“So tell me again what happened and how we ended up here tonight?”
“I told you already. Jason got the tickets for me.”
“Uh-huh. After you guys went out.”
Megan shifted in the hard seat, not quite able to meet Haley’s piercing gaze. “Yes.”
“On a date.”
“I said yes.”
“And you went home with him after said date. And slept with him.”
“Haley!” Megan hissed her name, glancing around to see if anyone heard her. Thankfully nobody was near them just yet, since they were in the middle of the first intermission. “How many times are you going to ask me the same question?”
“Until you give me a straight answer.”
“I already did.”
“Okay then. Until you make me understand what happened. I thought you were done with him.”
“Yeah, I know—”
“I thought you said he was an asshole.”
“I did but—”
“And that you deserved someone better. Someone who saw the real you.”
“Okay. Okay. Yes, I said that.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know. I just—he kept sending me things and then he showed up to the bar and he asked me out.”
“And you just said yes. Just like that. All those intentions gone. Just poof, right out the window.”
Megan reached for her beer and took a long swallow before working up the nerve to face Haley. “It wasn’t poof. It was just…I don’t know. I just said yes, okay? And we went out and we had fun. What’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong with it. I was just wondering about the sudden change of heart, that was all. I go away for a few days and come back to find out that you totally changed your mind.”
“It wasn’t totally. Not really.”
“Yeah, it was. If I remember correctly, you were pretty adamant about not liking him anymore. About deserving better.”
“Really?” Megan dropped her gaze, let it rest on the fresh bruise circling her friend’s wrist. “Do you want to say that again?”
Haley looked away, tugged the sleeve of her sweater down over her wrist. A blotch of red stained her cheeks as she squirmed in the seat. “It’s not what you think. I told you, we just got a little rough playing the other night.”
Megan didn’t say anything. How could she, when there was a big chance that Haley was telling the truth? Except she wouldn’t meet Megan’s eyes, and she wouldn’t share any details. Not those kinds of details—Megan didn’t want to hear the specifics of her friend’s wild and active sex life. But Haley wouldn’t share even the most basic stuff about the new guy she was with. And she always shied away from talking about him, quickly changing the subject the few times Megan asked. And that wasn’t like Haley. At all.
Which meant she was hiding something.
“Oh God.” Megan groaned and turned in her seat. “Tell me he’s not married.”
“Who?”
“Your latest guy. What’s his name?”
“You don’t need to know his name. And no, he’s not married. I do have some scruples, you know.”
“I know. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“And we’re not even talking about me. We’re talking about you. And how quickly you changed your mind.”
“I didn’t ‘change my mind’. I just—can we not talk about this anymore? Can we just sit here and watch the game?”
“They’re not playing right now, in case you didn’t notice. And you don’t even know what you’re watching.”
“I know. That doesn’t mean I can’t watch it and have fun.”
“Megan, you started cheering when the other team scored.”
Megan winced at the memory, felt her face heat with embarrassment. She hadn’t meant to, hadn’t realized it was the other team. Obviously, or she wouldn’t have cheered. But it had happened so fast, almost immediately after the game started, and she hadn’t exactly figured out which team was which.
She knew now, though: the Bombers had on white jerseys with a big gray plane on the front and black shorts. She’d even been able to pick out Jason from the cluster of players on the ice. He was number 36. And his last name was on the back of his jersey in great big letters.
“Just make sure you don’t tell Jason that, okay? I don’t want to be embarrassed.”
“Why would I tell him? It’s not like I’m going to see him.”
“Uh—”
“What? What did you forget to tell me?”
“Nothing. Not really. But he invited us out after the game.”
“Megan, I don’t think—”
“Just for a little while. Please? A whole bunch of them are going out and I won’t feel so awkward if you go with me.”
“Is his friend Mr. Tat going to be there?”
“Zach? Probably. But what about what’s-his-name?”
“Jimmy. His name is Jimmy. And just because I’m seeing someone doesn’t mean I can’t look. Mr. Tat is very easy on the eyes.”
“I guess. So you’ll go?”
“Okay, yes. I’ll go. But don’t get any ideas about ditching me and going home with Mr. Freaky-eyes.”
“I won’t.”
***
Three hours later, Megan was reconsidering ditching—everyone. The Bombers had lost and a somber pall hovered over the group. They were gathered at another bar, one closer to the arena. The place was packed, almost standing-room only, probably for that very reason: it was close. At least they had a table. Well, mostly. The table normally seated six, but there was at least ten squeezed around it. That didn’t include the several players who stood nearby, drinks in hand, talking quietly among themselves.
Jason draped his arm over her shoulders and leaned forward. “Sorry it’s not a livelier bunch.”
“No, that’s okay. I understand.” She took a sip of the warm beer and grimaced then sat the mug back on the table.
“Is something wrong?”
“It’s a little warm.”
Jason shoved his chair back, already coming to his feet. “Do you want another one? I can get you another one.”
“No, really. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Because it’s no problem.”
“No, really—”
“She’ll take a margarita instead. No salt. And you might as well make it two.” Haley leaned across her to give Jason the order, then turned back to Zach. Megan wanted to tell Jason she didn’t need a margarita—and neither did Haley, to be honest. But he was already pushing through the crowd, making his way to the bar.
She turned to say something to Haley, nothing in particular, just to talk. But Haley had her back turned to her, deep in conversation with Zach. Or maybe they were arguing, which didn’t make sense. They didn’t know each other, why would they be arguing?
No, she was probably imagining things. They were probably just having a heated discussion about something. Haley liked to do that, liked to stir things up and fan the flames. It matched her fiery personality.
Megan changed positions and looked around, watching everyone, watching how they interacted. For the most part, everyone seemed to get along, with a lot of good-natured teasing going on despite the pall hanging over them.
Her eyes came to rest on an older player, probably the oldest guy with them. His face was rugged, a little scarred. Maybe a little too rough. Dark hair, broad forehead, prominent cheekbones and full lips. A scar ran from the corner of his bottom lip, down to the edge of his chin, giving his mouth an oddly twisted look, one that made you wonder if he was smiling—or scowling. But it wasn’t his scar that caught her attention: it was his eyes. Deep and dark, full of sadness. Probably the saddest eyes she had ever seen.
He tensed, stopped talking and looked over at her. Great, she’d been caught staring. Heat filled her face and she smiled, still mesmerized by the sadness she saw in those deep eyes. He nodded, just a quick one, then went back to his conversation
.
All around her people were talking. Everyone but her. Well, that only made sense. She didn’t know anyone, not really. Jason, obviously. And Zach, sort of, although he was still in a heated conversation with Haley. And Tyler, a little bit. But Tyler wasn’t here, hadn’t joined them.
She looked around, started fidgeting in her seat, then shifted, looking behind her, wondering where Jason was. Still waiting to be served, no doubt. The place really was crowded. They needed more help. And they could probably redesign the bar while they were at it, move some tables around, improve the flow of customers so it wasn’t quite so tight in here.
She looked closer, studying the layout, mentally envisioning what she would do differently. The entire bar needed to be moved. Instead of a few clunky tables scattered here and there, she’d line the wall with booths and add high-tops, at least a dozen. It would give the illusion of comfortable gathering areas and if people felt free to sit their drinks down, they’d stay longer and spend more.
She scanned the crowd, not really seeing anyone as she mentally moved this here and that over there. Her mind automatically slid to Mystics, wondering what she could do differently, what improvements they could make for efficiency.
Her gaze moved past one small group, stopped, slid back. She frowned, leaned forward to get a closer look. Jason was in between two girls, a crooked smile on his face as they talked to him. Megan stiffened, watching the body language of the trio.
The two girls were fans. Obviously. And just as obvious letting Jason know they were interested. She could see it in the way they smiled up at him, in the way they tossed their hair and pressed a little closer to him.
They were dressed similarly: form-hugging skinny jeans, heeled ankle boots, tight sweaters with plunging necklines that showed ample cleavage. Megan clenched her jaw, wouldn’t allow herself to look down at her own faded jeans and baggy sweatshirt—the one she bought tonight at the game, with the Bombers’ logo on it.
Because she thought Jason would get a kick out of it.
Only Jason hadn’t noticed.
He seemed to be noticing how the girls were dressed, though. As she watched, his gaze dipped down the front of the sweater of the one closest to him—the one who was sliding her hand down along his chest and lower. Jason laughed, shook his head and tried to step away as her hand skimmed the front of his pants, his gaze focused on the girl’s chest the entire time.
She leaned forward and rose up on her toes, her curvy body pressed against him as she whispered in his ear. Megan saw a flush spread across Jason’s cheeks as he tried to step back again and shook his head, motioning to the two drinks he held in each hand.
No, he didn’t seem interested in the girls, not really. But he wasn’t exactly beating them off, either. The scene wasn’t anything new, wasn’t anything she hadn’t witnessed before—all those nights at Mystics, when the girls swarmed around the players. Jason acted the same way then as he was now.
And there was nothing wrong with it. The two of them weren’t dating, not really. And he wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t taking the girls up on whatever they were offering. At least, she hoped he wasn’t, not with her sitting here. He was a hockey player, a professional athlete. Maybe he wasn’t playing in the pros but he could be. Any minute he could be called up. And he’d always get this kind of attention, no matter where he played. How could she compete with that?
But hadn’t she been guilty of the same thing? When she’d dressed up and followed him to Calypso’s? Yes, she had. But this wasn’t her world. This would never be her world.
And she would never fit in.
A sense of sadness and loss washed over her, filling her with loneliness and regret. She pushed away from the table, grabbed her coat from the back of the chair as she stood and nudged Haley to get her attention.
But Haley was still talking to Zach and she had to nudge her again, finally grabbing her arm. “Haley, come on. We’re leaving.”
“What? What are you talking about? I thought—”
Megan shook her head, interrupting her, then motioned across the room. Haley looked past her, her eyes narrowing in anger when she saw Jason and the two girls. “You cannot be fucking serious.”
“Come on. Let’s go.”
Haley stood up, grabbed her own jacket then leaned down and said something to Zach. Megan didn’t catch the words but she saw Zach’s gaze shoot across the floor, watched as his dark brows lowered in a sharp frown. Then Haley turned and grabbed Megan’s arm, pushing through the crowd toward the door.
“He’s a fucking asshole.”
“Haley, that’s not fair. He wasn’t doing anything—”
“Don’t you dare defend him!”
“It’s the truth. That’s not why I want to leave.”
Haley stopped as they reached the door and turned back to her, disbelief in her eyes. “If not that, then why?”
“They came up to him, not the other way around. They started talking to him.”
“Yeah? So? He should have told them to get lost, instead of letting them hang all over him like that.”
“It doesn’t matter. Don’t you get it? It’s always like that. Even at Mystics. And that’s not me. That’s not my life. I’ll never fit into that world.”
“Megan, you don’t have to—”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Let’s just go.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure—”
“Megan! Megan, wait!” She turned at the sound of her name being called, felt her stomach lurch when she saw Jason trying to fight his way through the crowd. She shook her head, silently telling him no, a sad smile on her face. Then she turned her back on him and pushed through the door, stepping out into the cold night air.
Chapter Nineteen
Sweat poured into his eyes. Burning. Stinging. He blinked it away, ignoring the pain as he skated up to the puck, pulled back the stick.
Thwap.
The puck hit the back of the net then dropped to the ice.
Jason skated around in a wide circle, spun around backward. Turned again and pulled back with his stick.
Thwap.
Another one in the back, this one lower.
He took a deep breath, shook his head, felt sweat flying from his face as he pushed off and sped across the ice. Again and again, over and over.
Thwap.
Thwap.
Thwap.
Every single puck hit where he aimed. But he didn’t stop, just kept going until his lungs ached and his legs burned.
Trying to kill the anger searing his veins. Trying to rein in the frustration and confusion weighing heavy on his shoulders. But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
He gathered the pucks up, pushed them across the ice into a tight pile, took off one more time for a quick lap. He saw Zach enter the ice from the bench, watched as he moved in front of the pucks, blocking him.
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
“Want to tell me what the hell you’re doing?”
“Practicing. What the fuck does it look like?”
“It looks like you’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“Whatever. Get the fuck out of my way.”
“Do you even know how long you’ve been out here?”
“Not long enough.” Jason moved past Zach, ignoring the flash of amusement in his friend’s eyes.
“Jenny called. You were supposed to pick her up an hour ago.”
“What?” Jason stopped, the words not making any sense at first. Then he groaned and closed his eyes. “Fuck.”
How the fuck had he forgotten his sister? He shouldn’t have, not when she had reminded him—repeatedly—that he had to pick her up this afternoon from wherever the hell she had gone for interviews. Yeah, because on top of everything else, he had to worry about his sister dropping everything in her life to start over.
Here, with him. Instead of back home in Maine.
Because she needed to get away.
&
nbsp; Whatever the fuck that meant.
“Don’t worry, Tyler went to get her. You’re off the hook.”
“Tyler? Why the fuck didn’t you go?”
“Because he volunteered. Why the fuck does it matter?”
It shouldn’t, not really. But he would have been more comfortable if Zach had picked her up. No, it would have been better if he had picked her up, like he told her he would. Instead, he was out here, trying to clear his mind.
And failing.
“You going to tell me what the hell’s going on?
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Yeah, okay. Is there something in the water around here? What the fuck? I mean, first there was that whole fucking scene with Harland and his woman this morning, and now you’re out here trying to kill yourself. We have a fucking game tonight. Or did you forget that, too?”
No, he didn’t forget. And that scene with Harland was just one of the reasons he was out here now. He hadn’t meant to watch—none of them had. But how couldn’t they, when Harland hadn’t bothered to hide it from any of them?
The way he’d skated around the ice, like he was running away from demons only he could see. The way he’d walked off the ice. How he had approached Courtney.
The way he’d confessed everything, how his mother had abandoned him not once, but twice. The shit with his father. How he had believed his old man over Courtney when she became pregnant.
How his old man had lied to him.
Fuck. Jason’s chest still got tight thinking about it. Thinking about the way Harland had bared his soul.
Remembering the way Harland had looked at Courtney—and the way she had looked at him. Jason had never really believed in true love, not as anything more than an abstract idea you read about in books or saw in the movies. But what he saw this morning, between Harland and Courtney…that was the real thing.
And it made him realize he’d never have that. Not even close. Fuck. He couldn’t even have a steady relationship with one girl for longer than…well, longer than three nights, apparently. And those nights were spread out over almost two months.
That was just one of the reasons he was out here. Trying to forget, trying to figure out what the hell had happened the other night.
Playing To Win (The York Bombers Book 2) Page 15