Hard Checked: Ice Kings, #4

by Lynn, Stacey

  “And you took off to see the world?”

  “Yeah.” I grin at the windshield in front of me as we zip down 485.

  “It was that easy? Ending your marriage?”

  I peer at him quickly and am stunned by the tightness in his jaw.

  “I think my situation is incredibly different than yours. They’re incomparable. And no, it wasn’t easy. It was sad. But Evan and I… I don’t know how to explain it best because he’s a good guy. He’s kind. He’s stable. He’s the first one willing to help someone in need. He volunteers at homeless shelters. He’s great. He’s just… he’s not at all what I want outside of that.”

  I watch as Sebastian shoves his hands down the tops of his legs. Veins bulge along the backs of his hands as he flexes his fists.

  Before he can speak, because I’m not at all certain what’d he have to say if anything, I continue.

  “Listen, we graduated when we were twenty-two. We’d dated for two years before then. He was an accounting major to my art major. He wanted to set up a townhome, start having babies and have me stay home and join the PTA. He wanted a simple life. I wanted to explore. See the world. I have things I want to do in my life. He wanted beige and brown all over our home because it was classic. I wanted to paint walls purple and he was concerned about the resale value. They were all small things, but they were incompatible long-term things. We realized it. We both recognized it, and then we corrected our young mistake. He’s now engaged to a pre-school teacher who’s absolutely perfect for him and I’m happy for him. What we had, that’s a lot different from you and Madison I feel like. Don’t compare my dissolved marriage to yours. No two marriages or reasons for ending them are the same.”

  I take the exit to head out west of Charlotte and it’s miles before he speaks again.

  “Madison and I, we both come from large families. She’s one of four sisters. I have two as well. All of us are married, and all of them except us have kids.”

  He trails off, and I notice him bite his bottom lip between his teeth, staring out the side window. His chest heaves and I give him a second before asking, “Was that… is that something you want?”

  “We tried for three years,” he finally says, and God…the pain in his voice is brutal as he says it. “We’ve been trying. Doctors. Medicines. She’s had surgeries for things she’d kill me if I repeated to anyone. We tried the natural way, the medical way… nothing.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugs, but it’s tense. I’m pretty sure the sadness growing inside my Jeep weighs as much as the vehicle itself. “She wants kids and the chances of us having them together are pretty much zero. That’s why she left.”

  Together? The way he phrases it makes me frown, and I focus my attention on the road and not on the pain wafting off him in palpable waves.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too,” he whispers.

  It sounds ripped from his throat and my own clogs for him.

  Every part of me wants to reach for him. To comfort him. My grip on my steering wheel tightens so I don’t do something that stupid.

  “A part of me thinks I should let this go. I get it. I get why she left. I get why she’s hurting. And it pisses me off to know she can so easily cut off contact with me, end things and walk away without talking to me. I told you last night she’s back in Minnesota, where we’re from?”

  I didn’t know he was from there, but I nod. “Yeah.”

  “I called her dad to get her on the phone. Even he won’t let me talk to her. Fifteen years I’ve loved her, almost half my life, and now she won’t let me be there for her. Fucking kills. Deep down in my gut, it kills. And yet, if this is what she wants… if this is what will make her finally happy… shouldn’t I want that for her?”

  He groans, shoves his hands through his hair again and plops his head to the back of the headrest. “I’m sorry, Gigi. You don’t need this bullshit. You didn’t even ask for this when we left.”

  “Curse of the bartender,” I try to joke. Based on his lack of a smile, it doesn’t work. “In all seriousness, I’m sorry. That has to be hard for you. Fortunately, you just spilled all that to someone who’s happy to listen to you, happy to let you get that off your chest if you want and need it, but I have no advice. No sage wisdom for what you’re going through.”

  He turns to me and licks his lips. “I think you’ve given me exactly what I need today. Thanks for listening.”

  My lips twitch. “Anytime, hotshot.”

  The last thing I notice before he turns to face the road and I do the same is his lips lifting at the corners.

  Almost a smile.

  Which makes me smile harder. I gave him that small grin.

  * * *

  I’m so glad I took advantage of the warmer weather and cloudless sky to get out and do some hiking instead of walking around the city like I usually do this time of year. It’s beautiful. With the temperature in the mid-fifties, I have a small line of sweat beading across my hairline and down my spine, and we’re barely halfway up the trail.

  Next to me, Sebastian is keeping pace easily, making my workout seem like a daily stroll for him. I’d be angry about it if he didn’t look so good, if I couldn’t almost feel his stress and sadness evaporate with every quarter mile we walk, and if he wasn’t such good company.

  The beauty of it is we’ve been quiet for the most part except for me telling him to pause when I stop to take pictures, or when he warns me of something in my way as I hide behind my camera lens. As soon as I took my camera out of my black bag, he offered to take the vinyl backpack that holds some water and snacks, my car keys, and wallet. Since it’s a pain to have that and the camera bag slapping my back and hip as I walk both bags are now slung over his shoulders giving me more freedom to pause whenever something catches my attention—whether it’s the birds, trees, or our view when we reach areas that allow us to see for miles.

  We’re close to the top when Sebastian finally shows signs this has been a workout for him. Meanwhile, I’ve been huffing and puffing for the last mile. I grit my teeth so I don’t outright groan at one point. I can blame my shaking muscles. It’s most like the view I get when he takes off his shirt and tucks it into his waistband.

  Dear sweet heaven… wowzers.

  “You were an art major?” Sebastian asks, turning to me. He lifts one hand over his eyes to block the sun shining on us.

  I glance at him and almost lose my footing. It should be a criminal offense to be so good-looking, so out of my league. All wrapped up in one forbidden and most likely, uninterested package.

  “Yep. Before I took off to Europe, I worked at an interior design firm, but I always wanted to be a travel photographer.” I shove my eye to the camera and focus on the view.

  “Is that what you liked working with the best?”

  I hold up my camera and wiggle it. “Obviously, but I enjoyed all mediums. Watercolor paints were probably my best talent, though.”

  “Did you have any of those in your apartment?”

  “No. Pretty sure those are all in Dad’s attic in storage somewhere. I haven’t done much since I came back home.”

  “But you like to go out and take photos? Just for the fun of it?”

  I can’t tell if he’s teasing or genuine, so I lower my camera and risk stealing another breathtaking glance at him. When I do, Sebastian is at the peak of the path with me, hands on his hips. His gaze is out toward the horizon and I can’t help myself.

  I turn and snap a photo of him.

  He turns to me and grins. “What was that for?”

  I glance at the screen. To his jawline. The turn of his lips I can barely pick out from the edges of his beard.

  “You look sad. But peaceful.”

  “Hmm.” He turns back to his view and rolls his shoulders. “Thanks for letting me come with you today. For forgiving me about last night.”

  “I have an Instagram account.”

  “Don’t most people?” His head falls
to one side, along with his thick mop of hair.

  What I wouldn’t give to be able to run my fingers through it. They itch to move, to twist a wayward curl behind his ear.

  I focus on his question, still unsure if he’s teasing me or not. Hard to tell with all that solemnness he carries.

  “I get out and take pictures around Charlotte and surrounding areas. Whatever I feel like, wherever I end up. I like showing people what they might be missing in their own back yards. I feel like people tend to get comfortable in their own areas, their own favorites. I want people to see the beauty in exploration, even if it’s simply a different neighborhood.”

  He’s silent for a beat before he asks, “And you’re following?”

  “Over forty-thousand.” I grin. It’s been less than a year and that’s pretty impressive. I don’t tell him some of my pics have been used in local travel brochures. Or that restaurants have asked to share photos to their website when I’ve tagged them. I don’t tell him about the freelance job offers that have come my way. It used to be all I ever wanted, to get paid to take photos, but I’m not sure I want my muse to come from someone else’s need to make a buck or two anymore.

  “Is that still what you want to do? Professionally?”

  “The only thing I used to want to be is a travel photographer. To get paid to see the world and take pictures of exotic locations.”

  “And now?”

  I let go of my camera so it hangs from its strap around my neck and step closer to him. Sometimes I need to remind myself to see and experience my own images out from behind the camera lens and screen. “Now, I don’t know. I loved the traveling I did. It was so thrilling. Exciting. Maybe partly scary since I was on my own. I learned so much about myself, about people and humanity in general. Then Dad had that scare…”

  I can feel his interest on me, see the way his shadow is turned, paying attention to me, and I quickly blink away the emotion that threatens.

  “I like being home too. I missed my dad when I was gone and until I can trust his health, I’m not sure I can leave again. He’s all I have.”

  I shrug like the pain of losing my mom isn’t still as piercing as a knife to the chest. All these years later and I still wish I could hug her and run to her for advice. She probably would have cautioned me about marrying Evan in the first place. But then I wouldn’t be here. Enjoying this view with a guy who is easy to talk to, seemingly interested with his questions and not just along for the ride or being courteous.

  “You’re very interesting, Gigi. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone like you before.”

  And just like that, my heart trips all over itself. A bud of hope is planted before I can uproot it and toss it out.

  Because Sebastian Hendrix is looking at me, smiling softly and sweetly. And I’ve done that for him.

  “Is that a compliment?” I ask, teasing.

  He laughs and shakes his head before swiping a hand through his hair. “Very much so.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sebastian

  It’s been two days since I phoned Ben. Thirty-six hours since I spent the day with Gigi, the first woman I’ve spent time alone with in my life who isn’t either related to me or my wife.

  I’m unsettled. Beneath my skin there’s an incessant, needling itchy sensation I haven’t been able to ignore.

  I like Gigi.

  And I’m still married.

  What kind of man does that make me?

  Regardless of how much I’ve tried, I can’t forget Gigi’s easy manner on our hike. How I spent six hours with her, hiking up that mountain, back down. We stopped and grabbed dinner on the drive back to her apartment where she left me in that alley.

  It’d taken restraint not to follow her inside and take a seat at the bar while she worked.

  It was that desire that forced me to thank her for the day, hoping I ended it much less awkward than the other times I’ve walked away from her and get back into my car where I went home and fed Bruiser.

  I took him out to the backyard pool area, tossed the ball around and afterward, blow-dried him so he wasn’t soaking wet when I brought him to my bed. He then proceeded to do his three-circle spin move before plopping down on Madison’s pillow.

  Now I’m in the hallway at Pittsburgh’s ice arena, headphones in my ears, pacing the hallway and trying to ignore the clatter of pre-game rituals going on around me.

  As soon as we got on the plane, Jason glared at me. He’s pissed. Probably hurt. I never returned his call. I have to deal with that before the puck drops. There’s no way we can beat Pittsburgh if we’re not playing together as a team.

  I need more time. A few more minutes to get my head on straight. Jason can’t help me with that.

  Only Madison can.

  Which means, I need to do something I should have done weeks ago.

  I have to go to her. I deserve an in-person answer if she’s walking away from our marriage or to give it one last chance to see if there’s anything worth salvaging.

  Ripping off my headphones, I head back to the visitor locker room where all of our gear is stored. Jerseys are neatly hung, pads ready to go and skates tucked in the bins below. Our sticks are already out by the entrance to our bench on the ice, multiple extras in case we break one or two.

  As soon as I’m about to open the door, it comes slamming toward me, making me jump back and out of the way. Jason’s in the doorway, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt with sweat clinging to his chest which means he’s spent the last half an hour since we arrived running the bleachers to warm up like he usually does.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I know,” I respond immediately, ignoring his glare. “Come with me while I go talk to Coach.”

  “Coach?”

  “Yeah. Is Tessa on the trip with us, or is it Sylvia this week?”

  We’re starting a four-game away stretch. Sylvia is our regular travel director and earlier in the season she hired Tessa to be her assistant. One or both of them travel to most of our away games, especially when we have stops in multiple cities. They take care of everything for us, so all we have to do is take care of ourselves and focus on the game.

  “Tessa is, but that’s not telling me anything—”

  “I need to make a flight plan.”

  “For what?”

  I’m almost to Coach Wood’s office, so I don’t answer. Instead, I rap my fist on the window where I can see him scribbling down notes on a notepad he always has with him. Our assistant coaches tap wildly on their iPads, nodding and listening.

  At my knock on the window, he looks up, waves me in before ushering the other coaches out.

  “Hendrix. Taylor. What’s going on?”

  “No clue,” Jason says. He wears a scowl well. He’s getting impatient with me and I get it. But I’m only going to say this once.

  “I need a few days off after this game, Coach.”

  “What the hell’d you say to me?”

  “A few days. Maybe only two. I have a personal matter I need to look into.”

  “We just had two days off,” he says. “And do you have any idea what this means for the team without you?”

  “I know, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  “Someone dying?” he asks, and he doesn’t say it to be an ass, he’s just blunt. Coach cares for us which is why I know he’ll give this to me, why I know the team will support me.

  We’re family, and I’ve forgotten that recently.

  “My marriage.” Coach’s eyes widen. I push on even though vomit pools in my throat. It fucking hurts to admit it. “Madison left me and went back to Minnesota. Won’t talk to me. I just… I need to get focused and in order to do that, I have to go talk to her. She just left, over the holidays. Didn’t give me any warning and then served me divorce papers. She won’t take my calls… I need this,” I say after a pause.

  Anger and embarrassment clog my throat. The looks they’re giving me are only part of the reason why I haven’t
wanted to say anything.

  “Damn, son. Hendrix, I get that, but…”

  Next to me, Jason has gone strung tight too. They deserve to know everything. “Please, Coach. I’m hanging on by a thread. We, well, Madison and I, we’ve been trying to have a baby, and it hasn’t worked. For years. News got worse back in December and she left. Now she won’t respond to anything I do, calls or texts, and the other night I tried her dad, and he’s holding up to what she wants.”

  “Hendrix—”

  I can see the pain in his eyes. Feel it coming from Jason. Probably mixed with anger, too, but at this point, I’m done hiding what’s going on because of Madison’s wishes. I shouldn’t have let it go on this long.

  “She’s struggled, sir. Struggled a lot. I’m worried about her… emotionally. Mentally. I have to see her. See how she is, see if there’s a way to fix this or repair this. She runs from getting help from doctors to see about helping her cope with all this and now I’m just fucking scared for her.”

  It’s not the first time she’s shut me out like this. The last time she did it she cried for three days and then turned into a walking zombie where I was so damn concerned I called a doctor for her. She refused the help. I hid the knives and any strong pain meds I was that worried.

  Madison not being somewhere where I can see she still has a damn pulse is eating a hole in my gut.

  “You know you have my love, son,” Coach says, and I almost smile despite the fear and pain I’ve only allowed others to have a glimpse of. Of how bad it’s truly, really been lately. “You always have my love. How long you talking?”

  And like that, I have his approval.

  “Couple days. Minimum. I won’t know for sure until I see her, tomorrow if I leave after the game tonight. I can meet you at the game in Dallas.”

  That’s four days away. Missing our second game here in Philly before we head south.