Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(47)

Nothing in Jed’s career invited that.

And as Travis’s condition deteriorated, any fluctuation in those routines made him increasingly agitated and erratic. And being around Jed only exasperated his own sense of loss.

“The roster’s undergoing a major state of transitions,” Tor continued. “Veterans are being traded. You’re out. We might opt to rotate alternate captains for the moment. See who rises. Petrov might make a solid bridge to the newer players.”

“Have you thought about Patch Donnelly?” The quiet new goalie had an unexpected maturity.

“Him?” Tor’s brow creased. “Donnelly strings five words together on a good day.”

There was that. “Focus on getting him out of his shell next season. He’s a Catholic boy, right? Played at Boston College. I hear he goes to church every morning during the off-season. Petrov said he was almost a priest.” Jed’s muscles loosened as his brain whirled, reviewing the goalie’s strengths and weaknesses.

“A good goalie lets go of fear, lives fully in the present.” Tor shook his head. “He’s not there. Not yet anyway. But I’ll give him opportunities to prove me wrong.”

Jed regarded Tor with approval. “You would have made a good general, Coach.”

“Probably.” Nothing else was forthcoming. Coach wasn’t big on small talk or humility.

They spent the next hour drinking good beer and playing air hockey before Coach checked his watch with his usual abruptness. “Hey, I got to run. It’s my night with Olive,” he said by way of explanation. He shared custody of his daughter with his ex-wife and her fiancé. “I’ll drop you off on the way.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll Uber.” But once Jed left Coach’s condo, a walk sounded better. He kept to shady residential streets, crossing the road if anyone was on the sidewalk or in their front yard. It took a few times before he shook his head, laughing at himself. Not everyone was looking for him. Hell, most weren’t even thinking about him.

“Paranoid much?” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. His retirement from the Hellions was newsworthy, but it wasn’t like he’d negotiated peace in the Middle East. Soon even the most die-hard fans would move on. Embrace the new roster. Focus on the new season.

And what would he have once the limelight faded?

More importantly, who would he have?

Coach had believed Breezy’s denial. Jed stared up at the sunlight filtering through the maple leaves. Had he been wrong to come to a snap judgment? He’d gone into lockdown mode when he looked in that box, then remembered the closet she had steered him from the day her room flooded.

After that it was all over. He’d tried and sentenced her without letting her offer any explanation.

Kind of an asshole move, really.

No wonder she decked him. He rubbed his cheek. The moment he’d been tested, he’d retreated. Freaked out. Acted like a coward.

Bitterness flooded his mouth.

Maybe she’d called? Maybe he should nut up and call her. He turned on his phone, checking his voice mail. By the time the screen powered on, he’d made a decision. He’d dial her up, ask to meet and talk things over. She deserved that much.

There were four new voice mails. Two from his agent. One from his publicist. But it was the third name on the list that froze the blood in his veins.

“Shit.” It was like someone Windexed the grime off his brain and the truth shown.

His arm holding the phone, dropped limply to his side. The street might not even exist.

He’d gotten everything wrong. Royally screwed the pooch.

No, those were just statements of fact. They didn’t come close to describing his fuck up. He’d just crashed and burned so hard that he should be nothing but a few splinters of bone, some singed hair. He resumed walking, picking up the pace, as if he could move faster than the avalanche of regret bearing down on him.

Breezy hadn’t done shit. And he’d accused her with all the self-righteousness of an Old Testament God. He could barely focus. His body ached to move. Run. But even as his feet pounded the concrete, breath tearing from his chest, a single question chased him.

What the hell was he going to do now?





Chapter Nineteen




For the next few days, social media had a field day with the news of Jed’s surprise retirement. His image was everywhere, in the form of career montages and old interview clips. Every time she glimpsed his face it punched another hole in Breezy’s stomach.

It was impossible to venture online or read a paper. Instead, Breezy tried to find solace in her favorite place on Earth—her bed. But even reading eluded her. She was unable to escape into make-believe.

This wasn’t a book slump. It was a bone-crushing pain.

After a busy morning talking to real estate agents and visiting banks and putting together the first stage of her plan, she went to her closet and yanked out the cardboard Jed West cutout.

“Why don’t you call me?” she snapped.

He stared at a fixed point with that stupidly perfect smile.

“Look. I can’t call you. Not when you’re so mad at me. The last thing I want to do is have you not believe me.”

She sighed.

“I know. I lied to you, or at least hung out in that gray area of omission. I guess that I felt stupid if you knew I was a fan. I was afraid you’d dismiss me, or think I was desperate. A pathetic bookworm who believes in fairy tales and fantasizes about a prince. Actually . . . it’s sort of our story, but it’s more than that. Just like you are more than the guy everyone cheers for on game nights.”