by Lynda Aicher
“You’re probably right,” she agreed then swung her door open, inhaling deeply. “I’m starving and the food smells divine.” The sharp blend of spices that hit her nostrils had her mouth watering.
It was better to not think about what she didn’t have. Her life was full as it was. She chose to be happy. Each day was a new opportunity, and she didn’t live with regrets. They never solved anything and would only hold her back.
Wherever she was heading.
Chapter Six
The air conditioning hit Scott in a refreshing wave as he stepped into his house. His knee brace itched where sweat had collected beneath it, and he couldn’t wait to get it off. He had a whole collection of braces in varying materials, tightness and sizes to pick from. There was rarely a time when he was without one anymore. But none of them offered a hundred-percent relief or a magic escape from the pain, which was back to a dull ache that would turn into a blazing inferno if he didn’t ice it soon. Shower first though.
His lunch with Jessie had helped his mental state. It was nice to connect with someone who knew him from before he’d gone pro. He stashed the bag of pills he’d picked up from the man in his bedroom drawer. Again, they were nothing really illegal. Just some extra Vikes for when the pain got really bad.
Hell, he’d flatly refused Jessie’s Oxy offer. Even if he wasn’t actively playing right now, he had no desire to switch to the other drug and then get hung up on it and deal with switching back when the season started again. OxyContin was banned during competitive play, while Vicodin wasn’t.
Drug problem. Christ. Just thinking about it fired him up again.
Doing a quick check of the time, he yanked the drawer back open and took a couple of newly purchased pills out of the bag. He’d needed them after the long ride and he still had ice time at four to get through.
Not to mention the call from his agent that was guaranteed to come soon.
What a fucking-ass day.
He stripped his shirt off and headed to his master bath. Everything seemed to echo in the damn house. From his footsteps to the automatic ice maker dropping fresh cubes in the freezer. Way too big for one person. He’d purchased it when he’d moved back seven years ago with the vague thought that one day it’d be filled with others.
Mostly, it was a tax break. A large, empty shell outfitted with designer select furnishings in manly color tones—designer’s words, not his—that mostly went unused. Of the ten rooms, he used four on a regular basis. His bedroom, kitchen, TV and workout rooms. Unless his family visited. Then the guestrooms were used.
But his sister hadn’t been up with her boys since March, and his parents’ visits had decreased as their retirement travels had increased.
The hot shower did wonders to relax his tight muscles, and the pills smoothed out the edges on his mood. The afternoon and evening loomed before him though, a taunting span of time with only pockets of it occupied.
Hours left open for him to stew on his future and the damning remnants of Segar’s words.
Fuck that.
He followed impulse again, striding into this bedroom to grab his phone off his dresser. Rachel’s number was near the top of his text message list, the one she’d sent to herself with his picture attached the only exchange in it. Telling himself not to think about her hadn’t worked for two days. Maybe seeing her again would get her out of his system. At the very least, a date with her tonight would be a hundred times better than staring at his TV for another evening.
He typed up a quick note then hesitated. This wasn’t a texting conversation. Get some balls, man.
He pressed the call button and waited, breath held. His heart beat faster than it should and he chuckled at himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d called a girl for a date, for Christ’s sake. What was his deal?
“Hello. Scott?” Rachel’s rich voice brought a flash of something like hope mixed with anticipation. It jolted through him to shoot a smile to his face when he would’ve sworn it was impossible that day.
“Yeah. Hi, Rachel.” His shoulders sagged as he dropped onto the bed. He leaned forward, free hand rubbing through his damp hair. “I hope you don’t mind that I called.”
“No,” she quickly said. There was shuffling in the background. “Give me a minute. I need to go outside.”
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No.” The tingling of a bell came through the line. “There. Sorry. I don’t like talking on my phone in a restaurant.”
“So I caught you eating.” Damn. “I can call you later.”
“Stop.” Her laughter danced through the phone to roll down his ear. “It’s fine. Really.”
“Okay.” He blew out a low breath and charged forward. “I was hoping I could take you up on your offer.”
There was a slight pause. “My offer?”
“To show me life outside of hockey.”
“Oh!” There was her laugh again. God. He could listen to it all day. It lightened the crap of the day and somehow made the other shit seem less important. “That offer. Why? Are you suddenly in need of a distraction?”
He hesitated that time. Did he go with the truth? “You could say that,” he conceded. “But really I’m just looking for an excuse to see you again.” He was going with the truth then. Might as well throw it all out there and get the smackdowns done in one go.
There was a long pause that had him gripping his phone tighter. Would she turn him down in a politely nice way?
“Really,” she said softly. “You surprised me, Scott Walters.”
“How so?”
“I honestly didn’t expect to hear from you again. You sounded pretty overloaded on Saturday night.”
“Yeah, well...” He pressed his palm over his eyes, face scrunching in a grimace she thankfully couldn’t see. His stomach churned around the chicken breast he’d had at the diner. “You were the first person I thought of when I wanted a distraction. Wait,” he backpedaled, “that didn’t come out right. I didn’t mean you were just someone to distract me from the shit going on. I really want to see again. Not that I expect anything. You—”
“Scott,” she cut in, laughing again. Warmth oozed through him in a combination of embarrassment and excitement. “Stop. I get it. Don’t worry. I’d love to distract you. And I never go back on my offers.”
“Okay. Good.” His head bobbed in agreement and his blood sizzled with the building anticipation. It’d been years—if ever—since he’d been this invested in a woman. So quickly, too. It would probably fizzle out or lead to an awkward ending, but she was the perfect short-term distraction he desperately needed. Even if his dick decided to fuck him over. He’d worry about that later.
“A life-outside-of-hockey tour then?”
“We could start with dinner tonight,” he offered. “Sort out the details. I hear all good tours need a solid plan.”
“Don’t forget the destinations, too,” she added, amusement in her voice. “I believe that’s pretty vital to a successful tour.”
“Good point. We can hammer that out over...steaks?” He didn’t want to assume anything. Not with so many people having food issues or preferences.
“Sounds good, but let me do some digging.”
Thank God she ate meat. She was fit without eating like a bird. There were too many women who strutted around the players on bird legs and looked like they’d break in two the first time things got a little aggressive in bed. “What are you digging for?”
“I’m not sure, but I might have something different for us to do...” Her pause was short and left him intrigued. “I’ll text you Rock’s address,” she went on. “What time should I look for you?”
“Seven work?”
“It’s a date.”
“Excellent.”
His good mood was still in place an hour later when the call finally came from his agent. It immediately killed the silly-ass grin that’d been plastered to his face. Of course he couldn’t simply enjoy the happy little bubble th
at’d encased him.
Dave Sanders had been his agent for eight years. He’d negotiated Scott’s contract and move to the Glaciers seven years ago. Since then, the man had brought in major endorsement deals that’d easily ensured Scott was financially set for life. He was actually a decent guy who didn’t deserve Scott’s current attitude.
When had Scott evolved into such a dick? His sister would’ve kicked his ass if she saw him acting like this. He could always count on her for laying the brutal truth on him. Maybe that was why he’d been avoiding her for months.
Yeah, a dick move for sure.
With a heavy sigh, he wiped his damp hands on the dishtowel and answered his cell. “Hi, Dave.”
“Scott.” The clipped note set the tone for the call. This one was going to be pure business. Good. “I just talked to the Glaciers.”
He wandered from the kitchen to drop onto his leather couch in the great room. His sigh was more mental than verbal as the weight was removed from his knee. “Give it to me.” He knew the end result, but he wanted to hear what they’d told his agent.
“In short, they’re not renewing.” There was no inflection in the man’s voice to indicate his personal feelings on that. That was just one of the traits Scott admired about the man. His emotions were never reflected in any of his business deals.
“We both figured that was going to happen,” Scott responded. It was a stretch to match his tone to Dave’s, but he did it. He was too damn old and experienced to react like a spoiled star. Nothing was guaranteed in this business—even with a solid contract in place. “They give a reason?”
“Bullshit stuff,” Dave said. “In the end it comes down to your knee, age, salary caps and building years.”
“And breaking up one of the best offensive lines in the league doesn’t mean jack shit to them?” Fuck. Hauke and Conners had been his wingmen for the last three seasons. Last year they’d meshed into a seamless unit on the ice and had rocked the stats. Now that was gone too. He sagged against the back of the couch and worked to control the anger that raced through him hot and fast. “Sorry,” he ground out. “It’s not you I’m pissed at.”
“I get it. You have a right to be mad.”
Dave meant well, but his appeasement didn’t help Scott. Right or not, anger wouldn’t change his situation. His good leg bounced in a frustrated tap that paced with his mounting sense of betrayal. The same one that’d been obliterated during his call to Rachel.
“So what’s next?” he asked, ready to move past what couldn’t be changed.
“You know I’ve been working other interests.” That was all part of the games teams and agents played. “I’ll jump on them if you say to.”
Was that what he wanted? To start again on a new team? It’d be stupid not to scope it out. “Give me the rundown on what you have.” His stomach churned as he shuffled through the change coming his way. He’d gotten too settled in Minneapolis.
Dave spent the next ten minutes outlining the three teams with possible offers, including team stats and why they were seeking him out. He had some preliminary numbers on contract years and salary for Scott too.
“What do you think?” Dave asked when he’d finished. “How many years do you want to sign for, and which team would you prefer?” He would use the other teams’ interest to negotiate his preferred team higher. Scott understood how that worked. The shit of it was that none of the teams sparked any excitement.
He rubbed where the ache radiated out from that point on his inner knee. He’d forgotten to ice it. Stupid move. Which had him thinking of the option they hadn’t spoken about. It hung out there though, taunting and alluring. Was he really ready though?
“There’s also the retirement option,” he found himself saying. “Maybe this is a sign I should listen to.” Or would that be Segar he was listening to? That thought had him grinding his teeth. Fucker.
“There is that,” Dave responded without hesitation or tone change. “If that’s what you want, we could merge the announcement with the Glaciers’ tomorrow and spin the positives. Two of your endorsement deals would still hold, but one would be affected. I can probably renegotiate it though.”
“This has nothing to do with the money. You know that.”
“And I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t lay out the business impacts.”
If only they’d won the national championship this season. He wanted to believe his decision would be easier if he was going out having drunk champagne from that shiny cup. Knowing his name was etched forever into its side...
It hadn’t happened though.
And there was the depression that never failed to sweep in when he lingered too long on what could’ve been. At least it smothered the anger.
“The first one has the most potential,” Scott finally said. He would’ve asked Dave’s opinion, but the man was irritatingly stingy on revealing his own thoughts. He always laid out the pros and cons of every deal and did his job with extreme professionalism. Which left the heavy lifting of decisions on Scott, where it should be. “I’ll get back to you tomorrow morning on the retirement thing.”
“Glaciers are releasing their statement at noon.” In other words, get him the decision ASAP.
“You know what?” Scott said, irked by Segar’s heavy-handed, drug levying assumptions and the added constraint. He wasn’t being pressured into anything. “Skip the retirement announcement for now. Let’s shop for offers and see what comes in. I’m not ready to shut down my options.”
“Done. Prospective teams are going to ask for your fitness records. What do I tell them about your knee?”
His goddamn fucking lame knee. He dug his thumb into the place right below his kneecap that now throbbed in time with his heartbeat. “That it’s fine. It’s an injury I manage and doesn’t inhibit my game.” His medical records would provide every last detail of the multiple surgeries and methods used to keep him skating. Then there’d be the fitness test he’d have to pass before a contract was finalized.
More hoops and loopholes to negotiate over.
“Got it. Anything else?”
How about getting that one-year extension with the Glaciers so he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this crap? Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. “Not that I can think of.”
“I’ll email you the Glaciers’ statement when I get it. I expect more interest will come through once you’re officially on the available free agent list.” And with the days quickly dwindling down to when free agents could begin signing new contracts, the next week promised to be a busy one for Dave.
That was good, right? More choices were supposed to be beneficial, not stifling. “Great,” he said, forcing a smile which hopefully transferred to his voice. “Let me know when you get something solid.”
“Will do.”
Scott sat there long after the call ended, the quiet pressing on him until he wanted to scream. It would echo off the two-story ceiling and linger in the open space so it could smack him the next time he came home. Experience told him that.
He vaulted off the couch, winced at the bite of complaint from his knee and hobbled to the kitchen, mumbling curses the whole way. Son of a bitch. He tossed down a doctor-approved cocktail of pain pills and NSAIDs, mentally sneering at Segar as he did.
His evening plans with Rachel were what he focused on as he got his gear together. His legs were still a bit jittery after the ride, but the skating would clear his mind, hopefully.
That was one of the best things about hockey. He never had to think about anything while he was on the ice. It was the only place where he felt completely free.
And giving that up may just send him into a depression too deep to climb out of.
Chapter Seven
Rachel stood outside Rock’s building, a cool breeze chilling her skin. She shivered and briefly thought of running up to grab a heavier sweater. That would require another round of well-meaning interrogation from her brother though.
She wasn’t that cold.
A shiny black truck turned into the parking lot, and her heart did a silly little flutter. Dang. She really had to get her emotions under control, which was going to be hard. She’d been looking forward to this date since Scott’s unexpected call that afternoon.
One Carter had smirked about and Rock had scowled over.
He stopped at the curb in front of her, a smile greeting her through the windshield. She was already moving to open the passenger door when he got out.
“Hey,” he called, stopping her. His grin warmed whatever coldness she’d felt just seconds ago. He came around the front of the truck, sunlight catching on his hair to highlight the subtle shades of brown she’d missed the other night. “You look great.”
His appreciative scan brought an unaccustomed flutter in her chest. She’d paired her low-heeled sandals and jean capris with a lacy cream tank and drapey summer sweater. It definitely wasn’t fancy, but she hadn’t packed for expensive dates with gorgeous men.
“Thank you. You too.” Jeans and a black polo somehow managed to look sophisticated on him. The shirt hugged his frame just enough to show the definition of his shoulders and chest. A sight that had her itching to scope out the muscle beneath. She jerked her gaze up, smiling at his knowing smirk. She’d been caught ogling him.
And there were no shadows to camouflage the heat burning her cheeks.
He stared at her for a moment, eyes reaching into her exactly like they’d done on the dance floor. Then he stepped up to cup her face with his hand, lips meeting hers in a chaste kiss reminiscent of their first one. Perfect.
Her eyes flickered open when he eased back. Where’d her breath go?
“I couldn’t stop myself,” he said, hand grazing down her arm to leave a blazing trail of warmth that crept through her chest and nipples. “Thanks for agreeing to dinner. Steak still work for you?”
She had to swallow to find her voice. “Actually, I was thinking we’d skip the steaks and start our tour right away.”