WILD ZONE, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

by Skye Jordan

  She smiled, exhausted and aching. “You usually do, Mom. I know you try your best every time. But I gave Tate my word, so I already took care of the alcohol. When you get the money, you can just send me a check.”

  Her mother sat back. “Where did you get twelve thousand dollars?”

  “It was ten, and that doesn’t matter.” She lifted her gaze to her mother’s. “I want you to know that I’m sorry for my part in this distance between us. I feel partially responsible for the trouble you’re in now, too, and that if I hadn’t left after dad died, we might have made different choices as a family. As much as I felt betrayed over the rest of you keeping dad’s cancer secret, I know now that you felt hurt and abandoned when I left.”

  She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, stinging from so much crying. “I want you to know that I believe in you. I believe you have what it takes to pull this company out of the fire. And I also want you to know that no matter what happens or what you have to do to survive, I love you. I may not like what’s happened or how it’s happened, but I’ll always, always love you.”

  “Oh, Liv…”

  Tears made Olivia’s face sticky and she sighed as she wiped at them again. Then she tapped her Uber app on her phone and stood, pulling her rolling suitcase from behind her chair.

  “What—“ Panic lit up her mother’s eyes.

  “I need some time, mom.”

  “But where are you going? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to do what dad would want me to do. I’m going to do what I’ve always done.” She leaned in and kissed her mother’s cheek.

  Her mother closed her hand over Olivia’s and met her eyes. “This is my fault. Tate is a good man, Liv. He only did what he thought was best for you, because I told him it was best.”

  Her heart twisted. “I know.”

  “He called and asked me not to take the jobs with his agent. He was worried about how risking the house would hurt you because of how much you love it. He wanted our family to heal, Liv, because he knew it would make you happy. That’s why he didn’t tell you.”

  She smiled, but her heart felt like it was in a vice. “He’s a good man.” She pulled her hand from her mother’s. “I love you, mom. See you soon.”

  She walked to the car pulling up at the curb with her mother standing in the doorway of the only home Olivia had ever known. And as she pulled away from the curb, in a lot of ways, Olivia felt like she had when she’d been eighteen, driving to the airport after her father died.

  Only this time she could make better decisions. Decisions her dad would be proud of.

  Tate tipped back his sixth beer, wishing the pain killing affects would kick in. He glanced at his phone again, squinting because his vision was a little blurred.

  Eden stood from the sofa in the apartment she shared with Beckett and Lily and took the empty bottle from his hand. Tate didn’t even feel it leave his fingers.

  He turned his phone toward her. “Is that a new message?”

  “No, handsome.” She ruffled his hair the same way he did with Lily. “That’s the old one.”

  The old one—the one and only text Olivia had sent after Tate’s dozens of calls had gone unanswered—was something to the effect of “I need time”.

  He exhaled and dropped his head back against the chair. Looking up at Eden he said, “This is your fiancé’s fault. You know that right?”

  “So you’ve said.” She gave him an affectionate pat on the cheek. “I’m going to let you boys talk. Goodnight.” She leaned down and kissed Tate’s forehead. “I’m sorry, Tate.”

  “Me too,” he said, looking out at the night beyond the windows of Beckett’s luxury apartment, as Eden walked through the kitchen and into the bedroom. “I’m one sorry sonofa—“ he caught himself, because he couldn’t remember if Lily was in bed or not. Hell, Tate didn’t even know what time it was. “Where’s Lily?”

  “She’s been in bed for two hours,” Beckett said from his spot in the corner of the sofa.

  The television was turned to some type of game, but Tate didn’t even know what sport was playing. Tate stared at the ceiling. “That’s shitty beer you got, man.”

  “Oh yeah?” Beckett asked, amused.

  “Yeah. I’m drunk off my ass, and I can still feel the hole the size of Texas gnawing at my gut.”

  “Mmm,” Beckett mused. “Sorry to tell you that’s not likely to go away anytime soon, bro.”

  Tate rubbed his eyes then looked at his phone again, checking the time? It was 10 p.m. He tapped the redial button.

  “Tate,” Beckett said.

  “This is the last time, I swear.”

  “You said that two times ago.”

  “Hi,” Quinn answered.

  “Hey. Anything?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I haven’t heard from her. If it makes you feel any better, she’s not answering my texts or phone calls either.”

  No, that didn’t make him feel any better. It only meant she’d lumped Tate in with the other people in her life who’d hurt her. So he turned to his next most pressing issue. “Any bites on a caterer?”

  “I’m sorry to say, nothing good on that front either.”

  Fuck.

  “I guess if we don’t hear back by tomorrow, I’ll call everyone and cancel.”

  “I can take care of that—”

  “No. That’s something I have to do personally. Assure everyone they’ll get their money back. You could contact a few charities, see if you could find someone who could use the food.”

  “Sure. I’ll do that first thing.” She paused. “Tate, I’m really—”

  “Please don’t. I’ve heard enough sorry’s for a lifetime. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  He said goodbye and disconnected. Then went back to staring at his phone. “Man, what a fucking failure of a year.”

  “If you’re giving up on her already,” Beckett said, “then you deserve to lose her. Maybe you should be thinking about how to make it right with her when you do figure out where she is.”

  “Or maybe if she walked away so easily I’m better off without her.”

  “All right,” Beckett pushed to his feet. “Now you’re just being an idiot.” He stood over Tate with more pity than anger. “Because now you’re just questioning my ability to read people. Maybe she’s better off without you. Ever think of that?” He started toward the bedroom. “You know where the extra blankets and pillows are.”

  Tate threw his arm across his eyes. “Fuck me.”

  16

  Olivia felt like hell.

  She leaned her head against the wall of the Metro car and closed her eyes. This was going to be one hellish, horrible, very-bad, no-good day. But the sooner she got started, the sooner she could finish. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could go home.

  For the first time since she’d moved overseas, the thought of going home brought tears to her eyes. Tears of pain not joy. And, Jesus Christ, who knew a person could shed so many damn tears. She was sick of it.

  Thankfully, her stop came up and she focused on the sidewalks, quiet at this hour of the morning, as she made her way through town to the Andrew Mellon Auditorium.

  She approached the front glass doors and spied the security guard the coordinator said would be here this morning to unlock the doors for her. Once she was in the kitchen, she settled into the silence and familiarity. Instead of comforting, today it felt hollow.

  Olivia took a deep breath and pulled the ingredients she’d prepared for the crab cake appetizers from the fridge and started working. The sous chefs would be here in half an hour, and things would get rolling. She’d feel better once she was in the swing.

  She had half the first batch formed into mini flying saucers when the first chef arrived. Olivia didn’t have the energy to search for the woman who was light and fun in the kitchen today.

  Olivia looked up with a basic hello and a list of things she wanted prepared in order, but she found Tate standing there instead of her so
us chef and her words vanished. The simple sight of him punched her low in the gut and everything she’d prepared to say, everything that was logical and sensible and the right thing to do, flittered into the wind.

  “Liv?” He stood across the kitchen, eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  “Hi.” She hadn’t been expecting to do this so early, and with the flood of emotion filling her from the feet up, she was afraid she might not be able to do what she knew was best for them both.

  She stepped to the sink to wash her hands.

  “What in the hell?” She wasn’t sure if that edge in his tone was disbelief or anger, but he was entitled. “I thought you went back to Paris.”

  She turned, putting the sink at her back and found him closer. And he looked like she felt. His hair was all over the place, his face rough with stubble, the side of his chin marred with the stitches and a purplish bruise. His clothes were wrinkled, like he’d slept in them. Guilt twisted her gut.

  “I…thought about it. A lot.” She swallowed, trying to look him in the eye and finding it more difficult than she’d imagined. “But I know how important this is to you. To the kids. And I promised you… So I wanted to see it through.”

  “Where the hell were you?” He put his hands on his hips. “Did you get my messages?”

  The quake in his voice slammed her with emotions that closed her throat. Memories of the pleas and apologies he’d left on her voice mail burned her eyes. She blinked quickly to clear the tears and fought to find the script she’d created for this moment.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I came to put the food in boxes. Quinn found a charity to take everything.” He lifted his hands out to the side. “I was going to call everyone this morning and cancel dinner. I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  She should have called. Or at least texted. But she hadn’t made her mind up until the last minute.

  Script. Script. What was the damn script?

  “I think we let things between us get too serious.” She forced her voice light, as if her heart weren’t breaking. “But that’s obviously not going to work, and I’d like to be able to get through today so we can move on without anger and regrets.”

  “Not going to work? How can you stand there and act like a mannequin after you told me you loved me?”

  Her gut clenched and she closed her eyes, sucking up the pain.

  His hands closed on her arms, and she opened her eyes to his.

  “You said you loved me, Liv. What I did was a mistake. Poor judgment. Call it what you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that I love you.”

  Tears spilled over her lashes and her barriers crumbled beneath the pain of hurting him. Of losing him. “Love doesn’t justify lying. Or keeping secrets. Especially given what you know about my family.” She pulled out of his arms and stepped back. So she could breathe. So she could think. Because the pain in his eyes threatened to crush her. “I trusted you. I laid in your arms and told you every detail about the lies and secrets my family created that drove me away. And even knowing that, you went and did the same thing.”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “But you still did it. It still happened. I’m still hurt. And if we don’t have trust here, when we’re together, we’re not going to make it living apart. I won’t do it again. I won’t live that way.”

  He lowered his head, scraped a hand through his hair, and when he looked at her again, he was…different. He was hidden behind some kind of wall. “So that’s it? The first bump in the road and you’re done?” He straightened and shook his head. “Then you were right. You and I do have very different meanings for love.”

  Footsteps sounded at the back door and both sous chefs walked in, chatting.

  “Morning Olivia. Morning Mr. Donovan.” Greetings peppered the air. Olivia glanced at the men to return their greetings and when she looked back, Tate was walking away.

  Tate held a drink in his hand. He wandered through the crowd. He made polite conversation. He’d been here before. He knew how to pretend he wasn’t heartbroken.

  What he didn’t know how to do was stop thinking about Olivia.

  This was his fault. Tate knew that. She had every right to be hurt and angry. What kept him out there instead of back in the kitchen was fact that she wanted to jump ship because he’d made a mistake. He’d made a conscious decision to keep the information from her, and that had been wrong. But he hadn’t hurt her intentionally. In fact, he’d been trying to do just the opposite.

  He kept trying to tell himself it was better this way. And, maybe in time he’d believe that.

  Teresa and Quinn were on hand to make sure everything with the event was perfect. And every time he looked at Quinn, he ached for Olivia.

  “Penny for your thoughts.” Mia appeared at his side. Leave it to his little sister to sneak up on him.

  “No thanks.”

  “Did you find out she’s a serial killer?”

  He cut a look at his sister. He didn’t even wonder where Mia heard. He knew it had gone straight from Eden to Mia. “Shut up.”

  “Can we play the cold-hot game? It will go a lot faster.”

  “Go away.”

  “All right, fine. Lets do one blink for yes, two for no.”

  Tate sighed and took his first sip of whiskey. A thousand fiery needles pricked his mouth then followed the liquid down his throat, leaving a searing path.

  Oh yeah. That felt good.

  “She cheated on you,” Mia said.

  “Mia.” Tate gave her the look his teammates swore could peel paint. Evidently, Mia had seen it too many times in her life. Because she laughed.

  “I figured I should go for the obvious first. Since that’s out, I’ll go in decreasing order of most deplorable characteristics. Is she a gold-digger?” Mia asked. Tate ignored her. “Okay, let’s see, no values or morals? Hmmm, how about a liar?”

  Tate frowned at her. “Why is liar so high up on the list? What about ex-con or, I don’t know, racist or something.”

  “Because without trust, you have no basis for a relationship. Trust touches everything and no one can trust a liar.”

  A hot knife cut down the center of his chest. Tate finished the whiskey.

  “Looks like we’re sitting down to eat. You get a reprieve. But be prepared for the third degree after. Because, bro, I’ve never seen you as happy as you were for the short time you were with her. So if you haven’t figure out some way to mend the rift by dessert, I’m going to hound you until you strangle me.” She smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. “Then I’ll sick Rafe on you.”

  As she walked away, Tate said, “I’m going to tell him you referred to him as a dog.”

  She just laughed.

  Tate had already traded his place setting card with someone else’s so he was sitting at a table where everyone would talk about nothing but hockey. The world could be on fire and they’d still be talking hockey.

  But he knew he knew it was going to be one long ass night when the first course of Ahi tartar with avocado, ginger and sesame hit the table and everyone stopped talking to ooooooh at the presentation. Even Tate, who had absolutely no appetite and never ate raw anything, was tempted.

  Delicate chunks and strips of ruby colored meat lay on a bed of sliced avocado, among chunks of avocado and sprinkled with sesame seeds and scallions.

  Tate got away with not eating anything by saying he was allergic to seafood. He managed to take only a bite of the second course, fettuccine vongole, which was so good it made his eyes roll back in his head, by saying he was saving room for the main course.

  So when the table was served either oak-fired swordfish or an A3 New York strip with endive marmalade and truffle crust with a red wine jus, Tate’s appetite came back with the intensity of his feelings for the chef.

  The first bite of his steak actually made Tate moan. No one noticed because everyone else was doing the same. And, now, at the t
able that talked nothing but hockey, the conversation was all about the food and the chef. And Tate was peppered with questions about a woman he was trying to let go.

  “Well,” the wife of a Rough Rider sponsor mused as she took her last bite of swordfish, she has definitely found her calling.” She smiled at Tate. “Like you’ve found yours. That happens so rarely, it’s a true blessing to see.”

  As amazing as the food was, Tate’s stomach was too twisted with loss to eat any more. And while the others around the table continued to obsess of Olivia’s food, Tate obsessed over Olivia. Instead of trying to push her out of his heart, he started thinking of ways he could turn this situation around. But how did you convince someone they could trust you if they wouldn’t let you? And how could he possibly prove it to her if she was in Paris and he wasn’t?

  When the woman beside Tate excused herself for the restroom, Quinn took her seat. Gingerly propped on the edge of the chair, facing Tate, she leaned toward him and spoke in an undertone at his ear.

  “Liv used her money for school.”

  Shock blasted Tate’s gut. His face chilled as the blood drained. “No.”

  “I thought that was the case yesterday, but I wasn’t sure.” Quinn kept her eyes on her hands, her lips compressed as she nodded, obviously trying to hold back tears. “I feel… God I can’t even…”

  Tate’s stomach ratcheted down so tight, a wave of nausea swept through. “Oh my— Why? Why would she do that?”

  Quinn lifted her gaze to Tate’s and the sight of those blue eyes—Liv’s eyes—made him ache. “Because she always keeps her word. She always follows through. Because she loves all of us and she never bails on the people she loves.” Quinn huffed a sad laugh. “Even when she’s mad at them. Even when she has to live across the world for us to get along.” She paused, sighed. “I realized tonight that Liv’s always been the rock in our family. I thought it was my Dad, but now I can see Dad only nurtured Liv. She’s the real foundation of our family. She’s our rock.”