by Lane, Stacy
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod, “Yep.”
Jessica Rabbit is to blame. I would have turned down his offer if it wasn’t for her busting her way through. Pun intended.
Saying goodbye to Chelsea, I ignore her pleased but confused, raised eyebrow.
Words versus decisions were giving me whiplash. I tell myself and everyone else there’s nothing going on, but one voluptuous vixen steps in and I’m contradicting all of it.
Brooks leads us out through the door at the end of the hallway, stepping back as he holds the heavy metal open for me. The smell wafting from him as I pass by in the tight space is intoxicating. Freshly showered, and like he’s been dipped into a pool of a rare panty-melting concoction.
In the parking lot, I can hear distant activity from a crowd of fans.
“They continue to cheer even after the game is over,” I comment, staring off into the vacant parking lot. When I stepped inside the arena the skies were orange and pink from a setting sun, and now it’s dark and starry with an iridescent glow from the moon.
“They do, but what you’re hearing is the crowd that gathers at the gate.” His face tips back, chin pointing in the direction of the guard and gate at the entrance of the lot.
“Why would they do that?”
“To watch us take off.”
“That’s kind of creepy.”
“That’s dedication. We have a devoted fan base.”
People hanging out at the gate just to watch the players leave meant they would see me leaving with Brooks.
Coming to a dead stop, I blurt, “Do you stop to sign autographs or something?”
“No.” He stops too, facing me with a short space separating us.
“But they see you. Like, they can see inside your car.”
“My tint is pretty dark at night, but I guess it’s possible. Why?” he asks with confusion.
“What if they snap pictures of us and it gets out all over social media? I imagine the only girls riding in your car are the ones you hook up with.” Under my breath, I add, “Like Jessica Rabbit.”
He hears my nickname for his previous bunny-bud anyway, then proceeds to laugh at an obnoxious pitch like Drax the Destroyer.
I wait as he reels it back in.
Brooks’s head falls to the side, watching me like one would a lion rolling around in a field—fascinating and adorable. Removing his red hat, he twists it around with the flick of his wrist and sets it atop my head. Thankfully, I left my hair loose tonight, but even so, the hat slides forward on my forehead. “You’re terrible with letting a guy show you off, but I get it. The public eye is not your thing.”
Why would he want to show me off?
Adjusting the hat, the bill hovers low as I tilt my head up to see him fully. This cannot possibly be an appealing sight. I’ve never been a hat person. Haven’t worn one since eighth grade when the popularity of Fedoras hit my middle school, and my mom told me I didn’t have the right face shape to be a hat person.
“Adorable,” he smiles, turning heel and walking away.
I’m really starting to hate that word.
Brooks stands beside his shiny Mercedes AMG with the passenger door held open. When we’re both seated, he starts the sports car, the engine rumbling with an enticing purr.
“Parked in the back of Triplets, I hope. I asked Chelsea to tell you.”
“She did, and I did. Your brother walked me over to the arena too.”
“Good,” he nods, running a hand through his wild hair. Shifting in reverse, Brooks pulls his car out of the parking spot and heads toward the gate.
“Met the rest of your family,” I say, fidgeting with nerves as the giant group of fans come closer into view.
“Tip your head down. Block your face using the hat,” he instructs, and I follow. The cheers grow more fierce as we get closer. I can hear people shouting his name. I’m not embarrassed by Brooks, or to be seen with Brooks, but I don’t want to be labeled another one of his conquests. I’d prefer my name to never hit the tabloids, not the kind of attention I’m comfortable with, but to be considered another girl on his long list of booty calls would be disheartening. And I lack enough confidence as it is. “We’re clear.”
Brooks drives the short distance down the street to Triplets, parking right beside my car. I had all intention of going home, but somehow he convinces me to go inside for one drink.
He starts to buy me one, but Cam beats him to it, saying it’s a reward for lasting the night with their parents. Alex is there as well. Chelsea and Vic show up. Even Amber, now dubbed Jessica Rabbit, to everyone’s enjoyment.
I’m hanging out with this group of hot, celebrity athletes, and other hot guys associated with them, and it’s a lot of fun. I feel stupid for being so uptight in Brooks’s car, or worrying about all the eyes on us as we sat together at the bar.
For once, I try my damnedest to not care about what others may be saying.
I’m comfortable here and crave their confidence.
Tonight was memorable. It was fun…fun while it lasted.
Because as I sat beside Brooks, one leg crossed over the other and turned into his legs at the bar, my gaze lifted, peering down the long counter to the opposite end.
My heart stops. My breath leaves altogether. The most impossible of impossibilities is sitting at the bar inside Triplets.
My dead boyfriend.
ELEVEN
Brooks
My Chucks wearing Angel was finally opening up. She’s quiet, but I’m learning that doesn’t necessarily mean shy.
At some point, she bonded with my brother Cam on a level I have never seen him adapt to with a female. They laughed and joked and he gave her a nickname. I thought it was his way of hitting on her. Pissed me off almost as much as that time he stole my new Saga video game the day after Christmas. I ran to Mom but she said we had to share.
Jo is not a video game, and I do not ever plan on sharing.
But I put the green beast to rest shortly after. I could practically read Cam’s mind and he only has platonic feelings for Jo.
I sat at the bar to her left, Alex on her right. Chelsea popped over every once in a while, but Vic stayed in the booths with some of the other guys. Could be Alex’s presence that kept them away. The guys knew the rumors, and my brother held an intimidating front compared to Cam and I who were the jokesters.
Alex aside, Vic has been more distant as of late. We’re still workout buddies, and partner up at hotels on the away games, but he asked me to stop lending my car to Chelsea. After he first arrived in town, we bonded well on and off the ice. But since the game in Sunrise, he’s pulled back. Doesn’t hurt my feelings any, but it will bother me if it starts affecting our game.
“What did Mom call it?” Cam asks Jo while he’s retelling the last five minutes of the game.
She sat with my family. Dad bickering about Mom talking over him, Mom having a come-back like usual. The fact that Jo lasted the whole game with almost all of the Labelles proved her capacity for tolerance.
“Potluck pies.”
“That’s it.” He pulls a trigger finger. “Jo-Jo would rather bake pies than watch a game of hockey.”
“I’m offended. But bake me an apple pie and we’ll see if all is forgiven.” I spin my stool to face hers, knees bumping into her thigh.
“That’s gonna be tough. Mom’s apple pie is his favorite,” Alex says from her other side.
“I don’t want to steal your mom’s thunder, so tell me your second favorite and I’ll make that.” Jo mirrors my position, crossing her legs to nest between mine.
“Pumpkin,” I reply without hesitation.
“And a perfect time to make one too,” she smiles. “Ever had a pumpkin roll?”
“Don’t think I have.”
“Do you like all things pumpkin spiced?”
“Hell yes. I’m the first in line at Starbucks when they release the pumpkin spice lattes.”
Her head falls back with a laugh. I smile as my gaze ling
ers down the alluring length of her neck. Jo’s sweater falls off one shoulder. My eyes trail down to the open skin peeking through.
Green eyes dance with admiration as they fall on mine.
“Can’t forget the part where she spits out the team’s stats,” Alex interrupts the moment and I want to punch him for it. “Dad’s face was priceless.”
“That was funny as shit,” Cam chuckles.
I glance at my brothers, waiting for the story. Jo turns her head toward them but keeps her body nestled with mine.
“Dad thought she wasn’t getting into the game, but then Jo blurted out y’alls power play fuck ups, and how Eddie needs to go.” Alex shook his head, talking to me while looking at Jo with humor.
Yeah, that’s an astute observation for someone who doesn’t even care for the sport. Eddie is good, but we need better from him if we’re going to excel at all.
My eyes drop back to Jo. She sat frozen, transfixed on something in front of her.
“Jo?” I call her name, but she doesn’t register my voice.
Following her gaze across the room, I see nothing out of the ordinary. Glancing at my brothers, Cam looks behind him, trying to figure out what has stolen her composure and her beautiful smile. Alex furrows his brows, watching everything.
“Jo,” I try again, running a hand along one of her legs with gentleness so not to spook her.
She snaps out of it, chest heaving with huge gulps of air as if she stopped breathing.
“Are you okay?” I ask with concern, leaving my palm to rest on her for reassurance.
Her lashes flutter with rapid blinks, almost like she’s wishing to unsee something, but can’t look away. “No. I mean, uh, excuse me. I think I see someone I know.” Her voice is strained, breathless. In a complete daze, she leaves the three of us without a backward glance.
We stare after her as she walks off, waiting and watching in silence as she floats across the floor, face pale. The stricken look she carries with her has me standing, ready to go after her.
Alex’s words stop me from moving any further.
“Does she know Werner?” he asks with skepticism.
Sure enough, Jo stands behind Noah Werner, tapping him on the shoulder.
He turns away from the bar in front of him, his back facing us as she begins talking. Although I can’t make out his expression, the muscles clenching beneath his shoulders are visible enough to give away his shock.
“She knows nothing about hockey. How the fuck does she know that asshole?” Voice seething with untempered animosity, I lay all my cards on the table for my brothers to pick at.
With thirty years of practice, they know when to choose their battles, and this time they leave my obvious protectiveness of Jo alone.
The emotion surging through my veins was not jealousy. Though, I’d be lying if I said a little of that wasn’t mixed in and stirring the pot up good. Whatever this is was unfamiliar, and adding a pressure so intense I didn’t know if I would Hulk-out or pass out. It’s beyond protecting her when it involves scumbags like Noah.
Noah Werner is the backup goalie for Boston. He held the first spot for a couple seasons until he got mixed up in a scandal involving accusations of sexual harassment. Boston dumped him in the farm team but brought him back this year. And only then because their lead net-minder retired.
The charges were labeled as allegations and eventually dropped when no viable proof could place Noah as a guilty defendant. There was more than one victim, yet they had nothing to stick him with. Some believed Werner paid them off. Some believed they were threatened to drop the accusations or suffer consequences and have their personal lives ruined.
Werner’s career took a big hit, regardless. But as we’re all aware, he’s back.
Noah shoves his teammate out of the stool beside him, leaving it open for Jo to take. And she does.
“Easy, Brooks,” Alex says in a calming voice to my right. “It seems to be a harmless conversation.”
Her pallor remained bleak, and she sat stiff as a rod while listening to Noah go on and on about whatever connects them.
It’s that connection that bothers me the most. He’s a shitbag. And I don’t like him speaking, let alone sitting so close to her.
“He’s not harmless, though,” I bite out.
“Nothing is going to happen to her while we’re all right here watching.” Alex keeps his voice steady, ever the one for honing in on his control.
“Tell me you aren’t thinking the same fucked up shit I am right now.”
What if Jo is one of those women he’s harassed in the past? The public labels it harassment but no one knows the extent of someone’s vile behavior. None of us know the depth of Werner’s accusations.
“He’s got a point,” Cam agrees, leaning a hip on the bar in front of us, arms crossed. He raises a hand, waving at someone behind us. “I’m gonna see if Chelsea knows anything.”
Jo’s lips move, but stress is etched in every small line on her face. I’m waiting for her to break. Whether it be a release of her breath, a slap across that fuckers face, or a smile—I’d even take a smile directed at that ass by this point—anything to give me a sign.
“What’s up.” Chelsea’s delicate voice appears in the spot Jo vacated.
“See that guy talking to Jo.” Cam directs her with a nod their way. “Do you know who he is?”
She squints, pursing her lips as she tries placing his face. “A Boston player, I think.”
“Do you know how Jo knows him?”
“No. Why did she say she does?”
“Sorta.”
“Yes,” I follow up with. “And he’s not a good guy, Chelse.”
Chelsea watches her friend with a keen eye. “Jo doesn’t get out much, Brooks. If he plays for Boston I’d bet she doesn’t know it.”
Jo finally makes a movement, her face dropping as an arm rises to rest on the bar, fingers brushing the hair that fell forward behind her ear.
Before I take my next breath, Cam reads me like a How-to book. “I’ll see if they need anything.”
I nod.
My brother steps up to Jo and Noah, speaking more to her than him.
She gives a weak smile, but nonetheless, Jo now knows she’s not alone.
“Two years ago he was accused of sexual harassment,” I fill the void, informing Chelsea of our concern.
“Noah Werner,” Chelsea nods, up to speed now. “He’s been with Boston for years. I don’t see how Jo could be acquainted with him.”
“Coincidence. Just like right now. We play them a couple times a year, they could have run into each other before.”
“That’s a big stretch, Brooks,” Chelsea says, reading between the lines that I—all of us—are concerned Jo is one of the women. “You don’t know Jo all that well. She does not do social outings. Ever. There’s no way she could have run into Noah a couple years ago. And she was in a relationship back then.”
Right then, Jo stands.
My back straightens, waiting to pounce.
As she slips away to leave, Noah’s hand reaches out to grasp onto her arm.
Then I’m standing, and Alex is gripping my arm to keep me locked in place.
Noah grabs a napkin, borrowing a pen from Cam who hasn’t left the spot he perched himself at directly in front of them. Proceeding to write something down, Noah hands it off to Jo who stares at it briefly before folding the paper and tucking it in her pocket.
She walks away, Noah following her with his eyes. If it wasn’t for her returning I would have scaled this bar and knocked his eyes so far in the back of his head he would never be able to leer at another woman again.
“Hey, who ya talking to over there?” Chelsea goes the smarter route, easing into it.
I take the jock way like I have my whole life, determination for only the end result.
“Are you okay?” I ask in a rough tone.
“Yeah,” she waves off with a worn out smile. “I’m, ah, really tired. I think I�
�ll head home, actually.”
“How do you know Werner?” My question blazes through the chit-chat like a puck finding the back of the net through a pileup.
“How do you know him?” she responds with equal curiosity.
“He’s a goalie for Boston,” Chelsea answers for me.
Her forehead creased in thought. “He didn’t mention that. But we have a mutual…acquaintance.” She forces the last word out as if she bit into something sour. “Look, I’m tired and I have a long drive. I’ll see you later. Chelse, I’ll call you soon.”
“Okay. Drive safe.” Worry sets in on Chelsea’s face as we all watch Jo walk off in a daze. “Brooks, make sure she’s really okay, please.”
I stood there long enough for the back entrance door to shut fully closed before I stormed out after her.
“Jo,” I call out. The cool night air touches my skin.
In the middle of the empty parking lot, she stops, not bothering to turn my way. “I’m really tired, Brooks.”
“How do you know Noah Werner?” I repeat my question, closing the space between us.
The lit parking lot shines down on us in a white glow. Jo turns around, wrapping her sweater tighter to ward off the wind. “I told you. We have an acquaintance.”
“Has he harassed you before? Are you one of his victims?”
“What?” She pivots, seeking my face on an incredulous gasp.
“Noah Werner has a bad history. Allegations of sexual harassment. Charges were dropped a couple years ago, and I’m concerned how you know him exactly.”
“Oh this just keeps getting better,” she mutters, head falling back and hands lifting to rest on her hips. When she exhales a long breath, righting her head, Jo worries her lip with such vigor I wonder if it’ll start to bleed. “I don’t know him. We have…had a mutual friend. It’s something in the past, but I had to ask him a few things.”
“I won’t pry,” I say, holding a hand up in surrender. “I can tell it’s personal. But, Jo…stay away from him.”
The paper he handed over no doubt had his phone number written on it.
“This is the first time I’ve ever met him,” she confesses, and a weight releases from my chest. “I doubt I’ll ever have a chance to speak with him again even if I wanted to.”