Page 5 of Game Changer (Wynn Hockey #5)

Jax

Holy snapping eyeballs.

I can’t take Molly to California with me. What the hell is she thinking?

I swallow a sigh. She’s upset. She’s not thinking clearly. She’ll realize in the morning we can’t do that. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “That doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Why not?” She commandeers the tequila bottle and pours herself another.

Okay, she’s also toasted. Again, she’ll have more sense in the morning.

“Well, for one thing, Chucky would have my balls in a vise if I take off with his fiancée.”

“I’m not his fiancée anymore.” She sets her little chin stubbornly.

“Still, he’d be pissed.”

“Probably true. But I don’t really care at this point.” She lifts one shoulder dismissively.

She can dismiss that, sure. I’m the one who’ll have to deal with Chucky’s ire. Jesus. I can only imagine how incensed he’d be.

“Also, you don’t have a flight booked.”

“That’s easy to solve.” She picks up her phone and waves it in the air.

“Or a hotel room.”

“Please,” she scoffs. “These are not real obstacles.”

“You don’t know my family.”

“That’s okay. I’ll do my own thing while you have family time. I can lay on the beach or by the hotel pool and drink margaritas for a few days. It’ll give me time to process things. It sounds perfect.”

She’s not giving up.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” I suggest carefully.

She purses her lips. “You think I’m drunk.”

“You said you are.” She’s exasperating as hell, always has been, but for some reason it always just amuses me.

“Right. Okay, I am. Fine. But I really want to go with you. I’m not saying that because I’m drunk.”

“We’ll see.” I stand. “I’m going to check the guest room and make sure the bed’s made up.”

She needs a good night’s sleep and hopefully in the morning she won’t even remember this conversation.

I march down the hall and into one of my extra rooms. My cleaning lady makes sure it’s kept up, since some of my friends often spend the night if we’ve been drinking.

This room is the bigger spare room and has its own bathroom.

Yep, there are clean sheets on the bed and a basket of toiletries on the vanity in the bathroom. All ready for Molly to sleep it off.

I stop in the room for a moment before going back to her, to regain some equanimity. This runaway bride thing has knocked me for a loop. Totally not how I expected the day to turn out.

My gut aches for Molly. I damn near died when she was up there reading those dirty text messages, looking like a beautiful, virginal princess in that frothy dress. I could see how distraught she was even though she was holding it together. I couldn’t even make sense of what was happening.

I’m also pissed the hell off at Chucky for what he did.

I may not believe in marriage for myself, but I do expect guys who get married to be faithful. And when they aren’t…it pisses me off.

I’ve seen what happens when men cheat. Men who seem like decent guys. I’ve experienced the pain that a divorce causes because of infidelity. It makes me want to puke.

Now Molly’s sitting on my couch wearing rolled-up pajama pants and a loose T-shirt that doesn’t hide the fact she’s not wearing a bra, her face sad, on the verge of tears.

I fucking hate that she’s hurting. I also fucking hate that she thinks Chucky screwed around on her because of…

her oral skills and, uh, lack of boobage.

Not that I have any experience with Molly’s oral skills.

I close my eyes as an image of her on her knees in front of me pops into my head.

Jesus! What is wrong with me?

I swipe a hand across my forehead.

Onward.

I return to the living room. She’s turned around on the couch so her chin is resting on the back of it, facing the windows. Her red-gold hair is a tousled mess of waves, just brushing her shoulders.

The bare shoulders I saw earlier tonight, undoing her dress. She has faint golden freckles there and a tiny mole on her left shoulder blade.

I shake my head. “Okay. The guest room is ready for you, whenever you want to go to bed.”

She flips around to face me. “Thanks. I think I need more tequila, though.”

What the hell. I pour myself another glass and top hers up. “You might regret this in the morning.”

“I’ve never been hungover from tequila.”

“So you say.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Let’s say I’m skeptical.”

“Tell me about your family.”

“Ugh. Why?”

“I’m curious. Why are they ‘complicated?’ ”

“It’s a long story.” I swirl my tequila and take a sip.

“Fine. You can tell me on the plane tomorrow.”

“Jesus.” I shake my head, fighting a smile.

She grabs her phone.

“What are you doing?” I’m ready to snatch it out of her hand if she’s trying to book a flight.

“I’m Facebook-stalking Claire.”

“You know who she is?”

“No, but I bet Steve is friends with her.”

I watch her swipe and tap at her phone, a little notch between her eyebrows.

“Ha! This is her!” She holds up the phone, then stares at it again, nibbling her bottom lip. “Well, her profile is locked up so I can’t tell much about her. Shit.”

“Probably for the best.”

“I’ll google her.”

“Do you really want to do that?”

“Yes.” She frowns at her screen again. “No.” She lowers her phone. “She knew he was getting married. She probably sent me those screen shots. What kind of woman does that?”

I sigh.

Molly drops her phone. “Ugh. Maybe I should go to bed.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Jax.” She meets my eyes. “I’m really grateful for letting me escape the crazy.”

“Any time, Flynn.”

She almost smiles. Then she stands.

I show her to the guest room. She takes it in. “Nice decorating.”

I know the room is sparsely furnished. The guys who stay over here after a night of drinking don’t care about matching pillow shams. “Hey, you said you were grateful. Did you expect the Waldorf Astoria?”

“No. The Peninsula. That’s where I’m supposed to be tonight.”

“Fuck. Sorry.”

“Don’t. I was joking. I don’t care what this room looks like, just that nobody will find me here.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

“I know.” Her lips curve into a sad smile. “Thanks again. Good night.”

“Night.”

I close the door behind me when I leave.

I should hit the sack too, I guess. I go shut off all the lights and load our tequila glasses and pizza plates into the dishwasher.

I better run it tonight so they’re not sitting in there for weeks.

Then I trudge into my own room, which is bigger but not much more decorated than the guest room.

My suitcase is on the floor, half-filled with clothes for my trip.

I’ll throw a few more things in there in the morning and I’m set.

I sit on the side of the bed and think about what just happened.

Holy shit.

I’m harboring a fugitive.

Ha ha. And I called Molly a drama queen.

The good thing is, I’m leaving tomorrow. When I come back in ten days, things will have settled down. A lot of my teammates who were at the wedding will have left town for the summer, although some stay here in Chicago. I won’t have to face any awkward questions or comments about Molly.

She can go to her parents in the morning. I have time to take her there. She can stay with them while she and Steve figure things out. Maybe they’ll even get back together.

Ugh. Weirdly, I hope that doesn’t happen. She deserves better than that. Not a cheating liar who cheats.

I change out of my jeans and tee, leaving my boxers on. I usually sleep naked, but with someone else in the condo, I should probably be semi-decent just in case.

I turn on the TV in my bedroom and prop myself up on the pillows to channel surf. Nothing holds my interest and I leave it on the golf channel playing a rerun of some tournament, dropping the remote to the bed.

I hope Molly’s okay.

I surface from sleep, gradually becoming aware of noises from the living room. Or maybe kitchen.

I stare up at the ceiling in the dark. Molly is moving around out there.

Should I go see if she’s okay? If she needs anything?

I don’t move.

I’m sure she’s fine.

Aw, fuck.

I throw back the covers and roll out of bed. Running a hand through my hair, I stumble across the room and down the hall.

She’s standing in the dark, staring out the window at the city.

She’s still wearing my T-shirt and it hits mid-thigh. Her legs are bare.

“You okay?”

She jumps and whirls around, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh my God! You scared me.”

“Sorry.” I slowly walk closer. “I heard you out here. Just wanted to make sure you’re good.”

Now I’m closer I can see her face is tear-streaked, her eyes puffy. Dammit.

“I’m sad,” she admits, leaning her head against the window. “This was supposed to be my wedding night. But it’s not just that. The whole life I thought I was going to have is gone.”

I guess that’s true.

“Everything I dreamed about and imagined…” She closes her eyes and another tear squeezes out.

“Your life’s not over.” I lay a hand gently on her shoulder and squeeze briefly. “You’ll have all those things.”

“Maybe.” She presses her lips together, then opens her eyes and swipes her fingertips beneath one. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t mind some tea…if you have any?”

“Uh…I’m not much of a tea drinker.” I head to the kitchen to check the cupboards.

Miraculously, I find a box of some kind of herbal tea with candy canes and gingerbread men on it.

Someone must have brought it over at Christmas.

I fill a mug with water and set it in the microwave, which is probably the wrong way to boil water, but it’s easy.

Molly followed me. I turn to see her leaning against the raised ledge between the kitchen and dining room. I catch her gaze roving over me and I become aware that all I’m wearing is a pair of boxer shorts. My skin heats as I hold up the box. “This is all I have.”