[i]I want you[i].
She’d heard those words before. She’d acted on those words—words that hadn’t been meant for her—and she had lied to him. As if a bucket of cold water had just been dropped on her, Billie’s desire fled and was replaced with aguish. And fear. Fear that he wouldn’t understand. Fear that if he knew how duplicitous she’d been in the past, he’d never want to speak to her again.
“Why don’t you two get a room?” Someone shouted from the far side of the parking lot. A few loud guffaws echoed from the dark and she winced.
Billie shivered, aware the spell was broken, and she yanked up her dress while avoiding his eyes. She should leave. She should run as fast and as hard as she could and get the hell away from Logan.
And yet, when he moved behind her and wrapped his arms across her chest she let him. When he pulled her back against his warm, hard, body…she let him drag her back in the shadows because she was that weak.
“Hey,” he whispered against her neck. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.
“I didn’t mean to come on so strong, but Christ, there’s something about you that drives me insane.”
Suddenly all the insecurities she’d bottled up for so long came alive. They pressed into her chest. They made it difficult to breathe and she wriggled until Logan released her and she stepped away from him. She’d never been good at any game other than hockey and right now, she felt like she was playing the game of her life and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to lose.
“What are we doing, Logan? I mean, we can’t do this. We just…we can’t.”
He rolled his shoulders and took a few steps, hands balled at his sides until they relaxed and he shoved them into his front pockets. She felt the tension that sat on those shoulders—she felt it like a knife pressed into her chest. When his dark eyes settled on her once more, they were flat. His mouth was tight and she knew she’d made him angry.
“I don’t get you.”
God, this night had gone south fast.
“I want you,” he repeated. “I thought it was kind of obvious but the real question should be what the hell are [i]you[i] doing? Because something’s up. I just don’t know what it is.”
How could she explain? What would she say?
“I don’t like being played and right now,” he continued and took a step forward. “I feel like that’s exactly what you’re doing.”
That hit a nerve and her back was up instantly.
“I don’t play games.”
“No?” He moved even closer and it took a lot of gumption for Billie to not step back because there was something dangerous about Logan right now. He looked like he could eat her up and spit her out with no thought whatsoever.
“I think it kinda runs in your family. Maybe it’s an inherited gene or something. All you Barker girls—”
“That’s going too far.” Her pulse spiked and pounded a rhythm that was dizzying.
“[i]You[i] kissed [i]me[i] the other day or did you forget about that?”
Her cheeks burned and she ran cold fingers along them. “I told you that was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again.”
“Why? Why the fuck can’t it happen?” he challenged. “We’re both adults. We both want each other, or at least I’m straight up about that but you…you I can’t figure out. I know you enjoyed it so why the denial?”
The underlying anger in his words was sharper now and she knew he’d passed the point of just being pissed off. Nope, he’d crossed that bridge and was now heading down another road entirely. One called fury.
She felt helpless because she had no idea how to fix this. Billie didn’t know how to explain everything without making herself look pathetic or cheap.
Or like a liar.
“Because,” she searched frantically for an excuse that wouldn’t sound lame.
“Christ, I knew getting involved with the Barkers wasn’t a good idea.”
Her head shot up. “Well, no one asked you too.”
He continued on as if he hadn’t heard her. “Betty was difficult but you’re something else entirely.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Pain twisted inside her chest so hard, that for a few seconds she couldn’t breathe. She squared her shoulders, and pushed at the damn, feathery wings that flapped behind her as she began to shiver. Whether it was from the cold or the deluge of emotion or plain old fatigue, she had no clue.
“It means your sister Betty liked to play head games and I was stupid enough to let her play with mine a long time ago.” He sounded bitter.
[i]He sounded like he still cared.[i]
Billie shrank back as his voice rose.
“It means that I’m not playing this game with you. I was burned once by your sister and hell if I’m going to line up for another ride on that crazy train. I’m done with the hot and cold and then the fucking, see-you-later.”
Logan gave her a disgusted look and turned on his heel. She watched him take four or five steps before he paused and spoke without looking back.
“What time on Monday?”
“What?” she barely managed the word.
“I paid one thousand dollars for the privilege of your coaching abilities, so what time Monday morning?”
She swallowed thickly and forced herself to answer.
“Six A.M.”
“See you then.” He disappeared inside the community center, leaving her alone in the parking lot.
Logan Forest was right about a lot of things. The Barker sisters were seriously flawed—all of them. And maybe—just maybe—she was the most screwed up one of them all.
Because that Christmas Eve when he’d been home from college he’d pursued Betty relentlessly and her sister had let him. But when he’d shown up at a keg party held for one of the junior hockey teams, it wasn’t Betty-Jo Barker who’d finally given herself to him that night. It wasn’t Betty-Jo who’d followed him into that dark room and thrown herself at him.
And is sure as hell wasn’t Betty-Jo who’d lost her virginity to him.
Logan might have believed he’d finally snagged the untouchable and beautiful Betty—the one who’d been driving him crazy for days. The one whose sights were already set on the big apple and an exciting modeling career.
The one who no longer had time for small town boys.
Except that it wasn’t [i]that[i] particular Barker triplet he’d made love to.
It wasn’t [i]that[i] particular Barker triplet that he’d shared an incredible night with.
Nope. It had been her. Billie.
He’d been a little drunk and it had been dark. And she’d wanted him for so long that when it came down to it, she’d let him believe she was her sister, because up until that night, Logan Forest hadn’t even known she was alive.
When he’d come around the house looking for her sister Betty the next day, she’d waited for a spark of recognition. She’d waited for that moment, breath held, her heart pounding so hard she could still feel it. How could he not know it had been her in the dark? How?
But there’d been nothing in his eyes and when she’d told him that Betty had left for New York hours earlier, she’d pretended not to see the hurt in his eyes. Or the questions that were never asked.
He’d stared at her for several long moments, then he’d turned around and left without another word.
She’d shut the door, leaned against it, and she’d cried her heart out.
Then Billie had packed her bags and left for Europe a full day before her sister Betty headed to New York.
Chapter Sixteen
It was dark outside when Billie rolled out of bed and glanced toward her window. Dark and rainy.
Wonderful.
She slipped her feet into a pair of old slippers she’d claimed when she’d come home. They had large bunny heads on the end and the ears flopped around when she walked, but they were warm so she was willing to overlook the fact that t
hey looked ridiculous.
An overly large sweatshirt lay on the chair at her desk beneath her window. She pulled it over her T-shirt and shivered as another wave of rain blasted the side of the house. It sounded like ice pellets and she peered out once more but couldn’t anything beyond the fog from her breath.
Already the now familiar knot of, what—fear? apprehension? shame?—burrowed inside her gut and she’d give anything to climb back into bed, throw her old, wool blanket over her head and sleep until she could forget everything.
She glanced once more at the clock and winced as another volley of rain hit the window. It was five in the morning—Monday morning—and she needed to be ready and on the ice for her one-on-one with Logan, which gave her less than an hour before she’d have to leave.
“Yay for me,” she muttered.
An entire hour to be spent with the one man in New Waterford she wanted to avoid at all costs. Her stomach rolled crazily as she let her hair out of the clip on top of her head and ran her fingers through the tangled mess.
Maybe Logan would be a no-show.
[i]Sure, because he was the type to back down.[i]
She knew better. He wouldn’t let her off so easy.
He had been more than pissed Saturday night and she didn’t blame him. He was right. The Barkers [i]were[i] screwed up and Billie might be the worst out of all of them.
She’d flirted with Logan. She’d kissed him. She’d done the hot and cold thing just as he’d said.
But how could she go home with him even though it pretty much was all she thought about? How could she when she wasn’t sure whether or not she was nothing more than a replacement for her sister, Betty? She’s the one he’d wanted all those years ago. She’s the one he thought he’d already had.
And how could she entertain any type of relationship after what she’d done? He’d never believe that night wasn’t planned. He’d kissed her first, thinking she was Betty and she’d just…gotten too carried away.
“Crap, Barker, you’ve really done it this time,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes as she tumbled down the stairs. She rounded the corner as she stepped onto the worn, wooden planks, “and then some.”
Billie took a few steps down the hall and paused, curiosity piqued when she spied soft light emanating from the back of the house. Someone was up. For a moment she considered turning around because it was probably Bobbi—no one else had reason to be up at this God forsaken hour, but her tummy rumbled and she shivered.
Hot coffee and a bowl of cereal was what she needed to get her going.
[i]A one way ticket to Belize is what she really needed, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.[i]
Billie was nearly to the kitchen when she heard the soft whistling. It was barely above a whisper but, nonetheless, she could make out the tune.
The [i]Rocky[i] theme.
She clutched the edge of her sweatshirt as goose bumps rolled across her skin. Her Dad used to whistle to her when she was younger. It was a way to get her to focus and the theme from [i]Rocky[i] was their song. It was the one he used when she was five or six and he was tying up her skates. The one he’d whistle on those long drives to games and practices, or while out in the driveway practicing shots for hours at a time.
Jesus, it was hard to listen to, because he sounded so damn…normal.
Billie peeked into the kitchen and held her breath.
Her father was at the stove, whistling his tune while he stirred—she sniffed the air—porridge. And not the microwave stuff she’d been buying lately, but the real deal. The stuff that would stick to your stomach and get you through the most brutal hockey practices ever.
The stuff that made mornings like this one doable.
Her father was dressed casually, in jeans and a sweater—the red cable knit that he’d owned forever. He looked frail and she hated how the sweater and jeans hung off his frame. [i]Hated it[i].
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes because it was so hard to see him like this. Trent Barker had always been a tall, strapping guy, who could easily scoop all three of his girls into his arms and make everything instantly better.
“Pull up a chair, Billie, this is almost done.”
Shock held her silent for several long moments, until he turned around, eyebrow arched and pointed toward the table. “Are you going to stand there and gawk, or are you going to eat?”
His voice, slightly weak, was gruff enough to automatically elicit a response and she jumped, nodding stupidly—blinking away the tears—as she moved toward the table.
“I’ll grab some juice,” she said softly.
She filled two glasses and then sat down, watching in silence as her father moved around the kitchen, gathering two bowls and a couple of spoons. He searched through the cupboards for some brown sugar and then finally filled their bowls with steaming hot, porridge.
Just like so many mornings she’d spent with him in the past.
The need to throw her arms around him—to hold on and kiss and hug him—was overwhelming. She’d been home for nearly a month and there hadn’t been many days when he’d been ‘himself’. The man she remembered.
The dad she loved.
Trent Barker slid into the chair across from her and quietly fixed his bowl of porridge. Billie did the same, watching the way his fingers curled around his spoon and the slow methodical way in which he ate.
It was something she’d done many times before. Countless times. Billie and her father up before dawn, getting ready to head to an early practice or leave for a tournament.
It was so familiar and so achingly sad.
Once they were done eating, Trent grabbed her bowl and rinsed them both in the sink. They’d not spoken at all, instead, they’d eaten in silence, a silence that not only hid things, but was in a way, comforting. As long as no words were spoken, Billie could almost believe that nothing had changed.
Almost.
“So, you’re back from Europe.”
Billie nodded, watching the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he concentrated. There were a lot of new lines around his eyes, and deep grooves in the pockets of his cheeks. His hair, thick as ever, was now nearly silver, the ebony curls long gone.
“Uh huh,” he responded, handing her the bowls so she could dry them and put them away.
“You going back?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, Dad.”
The pain in her chest was near crushing now and the food she’d just eaten sat like a lump in the bottom of her gut.
“Head injuries are tricky things and they can’t be treated lightly, so maybe it’s good that you’re taking a breather.”
Billie glanced up sharply. How did he know?
“Look at what happened with Crosby. He was out for nearly an entire year but with rest, you might be able to—”
She placed her hand over his. “No, Dad, it’s not gonna happen. I’m done with pro hockey.”
His watery blue eyes stared at her for several long moments and she saw her own pain reflected in their depths.
“Are you all right with that?” He more than anyone knew how much the game meant to her. Her talent on the ice had defined her for so long that she didn’t know anything else. She was lost and he knew it.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m not.”
He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you pumpkin.”
“It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. What was okay about a fifty-four year old man suffering from dementia? A man who had protected, loved, and raised three little girls on his own? A man they all looked up to, and now? Now, half the time he didn’t even know his own daughters.
Bobbi had told her that their father had good days and bad…good weeks and even months at a time, but this was the first solid conversation she’d had with him since returning home and she didn’t want to waste it talking about a career that was never going to happen.
Sh
e tossed the spoons into the drawer and slammed it shut, the noise echoing into the quiet room and making her father jump.
“Sorry, I…” she sighed.
“Are you recovered then? Is there anything I should know?”
Billie pushed away from the counter and turned to her father. How could he look and sound so normal when only a few days ago he’d come after Logan with a shotgun? Oh, how she had needed him months ago.
“I’m fine.”
At his arched brow she shrugged, and attempted a smile. “I mean I haven’t had a dizzy spell in weeks, the headaches are gone and my motor skills are A-1. If I was a Crosby or a Gretzky I’d be playing right now.”
Her father stared at her without saying a word and she knew it wasn’t because he couldn’t remember, or form a coherent thought. He felt her pain.
“The doctors in Sweden were topnotch, my trainers, all of that. Everything is good, it’s just,’—she hated hearing the words—‘the fear is that I’ll get hit again and it won’t be good and after assessing the risks, uh, I decided it wasn’t worth it.”
Wow, she’d become a great liar because the truth was, she would have done anything to keep playing, but the team had never given her the chance. That last hit had weakened her in the eyes of management and most of the players. It was the excuse they needed to pay out her contract and send her home. Another boys club where she didn’t quite fit.
Trent leaned against the countertop, his face worn out, his expression as sad as she felt inside.
“I’m sorry, babe.”
[i]Don’t cry. Don’t cry.[i]
“I know.”
“I wish I could have been there for you, for…everyone.” He glanced away and she swallowed thickly when she spied the wetness that filled his eyes. Her dad never cried. Herschel had told her once that the only time he’d seen his son cry was at their mother’s funeral. The girls would have been much too young to remember, they’d been barely three.
“I’m not well, but I suppose you know that.”
“Dad,” she began and took a step forward but he cut her off.
“I have a hard time remembering and I’ve lost days, weeks even.” He glanced up at her. “Maybe months.”
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