Riptide (A Renegades Novel)

by Skye Jordan

  “I think you’re amazing too.” Faith took a deep breath and dove in with hope sparking in her heart. She’d opened the door for him to step through, if that was what he wanted. “So what’s this event they have you doing?”

  He seemed more interested in tucking her hair perfectly behind her ear than the event. “The National Tree Lighting.”

  “Wait, is that... That’s not...” But she couldn’t think of any other event. “The one in front of the White House?” When he didn’t correct her, she added, “The one that the President and his family attend?”

  He chuckled at her awe, reminding Faith how sheltered her life was in small-town USA.

  “Yeah.” He shook his head, unimpressed. “I’ve met him before. I know it seems like a big deal, and the first time, yeah, I guess it was cool, but after living there for so long, it’s really not that...I don’t know...special, I guess.”

  Not special to him, she thought, because he was so out of her league, maybe.

  “I’m sorry,” he added after a second. “That made me sound...self important. What I meant was that he’s actually accessible to more people than you would imagine. And he happens to be a fan of the Rough Riders. If he were a fan of the Fliers or the Islanders or something, I would never have met him.”

  He sighed with a shake of his head and rubbed his eyes. “I think the more I talk the worse I sound. I guess, like you with ice sculptures, once you’ve seen a few tree lightings, you’ve seen ’em all. And with these kinds of events, it’s never just one thing. There’s always a pre-party and an after-party, and an after-after-party...the socializing is endless. But I need to schmooze with the media to talk up my return to the game. There’s a lot more to hockey at this level than just hockey.”

  “Evidently.” And it only made her think of all those gorgeous, cultured women he took to all those non-hockey events. “Who knew?”

  He huffed a laugh. “Right?”

  That uncomfortable tightness gathered at the center of her chest again. “But still, that’s an opportunity most people will go their whole lives without ever experiencing. And it sounds pretty damn swanky.”

  “I guess.” He lifted a shoulder. “I know it makes me sound ungrateful, and I’m not, but I don’t want to go.”

  She didn’t want him to go either. And if he had to go, she wished he’d ask her to go with him. She’d done everything but invite herself. But she was starting to realize that idea was straight out of a fairy tale.

  “The event will be televised. You might see me on the edge of the crowd, standing with a gaggle of other scruffy guys.” He slid his arms around her waist, then lifted his mouth in a half smile. “Will you watch?”

  Ice water doused Faith’s last flicker of hope. Natalie had been right. Grant wouldn’t ask her to come with him because she didn’t belong in that world. His real world. Holly was his temporary fantasyland. Hockey and all the locations it took him—that was Grant’s real world. The world with all the lights and cameras, autographs and interviews, dates with supermodels and CFOs, and meeting the freaking President of the United States.

  And Faith, small-town hardware store owner on the verge of bankruptcy, not only didn’t belong, she couldn’t fit in no matter what she did or how she tried.

  The reality of that hurt in a way she couldn’t put into words.

  “You bet.” She forced a smile, patted his chest, and stepped out of the circle of his arms. “I’m going to let Natalie know she’ll be judging the contest on her own, and I’ll be sure to surf cable tomorrow night to see if I can catch sight of you.”

  He looked disappointed and a little lost. Twisting his wrist, he glanced at his watch, then dropped his arm. But he didn’t ask her to come. Didn’t suggest plans when he returned. And she couldn’t bear dragging out this good-bye any longer.

  “Don’t be late,” she said with a smile and shooing gesture as she walked backward. The more space she created between them, the less likely she would be to lunge after him when he turned to go. “You shouldn’t keep the President of the United States waiting.”

  “I um…I looked through all Taylor’s numbers and jotted down a rough sketch of a similar plan for you. It’s on your desk.”

  “Great. I’ll look it over tonight. Thank’s again. For everything.”

  “I think it’s a great idea,” he added, still not moving.

  She nodded, kissed the fingertips of one glove, and used that hand to wave to him. “Safe travels, Grant Saber.”

  And she turned away, put her gaze on the dirty snow path leading to the parking lot, and kept her head down and her mind focused on getting one foot in front of the other.

  Thirteen

  Grant was fucking miserable.

  Everything about this gig had been as tedious as he’d expected—the flights to get here, the traffic from the airport, the wardrobe fitting for a tux, Bridgette’s pawing at the cocktail party before hand, and now, he and his teammates were standing in the cutting cold just to watch some lights turn on.

  “How the fuck did we get here?” Grant muttered, taking a covert glance at the face of his phone to check for texts, emails or voice messages.

  Still nothing.

  “More importantly,” Beckett Croft, one of the team’s best defensemen added, “how do we get the fuck out?”

  “Better question,” Tate Donovan said under his breath, “is how to shut you guys up so we don’t get kicked out.”

  “Who’s idea was it to bring the fuckin’ Boy Scout along?” Rafe Savage cut a look at his best friend since childhood and his current teammate on the Rough Riders. “I’ve got my eye on a couple of sweet pieces of ass from the cocktail party, and I’m taking at least one of them home. So if you plan on acting as the goddamned hall monitor tonight, stay the fuck away from me.”

  “I’m going to repeat that to you the next time you call me from jail looking for someone to bail your skanky ass out,” Tate shot back, using a high-pitched girlie voice to repeat, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

  Normally, Grant found Rafe’s and Tate’s bitching entertaining. Tonight, he found nothing entertaining. Absolutely nothing. He’d only been away from her for about thirty hours and all he could focus on was the hollow ache in his gut.

  Rafe pulled his jacket tighter against the bitter DC wind and refocused on the President. “Bet he wouldn’t talk so damn long if he were out here instead of up there, shielded and warm. Fucker.”

  “Say that a little louder,” Beckett told him. “Maybe to that Secret Service agent on your right.”

  “It’s a free fucking country.” He met the steely gaze of the noted agent. “Isn’t that right? Um, sir.”

  The agent didn’t respond, but took in every last detail of their group, before scanning the crowd again.

  “Would you guys shut up?” Hendrix said from behind them, his arms crossed, jacket pulled up around his ears. He stood between Andrade and Lawless, all three of them using Grant, Beckett, Rafe and Tate as wind blocks. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Grant bounced from foot to foot trying to stay warm. “Don’t stand still, boys, or your ass cheek’ll freeze together.”

  “That ain’t all that freeze together,” Lawless offered.

  A murmur of movement rippled close to them. Someone nudged their way to the front of the crowd. Grant glanced that direction just as Bridgett stepped up beside him. She wore a winter white wool trench over the barely-there midnight blue dress she’d had on at the pre-party, and slipped her arm through Grant’s, snuggling up beside him.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. She hadn’t been invited to the lighting, only the parties before and after as Grant’s arm candy. “How’d you get in?”

  “I used to date the security guy.” She beamed up at him with pearly whites that made her jacket look positively dingy. Her bright blue eyes danced with her clandestine thrill.

  In the two hours since he’d picked her up at her apartment, Bridgette had tried to convince
him to spend the night with her three times. Yet all Grant could think about was Faith. Faith and what she was doing with her Christmas Eve day without the ice-sculpting contest on her agenda. Faith and all the texts she hadn’t returned. Faith and his calls she hadn’t taken.

  He knew how to read the message she was sending loud and clear. He just wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it. And now that he was back in the middle of this hot mess he called a life, everything he’d found cute or quirky about Faith to begin with were the very things he loved about her now. Missed about her now.

  And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

  Thankfully, the ceremony ended within ten minutes. Grant grabbed a private limo ride to the reception with Bridgette and spent the ten-minute drive repeating what he’d already told her earlier in the evening. But this time, he wasn’t as nice about it. Bridgett pushed from the taxi livid and strode past Donovan and Savage who were waiting for him at the curb.

  When Grant stood from the car to tip the driver, Rafe said, “What the hell did you do to ruin that sure thing?”

  “Go find your coeds.” Grant pushed his billfold back into his pants pocket and wandered their direction. He was already exhausted and it was only eight o’clock. “I’ll keep the hall monitor in check.”

  Rafe pounded Grant’s fist. “I owe you.”

  “Grow up,” Tate yelled at Rafe’s back, which he ignored.

  Grant and Tate joined the reception, neither interested in being there. They spent half an hour talking about Grant’s shoulder, the team and the games Grant missed while he was in Holly. Which only reminded him of that ache in the pit of his stomach and made him glance at his phone again.

  Still nothing. And God help him, all he could think about was her walking away, with her “Safe travels, Grant Saber” ringing in his head.

  Tonight the words felt more like a permanent good-bye than a see you later.

  “Who is she?” Tate’s question pulled Grant’s gaze from his drink. Tate had his shoulder against a pillar, his eyes on Grant.

  “Who is who?”

  “The chick? The one who’s not texting you back. The one who’s making you wish you were somewhere else?”

  “What makes you think it’s a chick? Maybe I’m just sick and tired of this monkey-suit-smile-for-the-camera shit. Maybe I’m thinking about negotiating my next contract differently next time around.”

  “Because otherwise you’d have done Bridgette in the bathroom at the pre-party already and be looking for another empty closet somewhere in here. Or, if you’d already tired of Bridgette after one ride, you’d be prowling with Savage.” Tate smiled, but it wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t smug. It was sad. “And, because I’ve been there. Not all that long ago. I recognize the signs.”

  Ah shit. Grant had forgotten about Tate’s divorce. “Hey, man, I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. It sucks. And I’m here to tell you, if you love her, it doesn’t get any better.”

  Grant downed half of his drink, wincing at the burn. “Just what I needed to hear tonight.”

  Did he love her? Grant had never been in love. He knew he was crazy about her. Certainly didn’t want to think about the coming weeks and months without talking to her, seeing her, touching her.

  But, love?

  “God, I’m tired.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just want to go home.”

  No. Not home. He wanted to go to Faith.

  He wanted to go home to Faith.

  Home and Faith.

  Yes.

  They fit.

  But, still... Was that love? And did it matter?

  “If you’re this tied up over her, why didn’t you bring her with you?” Tate asked. “I mean, I don’t blame you. That dumbass right there”—he lifted his beer toward Rafe where he was chatting up two beautiful women—“is enough reason.”

  Grant glanced at Rafe, then back at Tate, confused. “What?”

  “The chick you’re twisted over. Why didn’t you just bring her with you? You could have made it a mini Christmas vacation.”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but every excuse he pulled up fell flat—she didn’t have any family to stay in Holly for. She’d given up on judging the contest. The hardware store was closed Christmas Day.

  Why didn’t I just bring her?

  A sick feeling spread across the floor of his stomach. To push it away, Grant blew Tate off. “What kind of question is that? Who’d want to come to one of these things? They’re boring as shit. I don’t even want to come.”

  “You’re not serious.” It was half-statement. “Dude, the National Christmas Tree lighting? This is an exclusive event. The fucking President of the United States chose us to come. I know you’re not his fan, and I know the whole celebrity thing doesn’t do anything for you, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t do anything for her.”

  He thought of Faith’s reaction to the news of his obligation. “That’s an opportunity most people will go their whole lives without ever experiencing.”

  That icky feeling in his gut rose through his chest.

  “Chicks dig this shit.” Tate gestured around the room where everyone was talking and laughing with others. “Everyone digs this shit. Well, except losers like us.”

  Grant was a loser, all right.

  A major loser.

  In fact, he was pretty sure he’d lost the best thing he’d ever found.

  He replayed his last fifteen minutes with Faith over in his head again and again. “Safe travels, Grant Saber.”

  “Grant?”

  A woman’s smooth voice tugged him into the present, and he looked into the eyes of a woman he’d hooked up with a few months back. Kim? Kelly? Kris? Kira? Something with a K. She was so his type—so urban, so sleek, so perfect, so superficial. And he didn’t even remember anything about their time in bed, just that he’d slept with her. He knew without any doubt he’d remember every minute with Faith.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Tate said with a lift of the brows as he brought his drink to his mouth. “I forgot who I was talking to. That’s a good reason not to bring her.”

  Everything inside him pushed back. No. He didn’t want to go back to that life. He’d touched something real, and nothing else would ever measure up.

  He turned and shoved his drink into Tate’s hand. “All yours. I’m done.”

  “What? Grant—“ He pushed both drinks into one hand and grabbed Grant’s arm. “You can’t just walk out. We’re here for the fucking photo op with the President. He’s not even here yet.”

  “Then he’s going to miss out, isn’t he?” Grant jerked from Tate’s grasp and threading his way through the crowded room toward the exit and the limos waiting beyond.

  Faith pulled the last package of drill bits from the last box of inventory that had once filled the shelves of her basement, and hung it on the designated hook. Releasing a sigh, she rested her hands on the top of the stepstool, surveying the shelves around her for organizing opportunities. But she already knew there were none to be found—she’d organized every shelf in the store, top to bottom, end to end over the last thirty hours since she’d said good-bye to Grant.

  She’d only taken a break to watch the tree lighting ceremony—and boy had that been a mistake. Her mind replayed the sight Faith was sure she’d never forget, of Bridgette Ferreira cutting through the crowd and sliding right into place at Grant’s side, smiling up at him like an adoring Barbie doll.

  Her stomach dropped to her feet again with the force of a ninety-degree rollercoaster plunge. Faith’s core muscles tightened to protect her against the inevitable pain. “He certainly didn’t waste any time picking up where he left off.”

  God, she was so gullible.

  So many emotions roiled inside her they made her dizzy. She had to find something to keep her mind occupied or she was sure she’d drive herself insane.

  Faith climbed down the short ladder and sn
apped it closed. The metal clap echoed through the empty store. Not a soul had come through the front door in hours. Everyone in town and about a thousand other visitors were all at the festival.

  And just like that, the ice-carving contest, her dad, and Natalie joined Grant in her uncomfortable thoughts.

  “And now I don’t have anything to do to keep everyone out of my head.” She hung the ladder on a hook in the back, closed her eyes, and exhaled. “It can only get better, right?”

  Even if that were true, it didn’t help her now. Now she just had to find a way to get through it. She turned to face the store and all its empty aisles, cleaned and straightened to perfection.

  “There certainly isn’t anything left to do here.” Her gaze stopped on the front doors. “And I won’t be making one damn sale today.” A wave of anxious misery snaked through her, and she pressed a hand to her forehead as thoughts of failure, of losing the store, of going bankrupt swam in her head. “What now, Faith? What the hell are you going to do now?”

  This was when those lightning strikes of anger usually came. The ones that prompted her to yell at her father for leaving her. After which she always melted into tears.

  But she was just too exhausted for that kind of emotional dump. And this place was too empty, too hollow to stay in tonight alone.

  She took a few deep breaths to ease the sting of tears and did the only thing she could do. The only thing she knew how to do. The only thing that had worked for her in the past. She pulled on her jacket, collected all the notes relating to her last-ditch effort to save the store, grabbed a pencil, a notepad, the laptop, and headed into the freezing night.

  While her store had been empty, Holly itself was alive with tourists and locals spilling out of the festival and strolled along the flashy streets.

  In contrast, Faith traversed the adorable block in a mere ninety seconds and ducked into the warmth of Yuletide Spirits. The pub was as packed as she’d expected. Every seat at the bar was taken. Most of the tables were occupied. Quite a few people were milling among friends.