WILD ZONE, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

by Skye Jordan

  The kids laughed and groaned and shouted.

  “Depends,” Beckett said. “What’s in there?”

  “Sandwiches,” he said. “All kinds, with all the fixin’s. And they’re on that crusty handmade bread.”

  “You’re right,” Beckett agreed. “I’m not sure. Anything else in there?”

  “Ooo,” Tate said. “Big, fat pickles. And—oh, man—homemade kettle chips.”

  Half the kids were on their feet, crowding around, shouldering each other to get close.

  “I think the final call will depend on if she’s got dessert in either of those bags,” Beckett said.

  One of the kids reached for the bag and Tate slapped his hand. The boy pulled back laughing. On the bench, Tate’s phone rang.

  “Can you take care of this?” Tate asked Beckett. “I’m expecting a call from Dave.”

  “You got it.” Beckett yelled for Derek while Tate retrieved his phone. “Take the other bag. Lunch in the lounge boys.” He glanced at Tate. “See you there?”

  “Save me something, will you?”

  “Eh,” he said, grinning. “Maybe.”

  He answered, “Hey, Dave,” while the kids put on their blade guards and followed Beckett into the building.

  “Hey, thanks for calling back. I’ve just added a kid to my calendar next week. A real hotshot from Canada. I want to sign him in time to pitch him to the NHL in July, and he’s a really big fan of yours. I was wondering if you could join us for dinner.”

  Next week Olivia would be gone. He’d need anything he could get to keep his mind busy. “You bet. Just tell me where and when.”

  “Great. Thanks man. He’s going to be stoked. I’ll have Teresa let you know the time and date.”

  Tate’s mind scanned Dave’s staff. “Who’s Teresa?”

  Dave laughed. “Little soon for off-season-brain isn’t it? Teresa’s the planner you recommended. The one organizing your banquet.”

  He opened his mouth to clarify, but all the synapses connected at once and he muttered, “Oh shit” instead.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Tate winced. “Man…That’s too complicated to explain over the phone. But could I ask for a favor now? Can you find another planner to arrange things for the kids coming next week?”

  “That’s a weird request. But for you I would. Unfortunately, it’s a little late for that. She’s already done with eighty percent of the planning. I’ve already given her a sizeable non-refundable deposit. Shit, man, don’t tell me she’s going to screw me over and leave my people hanging. Let me know if I need to hire a backup.”

  “No, no, you don’t need a backup.” Fuck. “I’ve gotta go, Dave. I’ll see you Saturday.”

  He disconnected and planted his hands along the top of the half wall, staring down at the ice. “Well, this is fucking awkward.”

  Did he tell Olivia that her mother did exactly what Olivia had warned her not to do? It was a little soon to be stepping into family business. Especially when it had such a long, complicated history. He and Olivia hadn’t even shored up their relationship yet, at least not in the framework of living apart over the next year. She sure hadn’t told her mother about it.

  “Shit.”

  He dropped to the bench and unlaced his skates. Dave’s jobs wouldn’t even happen until after Olivia was gone. And they wouldn’t affect her, at least not as far as needing a high class caterer went.

  Looking at it that way, telling Olivia felt a lot like tattling on her mother. Plus it would only upset Olivia. And they didn’t have much time left together. He’d like to see Olivia leave when she was on positive terms with her mother. It would give her more incentive to come back.

  He pushed into his running shoes, picked up his skates and headed toward the lounge for lunch with the kids. Halfway down the hall, his cell rang. He didn’t recognize the number.

  “Donovan,” he answered.

  “Tate,” the woman’s voice was pleasant and a little familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “This is Teresa Essex.”

  What the… He stopped in his tracks.

  “Hi, uh…” He wasn’t sure what to call her. She’d asked him to call her Teresa, but somehow that didn’t feel quite right. “How are you?”

  “Fine, fine. I just wanted to thank you again for the referral to Mr. Burnett.”

  Tate’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling with dread before he closed them.

  “I just got off the phone with him and he mentioned you had some reservations.”

  Dave you fucking shit head…

  “I wanted to reassure you that we will take great care of Mr. Burnett’s needs. In fact, I’m making all the final arrangements now. I understand you’ll be joining him for dinner next week and I’ll be calling shortly with all the information.”

  He leaned against the wall. “You know, Teresa, I hate to get into something that’s not my business, but I’m sort of already in the middle. I really care a lot about Olivia, and Olivia really cares about you and Quinn. I don’t feel right about you taking on this job with Dave when she has so many reservations about it.” God, his stomach churned. “I think it would be best for everyone if you found another planner to take over for you—”

  “Tate.” She broke in with a conciliatory tone, but one with underlying steel. “I’m not sure what you think is happening between you and Olivia, but I feel the need to apologize in advance. From what everyone says, you’re a sincere, caring man. Olivia has priorities, and relationships have always fallen to the bottom of that priority list. So while its sweet of you to consider her feelings in all this, I’d just caution you to hold onto perspective when it comes to Olivia.”

  Tate’s mouth dropped open. Anger roiled in his chest. He was about to jump to Olivia’s defense when Teresa went on.

  “She does worry about the business quite a bit, but that’s because she’s not here to see it operate. She hasn’t been around to watch it grow or to see how Quinn and I have tackled every obstacle put in our path. Ten years later, we’re still here, and we’re growing, thanks to referrals like yours. It won’t take long for Olivia to see that her worries are unfounded and that Quinn and I are completely stable. So if you wouldn’t mind keeping the conversation you overheard yesterday between us, we’d all really appreciate it. Bringing it up would only dig the rift between us deeper just when we’re starting to smooth things over. We’ve asked so much of Olivia this trip, I’d really like her to enjoy her last days here.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed at them, torn over what to do, while still believing it wasn’t his place to do anything. So he ended up offering a non-answer with, “I understand. Look I’ve got to run. I’m at practice. Thanks for the call.”

  With a hasty goodbye, he disconnected and hung his head.

  Fuck. He wished his dad hadn’t already left. Tate could really use his wisdom right now.

  He pushed off the wall and turned toward the lounge. He’d have to think about this more later, after all these pre-teen boys went home.

  13

  “How long is mom going to avoid me?” Olivia asked Quinn where her sister worked beside her in the kitchen at Andrew Mullen Auditorium.

  With two days until the banquet, Olivia was settling into the organization. She was stocking, making lists, creating a workflow. Quinn was taking charge of supplies, making sure there was enough dinnerware, glassware, table clothes, centerpieces. Finding and renting the equipment Olivia needed that wasn’t already in the kitchen.

  Quinn had plugged her phone into portable speakers and a mix of pop and country floated through the space. While Olivia unloaded groceries into the refrigerator, Quinn stacked dishes on the shelves.

  “If mom’s avoiding you, she’s avoiding me. I haven’t seen her for more than ten minutes over the last two days. We have a lot of new clients. She has to meet them all, organize them, make arrangements. She’s as busy as we are.”

  That was a lie. Olivia had heard them talking downstairs the night before when they
thought she was asleep. They’d talked for hours. While Olivia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if the secrets in their house would ever stop. Wondering what her life would have been like if her father hadn’t gotten sick. Wishing she’d gone to Tate’s for the night.

  “How are you feeling about this?” Quinn asked. “Feel like you’re ready?”

  Olivia nodded. “I’ve done everything we’re both doing now and more. I’ve been a sous chef for years. There were times when I had to fill in for the head chef—when they got sick or hurt or were just plain lazy-asses. Being the one where the buck stops for something this important and for someone this close to me is a little overwhelming. But, yeah, I’m ready. Nervous but ready.”

  This was a great experience for her and it would go a long way toward adding to her confidence.

  “You know,” she told Quinn broaching a subject that had been on her mind since she and Quinn had their breakthrough. “Le Cordon Bleu has management courses. Culinary business management, restaurant management, international hospitality.”

  “Oh yeah?” she said in a way that told Olivia she wasn’t really listening.

  “Yeah.” She finished with one grocery bag and started on another. “They even have a degree in wine and wine management. You used to be so passionate about wine, but I haven’t heard you talk about it much over the last few years.”

  “Oh, you know. No time. No money.”

  And conversation stalled again.

  “Quinn.” She stopped putting groceries away and faced her sister. “What’s bothering you?”

  She lifted her brow and shook her head. “Nothing, why?”

  “Because I know you, and I know you get quiet when you’re stressed.”

  A little smile lifted her lips. “Just a lot of work to get done.”

  Another lie. Yes, there was a lot of work to do, but that wasn’t causing the level of stress Olivia felt rolling off Quinn in waves.

  She focused on the fridge again, but when she reached in to organize some jars, her vision blurred with tears. She blinked quickly to banish them. Those had come out of nowhere, just bam. And she didn’t like being so close to the edge of her emotions.

  Olivia’s mind immediately veered toward leaving. Her escape. Escape from the pain she felt whenever she came home. Escape from the loneliness she felt more with her family surrounding her than when she was alone in her flat in Paris.

  She finished emptying the bag and closed the refrigerator door. Picking up her phone, she checked the time, then for a message from Tate. But there was nothing. Which was a little odd since his camp had gotten out about two hours ago.

  She texted him. “Hey handsome. Is everything okay? Are we still on to go over the final menu? I have a couple of minor things I want to ask you about.” She paused and the hurt inside her gnawed. She added, “I miss you.”

  “I miss you…” she whispered with the shake of her head.

  Those words were so bizarre to her, yet they came so naturally with Tate. She had to send the message and shut her screen off so she didn’t give into the urge to text him, “And, I love you.”

  “Is that Tate?” Quinn asked.

  “Yeah. I can’t decide if a few of the menu items are too frou-frou for this group or not. I was hoping I could get him to weigh in.”

  “How does he feel about you leaving?”

  Olivia looked at her sister. Quinn continued to fill shelves with plates, bowls, cups, saucers…

  “Uh…that’s sort of complicated.”

  “Why?”

  She took a breath to quell the nerves that came up whenever she thought of the quasi-commitment she’d made him. “Because we’re going to keep seeing each other. Or, at least, try… I guess.” She pushed her phone into her pocket and started on another bag of groceries. “We haven’t gotten into the details of how that’s going to work, yet.”

  “Really?”

  The sheer shock in Quinn’s voice brought Olivia’s head up.

  “I just mean,” Quinn said, “He’s so transparently one of those forever kind of guys.”

  Written between the lines, Olivia read, and you’re not a forever kind of girl.

  “How would anyone know if they’re the forever kind unless they found the right person?” she asked. “Because by all accounts, you should be married with a couple of kids or a kickass career by now. But you’re no further along in life than I am.”

  Irritation flashed across her face. “Because I’m busy. Busy trying to keep this damn company from going under and taking mom with it. And this isn’t about me. I’m not contemplating a relationship with someone on another continent.”

  Quinn seemed both irritated and genuinely concerned. But Olivia couldn’t tell where this was coming from or why.

  “I could see you two having a fling,” Quinn said, “because that’s just how you live and he’s getting over a divorce, but taking it further? Are you sure that’s not just an easier way for both of you to say goodbye?”

  Olivia opened her mouth to say she didn’t have a hard time with goodbyes, but that wasn’t true with Tate. And Tate was, admittedly, actively holding on.

  “His life has really been stalled by the divorce,” Quinn said. “He’s thirty or thirty-one, he wants kids and his career is here. It’s not like he’s got a job he can take anywhere. And he makes millions of dollars a year. Holding his position, getting future contracts, making that kind of money, it all hinges on focus. If he’s all into you and you’re on another continent, how well do you think he’ll be focusing?”

  Olivia really didn’t like all the points Quinn was making. Each one she couldn’t battle made her heart drop a little lower. “You’re awfully knowledgeable about in the inner workings of hockey and Tate all of a sudden.”

  “All I did at the party was overhear people talking and get chatted up by hockey players. You can learn a lot in a few hours if you’re talking about the right things and listening to the answer with an open mind.”

  Olivia read between those lines too, and didn’t like the insinuation that all she and Tate had been doing was fucking. Which, in part, was true. Another hit to her confidence where Tate was concerned.

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” Quinn continued, “but I don’t see you settling down anytime soon, and I’m having a hard time imagining you coming home.” She shrugged and started back on the dishes. “I can see how it would be fun for you to have him coming to Paris to visit, but, personally, I don’t think that’s worth the consequences of the possible fallout for Tate when you decide to move on.”

  Olivia didn’t respond immediately. She was turning over the very real facts Quinn had just thrown at her. Like a rock against a window, all her ideas of continuing a relationship with Tate shattered into a million little cracks held together by a fragile invisible web.

  “I wish you ladies would include me in these conversations.”

  Tate’s voice startled Olivia, and she swiveled toward the door. He wandered in and leaned a shoulder against a bank of cabinets, and he didn’t look happy. He also had a bad cut on the side of his chin that was developing a bruising halo.

  “I appreciate your concern, Quinn,” he said, “but this is something Olivia and I need to decide on ourselves.” He looked at Olivia. “We may not have known each other long, but I think we know enough about the important things to make this decision.”

  “I’m sorry,” Quinn said, embarrassed. “Of course, you’re right.” She picked up an empty box. “I’m going to take this to the trash and head out to find lunch.”

  Olivia opened her mouth to say something to alleviate Quinn’s unease, but as she turned to walk out the opposite direction, Tate held up a hand.

  When Quinn was gone, Olivia moved toward him. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. What happened to your…” She trailed off when she saw the cut had looked so bad from further away because it was stitched closed with black thread. “Oh my God. You got stitches?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer be
fore she turned and opened the freezer, searching for something to put on it. “Is that where you’ve been? The emergency room?”

  Grabbing a bag of peas, she pulled a paper towel from the roll nearby and covered the bag. She lifted the wrap to his face and gently covered the ugly cut.

  Tate winced, but laid a gentle hand over hers. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “No, that’s not how that conversation started. Quinn asked how you felt about me leaving, and I told her we were going to keep seeing each other.” When he didn’t respond, she pulled her hand from the cold press and rubbed it along the jeans over her thigh. “I hate to admit it, but she has some valid points. Things I didn’t think about.”

  “Like what?”

  She pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “Was what she said true? Do you want kids? Is having me in Paris going to fuck with your concentration?” Her stomach hurt. “I feel like a selfish bitch for not considering—”

  He pressed his fingers to her lips, then set the peas on the counter and wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her close. He was hurting, she could see the dull haze of pain in his eyes.

  “Baby, have you taken any pain meds?” she asked. “I’ve got ibuprophen. It will help with the swelling.”

  “If you were selfish,” he told her, ignoring her question about his pain, “you wouldn’t be here right now, and you certainly wouldn’t be spending all this time and effort on my dinner. If you were selfish, you wouldn’t care what happens to your family’s company. If you were selfish, you wouldn’t make these trips home to see them when they’ve never made an effort to do the same for you.” He moved his fingers and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “If you were selfish, the questions Quinn just raised wouldn’t bother you.”

  She leaned into him, picked up the bag and pressed it to the cut again. “Keep this on or you’re going to swell, and those stitches are going to hurt like a mother.”

  A little smile tilted his lips. “Sounds like you’ve been here before.”