Page 21

21

WYATT

I don’t know what the fuck this dude was doing talking to Everly in the hall and looking like he was pissed at her. I don’t like it and I’m glad I interrupted. Everly looked petrified. But why?

He’s a big guy, but I’m bigger and stronger. I can tell. Pretty sure he hasn’t played hockey in years, and it doesn’t look like he works out either. So I kind of use my physicality to separate him from Everly and hustle him into the men’s room.

I don’t look at him as we stand at the urinals. “So you and Everly met before, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“That was what . . . ten years ago?”

“About that. Maybe eleven. That’s when I got traded to the Wild.” His tone has an ugly edge.

“Huh.” There was something about the way he’d looked at her that I don’t like. Eleven years ago, Everly was sixteen.

And I remember what she told me, about some trouble she’d gotten into when she was a teenager.

My stomach heaves.

We wash our hands side by side at the sinks.

“Be careful with her,” Gage says. “Her dad’s pretty protective.”

I tug paper towels out of the dispenser and dry my hands. “And you know that how?”

His face ruddies. “Everyone knows it.”

I react without thinking, adrenaline flashing through my veins. I shove him up against the tile wall. “Did you touch her?”

He eyes me defiantly. “Ask her.”

I stare him down. “You better not have touched her. It’s not only her dad who’s protective of her.” I give him a hard thrust against the wall and step back. As he winces, I straighten my suit jacket, eye him with disdain, and walk out.

Back at the table, the fire flickering from the center, I sit. I’m tense. Edgy. Pissed. I don’t even know for sure why. I turn to Everly. “We need to go.”

She has her arms wrapped around her stomach, her lips tight. “Oh. Okay.”

Baz seems surprised but stands as we do. He holds out a hand. “Great to see you, man.”

I take it and slap his shoulder with my other. “Yeah, you too. I’ll take care of the bill on my way out.”

“No, no . . . I got this.”

“You don’t even drink, dude.” I shake my head, my lips curved into a smile that is not happy. “No worries. Hope you and Gage have a good talk.”

I take Everly’s arm and lead her out with long strides that nearly trip her up. I slow my roll and take more care with her.

We stop at the valet parking out in front of the hotel and wait for the attendant to bring my car around. I turn to face her. It’s cooler here, the ocean not far away. I grasp her upper arms. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes are big and shiny, fastened on mine, her head tipped back. She nods. “Are you mad?”

“Mad? Uh... fuck. I don’t know what the hell I am.” I shake my head. My insides are clenched and my chest tingles with dread. I don’t even know why.

The valet helps Everly into the SUV. I see how the guy looks at her. She looks smoking hot tonight, expensive and classy, the black turtleneck and pants outlining her slim figure, gold and diamond accessories glinting at her ears and wrist. I take a deep breath.

She was sixteen.

I rub my mouth as I pull out of the hotel driveway, hanging a left onto Ocean Avenue. I blow past Wilshire, then Santa Monica, and Everly tentatively says, “Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“No.” She lifts her chin, her lips tight. “I want to go home.”

For a moment, I don’t answer. Then I say, “Fine.”

I make a left at the next intersection and zoom up whatever street it is. I control my frustration enough to check out some street signs and get my bearings. I haven’t gone that far out of our way, so a few turns get us back on track and soon I’m pulling up in front of her place.

She unfastens her seatbelt and shifts so she’s facing me. “You don’t have to come in.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t have to?”

“What is wrong?”

“I saw the way he looked at you.”

She gapes at me, and the look of pain and repulsion on her face makes me feel like an asshole. “Who?”

“Gage. I gather you two... knew each other.”

Her lips tremble but she lifts that stubborn little chin and tosses her hair back. “That was a long time ago. Look. I think we’ve taken this too far. We were supposed to go out a few times and get some media attention. We both know there can’t be any more than that. So we can’t see each other again.”

My molars are grinding and I force myself to relax my jaw. “What the fuck?”

“You’re all bent out of shape over nothing.” She waves a hand. “Come on, you’re Mr. Fun. Clearly you’re not having fun.”

She’s right. Dammit. But she’s not making sense. I don’t want to have fun right now, I want to punch someone. Preferably Gage Gregoire. My life isn’t just about having fun all the time, for fuck’s sake.

“Okay, so we’re good.” She attempts to suck in a breath and nearly sobs. “Thanks for lots of fun, Wyatt. See you around.”

Incredulously, I watch as she opens the door and hops out of my vehicle. Even in her high heels, she runs lightly along the sidewalk to her door.

What the hell just happened? I think I’ve been dumped.

I also don’t think I’ve ever been angrier in my life.

I watch her unlock her door and enter the condo. The outside light extinguishes. I sit there longer, my body buzzing, my hands clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel. I don’t even know what to do. Chase after her and argue with her?

I don’t want to end things with her.

I slam the vehicle into drive and pull away from the curb. My vision is hazy. I probably shouldn’t be driving. I only had one drink, so it’s not that.

Why am I so pissed? She’s right. Mr. Fun. Ha. Good one. But that’s me. Life is too short to be miserable. And unlike hockey, there’s no replay in life.

I focus on the road so I don’t screw things up even worse by crashing into someone, and drive home.

There, I pour myself a big glass of scotch and throw myself down onto my couch.

I can’t stop thinking about Gage Gregoire. The way he looked at Everly. The way she looked guilty and afraid.

The connections I’m making in my head make me want to puke.

My chest and stomach are burning inside, and once again my jaw aches from clenching it without even realizing. I gulp down some scotch. That heats me up nicely, sending a tingle all the way to my fingers.

I’m . . . pissed. Furious. I think . . . nah.

That can’t be my heart breaking. That shit doesn’t happen in real life.

More scotch sears its way down my throat.

I don’t like this. I don’t like feeling like this. These intense emotions remind me of when Hank died. I didn’t want to analyze my feelings then, and I don’t want to now.

So I wallow in agony as I try to drown my emotions in scotch.

It doesn’t really work.

It’s a good thing we’re flying to Vancouver today. I won’t think about Everly or Gage fucking Gregoire or the shit that went down last night. I’ll just have fun with the guys. Road trips are great for hanging out together and bonding.

It’s pissing rain when we land in Vancouver. Fine with me. We check in at the hotel and don’t have much time before we get back on the bus to go to the Rogers Arena for a game day skate. I’m pumped. Humming with energy. I can’t wait to get on the ice and burn off some of these damn feelings.

Our opponents don’t know what hit them. I’m slamming guy after guy into the boards, playing the body, standing up in the neutral zone. I even score a goal, beating their goalie clean with a sizzling wrist shot from the blue line. And we win, three–one.

From Vancouver we fly to Calgary. I settle down Sunday between games, but Monday, the day we play Calgary, is the trade deadline, and everyone else is on edge about that. You never know what can happen on the trade deadline. Teams that want to make a push for the playoffs are looking to bolster their team; other teams, who know they’re out, might want to clear up some cap space by getting rid of someone. I have to admit I’m a little tense myself. Last year, it was me being traded, except I’d asked for it, hard as it was to leave the bunch of guys I was so close with in Detroit.

The team doesn’t escape unscathed, with Théo making a few moves. They don’t have a huge impact, though; two of the guys play for the Pasadena Condors, although they’ve been up and down; and in a surprise move our backup goalie is gone, which kind of sucks. He’s a good guy. But we have a lot of depth at the goalie level, with a couple of guys in Pasadena that can take over that role. It’s probably good for Bolton; he’ll get to play a lot more in Pittsburgh.

That night, playing against Baz again revives my muddled feelings. It’s not his fault his agent is an asshole; it just reminds me of Thursday night, and I’m flying up and down the ice again. And we win again.

Hell. If this is heartbreak, I should experience it more often.

Except, alone in my hotel room after the game, phone in hand, staring at social media pictures of Everly and me like a sappy teenage boy, the ache in my chest returns full-on, eclipsing the soreness of my body after two extremely physical games. Coldness seeps into my bones, my arms and legs heavy. Jesus. I should be listening to an Adele song, or something.

I pause on an Instagram image of just Everly. She’s so beautiful. Inside and out. I called her a perfect princess, and yeah, she damn near is perfect, but I’ve seen she’s not afraid to get messed up and dirty. Damn, in more ways than one. Sure, Everly hot and sweaty in bed is fucking fantastic, but she was also sweaty that day she was cooking lunch at the homeless shelter. And the day we went hiking in the hills. And she was still beautiful. My lungs burn as I breathe in.

She’s my boss’s daughter. And she’s right. We let this go too far. It should have just been a few very public dates, and now emotions have gotten involved and... .and... I’m all fucked-up. Shit.

I lean my head back against the headboard and close my eyes.

I walk into Heather’s house a few days later. The roast chicken smells fantastic. I take off my jacket and drop it over the arm of a chair. I look around. The place is quiet, other than some music playing. “Where’s Owen?”

“He’s over at a friend’s place.”

“Oh. I could’ve picked him up. Do you want me to go get him?”

“No.” She shakes her head. She’s holding a wineglass and now I notice that her fingers are trembling a little and her face is tense. “He’s staying there for dinner. I’ll go get him a bit later.”

“Well, damn.” Disappointed that I don’t get to see him, I sit down in a chair. “You should have told me. We could have made it another night.”

“Would you like a drink? I have this red wine.” She holds up her glass. “Or beer.”

“Uh, okay, a glass of wine would be nice.”

She moves into the kitchen and pours from the bottle sitting on the counter, then returns to hand me the glass. The ruby liquid is sloshing in her shaking hand.

“Is everything okay?” I eye her with concern as she sits, too, on the couch, turned to face me.

“I’m, uh, yes, fine. Fine.” She gulps some wine. “I didn’t change the plan for tonight because I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”

“Oh.” I sip my wine too. “Are things okay with Owen? Did something happen at school?”

“No, nothing happened. I wanted to talk to you about... Everly.” Her voice shakes and she swallows.

“Everly?” My eyebrows shoot up and heat stabs through my chest at hearing her name. “Why?”

“Are things serious with her?”

I shift in my chair. “Uh . . .”

I haven’t got a hot clue how to answer that. She dumped me. And I’m miserable as hell about it. I can’t stop thinking about her. I keep remembering moments, when she made me laugh, when she pissed me off and then made me laugh, when she served dinner to homeless people, and when she got down on her knees in the shower andlooked like she loved what she was doing...

I suck air into my lungs.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” I tell her, my voice scratchy, not exactly sure where her question is coming from and wanting to reassure her. “I’ve told her that you and I just friends. I told her that you were married to my best friend and I help look after you and Owen now that Hank’s gone.”

“Oh.” Her lips quiver. “Just friends.”

“Yeah.” I study her. “Heather . . .”

She presses her lips together and lifts her chin. “I’m not just friends with you, Wyatt. Since Hank died, you’ve been around so much, and... I mean at first I was grieving for Hank... but now... I’m in love with you.”

Holy shit. I stare at her, trying to keep my mouth from falling open, trying to keep my expression calm... but inside I’m a freakin’ typhoon.

“I thought maybe you were feeling the same,” she continues in a soft voice. She scoots to the edge of the couch and leans toward me. “You do so much for us. You haven’t had a girlfriend since you moved here. You love Owen. I thought maybe you were developing feelings for me too...” She swallows. “We get along really well, and have a lot in common.”

What do we have in common? Besides Owen and Hank. Okay, Heather likes hockey. And she has a pretty good sense of humor, and she’s a great mom, but I’ve never felt anything more than sympathy and affection for her. I still haven’t said a word, flabbergasted.

“You’ve been seeing Everly Wynn,” she continues. “You didn’t tell me about her. I didn’t think much of it until you showed up here with her. I was... hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” My response is automatic. I had no idea. I rub the back of my head and look away.

“I thought about it and realized I have to tell you how I feel if I ever want to have a chance with you.”

My head is spinning. This is insane. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to hurt her—again—but I don’t feel like that about her.

I do feel like that about Everly.

Before I can say a word, though, she goes on. “Owen needs a dad.” Her voice trembles. “And he looks up to you so much. You’ve been there for him, since Hank died. You’ve really helped him deal with his father dying. You’re a huge part of his life.”

Jesus. Guilt slams into me like a slap shot. It knocks the wind right of me.

I’m the reason Hank is dead.

That’s why I do so much for them. I mean, I really do love Owen, and Heather’s great, a good mom, a nice person. But I realize that selfishly, everything I do is to try to make myself feel better.

I gaze helplessly at Heather as more guilt pummels me.

She’s right. Owen needs a dad. And I’m the one who took his dad away from him.

Owen does love me. It would be easy. There are times Heather, Owen, and I are almost like a family. That time we went to Disneyland, people did think we were a family. We could make it official and I could spend the rest of my life trying to make up for how I let them down.

Now Heather’s waiting. Watching me, clutching her wineglass, her eyes flickering.

How much am I willing to do to make up for the heartache I’ve caused them?

I keep thinking about Everly.

I think I might be in love with her. Fuck it, I know I am. I never planned on having that. I don’t feel like I deserve it. But she doesn’t feel the same.

If I can’t be with Everly, maybe I should think about what Heather’s saying. Hank, wherever he is, would be happy that I’m taking care of his family. Or would he be pissed? I don’t really know, and I guess I never will, but I think I need to live life for the living. It would make sense. It would help assuage my guilty conscience and make up for my failings.

But my insides are rebelling, my gut churning, my lungs burning. I know what I should do... but can I?