Breakaway

Chapter Six

Remi and Delise found their seats, row twelve right behind the Wolves bench in the Metro Center, home of the Chicago Wolves. “Great seats,” Delise remarked.

“Yeah.” They watched the players skating circles on the ice in the warm-up, shooting randomly at their respective goalies. Music blasted energetically from the speakers and the chilled air in the center smelled of popcorn, sweat and artificial ice. A puck bounced off the boards with a bang that made them jump.

“So…what’s with you and this hockey player?”

“Nothing.”

Delise snorted and tossed her long, auburn curls. “Riiiight. And that’s why he gave you free tickets to the game.”

“We’re just having fun.”

“Mmm. It looked like you were having fun that night. Did I tell you how cute you were in his shirt?”

“Oh, god.” Remi closed her eyes momentarily. “I’m sure the cops appreciated it too.”

“They were having a good laugh about it, I think.”

“Well,it turns out Jason is involved in the Stars for Reading Program at my school this year.”

“You’re kidding.” Delise swiveled her head to look at Remi. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Remi licked her lips. “Yeah, well. I didn’t know it until he showed up at the kickoff rally. He was a last-minute replacement. He acted kind of weird. Sort of brushed me off. Which was okay, because even though he said he’d call, I didn’t expect him to. It was just one night.”

Delise shot her a who-are-you-kidding look.

“But then last week after class he asked me out for dinner.”

“I see.”

Remi frowned at the disapproving tone in Delise’s voice. “I thought you wanted me to have fun.”

“He’s an NHL hockey player.”

“Yeah. So?” Like she didn’t know that and hadn’t already been over that a million times in her own head.

“Professional athletes are…um…trouble.”

Remi scanned the players in white jerseys, the home team Wolves, with their red, brown and black logos, looking for number twenty-five. She couldn’t find him. She frowned. “What do you mean by trouble?”

“They cheat on their wives.” Delise dipped her hand into the bucket of popcorn Remi held on her lap.

“I’m not going to marry him,” Remi said, still looking for Jason. Delise snorted. “He’s probably just being nice to me, giving me tickets, because I’m a teacher at the school he’s volunteering with.” And Remi knew she should just shut up, because the more she went on about how it was nothing, the lamer she sounded. She pressed her lips together and tightened her fingers on the bucket.

A loud horn blew to signal the end of the warm-up and the players slowly started leaving the ice. Remi focused on each player as he skated up to the boards, stopped sharply, then jumped lightly off the ice to walk to the dressing room.

There he was! Number twenty-five. Hard to tell, with all the equipment and the helmet. He was definitely one of the bigger players. When he arrived at the boards, he lifted his head and looked directly at her. He must know where their seats were. She smiled and gave a little wave and he too lifted a big, gloved hand before disappearing.

She shivered and not just from the cold. He’d looked for her. She hadn’t seen him earlier, of course, he’d left the tickets for her at the box office. She wouldn’t see him after, either, unless she wanted to hang around for an hour after the game. She and Delise would likely go have something to eat after.

“I’ve been reading about hockey on the internet,” she told Delise. “So hopefully I know what’s going on.”

“I think it’s pretty simple. They score a goal by shooting the puck into the other team’s net.”

“Well, duh. I got that much.”

“There’s no half time.”

Remi grinned. “No. Three periods. Two intermissions.” She picked up her Diet Coke and sipped it. “I guess we’ll figure it out.”

She wasn’t prepared for how fast the players moved, the brutal hits that shuddered the glass above the boards, and the way the puck sometimes missed the net in a blistering shot that sent it soaring over the boards.

“Jesus,” Delise muttered. “You could get hurt at one of these games.”

Remi’d flinched once too, when two players fought over the puck and sent it flying in their direction.

Jason was one of the players who did the face-off thing, trying to get the puck, bending low to the ice, legs wide apart. He seemed to win most of the face-offs, from what she could tell. But the score wasn’t reflecting that. The visiting team, the Miami Fins, scored one goal and then another.

Remi and Delise exchanged disappointed glances at the score. She wanted Jason to win. Maybe he’d score a goal. According to the team’s website, he was one of their top scorers.

And then he got the puck and broke away from the rest of the players, racing toward the Fins’ net all on his own, carrying the puck. The crowd roared and Remi’s heart jumped. He drew back his stick and took the shot—oooh, a fake! He did a quick little maneuver and shot to the opposite side of the net, but no! The goalie stretched out a gloved hand and made what seemed to be an impossible save.

The crowd all groaned and Remi slumped back in her seat. “Damn!”

Jason’s teammates all skated in after him and they shot the puck back and forth around the net, across the ice, around the net again. “What are they doing?” Delise muttered. “They need to shoot at the net to get a goal.”

“I think they’re trying to set something up.”

Remi caught the amused glances of a couple sitting in front of them and realized how clueless she and Delise must sound. She bit her lip. Hopefully those people didn’t know she was there as Jason’s guest. She wouldn’t want to embarrass him.

And then a Fin got the puck and Jason took off after him and, to Remi’s horror, he smashed the guy into the boards with a thundering crash. The crowd cheered in delight, but Remi put her hands to her mouth. Dear god, he was going to kill the other guy. Or himself. Or both of them.

But they both skated away, although Jason had to adjust his helmet.

Every muscle in her body was tense. Sheesh. She had to relax.

The pace was sizzling, the action nonstop, the tension high. For the rest of the first period, it seemed the teams were skating from one end of the rink to the other and back again. These guys had to be in great shape, although as she watched it seemed to Remi that sometimes they only played for a minute at a time, constantly hopping off the ice onto the bench and being replaced by players barreling over the boards and racing into the game.

When the buzzer sounded to end the first period, the Wolves were still down two to zero.

Remi and Delise stood to go out onto the concourse area and stretch their legs.

“Holy smokes,” Remi said. “I don’t know about the players, but I’m exhausted.”

Delise shook her head. “You were playing that whole game with Jason.”

Remi frowned. She had been caught up in it. It was exciting—but scary. Thrilling—but stressful.

“Oh my god.” Remi clutched Delise’s arm.

“What?”

“Look over there. It’s Brianne Haskett.”

“Who? Oh, yeah. I see her. Rumor has it she’s going to model for Victoria’s Secret.”

Remi’s stomach plunged to her toes. “Really? It figures.”

“Why?” Delise looked at her, eyebrows lifted.

“She’s Jason’s ex-girlfriend.”

Delise’s eyebrows flew higher. “Wow.”

“I know. Don’t say it. What the hell’s he doing with me, right? I told you, he’s just being nice to me.”

“I wasn’t going to say that. Geez Remi, give yourself some credit. You’re gorgeous too.”

Remi tipped her head to one side and smiled at her friend. “I love you. I wonder what she’s doing here.”

Delise gave a crooked smile. “Cheering on her ex? Wonder if she still has feelings for him.”

“He dumped her. Could be.” She watched Brianne talk to a group of other women, all of them tall, gorgeous, exquisitely groomed and expensively dressed. She sighed. “Let’s go back in.”

The drama continued to the third period, when the Wolves scored a goal, making it two-one, then they blew one chance after another to tie it up. Remi sat on the edge of her seat the entire period, cheering the team on, earning amused glances from Delise.

And then, along the boards in the corner near the Fins’ net, Jason was scuffling for the puck with another player. First he got it, then the other player stole it, then Jason, and he whirled around to skate around the net and try to get the puck in. So close! The crowd screamed, Remi clutched her hands together—and another Fin body checked Jason, knocking him to the ice. Hard.

Another Fin took the puck and raced out of their end with it, leaving Jason lying on the ice, still.

“Oh dear god.” Remi pressed her hands to her mouth, staring at Jason’s motionless body. Then he moved and hunched up onto his hands and knees and Remi’s stomach lurched when she saw the blood all over the ice beneath him.

The whistle blew and play stopped while the Wolves all came back to surround Jason. A man in khaki pants, T-shirt and runners came out onto the ice, slipping and sliding his way over to Jason, who by that time was on his feet and skating slowly toward the bench, holding his face.

Remi couldn’t breathe, her heart thudded so hard in her chest. The arena faded into a blur and a distant buzz of sound as she watched Jason leave, blood pouring from his face. Another player brought his stick and his helmet, which had been knocked off him.

She looked wide-eyed at Delise. “Oh god. I hope he’s okay.”

A small crease marked between Delise’s brows and she put a hand on Remi’s arm and squeezed. “He was walking and talking. He’ll be fine. It’s not like they carried him out on a stretcher.”

“Oh god.” He was gone now and she had no idea what had happened to him or if he was okay.

The rest of the game was a blur. The Wolves didn’t manage to score another goal, ending the game with a loss, but the exciting fun had gone for Remi. When the buzzer ended the game, she and Delise made their way out of the arena, buffeted by the large Wolves’ crowd.

“Okay,” Delise said. “Where should we go for dinner?”

“Oh.” Remi took a breath of the crisp late afternoon air, standing on Grand Avenue. “I don’t care.”

Delise looked at her sideways and one corner of her mouth deepened. “You okay?”

“Of course! Why?”

“You seem kind of distracted.”

“I’m fine. Just wondering how Jason is.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What does that mean?”

“I thought there was nothing between you.”

“There isn’t.”

“You seem awfully upset about him being hurt. Which is just one more reason why dating a hockey player is a bad idea.”

Remi tightened her lips. She knew it was a bad idea. Delise didn’t have to keep telling her that.

Delise sighed. “Why don’t you just call him?”

“I uh…don’t know his number.”

“Oh. You better fix that.”

“If he wanted me to have it, he’d have given it to me.” They started walking and Remi tucked her big turquoise scarf up higher under her chin against the late afternoon breeze off Lake Michigan. “He has my number.”

“If he called your cell, you should have his number.”

“Hey, you’re right.” Remi pulled her cell phone out and flipped it open, thumbing her way through incoming calls. There it was. She bit her lip. Should she call him?

“Let’s go here,” Delise said, stopping in front of a small Thai restaurant.

They went in and were seated at a small table near the front. They draped their jackets over the back of their chairs and Remi set her cell phone on the table and eyed it between studying the menu.

“Call him.”

“I have to give him time to get cleaned up,” Remi said. “I’ll call him later. After dinner.”

Her stomach tight, shoulders tense, she managed to eat half her pad Thai, but she barely tasted it. Focusing on conversation with Delise took her mind off Jason for a while, until they emerged from the restaurant onto the dark street and she remembered with a jolt all the blood and Jason being helped off the ice.

Delise drove her home. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said. “Athletes are tough.”

Remi made a face and nodded as she got out of the car.

Jasmine sat in the living room watching television, wearing cotton pajamas, her long, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Hey,” she said. “How was the game?”

“The Wolves lost,” Remi said absently, unwinding her scarf from around her neck. She glanced at Jasmine. Damn. Her puffy eyes and pink nose told her she’d been crying again. “Did you talk to Ethan?”

“Yes.” Jasmine sniffled. “He wants me to come back.”

“Oh.” Remi dropped into an armchair, slip-covered in creamy canvas to match the sofa even though they were ancient and from a different set. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I…I’d think about it.” She swiped the back of her hand across her nose. “I love him so much, Remi. I want to go back and try again.”

Remi held in her sigh. “Why do you keep going back to him, Jasmine?”

“Because I love him! He swears he wasn’t cheating on me.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

Remi leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Well, then if you go back, you’ll trust him?”

Jasmine bit her lip and tears sparkled in the lamplight. “Maybe.”

“Maybe you should think about it before you decide to go back.”

“I am!”

Somehow Remi had the feeling that this conversation was not going to go well no matter what she said. She wished Jasmine would see that her relationship with Ethan wasn’t healthy, but she seemed blind to it and only got defensive if anyone tried to point that out to her.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her gloomy thoughts. She frowned.

Jasmine sat up straight and put her feet on the floor. “That must be Ethan.”

Remi rose and looked at her. “Do you want to see him?”

“Yes. No.” Jasmine scrubbed at her cheeks and smoothed her ponytail as Remi went to the door. “I don’t know.”

Jason walked up to the house, the front window glowing golden through the drawn curtains. In the quiet dark neighborhood, it seemed like a beacon—inviting, homey, welcoming.

He stood on the porch beneath the light and paused.

What was he doing here?

After the game, the guys were going out and had invited him along. For some reason, going somewhere like Rouge or another hot club with groupies and puck bunnies appealed to him as much as a puck in the eye.

The game had sucked. He’d played like crap, couldn’t get anything going and only their goaltender had saved them from getting their asses really kicked.

The face of one person kept floating into his head—Remi. He wanted to see her. He wanted to tell her he could play better than that. He wanted to know what she’d thought of the game. So here he was, like an idiot, standing on her doorstep afraid to ring the bell.

He pushed the doorbell.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his long coat, still dressed in suit and tie. He hadn’t gone home; after the coach had reamed their asses for how they’d played, he’d gotten in his Jeep and driven straight here.

He heard the deadbolt click and the door slowly opened.

He smiled at Remi standing there, but her eyes went immediately to his left temple. Oh yeah. He lifted a hand to touch the butterfly tape.

“Hi,” he said.

“You’re not Ethan.”

“Uh…no. No, I’m not.” Ethan? Who the hell was Ethan? “Did I come at a bad time?” He was ready to turn and leave.

“Ethan…” A young girl with puffy red eyes and a pink nose appeared in the French doors to the living room. “Oh.” Her face fell.

Jason looked from Remi to the young girl behind her, looking so much like Remi, but obviously distressed about something. “Hi,” he said. “You must be Jasmine.”

She frowned. “Yes. Who are you?”

He grinned and stepped forward into the foyer, hand outstretched. “Jase Heller. Nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand, sending a confused glance toward her sister.

“Sorry, Jasmine, it’s not Ethan,” Remi said softly. She closed the door.

“I see that.” Her eyes filled with tears and Jason looked at Remi. She gave him a strained smile.

“Come in,” Remi invited, leading the way into the living room. She picked up the remote and turned off the television.

“I was watching that,” Jasmine protested.

“No, you weren’t,” Remi said. “You were crying about Ethan. Maybe you could uh…go to bed?”

Jasmine frowned, looked back and forth between the two of them, then turned with a dramatic sigh and disappeared down the hall.

“She’s still here?”

“Yes.” She blew out a breath. “But it sounds like she’s moving back in with Ethan.” She shook her head.

Should he even take his coat off? “I guess I did come at a bad time.”

“Oh, no! It’s fine. I just got home, actually. Delise and I went out for dinner after the game.”

“How did you enjoy it?”

She stared at him wordlessly.

“Well?”

“It was awful!” she burst out.

“Yeah, we played like crap.”

“No, I mean…my god, Jason, that is a brutal sport! Look at you!” She bit her lip and eyed his forehead again.

Disappointment filtered down through his body. Here he’d been thinking she’d be all impressed. Instead, she was horrified. Great.

She was a teacher, he reminded himself. He’d gotten past that fact enough to ask her out for dinner the other night after getting to know her and how she treated the kids in her class, but still…she was intelligent, educated. She probably thought hockey was a bunch of goons beating each other up, chasing a stupid little puck around the ice. It was true—he played a game for a living. How could he ever hope to impress her with that?

“I’m fine. It’s just a little cut.”

“You were bleeding.”

“Yup. That happens when I get cut.” He grinned again, holding his arms out at his sides. “I’m tough. But if you want to kiss it and make it better, that would probably help.”

She didn’t move. “I was going to call you,” she said, voice a bit choppy. “To see if you were okay.”

“Well, then it’s good I came over to show you I’m fine.” He still stood there in his coat. “But I can go…”

She rubbed her forehead, her distress diminishing as she took in that he was okay. “No. It’s fine. Here. Let me take your coat.”

He smiled as he shrugged out of it, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder from the hard check he’d taken from Sanders in the third. Probably not good if she knew about that additional minor injury. She disappeared to hang his coat up, then came back, rubbing her palms over her jeans. “Would you like a drink? Beer?”

“Um. Sure, a beer would be nice.” He followed her to the kitchen. “Some of the guys were going out after, but I…didn’t feel like it.”

“Because you lost?”

“Well. Yeah.” He was bummed about that for sure. “We haven’t done as well as we should have this season and playoffs are almost here. If we don’t win our next few games, we might not make the playoffs.”

Drowning his sorrows at a rocking club like Rouge again would probably have been a better way to take his mind off the shitty game he’d just played than sitting here in Remi’s house. But this was the place he wanted to be.

“Oh.” She handed him a beer and kept one for herself. “I guess that’s bad.”

“Hell, yeah.” He sighed as they walked back to the living room and took a seat, side by side. She curled one leg under her. Damn, she looked good in jeans. He wished he could have seen her at the game. “That’s bad. That’s what it’s all about. Making the playoffs. The Stanley Cup.”

She nodded, eyes soft and warm. “Want to talk about it?”

He did. So he talked. And she listened. She was a great listener and seemed to get his drive, that dark need inside him to fight to the end for the win. Not literally fight. Well, sometimes he did, but it was more a powerful need to battle through and come out on top. Some of her questions amused him, but it felt good to talk about how crappy he felt, how he was letting the team down, how the team was letting down the coach and the owners and the fans—especially the fans.

“So if you win your next three games, you’re in?”

“Only if New York loses.” He grimaced. “That’s how close it is. Dammit. We should have been way ahead at this stage of the season. Ah, well.”

“You put a lot of pressure on yourself, don’t you.”

He considered that. “Yeah. I guess.”

“But you aren’t responsible for the whole team.”

“I’m a part of the team. We’re all responsible for how the team does.”

“And you hate it when you don’t play well.”

“Of course I hate it!” He shook his head, the image of his high school English teacher Mrs. Wong flashing into his head, the damning message she’d beaten into him through that junior year. “I have to be good.”

She nodded and he wanted to tell her more, but the stuff backing up in his brain was some kind of stinging shit and talking about it wasn’t easy. Which was why he didn’t. Ever.

“When’s your next game?”

“Tuesday night.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll still be there Wednesday for the reading program,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

She nodded.

“Then we go to Boston next weekend.” He paused, then the craziest thing came out of his mouth. “You should come with me.”

Her eyes popped open. “To Boston?”

“Yeah. The game’s Saturday night. We could make a weekend of it.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“I…I…just can’t. That’s crazy.”

He shrugged and picked up a strand of her golden hair, rubbing it between thumb and fingers. “It’s not crazy. It’d be fun.”

She shook her head. “I am so out my league with you. I don’t have money for stuff like that, Jason, and I…”

“I’ll pay for it,” he interrupted. Christ, what kind of scum did she think he was, that he’d invite her like that and not pay for it? “I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t going to pay your airfare and you can stay with me.”

“Oh.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “That’s nice of you, but I can’t let you do that. And that’s not the only reason. I can’t just take off like that.”

“Why not?” He lifted his chin. “Why can’t you go away for a weekend?”

“Because…because…I just don’t do things like that.”

“I thought you wanted to have fun? Break loose. Living on your own.”

She grimaced. “As you can see, I’m not on my own right now.”

“Your sister is an adult.”

Her brow furrowed and the lip-nibble continued. “I know. But I should be here for her. And.going on a trip…that’s big. I…hardly know you.”

“It’s just fun, Remi. Right?”

“Yes.” Regret shadowed her eyes. “But I can’t. You need to go and focus on your game, anyway. It’s probably better if I don’t come.”

He sighed. She was probably right. He didn’t know why he’d suggested it. Nobody brought girls on a road trip. It was kinda crazy and he’d be busy practicing, then playing. Boston was an in and out game, not really a weekend.

“Yeah. You’re right.” He tipped his beer and finished it. “I guess I should go.” He set his empty bottle on the coffee table and leaned forward for a kiss. He’d wanted to touch her since he walked in the door, slide his hands into that silky hair, feel her peachy-soft skin, get his hands under that black turtleneck sweater, find out if she was wearing black lace underwear again.

Christ, it seemed like ages since they’d slept together. He’d been thinking about her for the last few weeks nonstop. When he’d seen her at the school that first day, standing there all cute and little and big eyes full of apprehension, he’d been happily surprised. When he’d found out she was a teacher, that had just about put an end to the strange attraction he felt for her. But his impulsive invitation out for dinner hadn’t turned out so bad. She hadn’t made him feel stupid or lacking.

Even tonight. Although she’d been dismayed by the rough game and his little wound, she’d listened to him talk about the game and hadn’t made him feel stupid. She’d made him feel good.

He needed more of that. He needed to be with her. Bad. And now her sister was down the goddamn hall.

Frustration rose in him as his mouth covered hers and he fought to restrain the lust that made him want to toss her down on the couch cushions and fuck her brains out.

She tasted sweet and warm, her small tongue meeting and playing with his in a long, drugging kiss that had his head spinning even more than the painkillers they’d given him earlier. He put a hand on her cheek, so tiny and soft, and held her face while they kissed and kissed again.

“Remi. Please. Come to Boston.”

“I can’t.”

He wanted to growl. A small noise did come from deep in his throat. He coughed and drew back.

“I guess I’ll see you Wednesday, then. At school.”

She nodded, mouth full and soft, eyes so turquoise blue and clear he wanted to fall into them and drown in them.

“We’ll go out for dinner after.”

She tipped her head to one side and sent him a slow, so sexy smile. “Okay. Dinner, I can do.”

“It is a school night.”

She laughed. “Yes, it is.”

“And I might end up dragging you back to my place after.”

Her eyes darkened to teal blue and she lowered her chin. “Promise?”

His dick hardened. He could have groaned. “Hell, Remi.” He glanced through the French doors, and she caught his look and laid her palm on his cheek.

“I know,” she whispered. “Wednesday.”

He stood and let her get his coat, and then he picked her up and kissed her again at the door, lifting her feet right off the floor so he could fit her to his body. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back and his dick surged and hardened even more. “Ah, Remi,” he groaned against her mouth.

A throat clearing had him lifting his head to see Jasmine standing there, staring at them open-mouthed. He let Remi slide down his body to the floor and grinned. “Just leaving,” he told Jasmine. “Night, Remi.” He brushed one last kiss across her mouth before leaving.

Outside, he left his coat undone, letting it flap open as he strode toward his Jeep. The chilly March night air would hopefully cool down his overheated body. Jesus. A warm feeling of well-being simmered inside him along with frustration. He’d wanted to see her and he had. They’d talked and somehow she’d made him feel less pissed off at himself, somehow she’d made him feel like it was so easy, they’d win their next three games and be on top of the world. He was on top of the world right now as he walked to his Jeep, the nearby streetlight reflecting on chrome and sparkling off the glass, the neighborhood quiet and dark and peaceful. He took a deep breath of cool night air and let it out. She made him feel on top of the world—but he wished he were on top of Remi.