by Penny Dee
I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to black out the memories. But feeling a little hazy from the bourbon, my emotional walls crumbled and the memories flooded in. Tyler’s pleading eyes. The spray of ruby red blood across the ice. Riding with Tyler’s body in the ambulance en route to St. Vincent’s. The look on Kit’s face when she arrived at the hospital.
My heart ached. Kit. Every night the same scene played out in my head.
Standing in the hospital corridor outside the ER where Tyler’s body lay. Kit sobbing against me. Her fists twisting in my jersey as she cried hard into my shoulder. If I wasn’t so numb—so completely and utterly devastated—I might have joined her. But I was too stunned to react. Too shocked to fully comprehend what was going on around me. Only that this couldn’t be happening. That Tyler couldn’t be dead.
Kit suddenly paused, looking at my blood-spattered jersey, a horrified expression spreading across her face. She took a sudden step back, her wide eyes taking in the blood of her husband all over me.
“You did this,” she whispered, completely alarmed and taking a farther step away. “He’s dead and you killed him.”
“Kit—” I reached for her but she flung me away.
“He’s dead because you were hungover and fell.”
“No, that’s not what happened—”
“Yes, it is. You fell and you cut his throat.”
She looked at me like I was scum.
“This is all your fault,” she suddenly cried. “All your fault!”
Kit’s best friend, Macy, stepped in and pulled her into her arms.
“Come on, Kit, you need to rest. Think of the baby.” Macy led her away from me. But Kit swung around one more time, her face a mask of tears and pain.
“He loved you. He goddamn loved you and what did you do? You fucking killed him!” She went for me then, crossing the space between us and pummeling me with her closed fists. “You killed him, you piece of shit! And now he will never know his baby girl. And she will never know how wonderful and brilliant her daddy was. Or how much he was looking forward to meeting her, protecting her, holding her . . . It’s all over, it’s all over because of you!”
Macy pulled her off me and dragged her away, and I watched with tears in my eyes as they disappeared down the corridor and around the corner. Gutted, I fell against the wall and slid to the tiled floor.
She was right, of course.
Tyler was dead and I had killed him.
If he hadn’t been late because of me, he would have been wearing his neck protection. But he’d forgotten to put it on. And he’d forgotten to put it on because of me.
Now he was dead.
As I drained the bourbon from my glass, a woman slid onto the stool beside me.
I glanced at her but turned back to the empty tumbler in my hands. Women. Just add them to the long list of things I had left behind. And this woman next to me would be no different. Even if she did have a face that made you double-take. Oh, yeah, I had noticed. She was smoking hot. But she could be the hottest woman on Earth and I still couldn’t care less.
Her voice surprised the hell out of me as she asked, “How about I buy you a drink?”
I glanced back at her and watched her signal for two drinks. There was something vaguely familiar about her and I wondered if I had nailed her? I let my eyes glitter over her again, taking in the luscious blonde hair, big brown eyes and . . . damn, she had some rack on her!
If I had any sense, I had to have at least tried whenever our paths had crossed.
But not recently. Definitely not recently.
“Mackenzie.” She introduced herself and handed me a shot of bourbon.
“Jake,” I replied accepting the shot glass. We clinked them over the bar before throwing them back. When she slammed her glass back down to the gleaming timber bar top she signalled to Pete for a refill.
I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’ve had about enough.”
I stood up and flicked a few bills onto the bar.
But blondie wasn’t taking no for an answer. She patted my stool. “Come on, Jake, have one more with me.”
One more and I’d be on my ass. But, hey, she was asking nicely. “Sure, why not.”
Again we clinked glasses and threw back our shots, and then I was ready to leave. But as I shook off the heat and aftertaste of the bourbon, it occurred to me that I knew her, I just didn’t know how.
“Do I know you?” I asked, again taking in the beautiful contours of her lovely face and the intriguing way her lips pulled to the side as she smiled. She grinned and damn if I didn’t feel that grin all the way down to my balls.
She smiled and leaned in close. “No. But as of two hours ago, I became your agent.”
* * *
Chapter Three
Mackenzie
I woke up with an angry kink in my neck and a puzzled Jake Pennington standing over me.
“Um, look…” He ran an uncomfortable hand through his hair as he shifted on his feet. He was in nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms, and damn if he didn’t have the finest set of abs on him.
“You’re going to have to go,” he said.
It took me a moment to realize what was happening. I was on the couch and Jake was asking me to leave.
I sat up and immediately felt the brain-shattering aftermath of too much bourbon hit me in the head. The last thing I remembered was drinking way too much at the bar with Jake. At first he had been hesitant to talk, but after a few more shots he had begun to open up. In fact, we had gotten fall-down drunk together. Hell, we had made plans!
Now he was kicking me out.
What happened to new starts and all that? Where were the ‘fresh starts’ and the ‘new beginnings’ we had talked about after shots five and six?
“Just tell me if I owe you any money,” Jake said, looking uncomfortable again.
I blinked up at him. “Money? For what?”
Then it hit me. He thought I was a hooker.
I grabbed the cushion my face had been mashed against only a few moments earlier, and with a skill Peyton Manning would be proud of, threw it at his head. Clearly surprised and completely lacking in motor skills, he tried to avoid it and stumbled into the wall.
“You think I’m a prostitute?” I exclaimed, standing up. “Dude, I’m wearing jeans and a Hello Kitty shirt. Seriously?”
He looked a little bewildered. Not to mention hungover. With a side serving of washed up. But damn, those abs were a distraction.
“You’re not . . .ummm?”
I gave him a look that left little doubt.
“Okay. Then who are you?” he asked.
The clear look of confusion across his unshaven face told me that he still didn’t remember our conversation from last night.
I rolled my eyes. With a few shots of bourbon and half a bottle of wine banging against my brain, it was harder to cope with the train wreck that was Jake Pennington. I stood up, noticing the way his eyes rolled over me, sliding down from my boobs to my flat stomach, across to my slim hips and down my legs. He was checking me out.
“Who am I? Jake, do you remember anything about last night?”
Like seriously?
The look on his face told me that he didn’t have a clue.
The professional in me wanted to make him a cup of coffee, sit him down, and tell him to pull his shit together.
But the bad girl in me wanted to fuck with him a little.
And if I’m honest, my inner bad girl was a little stronger today thanks to seven or eight shots of bourbon and a glass or two of wine jackhammering against my skull.
I licked my lips and shook my hair. Then adopting my most seductive moves in my non-existent catalog of sexy moves, I slinked across the room to where he was leaning up against the wall taking me all in. As I got closer, he braced himself, clearly anxious about what I was about to do. Was I a crazy fan? A one-night stand who wasn’t ready to leave just yet?
When I reached him I leaned in close until there was le
ss than an inch of air between us and I felt him stiffen.
Leaning in as if I was going to kiss him, I whispered in his ear, “I’m your agent, asshole.”
* * *
Jake
My agent?
What. The. Fuck.
Because I didn’t know what else to do I ran a hand through my hair and pinched the bridge of my nose. Damn this hangover. None of this made sense.
I watched the beautiful blonde woman watching me. She had just ordered me into the shower like she was my goddamn coach. Was she kidding me?
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, her hands on her hips. “You need to hit the shower, have a shave, and get your shit together, Jake.”
“Who are you, my mother?”
“I think we’ve already established who I am. Damn it, Jake. You need to pull yourself together.”
Broken fragments from the previous night slowly pieced together in my brain. We had been sitting at the bar in Squire Tucks. This blonde had sat down next to me, offered to buy me a drink and . . . wait! Was this chick for real? Was she really my agent?
I grabbed my phone off the table by the front door and scrolled through looking for Hank’s number.
“What are you doing?” I’m-your-agent asked, looking at me as if she was irritated by the very thought of me drawing a breath.
“I’m ringing Hank. For all I know, you’re some crazy chick who likes to go around telling people she is their agent.”
“Why on Earth would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know. But I gave up being surprised by what people do and why they do it a long time ago.”
She didn’t get up or race for the door. Which was a good sign. Instead she flopped down on the couch and crossed her legs.
Her long legs.
“Sure. Go ahead,” she challenged.
Selecting Hank’s number, I hit CALL.
Within three rings he answered. “Jake? How you doin’, buddy?”
“Not good . . . listen I’ve got this woman here and she’s claiming to be my agent. Her name is Mandy or Mindy —”
“It’s Mackenzie, genius,” the cute blonde barked from the couch.
Cute blonde? Oh, hell no…
I made a face at her and she rolled her eyes back at me.
Hank’s distinctive voice brought me back to the present. “Mackenzie? Yeah, Jake, that’s my daughter. She’ll be looking after you for a spell.”
His what . . . ?
And she’d be doing what . . . ?
“Listen, I’m just on my way into a meeting. Can we talk about this later? I will call you as soon as I am free.”
Hank Eden was your quintessential sports agent. He knew how to talk the talk and bamboozle you by talking fast.
“But I—”
“I promise. We’ll talk soon. But in the meantime hang out with Mackenzie for a bit. Get to know your new agent.”
“Hank, I don’t need—”
“But watch out. She may be small in stature but she’s sure got some fire in that mouth of hers.”
I glanced at Mackenzie who was grinning victoriously at me.
“You don’t say,” I replied.
“Okay, I will talk to you soon, pal.” He rang off, leaving me more confused than before.
Hank had given my account to his daughter?
When I placed my phone on a nearby table, Mackenzie looked pleased with herself and smiled across at me, smugly.
“Everything okay?” she asked sweetly.
“Apparently, you are my new agent.”
Her sweetness vanished. “No shit, Sherlock.” She stood up and there were those long legs again. It was almost impossible not to notice them as she walked over to me and thrust her hands back on her slim hips. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“We?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, no. There is no we.” I backed away from her. “Just like there is no hockey. No sports career. No nothing. You understand me, lady? I ain’t interested.”
She straightened and by the look on her face, the chances of her letting this go were about the same as the sun not setting tonight. Impossible.
“Why are you being so difficult?” she asked.
“Why are you being so damn pushy?” I asked back.
She rummaged around her handbag for a moment before pulling out a crumpled picture and handing it to me.
It was a picture of me. A very unflattering picture of me, actually…leaving a bar late one night, obviously sozzled and looking worse for wear. I squinted and held it closer. Hell, not just sozzled—I looked like shit.
Sadness swept through me. Yeah, I remembered that night.
I also remembered how that image had been mercilessly plastered across magazines and other news media, and how they’d called me broken, washed up, and a drunk.
Without a word I handed it back to her.
Her face softened. “I want to help you, Jake.”
I studied her for a moment but said nothing and turned away. I wasn’t going to wait around to see the pity in her eyes. I’d seen more than my share of pity over the past nine months and I hated it.
“Look. We can make this work,” she said.
“Really?” I replied. “Because I’m pretty sure that we’re not going to do anything.”
“That’s because you’re being stubborn.”
I decided to ignore her. “I’m going to have a shower. Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.”
I started to walk away. But she followed.
All the way to the bathroom.
“You know, despite being a bit rough around the edges with the whole manners thing, you’re actually a pretty nice guy.”
I kept walking. “So are you.”
“And a comedian, too. Apparently.” She sighed. “Look, let’s just meet over dinner and talk about this.”
I turned around to face her. “I’m about to have a shower.”
But she ignored me. “You might like what I have to say.”
“Seriously. I’m about to get naked now.”
Again she ignored me. “How about I pick you up at seven?”
So I dropped my sweats to my ankles.
If I thought that was going to get a response, I was wrong.
She stalled but her eyes never left mine as she pressed her lips together. “You’re naked, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
She folded her arms. “Is that supposed to shock me?”
“I don’t know. Are you shocked?”
“Are you kidding me? After eight months with Ethan Valentine, not a lot shocks me anymore.”
I just looked at her blankly. Well, maybe not so blankly. There was probably a bit of smugness in my expression because I was pretty sure she was dying to look. But she was battling some kind of inner war taking place behind those beautiful brown eyes of hers. Pride versus curiosity. I could see it written all over her stiff face.
“I’m about to turn around and walk to the shower, and when I get there I am going to turn around again. That means you are going get an eyeful if you don’t leave.”
“Fine.” She unfolded her arms. “But this isn’t over.”
“Oh, I assure you, this is over.” And with those parting words I slid the bathroom door closed between us.
Was I being a douche? Probably. Did I care? Probably not. Although, I wasn’t usually one for being rude. It was kind of a pet peeve of mine. Yet this . . . this woman . . . ugh . . . she was acting as if I was one drink away from catching the train to Loserville and it pissed me off.
Seriously, one picture of me looking rough and the world thought I was drowning in a bottomless pit of alcohol and self-pity.
But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. The picture she had shown me had been taken after I’d finished a fifth of liquor because it had been my father’s birthday and birthdays were always the worst for me. They were a constantly cruel reminder of what I had lost and every year I coped the same way—by getti
ng nice and toasted with my good friend, Jack Daniel’s.
Last night would have been my sister Michelle’s twentieth birthday. If she had lived, she would’ve been a co-ed somewhere enjoying the highs and lows of college life, and damn if the swell of pain wasn’t excruciating every time I thought about the things she would never get to experience.
The last time I had taken a drink before that had been on what would have been my mom’s birthday. Otherwise, I didn’t drink. Unless I was out at the Moose Lake cabin. Being in Canada, it was so damn cold there that sometimes the alcoholic burn was the only thing to warm me up.
Otherwise, I tried not to turn to alcohol to get me through the despair of losing Tyler.
Not that the world believed it.
Or, apparently, my new agent.
* * *
Chapter Four
Mackenzie
Riding the subway home from Jake’s apartment, my mind wasn’t far from the dumbass hockey player. Maybe Garrick was right. Maybe he was a lost cause. Because if he didn’t want to help himself, how the hell was I going to get his drunk ass off the floor and back on his feet again?
And what was with getting naked in front of me?
Gazing across the aisle my eyes fell to the guy reading the newspaper. For a moment I just stared, my mind still consumed with Jake and what an ass he was, before I realized what I was staring at. The headline read: Galveston Fury in Second Scandal.
I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes, trying to read the article. Unfortunately the owner of the newspaper thought I was checking him out. He lowered the paper and grinned, wiggling his fuzzy eyebrows at me. I shook my head and mouthed a firm, “No” to which he simply shrugged and went back to reading.
I got off the subway and bought the paper from the closest newsstand to Eden, Fox & Coulter.
Garrick was with my father in his office.
“Someone didn’t go home last night,” he grinned, his bright eyes twinkling over my Hello Kitty T-shirt. “Your meeting with Jake Pennington go that well?”