by Joss Wood
“Yet you’re doing such a fine job of it.” Shay wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “There were easier ways to get rid of me, Mac. You didn’t have to humiliate me on national TV.”
Rory looked at Mac and then at Shay. Okay, maybe this conversation had nothing to do with Rory and the almost-kiss. “What are you talking about? What did he do?”
Shay let out a laugh that held absolutely no amusement. “You haven’t seen it?”
“Seen what?”
Shay’s laugh was brittle. “Well, you’re probably the only person in the city—the country—who hasn’t!” She lunged for the remote on the counter and jabbed her finger on the buttons to get the TV to power up. While she flipped through channels, Rory snuck a look at Mac. He gripped the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb and he looked utterly miserable.
Sad, sorry and, to be frank, at the end of his rope.
“And in today’s sports news, Maverick’s center Mac McCaskill was caught on an open mic commenting on sex, monogamy and hot women.”
Rory snapped her head up and looked at the screen. Footage of the post-match news appeared on the screen. Quinn, Kade and Mac lounged behind a table draped with the Maverick’s logo. Kade said something that was too low to hear and the three of them laughed.
“The blonde reporter in the third row is seriously hot.” Quinn’s voice was muffled and she could just hear his words.
“Did you see the redhead?” Kade demanded, his voice equally muted. “I have a thing for redheads.”
“You have a thing for all women.” Mac’s voice was clear and loud; obviously his was the only microphone that was live. Oh...shoot.
“Like you do. When are you going to give up this relationship BS and start playing the field again?” Quinn demanded. “It’s not like you’re particularly happy with your ball and chain.”
“I’m not and you’re right, monogamy sucks,” Mac said, looking past Quinn. Rory recognized that smile, the appreciation in his eyes. “Your blonde from the third row is very hot.”
“Shay is also hot,” Kade pointed out.
“Yeah but she’s crazy. Besides, I’m bored with tall and built. I’m thinking that petite might be a nice change of pace— Why is Vernon gesturing to me to shut up?”
Then a rash of swear words was followed by: “My mic is on!”
Rory looked at Shay, who’d dropped into a chair at the kitchen table with a vacant look in her eyes. She’d stopped crying and she looked like she’d checked out, mentally and emotionally. Mac picked up his jacket from the counter and walked over to stand in front of Shay. He bent his knees so he could look directly into her face.
“I’m sorry I spoke behind your back and I’m so sorry that I hurt you, Shay. It wasn’t my intention. I take full responsibility for running my mouth off. Not my finest moment and I am very sorry.”
When Shay looked through him and didn’t respond, he slowly stood up and placed his apartment key on the counter. Rory looked at her broken, desperately sad sister, grabbed Mac by the arm and pulled him into the hall, feeling as if her gray eyes must be full of angry lightning.
When their eyes met, he lifted one broad shoulder. “Told you I was screwed,” he said.
“So you came over here to screw me?” she demanded, thinking about that almost-kiss, fury clogging her throat.
Mac’s flashing eyes met hers. “Believe it or not, I’m not that much of a bastard. I didn’t even know you would be here.”
“What were you thinking, Mac?” she demanded, insanely angry. On behalf of her sister, but also because Rory had trusted him just as Shay had. “You’ve done so many interviews, you know how mics work.”
“I wasn’t thinking, dammit!”
Red dots appeared in front of Rory’s eyes. “Did you plan this? Was the smack talk an easy way to get out of your relationship with Shay?”
“Contrary to the evidence, I am better than that.”
Rory snorted. “You could’ve fooled me. First you insult my sister, then you almost kiss me? What was that about?”
Mac let out a harsh, angry breath. “I knew when I left that news conference that I was toast. I regret what I said. I came here to apologize to Shay but found you instead—”
“So you were angry and frustrated and I was there, a handy way to let off some steam!” Rory interrupted.
Mac’s curses filled the small hallway.
Rory drilled a finger into his chest. “How many times have you cheated on Shay? Because that move with me was far too practiced to be your first time!” The red dots turned scarlet and her chest tightened.
Mac stepped back and anger sparked in his eyes. “I’m only going to say this once. I never cheated on your sister. And, babe, you wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you! I’ll take full responsibility for being a prick on national television but I will not take all the blame for what almost happened in there.”
Guilt swamped her. She knew he was right and she hated it. She didn’t want to shoulder any of the blame; it would be a lot easier if she could just blame him for everything: for being too sexy, for making her want something she had no right to want.
Mac raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, why don’t we let this situation settle down and I’ll call you? We can have coffee, chat. Sort this out?”
Pick up where we left off?
That wasn’t going to happen. There was no way she could date someone who’d dated—slept with—her sister, who’d almost cheated on her. Someone who’d made Rory so crazy with lust that she’d almost betrayed her sister! He would’ve kissed her had she not stopped him. He would’ve cheated...of that she was categorically convinced.
She could never trust him.
Ever.
“Don’t bother. I’m not interested.” Rory walked around him, yanked open the front door and gestured for him to leave. “Go. You’ve created enough havoc for one evening, for one lifetime.”
Mac, with a final inscrutable look, walked out of the Kydd sisters’ lives. Good riddance, Rory thought. The last thing either of them needed was a cheating, backstabbing man in their lives.
Rory turned and saw her sister standing in the kitchen doorway. She’d heard every word of their conversation. So she’d stopped the kiss. That meant little. The truth remained: she wanted Shay’s man, wanted him badly. They both knew she was more like their dirtbag father than either of them had thought possible. Shay was going to strip layers of skin off her and Rory deserved it.
“You two almost kissed? You had a moment?”
Facing her sister, she couldn’t deny the truth. “Yes. I’m really sorry.”
“Okay then. Thanks for getting rid of him,” Shay told Rory in a cold and hard voice. “Now get the hell out of my apartment and my life.”
One
Ten or so years later...
Rory made her way to a small table by the window in the crowded cafeteria of St. Catherine’s Hospital, juggling a stack of files, her bag and a large blueberry smoothie. Dumping the files on the table, she took a berry-flavored hit before pulling out a chair and dropping into it. She’d been on the go since before seven, had missed lunch and was now running on fumes. She had two more patients to see. She might be able to get home before eight.
An early night. Bliss.
Her cell phone chimed and Rory squinted at the display, smiling when she saw her sister’s name.
“Sorry, something just came up. I’ll call you right back,” Shay stated before disconnecting.
Rory smiled, grateful that she and Shay were really close, a minor miracle after the McCaskill incident. Mac running his mouth off and his subsequent breakup with Shay had been the first major media storm involving one of the three most famous Mavericks. It had been the catalyst for the city’s fascination with anything to do wi
th Mac, Quinn and Kade.
Shay had been swept up into the madness; she’d been stalked and hassled by reporters and photographers for months. Her life had been a living hell. Unfortunately, because she refused to talk to Rory, Shay had weathered the media attention by herself. She’d lost weight and, as Rory had found out years later, she’d come close to a breakdown. Rory was so grateful the incident was solidly behind them; the man-slut captain of the Mavericks professional ice hockey team was not worth losing sleep, never mind a sister, over.
Except that she did, frequently, still lose sleep thinking about him. Rory sighed. He was her fantasy man, the man she always thought of when she was alone and well, she hated to admit it...horny. She wondered and she imagined and the fact that she did either—both—annoyed the pants off her.
The jerk.
Her cell rang again, Rory answered and Shay said a quick hello. “Sorry, as you picked up the delivery guy arrived.”
“No worries, what’s up?”
“Dane sent me two dozen red roses.”
And, judging by Shay’s frantic voice, this was a problem? “Okay, lucky you. Why are you freaking out?”
“Two dozen red roses? Who sends his wife of eight months two dozen red roses? He must be cheating on me.”
Here we go again, Rory thought, exasperated. I haven’t had enough coffee to cope with Shay’s insecurities. Thanks again, Dad, for the incredible job you did messing up your daughters’ love lives.
Rory sucked on her straw musing about the fact that she and Shay had different approaches to life and love. She was closed off to the idea of handing her heart over to a man, yet Shay had never given up on love. She had eventually, she was convinced, caught the last good guy in the city. The fact that Dane was calm and strong enough to deal with Shay’s insecurities made Rory love him more.
“He must be having an affair. Nobody can work as much as he does,” Shay fretted.
“Shay! Princess!” Rory interrupted her mumblings. “Stop obsessing, you’re getting yourself into a state. You’re a gorgeous blonde ex-model and you still look like a million dollars. Dane married you and you promised to trust him.”
Shay sighed. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Look at your wedding photos. Look at how he’s looking at you...like you’re the moon and stars and everything that’s perfect.” In spite of her cynicism when it came to romance, Rory couldn’t help feeling a little jealous every time Dane looked at her sister, love blazing from his eyes. What must it feel like to have someone love you that much, someone so determined to make you happy? Logically, she knew the risk wasn’t worth it, but...damn, seeing that look punched her in the heart every time.
“Dane is in the middle of a big case—some gang shooting, remember? And he’s the homicide detective in charge—and sending you roses is his way of reminding you that he loves you.”
“So, no affair?”
“No affair, Shay.” And if there was—there wasn’t!—but if there was then Rory would take Dane’s own weapon and shoot him with it.
Rory said goodbye to her sister, shot off a text to Dane suggesting Shay might need a little extra attention—she and her brother-in-law worked as a team to keep Shay’s insecurities from driving them both nuts—and looked down at the folders. She needed to make notes and read over the files of the two patients she was about to see.
She so wanted her own practice. Craydon’s Physiotherapy patients were channeled through the system like cans on a conveyor line. There was little time for proper one-on-one care and she was providing patients with only enough treatment to see them through to the next session. Sometimes she wondered if she was doing any good at all.
If she had her own place, she’d slow it down, take more time, do some intensive therapy. But setting up a new practice required cash she didn’t have, premises she couldn’t afford. She’d just have to keep saving... Maybe one day.
She had barely looked over the first file when her cell rang again. This time it was a number she did not recognize. She answered the call with a cautious hello.
“Rory? Kade Webb, from the Vancouver Mavericks. We met a long time ago.”
Kade Webb? Why on earth would he be calling her? “I remember...hi. What can I do for you?”
Kade didn’t waste time beating around the bush. “I have a player in St. Catherine’s, in The Annex Clinic, and I’d like you to take a look at his chart, assess his injury and tell me what you think.”
Rory frowned, thinking fast. “Kade, the Mavericks have a resident physiotherapist. I know because my bosses would kill for the Mavericks’ contract. Why me?”
“Because you have an excellent track record in treating serious sports injuries,” Kade replied. “Will you do it? Take a look and let me know what you think?”
“I—”
“Thanks. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”
Rory wanted to tell him that she had patients, that it was against company policy, but he was gone. Argh! She had questions, dammit! Who was the player? What room he was in? Did he know that she was coming? Had Kade spoken to her bosses about this?
Infuriating man, she thought as she stood up and gathered her possessions. It was said that Kade, like his two partners in crime, could charm the dew off roses and the panties off celibates. He hadn’t bothered to use any of that charm on her, Rory thought with an annoyed toss of her head.
Not that she would’ve responded to it, but it would’ve been nice for him to try.
* * *
Mac McCaskill, you stupid idiot, Rory thought.
She’d had many variations of the thought over the past decade, some expressed in language a lot more colorful, but the sentiment was the same. However, this was the first time in nearly a decade that she wasn’t mocking his tendency to jump from one gorgeous woman to another or shaking her head over the fact that he was, essentially, a man-slut.
As much as his social life irritated her, she felt sorry for him. He was an exceptionally talented player and as she looked at the notes on his chart, she realized his arm was, to use nontechnical terms, wrecked. For a player of his caliber that was a very scary situation.
“Rory, what are you doing in here?”
Rory, standing next to Mac’s bed, flipped a glance over her shoulder and smiled, relieved, when she saw her best friend stepping into Mac’s private room. If it had been someone other than Troy she would’ve had to explain herself.
This was all kinds of wrong, she thought. There were protocols around patient visits and she shouldn’t be in Mac’s room, looking at his chart, assessing his injury. She should’ve refused Kade’s request, but here she was again, flouting the rules. What was it about McCaskill that made her do that?
“I need to get the mat on him, need to get his circulation restored as soon as possible,” she said with urgency.
As a therapist, she wanted the best for him. Even if he was the man who’d hurt her sister. Even if her heart rate still kicked up from just looking at him.
“You’re not authorized to treat him and if you’re caught we’ll both be fired.” Troy closed the door behind him, his handsome face creased with worry.
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Rory retorted. “It’s his arm, Troy. The arm he needs to slap those pucks into the net at ninety miles an hour.”
“Mac usually reaches speeds of a hundred plus miles an hour,” Troy, the sports fanatic, corrected her, as she’d counted on him doing.
“Exactly and the mat will start helping immediately,” Rory retorted.
“Jobs, fired, on the streets,” Troy muttered. Yet he didn’t protest when she pulled a mat from her bag and placed the control box it was connected to on Mac’s bedside table. When the lights brightened, she very gently wrapped the mat around Mac’s injured arm. He didn’t stir and Rory relaxed; he was solidly asleep
and would be for a while.
Troy was right to worry. Earlier, she’d hesitated and had stood outside of his room, debating whether to go in. Partly because of that almost-kiss years ago, partly because she knew she shouldn’t be there, despite Kade’s request.
The bottom line was that Mac was a sportsman who needed her expertise and her mat. It was crucial to get his blood flowing through the damaged capillaries to start the healing process. The longer she delayed, the longer he would take to recover. Healing, helping, was what she did, who she was, and she’d fight the devil himself to give a patient what he needed, when he needed it.
Besides, there was little chance of her being discovered in Mac’s room. The Annex Clinic was an expensive, private ward attached to St. Catherine’s, the hospital situated in the exclusive Vancouver suburb of West Point Gray. Every patient admitted into The Annex had two things in common: they were ridiculously wealthy and they wanted total privacy. Each patient had their own private nurse, and Rory had lucked out because Troy was assigned to room 22.
Not only would he keep her interference a secret, but because he was in the room with her, Rory resisted the urge to run her hand through Mac’s thick hair, over his strong jaw shaded with stubble.
He looked as good as he had years ago. Maybe better.
His beard was dark but when he grew it out, it glinted red in the sun. As did his dark brown hair. The corners of his eyes had creases that weren’t there a decade ago. He looked, if she ignored his bandaged arm, stronger, fitter and more ripped than he had at twenty-four.
She was a professional, she reminded herself, and she shouldn’t be mentally drooling over the man.
“How did you even know he was admitted?” Troy demanded.
“Are you sure he’s asleep?” she asked Troy, ignoring his question.
“Morphine. He was in severe pain and it was prescribed.” Troy looked at his watch. “Getting back to my point, he only came out of surgery two hours ago and was injured no more than six hours ago. How did you know he was here?”
Rory stood back from the bed and pushed her hands into her lower back as she stretched and explained that Kade, who’d taken on the CEO responsibilities and duties when the owner/manager of the Vancouver Mavericks died, had called and asked her to check on Mac and give her professional opinion.