a silver platter, filling his hands with appetizers two at a time while he gawks openly at Misty a few feet away. Wearing that same stupid love-struck grin he had on when he was fourteen and met her for the first time.
Misty’s eyes aren’t on him, though. She’s too busy trying to make her way over to Brett and me now that the interviews are over. But by the looks of it, she won’t have a chance. Lou has one hand on her shoulder and a scolding expression on her face, while Misty is smiling and arguing politely. I know them too well, even from a hundred feet away. Lou’s insisting that Brett and I have a chance to talk, and Misty is determined to undermine her. Then Lou points to the parking lot where Leroy is waiting and Misty’s hopeful face falls. As usual, Lou has won. I’m guessing Misty is his ride and they need to get back to Diamonds for the Sunday dinner rush.
“You can talk to them tomorrow,” Keith says, taking off at a swift pace before I can take a step.
Leaving me alone with Brett for the first time today.
Breathing in deeply, I wander over to the gazebo, a white lattice structure crawling with clematis vines, the backdrop for countless wedding photos, I’m sure. Today, we used the space as a quiet location for a few pictures and brief interviews with three of the local newspapers and a Philadelphia paper.
“Thought you were never doing an interview again?” Brett teases, his gaze drifting over my frame as I gingerly climb the steps, hiking my dress a few inches to avoid tripping over the hem.
“I thought so, too, but Puppet Master Keith decided differently.”
Brett chuckles and gazes out at Jasper Lake, allowing me the chance to study his handsome profile. He’s seated on a bench and leaning against one of the thick posts, his suit jacket removed and draped casually over the rail. It’s the perfect position to show off his fit body, and the faintest sheen of sweat that glistens from his forehead adds to his allure. “I’m glad they chose this location. It’s nice. Peaceful.”
“I haven’t been here since I was six, but it hasn’t changed much. I’ve never been to an event in there, though.” I ease myself down on the bench next to him, trying not to be obvious as I inhale the lingering scent of his cologne that I adore.
Brett’s eyes shift to my lap, to the ornate key within my grasp.
“Need a big gold key?” I joke, holding it out in the air. I guess it’s the thought that counts, but I’m still trying to figure out what it really means to me—beyond being just a decorative ornament. My name is engraved in the side, in beautiful cursive font, along with the date.
“My mother’s going to be jealous. She’s always wanted one of those.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Your mother has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. And, what is it . . . three Oscars now?”
He grins. “But not a big gold key.”
“Tell her it takes time and a lot of hard work.”
His responding chuckle somehow makes me giddy. “She said she’s really sorry she couldn’t make it. She was trying, but they added another week of filming and she couldn’t take off again. Plus, she didn’t want this turning out to be about her, which it inevitably would have had she shown up.”
I had noticed the curious glances and wondered if half of those in attendance had accepted the invitation with the hope that Meryl Price might be there. “That’s kind of her, even to consider it.”
“My sister was going to come, too. She had a ticket booked. But she got a callback for a secon
d audition that she can’t miss.”
“For what?”
“I can’t remember.” He frowns. “Some new HBO series, I think? Anyway, I know she’s really hoping to get this one.”
“HBO. Wow. That’s . . . big.” Not quite as big as my shift at Diamonds tomorrow morning.
Brett’s gaze travels over the small crowd. “I’m glad your family came.”
“Yeah, me, too. Surprised, really. But they all came. Even my sister. And of course Misty, and my boss and her husband . . .” It was a front row of broad smiles. There was a time when I didn’t believe that I had so many people to support me.
He hesitates. Brett must have figured out that my past with my family is a minefield. I sense the questions brewing. “When Keith called to ask me if I’d come, we talked a bit.”
“Oh, yeah?” Of course Keith would have been the one to call him. “About what?”
“About you and your family.” Brett watches me warily. “About what happened between you guys.”
“Things were different. I wasn’t easy.” I instantly feel defensive, although I’m not entirely sure whether it’s on behalf of me or my family.
“I’m not judging you, Cath. Or them,” Brett quickly says, his voice soft. “I just wanted to know what happened, that’s all. Maybe it’ll help me understand you a little bit more.”
There’s a long pause, long enough to allow tension to grow.
“So your brother plays for Minnesota?”
“Yeah.” I smile. “He also has a crush on you.” So does my best friend.
And I’m . . . I take a deep breath and, pushing aside my own feelings, tell Brett about Jack—how much he loves hockey, his scholarship, the tattoo on his bicep. Brett lets me ramble on about my little brother without interruption, without any glint of awkwardness in his eyes, simply smiling, his eyes roaming my features until I find myself flushing from the intensity of his gaze.
“I guess he’ll find some use for those season tickets Sid gave you, then?”
I chuckle, remembering the dumbstruck expressions on both Jack’s and my dad’s faces when Sid Durrand announced that the Flyers would be awarding me two lower-level season tickets for the next twenty-five years as a small token of their appreciation. “I’m going to be getting a lot of free babysitting thanks to those. Not that Jack won’t get the most use out of them anyway, seeing as I’d feel like a fraud if I said I was a hockey fan. I didn’t even know who you were until a month ago.” And now you’ve become a permanent fixture in my thoughts, despite every attempt to distance myself.
“I’m just glad you didn’t refuse to accept them.”
Which reminds me . . . “I paid my parents back for the Escape.”
“Good. That’s why I left the money.” No mention of my rambling voice message to him.
“You left way too much. I’m going to give it—”
“No.”
“But I—”
“No, Cath.” He counters the sudden sharpness of that one word with a dimpled smile. “Don’t bother arguing with me. I’ve got a lot of spare time on my hands to fight you and I promise you, I’ll win one way or another.” Brett adjusts his position on the bench.
I catch the wince that he tries to cover.
I let the topic of money slide. For now. “How’s your leg?”
“Itchy as hell, but I think staying off it for the past two weeks helped a lot.”
“You mean your doctor was right? Who knew?”
He treats me to that grin of his, though I can see a hint of sadness in his eyes.
I hesitate. “When do you think you’ll be playing again?”
“Depends on how my ankle heals. I’ll be in this cast for a few weeks at least, until they think it’s safe to swap it for a walking cast. Then it’ll be another few months of that with a ton of physical therapy.”
“So, a while.”
He nods quietly. “They’re taking another X-ray tomorrow, so they may be able to give me a better idea.”
“Nervous?”
“A little.” He pauses. “But with my team done for the year, I’m not being hounded for updates from the public. At least there’s that.”
“I’m sorry they lost.” And I’m so sorry I never returned your call to at least tell you that. I had so proficiently convinced myself that avoiding contact would help squash my rising feelings for him. Two seconds into seeing him today, I realized that those feelings haven’t gone anywhere and I’m not only an idiot, I’m also an asshole.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” he offers after a long drawn-out moment, his gaze drifting to the lake again.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
His jaw tenses. “It’s one thing to get injured taking a hit in a game. But how this happened?” He shakes his head. “People are right. That city has paid me so much fucking money and this is what they get in return.”
“No, Brett. People aren’t right. Not those people.” I could argue more but I doubt he’ll believe me.
I sense his mood shifting, so I switch to a lighter topic. “I’m sure California will be nice for the summer. Are you heading there after this, or going back to Canada?”
He’s quiet for a moment, as if considering his words. “I guess that depends on you.” He turns to regard me with an intensity I haven’t felt since that night of the interview, when we sat on my bed and I confessed my deep, dark secret about nearly leaving him in the car that night. When he embraced me and I found myself wishing we could stay in my room forever. “Kate Wethers may have put a spin on that interview, but can we stop pretending that there’s no truth to it. At least . . .” His eyes drift over my features, settling on my mouth. “You can’t look at me like that and tell me there isn’t.”
My cheeks burn, and I avert my eyes to the lake. I didn’t realize my adoration was so blatantly obvious.
“Why didn’t you call me back?” He asks the question so softly, and without even a hint of malice, and yet I still flinch.
“I’m sorry, I—” I falter. Searching for a good answer but coming up short.
“Was it because of Courtney?”
Yes. And no. If I admit that that is part of it—a big part of it—then I’m basically admitting to having feelings for him. Though it sounds like he’s already figured that out.
“It’s because of a lot of things.”
“Like?”
“There’s just . . . lots of reasons.” I stumble over my words.
Silence hangs between us. Somewhere in the distance I can hear Brenna giggling, and I’m grateful that she hasn’t insisted on interrupting us just yet.
“Is it because of the cameras and the reporters? Because it isn’t so bad anymore, is it?”
“For now. What if they come back?”
He shrugs. “Then we figure it out together. It’s manageable.”
“I can’t sit inside my house with a bodyguard outside.”
“Then you don’t.”
“And what? Wear a disguise?”
He chuckles. “I actually know some people who do that. I’ve never tried it. Well, unless you count my hockey gear. No one recognizes me in that, especially if I’m wearing an unmarked jersey. It’s kind of nice. But really, it’s not as bad as you think it is.”
“Can you just walk out of your building right now without being noticed?”
“Right now, no. Not with everything that’s been going on. They’re hoping they’ll catch a picture of me and Courtney, or me and you. Magazines pay big bucks for those. But normally . . . it’s fine. I might sign an autograph here and there, but otherwise I can walk around without being recognized at all. At least, I could before the accident.” He pauses. “It’s honestly not that bad.” His voice is soft, pleading.
“It’s not just the media, Brett.” I wish it were.
“Then what else? You have to tell me.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?” He chuckles. “Because I’m crazy about you and you won’t even answer my call
s. I need to know how to fix that so you’ll give me a chance. Please.”
I’m suddenly light-headed and wondering if I heard him right.
His gaze shifts to focus intently on his hands, folded in his lap. “I’ve never had trouble making friends or finding girlfriends. But it’s always been harder figuring out exactly why they’re there. They say they don’t care who my mom is, or who I am. But everyone’s secretly angling for attention or money, or both. You, though . . . you really aren’t looking for either. Who I am seems to be working against me with you.”
“I don’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Cath. I like that about you.” He turns to study my face. “And, God, you’re so . . . You took me completely by surprise, that first night I met you. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
I recall the oversized sweats and my hair in a messy pile on top of my head. “I’ve seen the women you date, Brett. Now you’re lying to me.”
“Trust me, those women don’t look like that when they’re not layered with makeup and in front of a camera.” His gaze skates over my features—over a mouth that I’ve thought was too wide more than once, and eyes that seem too catlike, and a nose that is too pointed at certain angles. “They’re not like you.”
You’re beautiful, too, I want to say, but I can’t manage the words.
He grins sheepishly. “When I went home that night, I told my parents that I was madly in love with the woman who saved my life.”
Oh, my God. My heart’s beating in my throat.
“Of course they convinced me that I was completely overwhelmed and that I needed to get some rest.”
“I’m sure they were right,” I mumble.
“I thought so too, honestly.” He swallows hard. “But then you had to go and be not just brave and beautiful but also humble, and funny, and honest. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to be with you.” His hand stalls midair, catching himself as he’s reaching for a loose strand of my hair. “So I need you to tell me what I need to do for you to give me that chance.” His jaw tenses as he locks eyes with me. “Please.”
“I just don’t fit in your life.” It’s barely a whisper. I’m struggling to think straight.