Trying to figure out why the fuck he felt so lost all of a sudden. Except it hadn’t been sudden—he’d been lost for a while.
“Well? Did you forget?”
Jason looked up, saw Zach watching him with a frown. No, he hadn’t forgotten. He couldn’t forget. But that wasn’t what Zach meant. Zach was talking about the game tonight.
“No, I didn’t forget.”
“Then why the hell are you out here, driving yourself into the ground?”
“Just—” Jason shook his head, shrugged. “I don’t know. Clearing my head. Something.”
“‘Clearing your head’? This about the other night?”
Jason pushed past him, reached out and snagged a puck with the edge of his blade and tossed it into the air. Up, down. Bouncing it off his stick, following the movement with his eyes. “Not talking about it.”
“Well, maybe you should.”
“Not happening so shut the fuck up.”
Zach reached out, grabbed the puck mid-air then spun around and threw it hard enough that it hit the boards and bounced off, careening across the ice. He turned back to Jason, his brows pulled low in an angry slash, his face flushed under the two-day scruff that always adorned his jaw.
“You’re a fucking asshole, do you know that?”
Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, then quickly narrowed in anger. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“What’s your problem? You fucked up the other night. Big time. And you can’t even admit it.”
“What the hell did I do?”
“Oh, come on man. You can’t be that fucking stupid.”
“Stupid? Megan’s the one who walked out. Without a word. For no reason.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You were letting those bunnies hang all over you. I would have fucking walked out, too, if I was her.”
“I wasn’t letting anyone do anything. They just came up to me, not the other way around.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t tell them to back off.”
“I was trying to tell them—”
“Bullshit. You weren’t trying shit. You were standing there laughing, eating it up while the one girl damn near grabbed your cock.”
“She wasn’t—”
“I fucking saw you! And so did Megan. So did everyone.”
“And I told you, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t ask for them to come up to me.”
“You don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter if you fucking asked them. You should have told them to get lost. You should have told them you were with your fucking girlfriend and—”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Yeah, not now. Who the fuck can blame her? You left her sitting there—”
“I was getting her a drink!”
“—with a bunch of guys she doesn’t know, and then—”
“I said I was getting her a fucking drink!”
Zach leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering with anger as he shoved a finger in Jason’s chest. “And then you let yourself get fucking mauled by two bunnies while she watched! And let me tell you something: for someone who claims not to notice things, you sure as hell were noticing plenty, with your eyes glued to that girl’s chest.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Bullshit. Don’t even fucking say it because you know better.” Zach took a step back, ran a hand through his dark hair and shook his head. “I don’t get you, man. I thought you liked this girl.”
Jason clenched his jaw, tightened his hand around the stick. Didn’t answer. How could he? He had liked Megan. Had thought—well, what he thought didn’t matter. It was done. Over.
Before it even started.
Zach watched him, waiting for an answer. He must have realized he wasn’t going to get one because he shook his head in disgust. “You’re a real piece of work. You know, for someone who prides himself on winning all the time, you’re a fucking loser.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I fucking said. You like to joke around and call me a man-whore but I’ll tell you something: at least I pay attention to the girl I’m with instead of getting all cozy with whatever piece of ass sidles up to me.”
“Piece of ass? Really? That’s nice. Just wonderful. And I wasn’t getting cozy. I told you, they came up to me and—”
“Yeah, I heard you the first fucking twenty times you said it. You still don’t get it, do you? So what’s the deal? I mean, if you did nothing wrong, why the fuck are you out here, killing yourself when you don’t need to?”
“I’m not talking about it.”
Silence settled over them, oppressive. Accusing. Broken only by the sounds of the compressor in the background. Zach ran a hand over his head again, blew out a deep breath, shook his head.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to do. It’s done.”
“Just like that? It’s done?”
“Yeah. Done.”
“What about all your big talk about playing to win and never giving up? Or was that all bullshit, too?”
Jason shrugged, lowered his gaze to the ice. “Nothing to win. Like I said, it’s done.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. It is.”
Zach stepped closer, his hand flying out and grabbing the neck of Jason’s jersey, pulling it down. His hands closed around the strip of leather around Jason’s neck and tugged, almost throwing Jason off balance. “Then what about this thing? If it’s done, why are you still wearing it?”
Jason pushed his hand away, slid back as he readjusted his jersey. Zach was right—he shouldn’t be wearing it. There was no reason to wear it. In a fit of temper, he threw his stick to the ice and yanked at the necklace, loosening the cord so he could pull it off his neck. Then he threw it at Zach.
It hit his chest, bounced off and hit the ice with a faint ping sound. Zach didn’t flinch, didn’t bother to move to pick it up.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t be wearing it. You can give it to her the next time you’re at Mystics.”
“No, man. Not me.” Zach took one step back, then another. “That’s on you. You took it from her, you need to man up and give it back.” Then he turned and walked away, finally sliding the last foot before he stepped into the players’ bench and disappeared.
Jason sucked in a deep breath, trying to control his racing heart, his twisting gut. His hand tightened around the stick as he looked down, his eyes resting on the small metal disc. The overhead light caught the words, reflecting them back to him.
Mocking him.
Love Fierce.
Fury built in his veins, bubbled below the surface, expanding until it broke free with a vicious yell.
“Fuck!”
He raised his stick, spun around and hurled it across the ice, watching as it flipped end over end before crashing against the boards.
“Fuck!”
Chapter Twenty
Megan pushed with her heels, sliding across the floor on her back, a flashlight in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. She was tired, hungry, and filthy—and it wasn’t even ten in the morning yet.
She muttered to herself, asking for at least the hundredth time what she had been thinking. Wondering yet again what had given her this stupid idea. Questioning her parents’ sanity for actually saying yes.
It had seemed like a good idea at first: do a quick revamp on the bar. Nothing extravagant, nothing too time-consuming. Move some tables around, bring in a few extra high-tops, redo the stage along the back wall. Add some lights around the bar. Easy. Stuff she could do in a day if they were closed.
And her parents agreed. They’d actually said yes, told her to handle it.
She should have never opened her mouth.
She’d been here since the place closed last night—or rather, this morning. Full of energy and excitement, eager to see the changes take shape. The stage had been the first project: readjust lights, repaint the back wall, add some trim.
It should have been easy enough—and it was. Mostly. It had just taken her a lot longer than she’d thought it would.
And moving tables around was a no-brainer. The first time didn’t yield the result she’d been envisioning, so she moved them again. And then a third time. The third time worked—except when she shoved the last table into place, the leg caught on something and came off.
Just fell right off.
Fortunately, it looked like it was a simple matter of a few loose screws. When she looked closer, she realized that two screws were actually missing.
Laughter bubbled inside her, tired and giddy and inappropriate. Loose screws. Missing screws. Yeah, that pretty much summed everything up—and not just the table leg.
She shook her head and slid further under the table, reaching out to search for the pile of screws she had found in the back. One of them had to fit. She hoped. If they didn’t, she’d have to search for more. Or run to the giant home improvement warehouse. And she didn’t want to leave unless it was to go home and crash, so one of those damn screws had better fit.
If they didn’t, the stupid table would just have to wait until later because she was going to give up on it.
She heard the bar door open, heard the sound of shoes scrape against the floor. Was it the delivery company dropping off the high-tops already? No, it was still too early. Wasn’t it? Megan glanced at her watch and banged herself in the forehead with the flashlight.
“Dammit!”
She rubbed her forehead then wiggled to the side, trying to see who had ignored the huge CLOSED sign hanging on the door. Her gaze rested on a pair of worn black athletic shoes and the frayed hem of denim jeans.
Probably not the delivery guys. And she wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone else.
“We’re closed.” Her voice was loud enough to carry across the room. She didn’t wait to see if whoever it was turned and left, just wiggled back into place and grabbed the first screw.
She fought with it for a full minute before realizing the stupid thing wasn’t going to fit. She dropped it to the side and reached for another one then caught a glimpse of the shoes from the corner of her eye.
She adjusted her grip on the screwdriver, holding it like a knife as the first trickle of wariness crept along her spine. What had she been thinking, leaving the door unlocked? And now she was flat on her back, completely vulnerable under the table. She should have stood up, made sure the stranger left, followed him to the door and locked it behind him.
Snippets of her father’s warnings rushed to the front of her mind. Be aware of your surroundings. Stand straight, don’t look down, walk with purpose. Take control.
Megan swallowed, tightened her grip on the screwdriver and slowly eased to the side. “I said we’re closed. You need to leave.”
Had her voice been forceful enough? Maybe. Except whoever had come in didn’t turn around to leave. Instead, the feet headed her way, each step slow, almost hesitant, then faster. Purposeful.
Megan didn’t stop to think. She just pushed her heels against the floor, rolled to her side away from the table, and bounced to her feet in one smooth move, the screwdriver held in front of her. She started to swing her arm, up and out like her dad had shown her, then nearly screamed when recognition hit her.
“Jason!”
“Holy fuck!” He jumped back a split second before the tip of the screwdriver would have caught the hem of his sweatshirt. Or worse, the flesh of his stomach beneath it. His gaze dropped to the screwdriver in her hand, his eyes widening as some of the color drained from his face. He looked up at her, his brows pulling down in an angry frown. “What the hell are you trying to do? Kill me?”
“Don’t tempt me!” She lowered her hand, took a shaky breath, wondered if her legs would give out. Her pulse raced, too fast, too heavy. For a frightening second, her vision blurred as little black dots swam in front of her eyes.
She sucked in a deep breath, pulling it into her lungs and holding it, forcing herself to calm down. Then she ran a shaking hand through her hair, her fingers snagging in the paint-covered strands. One more deep breath then she turned to glare at Jason.
“What are you even doing here? Didn’t you see the sign?”
“Yeah, but your car’s out front. I figured you’d be in here and the door was unlocked.”
“We’re closed. You shouldn’t have even tried to open the door!”
“If you didn’t want anyone in here, you should have locked the door! Jesus Christ, you think a sign is going to keep people out?” He ran a hand over his face, his fingers trembling slightly. Good. He deserved to be as shaken as she was.
She glanced down at the screwdriver in her hand, realized how close she had almost come to jamming it in his stomach. Nausea swept through her, souring her stomach. She dropped into the closest chair and leaned forward, swallowing against the bile threatening to climb up her throat.
She heard Jason mutter something but couldn’t make out the words. Heard his steps across the floor, moving away then coming closer. Something was thrust in front of her and she jumped back, her vision swimming before focusing on the bottle of water he was holding in front of her.
“Here. Drink this before you pass out.”
She grabbed it, saw he had already uncapped it, and brought the bottle to her lips. The first cautious swallow coated her throat, eased into her rebellious stomach. She waited, took another sip, then another one before handing it back to him.
He took it without looking at her, took a long swallow himself and recapped it. Then he looked around, his clear gaze sweeping across the bar.
Across the mess she’d made.
He didn’t say anything, just stood there. Was he giving her time to calm down? Or maybe he didn’t know what to say.
Then she realized he shouldn’t even be there. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “Why are you even here?”
“I—” He stopped, shook his head. She watched his powerful throat work as he swallowed, watched the shirt pull across his broad chest as he jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive. She could feel the weight of it, pressing on her shoulders, pressing against her lungs, making it hard to breathe. And still he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at something off to the side, his pulse beating heavy in his throat. His jaw clenched and unclenched. Once. Twice.
Megan sighed and forced herself to look away from him. She slowly stood up, hoping her legs wouldn’t give out. “I’m busy. I don’t—”
“Why’d you leave without saying something? Again?” He asked the question without looking at her, his voice quiet and rough.
“I—” Megan stopped, suddenly wishing for more water. No, suddenly wishing she had remembered to lock the door when she came back in from her car earlier. If she had locked the door, Jason wouldn’t be standing here right now, asking her questions she didn’t want to answer.
She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze, staring at the screwdriver she still held in her hand, not really seeing it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I mean, I should have said something first—”
“But why? Why did you leave?”
“Because. I just…” Her voice trailed off as her mind tried to find the right words. No, that wasn’t right. Not exactly. It wasn’t the words she was having trouble finding, it was the courage to say them. To admit she didn’t fit into his world. To admit she’d never fit in.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stopped to talk to those girls. I wasn’t thinking—”
“That’s not why. I mean, not really.”
“Then what? What happened? I thought we had something going.”
Megan blinked, swallowed against the sudden thickness building in her throat. Was he telling the truth? Did he really think that? Part of her hoped he wasn’t lying, that she hadn’t been the only one to feel a connection, despite the crazy ups and downs that didn’t make sense. Another part—the large
r part, the realistic part—knew it didn’t matter. Because of the ups and downs. Because of who he was. Because of who she was.
She cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter. I—”
“It doesn’t matter?” He turned to her, anger flashing in the icy depths of his eyes. “It doesn’t matter? Excuse the fuck out of me for thinking otherwise.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Really? Then tell me what you meant. Because I thought we had some kind of connection. Yeah, I know. Stupid. Doesn’t make sense. But there you have it.”
“Jason, I—”
“You know, never mind. That’s not why I came here.” He dug into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled something out, held it in his curled fist for a long minute. Then he shook his head and extended his hand, waiting for her to take it.
She didn’t need to see it to know what it was. And she didn’t want to take it, didn’t want him to open his hand, didn’t want to see it. But her hand lifted, seemingly on its own, and turned over, palm up.
Jason stared at his hand for several long seconds then slowly opened it, let the necklace drop into hers. Then he turned and left without looking at her, without saying a word.
Megan watched him disappear through the door, her heart beating heavy in her chest, her breaths coming too fast. Her eyes burned and she blinked then looked down.
A coil of black leather rested on her palm, wrapped around an engraved silver disc. She didn’t need to see the words to know what they said. She didn’t want to see the words, ever again.
She stood there for a long time, staring down at her hand, her mind frighteningly blank, her chest aching. Then she curled her hand into a fist and jammed the necklace into her front pocket, hoping she’d forget about it.
Hoping she’d forget about everything. Afraid that she would. Even more afraid that she wouldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jason leaned against the boards, absently tossing a puck from one hand to the next. Practice was over, had been over. But he didn’t want to go home, wasn’t up to listening to Jenny give him grief for being pouty. And rude. And miserable.
Playing To Win (The York Bombers Book 2) Page 16