Prima Donna (21 page)

“Oh, screw it,” she muttered.

Comfortable flannel nightshirt off, horrible yellow hockey jersey on.

It was heavy, a little scratchy, and the front was stiff under the crest, but she didn’t care. Wrapped in its weight, she walked out to the living room, retrieved her vase, and walked right back to Carter’s room, where she climbed into the bed she’d just rearranged and was fast asleep in seconds.

Carter hung around the apartment until the call came in from Rossick around mid-morning.

“D’you get them?…Yes!…What time’s the puck drop?” He glanced at the time on his phone and nodded. “Okay, lunch first? Good. I just have to run to Nick’s and grab my jersey, then I’ll meet you at the hospital. Is Jules coming? ’Kay. See you in a bit.”

He hustled out to his car, dialing Nick’s home number as he climbed in. Four rings, then voice mail, so he hung up without leaving a message and immediately dialed Regan’s cell. She might not answer their house phone, but she’d answer her cell. Straight to voice mail.

Good, she must already be gone to an appointment. He hadn’t seen her since the day before Valentine’s and truth be told, from the second he slid that envelope under Maya’s door, he’d been kicking himself.

He’d all but groped Regan in the office the other day when she hugged him and then he went and sent her that rose. On its own, that was stupid enough, but to make it worse, he’d specifically asked for that coral color, and there’s no way Maya hadn’t told Regan what it meant.

Idiot
.

What kind of a guy kept pushing himself onto a woman when she’d already told him she wasn’t interested, that the only thing she had time for was her jobs so she could care for her mom? Carter threw his car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot, cursing himself the whole time. Jayne was right; he
was
an asshole.

And the only thing worse than realizing it himself was admitting Jayne was right. Well, screw that—starting now he’d keep his distance from Regan. They’d work together and they’d see each other at Nick and Jayne’s sometimes. Hell, if he could pull this off, they might even stay friends.

He could do that, couldn’t he? She was just a chick, and sooner or later, he’d get over whatever this…thing…was. Right?

Right or not, he didn’t rest easy until he pulled into Nick’s driveway. Empty. Good. She was gone, which meant he’d have another whole day to convince himself he could stop thinking about her, he could stop wanting to spend every minute of every day with her, and he could stop remembering what it felt like to be buried deep inside her, listening to her whisper his name as she—

Shit!

Duke’s deep rumbling howls started before Carter could tug his key out of the lock and close the door behind himself.

“Hey, buddy,” he murmured, crouching down in the foyer to scratch Duke’s ears. Still howling, the dog pushed up against Carter’s shin before giving his hand a slow lick and flopping down on the floor, his chin resting on the toe of Carter’s shoe.

“What’s up, Duke?” Regan’s muffled voice floated into the room from down the hall. “Need to go—Carter!”

Carter’d swear that part of his reaction came from the surprise of finding her there, and it might be marginally true, but when she came around that corner holding the rose under her nose and wearing nothing but his hockey jersey, something slammed him so hard and fast he actually staggered back a step.

He blinked her into focus, then took another step back, ignoring Duke’s disgruntled groan at having his head displaced.

Ho. Lee. Shit.

Hockey jerseys didn’t look good on anyone, but on her, with her hair all messed up, her pretty mouth opened in that little
o,
and those legs…

She caught the vase before it fell, then pressed her hands over the jersey as if she could hide it. “What…what…what are you doing here?”

“I, uh, called the house but there was no answer.” He lifted his foot over Duke and took a step toward her. “So I thought you’d be at an appointment.”

“I was…um…on my cell when the house phone rang.” Panic flashed across her face; with the vase still clutched in one hand, she pressed the other against her head and frantically tried to tame some of the chaos, but with each movement of her arm up around her head, the jersey inched higher up her thighs. “My client…um…she, uh, had to cancel this morning. Sick. Her baby. Throwing up. Diarrhea.”

This was wrong. He shouldn’t be taking another step toward her. And if she had any sense, she’d be telling him to whoa up, but she didn’t. She just kept standing there, finger-combing her hair and twisting her right foot over top of her left.

Did she have any idea what she was doing to him, standing there in his jersey? Ah, shit, did she have any idea what she did to him just by standing there at all? He couldn’t stand it; if being an asshole meant he got to pull that jersey off her right there and spend the rest of the day with her underneath him,
or on top of him,
then he didn’t give a shit how much of an asshole he was. It’d be so worth it.

No it wouldn’t.

Seriously? Look at her!

Don’t do it.

But those legs…remember how good it felt to—

Don’t be that guy
.

There couldn’t have been more than three feet between them when he finally managed to stop moving and just look at her, her green eyes wide with panic.

“This, um…your jersey.” Still clutching the rose, she crossed her arms awkwardly and finally took a step back. “I can explain.”

“I think it’s probably better if you don’t.” Carter swallowed hard, then rubbed his earlobe to keep his hand from reaching for her as his gaze wandered the length of her, inch by inch. “But it’s why I’m here. Game day.”

“Right. Okay. Um…I’ll just go get changed.” She’d already disappeared down the hall when she called back to him. “Do I have time to wash it?”

“Wash it?”
He would not think about the fact she was right down that hall getting naked. Nope. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t…okay, he would. Shit. “It’s a signed jersey, Red, you don’t just throw it in the washing machine…unless…did you spill something on it?”

“No! It’s just…” Her voice muffled for a second, and when it cleared again, he didn’t need to see her to know she had a guilty look on her face. “I sorta slept in it.”

“Gimme a fuckin’ break,” Carter whimpered, pressing his fists against his eye sockets. His stupid hockey jersey was getting more action than he was.

Turning on his heel, he headed straight to the kitchen hoping against hope she might come out in either a giant floral muumuu or a full-length parka, though she’d probably look just as hot in either of those as she did in everything else. It didn’t matter what she wore because he knew what was under it, knew how soft she was and how to touch her, just so, to get her to arch into his hands.

Stop it. So she’d been wrapped in his jersey all night. So what? He just wouldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t think about how her scent was now going to be woven into the fabric, or how he was ever going to explain that to Rossick at the game.

And he sure as hell wasn’t going to think about how jealous he was of a stupid hockey jersey for getting to spend the night with her.

Ugh!

It was no wonder he’d never tried to be the good guy before—it sucked! And it was getting harder and harder to pretend none of it mattered when the truth was…
shiiiit
!

By the time she returned, wearing her oversized green sweatshirt, Carter had downed two glasses of ice water and had splashed another couple gallons across his face, but none of it helped. He was still rock-hard and pretty certain his head was going to explode if he didn’t get out of there pretty soon.

“Sorry ’bout that.” Her face was still flushed as she set the folded jersey on the island. “You okay?”

Don’t be an asshole.

“Mm-hmm.” Sure, he was okay, aside from the fact everything inside him was twisted up so tight he could barely breathe. He scrubbed his hands across his face, and before he could do anything stupid, like ask her to go put it back on, he snapped the jersey up and headed for the door. “See you later.”

“Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Han Solo,
The Empire Strikes Back

The others were already at the table when Regan showed up at Chalker’s on Tuesday night.

“Thought you were going to stand us up,” Ellie quipped, then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Regan waved her question away as she hung her coat on the back of her chair. “It’s just been a weird few days.”

Weird didn’t even begin to describe it. Valentine’s Day, getting busted in his jersey, then having him take off like that…he’d hardly said two words to her since.

“What happened?”

“To start with,” Maya said, pushing the pretzel bowl over to Regan’s side of the table, “someone sent her a rose on Valentine’s Day.”

“Who?” Jayne asked, perking up. “Are you seeing someone?”

“No!”

“Then who sent it?”

Regan could have kissed Shelley when she set the beer bottle down on the table. “The card wasn’t signed.”

“Which makes it really interesting,” Maya said, then proceeded to fill the other two in on the type of rose, what the color meant, and how it had been ordered. “Nice, eh?”

“And you don’t have any idea who it might be from?”

Regan just lifted her bottle and shrugged as she took a long, slow sip.

“Anyone new hanging around lately? Anyone stopping by the clinic to see you?”

“No and no.”

“Wait.” Ellie set her glass down and shook her finger slowly at Regan. “The other day after you left the shop, Mrs. Scott said she saw you get into a car with someone. A man someone in a fancy Cadillac-type car.”

“Trust me,” Regan said, then closed her eyes slowly and sighed. “It wasn’t him.”

“Who’s ‘him’?” Jayne asked, leaning closer. “And where did you go with him?”

She didn’t know why she hadn’t told them before now, but she couldn’t keep everything private, and given the choice between this and who sent the rose, there really was no question.

“It was Griffin Carr,” she said, smirking behind her bottle.

“Shut. Up!” Maya cried. “Seriously? What’s he doing back in town and why didn’t you say anything?”

“He offered me a job.”

“He what?”
Three women yelling the same thing at the exact same time pulled everyone’s attention away from the hockey game blaring from every corner of the pub.

“Shhh!” she laughed. When the rest of the room went back to their own business, she leaned in, and in a quiet voice told them what had happened with Griffin.

“Are you out of your freakin’ mind?” Ellie asked. “Why the hell would you say no to something like that?”

“Because,” she said, wishing she hadn’t said anything about it. “I can’t just up and leave, Ellie. I have a job and a life.”

“Some life,” Ellie scoffed. “All you do is run from one job to the next and back again.”

“No, I don’t. There’re down times, too. Besides, I like my jobs.”

“And that’s good,” Ellie shot back. “But you’re not going to be happy until you have your own place again, and working for Griffin, with the money he’s offering, will get you there a hell of a lot faster.”

“Maybe, but…”

Ellie waited all of about half a second before pushing. “But what?”

As much as Regan loved Ellie, sometimes…

“But it’s not just about me. I have my mother to think about.”

“Your mother.” Jayne repeated the words slowly before grinding her teeth together and pushing her glass to the middle of the table. “You can’t let her color this decision, Regan. Don’t get me wrong, I admire what you do for her, but you hardly ever get to see her, and on the rare occasions that you get to talk to her, you spend the whole time listening to her call you horrible foul names. You can do that from anywhere.”

“What the—” Regan started, but Maya shushed her.

“We know, Reggie.”

Regan slid her gaze slowly from Maya to Jayne and finally back to Ellie; Ellie, who never bullshitted anyone.

“What, exactly, do you know?” And
how
did they know, was the question.

Ellie took a sip of her wine and Jayne and Maya simply blinked at each other, but it was as though it was all happening in slow motion as a growing wave of anger churned through Regan’s stomach, crashing into what felt like bits of her heart chipping off.

Carter.

He was the only other person who knew about her mom, and she had no one to blame but herself for that. She should never have let him back in that night, should have never given in to his questions, to the way his dark eyes seemed to wrap her in comfort even though he hadn’t touched her.

She’d given in to her weak side, and even though it had felt good to finally tell someone, a tiny voice in the back of her head had plagued her ever since, warning that she’d regret it one day. Today was that day.

“Do you remember Jayne’s bachelorette party?” Ellie asked, pushing herself into Regan’s darkening mood.

“Yeah, sort of.” It hadn’t really been a bachelorette party since they’d had it after Jayne married Nick, and the only thing Regan remembered with any certainty was that it was the night Ellie tried to teach her how to shoot Redheaded Sluts. Her lack of success wasn’t for lack of trying or for lack of Jägermeister.

“What do you remember?”

It took Regan a few seconds to focus; Carter had betrayed her trust, and Ellie wanted to talk about a drunken stupor that’d happened months earlier. “I, uh, I remember you got me shit-faced and I spent the next two days cursing you out and planning ways to kill you.”

“Okay,” Ellie chuckled. “That happened, too, but do you remember what happened when we got back to your apartment that night?”

“No. Why? What happened?”

Ellie’s smile faded slowly. “You told us about your mom.”

Regan froze in her chair. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her own pulse crashing in her ears, the only thing she could feel was overwhelming guilt for doubting Carter.

She
told them; not Carter.

“I what? I, uh, but…what…um…what did I tell you?” For the next couple minutes, she listened in horror as the three of them repeated everything she’d told them about her mom, starting with the mood swings, the anger, the paranoia, the day her dad left, her mom’s suicide attempts, every horrible thing her mom had ever said to her, and what Regan was doing to help pay for her mom’s care.

It was awful. It was humiliating. It was one of those moments where she thought if she didn’t say anything for a long time, maybe they would all just forget about it and move on to something else, so for a long while, Regan didn’t do anything but pick at the label on her bottle until Shelley walked by.

“Another round please, Shell.”

Apparently none of them were going to play along with her “ignore it” game, because they just sat there, silently waiting for her to say something, yet not rushing her into it.

Regan wasn’t entirely sure she could deal with this right now. These three people were her best friends, the people she trusted most, and the thought of losing even one of them was too much to even think about.

If any one of them had that look—the one she’d seen so many times before, the one usually followed by the person trying to get as far away as they could in case they caught the crazy—it would rip the four of them apart.

“Is everything okay?” Shelley asked, setting the next round on the table.

Regan didn’t look up, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Ellie nod, and a second later, Shelley was gone.

With a deep breath, Regan closed her eyes, took a long drink, and braced herself for the worst. Opening her eyes slowly, she tipped her head to the side and forced herself to look up at Ellie, whose expression wasn’t one of pity or even one of being slightly freaked out.

It was worry. And compassion. And strength.

And it was the exact same expression shared by Maya and Jayne.

There was no pity, there was no panic, and there was no freaking out. Instead, it felt as though they’d built a fortress around Regan, and if the look in their eyes was any indication, there’d be hell to pay if anyone tried to break through that fortress.

“Okay,” Regan finally choked out, dashing her hand over her eyes. “Note to self: never drink with Ellie again.”

“Oh no,” Ellie laughed. “You’re going to learn how to do shooters even if it kills both of us.”

“You didn’t have to keep that from us, Reggie.” Maya’s voice, soft and quiet, was every bit as strong as Ellie’s. “We know you’d rather die than ask for help—”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.”

The way the three of them snorted in unison was a little uncalled for.

“I’m just saying,” Maya went on. “You’ve looked after your mom—and yourself—since you were a kid, so we understand why it’s hard for you to ask for help and we understand why you have issues trusting people.”

“I trust you guys.”

“Not completely.” Jayne’s quiet voice sat like a weight between them. “If you hadn’t been drunk that night, you never would have told us about your mom.”

“I couldn’t.” Regan closed her eyes and inhaled slowly as the wave of guilt washed over her. They were right; she didn’t trust people. What they didn’t know was that she didn’t trust herself. No matter what any of them said, she would always feel responsible for her mother’s illness, would always know it was because of that illness her dad left and why her mom couldn’t stand to see her.

It was her own fault her parents abandoned her, and if that’s what she did to the two people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, what hope did she have with anyone else?

“I know what it’s like,” Jayne said quietly. “Every time she says something hurtful, it feels like another piece of you chips off and there’s no way you’ll ever get them all back together again, right?”

Her voice was little more than a whisper, but her words reached inside Regan and wrapped themselves around every one of her broken pieces. Jayne knew; of course she knew. Unlike Regan’s mother, whose illness made her say horrible things, Jayne’s grandmother had said them on purpose.

“But if you’d just let yourself trust us,” Jayne went on. “Believe that we’re not going anywhere, that you’re stuck with us for the rest of your life, then some of those pieces will start to fall back into place. I promise.”

“And in keeping with the puzzle metaphor,” Maya said, smiling gently. “Your salon is a big piece that needs to be put back where it belongs and this opportunity with Griffin will help you with that. You’ll get paid a stupid amount of money to do what you love, you’ll get some stamps in that dusty old passport, and you’ll get to do it all with the hottest guy in the western world.”

The first two things might be true, but the last…Regan sighed. Well, two out of three ain’t bad, right Meatloaf?

“And,” Jayne added. “If something should ever come up with your mom while you’re gone, the three of us can certainly take care of it until you get back.”

“I appreciate that,” Regan said slowly. “Really, I do, but…”

“But you’re not ready to give up some of your control issues.”

Something like that normally would have pissed Regan off, but this time…well, they’d just busted her on pretty much everything, so what else could she do but grin?

“Thank you for that, Ben, er, I mean, Jayne. Sorry, all you Scotts sort of blur together sometimes.”

“Funny,” Jayne said, grinning back at her. “And for the record, he and I are only related through marriage so it doesn’t really count.”

Regan started to laugh and to tell her that was exactly what Carter said, but it was best to keep his name as far away from this conversation as possible.

“Look,” Maya continued in the no-nonsense tone she’d taken on. “For months now, the three of us have sat back and waited for the right moment to charge in and force you to let us help, but I think we all know now that day’s never going to come because you might never trust anyone that much—and before you interrupt, let me finish.”

Regan sighed and sat back in her chair while Maya went on.

“Baby steps, that’s all we’re going to do. We’re here for you whenever you need us, no matter what, no matter when, no matter why.”

“No matter nothing,” Jayne added.

“Damn right.” Ellie lifted her glass, tapped it against Regan’s bottle, and winked over a grin.

“Thank you.” It took a few seconds, but Regan finally stopped chewing her cheek and sighed. “I’ll kill the first one of you who repeats this to Ben, but I know I have a few issues I need to work on—”

“Who doesn’t?” Maya snorted.

“And while I really do appreciate your support, there’s nothing anyone can do for my mom.”

“Maybe not,” Jayne said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do anything for you. It can’t be easy dealing with her on your own, because while you have to know it’s the disease that makes her say and act the way she does, it still hurts. Let us help with that; you want to vent about it, vent. You want to cry, cry. You want to punch someone, punch Maya or Ellie.”

“Hey!” Maya cried, but Ellie just shrugged.

“What the hell,” she grinned, “I’ll take one for the team.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Regan didn’t even have to force her smile, it just came naturally. “Can we talk about something else now please, because I’ve had more than enough of this topic. Someone else must have something to talk about.”

The three guys a few tables over burst to their feet, arms waving, curses flying at whatever just happened in the game they were watching. Regan refused to look even though everyone else did. The last thing she needed to see was another hockey jersey.

When the noise finally settled, Jayne rolled her finger around the rim of her glass and grinned slowly.

“So I have a bit of news.”

Regan’s head turned faster than the other two.

“You’re pregnant!” Ellie blurted.

“No!” Jayne laughed. “Why—do I look fat?”

“Please. What’s your news?”

“It’s been in the works for a couple months now, but I didn’t want to jinx it by saying anything too soon.” Her smile turned soft, almost shy, a good sign it had something to do with Nick. “We’re selling the house.”