“And Miss Felicity?” he inquires.
Which is code for, How is she doing in the bright light of the day after her father bailed on her?
“She’s more than fine,” I say softly. “She had the best time with you last night and she’s having a sleepover at a friend’s house tonight.”
Jett is silent for a moment as he processes this, but he doesn’t say what we’re both thinking.
Last night still had some type of negative effect on Felicity, we just don’t yet know the damage Shane inflicted.
“Heard anything from the douchebag?” Jett grumbles in a low voice.
“Not a word.”
Another long pause, before he asks, and the tenderness in his voice almost makes me cry, “And you… how are you really doing?”
I blink my eyes hard, perfectly aware that Jenna is listening, and while I normally don’t hold anything back from my sister, it’s Jett who has captured my attention right now.
“I’m overwhelmed,” I answer truthfully, but I keep my voice strong so he doesn’t worry.
“It’s more than that,” he says, which means he knows I’m not being one hundred percent truthful.
“It’s nothing,” I assure him. I don’t want his head to be on anything but the game before him.
“It’s something and I’m not hanging up until you spill it,” he replies, and despite the fact my heart is hammering and my insides are jumbled up, I smile.
Sighing, I tell him the full truth. “I feel fragile, and that’s hard for me to admit.”
“Because you’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever known,” he says, a reminder to me to not forget that.
“I appreciate that.” I am really, really grateful Jett is the type to keep me grounded. “But I feel like paper that’s being pulled and twisted, ready to tear at any minute.”
He doesn’t tell me that’s ludicrous. He doesn’t reiterate that I’m a woman with a spine of steel. He doesn’t even try to get me to minimize my feelings in any way.
Instead he says, “Then let me be that layer of cardboard behind you.”
I’m struck by a wave of giddy joy over his bold proclamation of commitment, and hilarity over his analogy, that I can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry. I just had this image of one of those life-size cardboard cutouts people have of their favorite celebrity.”
“They actually sell those of me,” Jett says, joining me in the humor. “I’ll buy one for you.”
“Okay,” I reply, my laughter fizzling.
“I have to go,” he says brusquely.
“Play great tonight. I bet you’ll hear me cheering all the way in L.A.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow morning.” And my stomach flips in both excitement and trepidation. I hate the duality of my emotions where Jett is concerned, and I start to hate Shane for causing me to start having doubts about his actions. “Can I come see you? I know it’s a school night so I can bring dinner for everyone.”
Another wave of confusion hits me. Extreme gratitude for his generosity. He and I don’t get a lot of time together, so it would have been entirely appropriate to ask me to stay at his house tomorrow. I would have said yes too.
But also a jab of fear that Jett is becoming something I didn’t think I ever wanted again.
Was too afraid to want.
“Emory?” Jett prompts when I don’t answer.
“Um… yeah, maybe.” My mind races, wondering if I should accept, if I should instead offer to come to him so I can get lost in the amazing things he will do to me if we’re alone. If I should cut ties with him, and while I hate that the thought popped into my mind, I don’t fully push it away.
“Emory,” Jett says again, this time very softly but there’s incredible command there. “It’s a yes or no type of answer.”
My eyes slide to Jenna. She doesn’t know what his side of the conversation has been but she reads me well. Her look says, Don’t be a dumbass and screw this up.
It jolts me back where I need to be. A place where I can hope for a better future. “The answer is yes, of course. We’d love that.”
I try to ignore the soft sigh of relief I hear over the line, and it’s in this moment that I know Jett knows I’m having doubts.
I don’t want that to be a secret from him. He means too much for me to not be plain spoken about how I think Shane has managed to fuck up all my feelings.
It’s a conversation we’ll have another time though.
For now, I’m going to be in the moment with him. I speak a very real truth, no matter how frayed everything else feels. “I miss you.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “I miss you, too.”
“Play great tonight.”
“I will,” he assures me and we disconnect.
I stare at my phone for a moment, but it’s Jenna that brings me back to reality.
“Don’t fuck this up with him,” she says, her voice almost pleading. “He’s a good man.”
“I know he is.” And more than anything, I really want to see what this can be. I want to move past my insecurities. “I promise.”
That seems to satisfy her because she picks up her pizza and starts eating again. Mine remains ignored because I’m just not hungry anymore.
My mind is still racing, trying to process all my feelings.
CHAPTER 24
Jett
This is new, and I’m not sure I like it.
I should be riding high tonight.
We fucking creamed the L.A. Demons, which is always a big deal for our team, and not necessarily because they’re a big team rival.
Rather, there’s bad blood since about this time last year their defenseman, Lars Nilsson, provoked a fight with Tacker, mocking the death of Tacker’s fiancée when the plane he was flying crashed.
Tacker beat the crap out of him and earned a ten-game suspension.
Since then, every time we step foot out on the ice against this team, tensions are high. Any little action by their team that could be deemed beyond fair play is met with retaliation. Check out the stats… I guarantee you this is the team we’re most penalized against, and I bet the same is true for them.
At any rate, we walked away gloating over our 4-1 victory. The team plane isn’t coming back until tomorrow morning, so most of the guys went out for a few drinks.
I chose to stay back in the room, for no reason other than I was honestly tired as shit. I played a hard game tonight, a whopping twenty-two minutes of ice time where I went all out.
Not that I don’t go all out at every game, but for some reason, I was just overly driven tonight. My legs were pumping harder, my determination fueling me to go faster. I’d like to think it was the fact we were playing to win against that fucknut Lars Nilsson but deep down, I knew my adrenaline was being fueled by worries over Emory.
I know she’s plagued hard by them, and I am too.
I’m also feeling a bit uncertain as to how her worries are going to affect what we’ve become, and there’s no doubt they will. This shit with Shane has been a burden on her, and she’s a woman who likes to handle shit on her own.
She’s had no choice but to and I know she doesn’t like depending on others.
While I hate my own personal shit pushed me harder out on the ice, it made for a great game. I got a goal and two assists and coupled with everything else, I was ready for bed by the time we returned to the hotel.
Except, after I got settled in and turned on the TV for a little background noise to fall asleep to, I couldn’t fucking sleep. While my body may have been done for the evening, my mind was in overdrive.
It’s why I’m entering the hotel restaurant and bar, now regretting not going out with the guys. But I’m fine with sitting by myself and having a drink or two, which will help numb the jumbled thoughts so I can sleep.
I’m thinking bourbon will do the trick.
It’s late and the restaurant is empty as I step into it from the hotel lobby. To the right is the bar which is one long
unit that holds about fifteen barstools, while booths on the half wall behind that separate the area from the main restaurant. There’s a couple at one end of the bar with their heads bent close together in intimate conversation. It’s something Emory and I have done and I know how easy it is to get focused in on someone, lost to everything else.
I don’t sit on the opposite end, taking the very middle stool, which also happens to be right in front of the lone bartender. I can see there’s absolutely no recognition as to who I am, and that’s not unusual. Not everyone’s a hockey fan, but this is Los Angeles. They have two hockey teams and I wouldn’t expect one of their fans to know the faces of the other teams players unless they were the top echelon like a Bishop or a Tacker.
Doesn’t hurt my feelings at all and in fact, I like it. There’s something to be said for the hoopla that surrounds our appearances at The Sneaky Saguaro and the adulation that comes with it. But more often than not, I prefer not to be recognized so I can just be Jett Olsson the person, not the hockey player.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks dully. That means he’s not a conversationalist, which I’m also thankful for. ESPN is up on one of the TV’s with subtitles and I’ll be happy to watch that.
“Let me get something on draft—I don’t care which—and a shot of Jack,” I tell him. I’m not a picky connoisseur of alcohol, and I like to try different beers. But Jack Daniels is my go-to when I want bourbon.
Efficiently, the beer is poured with minimal foam head and sat before me. Next comes a shot glass and the bartender pours it with flourish.
I slide my credit card across the bar and say, “Start a tab but don’t go anywhere just yet.”
The bartender watches as I pick up the shot of Jack, pour it easily down the back of my throat, and set it back down on the bar. I use my fingertips to push it toward him. “Hit me again.”
The bartender does as asked, but I don’t shoot this one down right away. The first one was just to wet my gullet and I doubt I’ll have another one after this, but for now, it’s there for when I want it.
I pick up the pint glass of pale colored beer, not even having bothered to ask what it is, and take a tiny sip as my gaze lifts to the TV.
Before it gets to the TV, it skims the mirror behind the bar and I see the reflection of someone I recognize in the booth behind me.
Twisting my neck, I look over my shoulder and see Riggs sitting there. He has a half empty glass of beer before him and he’s surfing on his phone.
Interesting opportunity here. Riggs, our proverbial loner, who has shown slight signs of opening up.
And now here he is, drinking alone in a bar, and well… so am I. I know he’d probably prefer me to leave him alone, but I’ve never really been all that respectful of a person’s space when I believe they shouldn’t be closed off to me. Riggs has some growth to do to be a full member of this team and it’s my duty to poke at his edges a bit.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I pick up my beer and shot glass and turn away from the bar.
Riggs doesn’t look up until I slide into the booth opposite him. His eyes flare only slightly to indicate surprise, but he’s surprised all the same. He must not have seen me walk into the bar.
“What’s up, man?” I say, setting both glasses on the table. I pick up the pint glass and take a sip.
“Not much,” he says, then nods down to my shot of bourbon. “Didn’t feel like partying with the guys?”
“Not partying,” I reply with a chuckle. “But couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d have a drink or two. You played a great game tonight.”
Riggs had actually thrown down gloves with Nilsson, who dared to body check Dax just a little too hard. Both ended up in the box with five-minute majors but Nilsson was the only one bleeding by the time the fight was through.
He doesn’t respond to my compliment with anything other than a chin lift.
I’m not offended. He told me I played a great game as soon as we made it back to the locker room at the end of the third period. I also know he’s being obstinately quiet so as to discourage additional conversation.
“You ever get something running through your head and you can’t sleep because of it?” My question is rhetorical as I’m sure that happens to everyone. I pull my thumb back toward my chest. “That was me tonight.”
“That’s me a lot of nights,” Riggs admits as he stares down at his beer.
I’m stunned he shared that, but I also know Riggs is squirrely about his personal life. He didn’t say that as an open invitation for me to ask questions, but I took it as somewhat of an invitation to stay.
“Look… I know you like to be alone.” I give him a pointed look and he returns it. “Not into small talk. Only time you’ll talk is if it’s about hockey.”
“All very true,” he says, then throws his head back to the bar with a smirk. A silent command I should go back there.
I smirk back. “And if I was polite, I’d go back up to the bar and let you be a loner like you are.”
Riggs nods with a sage expression. “If you were polite, that would absolutely be the way to go.”
“But the thing is…”
Riggs groans dramatically, tipping his head back until it hits the cushion of the booth and stares at the ceiling.
“I’ve got girl troubles,” I announce.
Almost proudly.
Riggs snorts a mirthless laugh, bringing his gaze back to me. “Of course you do.”
Then he does something interesting. He hunches over his beer, bringing his whole-body language of attention forward, and pins his eyes on me.
Expectantly.
I don’t wait for a further opening. “I’m dating Emory.”
“So I’ve deduced,” he says dryly. Which means he pays attention far more than he lets on.
“And things got serious, and then they got more serious, so now they’re seriously complicated.”
“Stop talking in riddles and spell it out for me,” Riggs orders, picking up his beer and draining it in three large swallows. He looks over to the bartender and raises the glass to indicate another.
“Okay,” I say, picking up my shot glass and tossing it back. I don’t hold the empty up for another, setting it upside down on the table to indicate I’m done with the bourbon.
Then I start talking and I don’t stop for a full five minutes. I don’t even pause when the bartender brings Riggs his beer.
I tell him about how it was just supposed to be casual, because I don’t do relationships or commitment. I certainly don’t date women with kids.
I explain how things changed, and how Emory and I grew closer, and I came to care for her daughter.
“I never planned for any of that,” I say.
Riggs grunts an acknowledgment.
Next, I explain about Shane and how he re-entered Felicity’s life. I admit I don’t like that bastard and never did, but that I was on board with him having a shot with his daughter. I pull no punches about his addiction and that he failed to show for the daddy/daughter dance.
“Shane seemed to have it under control.” I take another sip of beer, enjoying the slightest hint of a buzz the shots of bourbon gave me. “He just got out of rehab and was really reconnecting with Felicity. She was thrilled to have him back in her life, and then… he just didn’t show up. It’s shocking.”
“I bet Emory wasn’t shocked,” Riggs says, his first true comment on the situation.
The fact he’s actually engaging me in serious dialogue is surprising enough, but the fact that he pegged Emory and her reaction to Shane is stunning.
“No,” I say in awe of his perception. “She wasn’t shocked at all that he didn’t show up.”
Riggs picks up his beer, nods at me. “Because she knows.”
He takes a sip.
“Knows what?” I ask.
“She knows that people with addictions are never in control. They can never be fully trusted. It takes just the slightest hiccup to throw them int
o a spiral and you have to be ready for it.”
I know what the hiccup he speaks of was. “It was Emory and her refusal to let him back into her life. She was all for him being a father to Felicity, but he was harboring hope they could be a family again. The day before the dance, she made sure he understood that would never happen.”
Riggs nods with understanding.
“Which means,” I conclude to wrap things up. “Shane wasn’t there to reconnect. He came back into their lives because he wanted Emory too. I think that’s the main thing he wanted because he bailed when he found out he couldn’t have that. I mean… what type of father just abandons his kid that way because he can’t have the mom?”
I see a flash of something in his eyes. Turbulence that’s a combination of rage and sorrow before he says, “Just because you’re graced with the title of father doesn’t mean you’re automatically good at it.”
“Personal experience?” I ask softly. “Is that why you have custody of Janelle?”
Riggs nods, eyes falling down to his beer. “Felicity is lucky to have Emory to protect her.”
“Janelle, too.”
The smile that graces Riggs’ face is bitter as his eyes lift to meet mine. “My stepfather cost me my childhood. I wasn’t about to let it cost Janelle hers. But trust me when I say, the burden of protecting someone means that you live under a blanket of constant fear and mistrust. If things are complicated with Emory, much of it is beyond her control. She’s just trying to deal.”
Yeah, I’d figured that part out but wasn’t thinking it quite as eloquently as Riggs was saying it.
It does put it in perspective though and I pick up my beer, raising it to Riggs. “Thanks for sharing, man. That helps a lot.”
One side of his mouth pulls up. “I’d like to say anytime, but I won’t. You know I hate this talking shit.”
I laugh and bring the beer to my mouth, take a long pull and I swallow. Riggs didn’t give me any answers, but for some reason, I feel more settled.
Maybe I just needed to get things off my chest.
CHAPTER 25
Jett
Jett Page 19