One More Shot (Hometown Players #1) (21 page)

“Jordan, I’m incredibly attracted to you,” I confess quietly. “I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my entire life. But…I don’t think I can just let that be everything.”

I feel hot tears pricking at my eyes. He nods now, still staring straight ahead, still wordless, his fingers still tangling with themselves. Finally he mumbles, “So, this is happening? You’re leaving. Again.”

“No!” I say a little louder than I mean to. He finally pulls his eyes from the steering wheel. “I just need some time. I want to be friends. I need to get to know you again.”

He looks away again.

“Please,” I beg softly.

Finally, after a long time, he nods. “I’ll try.”

I feel a wave of relief wash over me. If he had said no I would have been devastated. I impulsively reach out and touch his hand in his lap. I feel his fingers seize and become stiff. “Have a good road trip. Call me if you want, okay?”

He nods, but I can’t help wondering if he actually will.

I step out of the car and force myself to walk to my door. Glancing back once, I see him watching me through the window, his expression dark. As I put my key in the lock and pull open the door, I hear his tires peel away.

I
skate over to the face-off circle left of Chooch’s net as the TV network comes back from a commercial break. Devin is gliding along behind me. It’s another Garrison against Garrison draw. The media loves this shit so whenever we’re playing each other and Devin’s on the ice, Coach’s orders are I take the draw. Even if Westwood, arguably the best center in league, is out there too. Because the league isn’t just about winning, it’s about ratings, like any other televised sport, and brother against brother gets ratings.

“What are we at, Mac?” I asked the ref, Iain Macintyre, a silver-haired, gruff Canadian guy who had been in the league “since I was a gleam in my father’s eye,” as he once told me when I questioned one of his calls.

“He’s won five. You’ve won three,” Mac informs me about the draw count between Devin and me. “You gotta pick it up.”

Devin grins cockily at me as he skates into position. “Yeah, little brother. Pick it up.”

“Why don’t you stop worrying about the draws and start worrying about your team’s inevitable loss?” I shoot back cockily as I lean over and lift my stick, eyes glued to the puck in Mac’s hand.

Devin does score in the dying seconds of the game, but it’s not enough to win. The Seattle Winterhawks beat the Brooklyn Barons 3–2. More important, I beat Devin. It feels great, like it always does, but my first thought is to text Jessie about it. I love to gloat to her because I love how she loves to put me in my place when I do. But I’m not ready to text her yet…as her friend anyway.

The locker room is loud and boisterous. We really needed this win. We’d lost our game in Atlanta last night in the shoot-out, which was a shitty way to start a road trip. Tonight’s win made us at least a little optimistic we could face Boston next, a team we hadn’t beaten once so far this year.

As I’m shrugging into my suit jacket, my phone buzzes in the pocket. I figure it’s just Devin telling me to hurry up, but it’s Jessie.

Tell Devin I say hi.

I smile and type back,
You mean the loser? Yeah. I’ll tell him.

A second later she responds.
Easy, egomaniac. That loser won six out of nine draws against you.

I laugh.
Whatever. Drinks are still on him.

I head out of the locker room still smiling and glance up from my phone as Devin turns the corner. His dirty blond hair is damp from a shower, and he’s wearing his pregame suit including the ice-blue tie. “Are we going to church or a bar? Lose the tie.”

He sneers at me and gives me the middle finger before tugging his tie off and shoving it in his pocket. I find it hard to believe he’s a married dad. He still looks so much like the big, scared eighteen-year-old who had moved to Brooklyn by himself and cried when he hugged our parents good-bye. I wonder how that big ball of dork managed to get someone to commit her life to him when I couldn’t even get Jessie to commit to being my girlfriend.

As we make our way out the players’ entrance and to the private drive where cabs are waiting, my text message alert sounds again.

Oh…you’re going out. Well, be safe. Night.

I stare at the screen. Devin glances over and reads it as we slip into the cab and he gives the driver the address of the bar. “Is that Mom? Is she texting now? Please don’t say she knows how to text because the phone calls three times a week are more than enough.”

“It’s not Mom,” I explain as I text back a quick “goodnight” in response. “It’s Jessie.”

He balks at that. “Be safe? That doesn’t sound like a girl who lets you give her hickeys.”

I lean my head back and groan. “Why can’t she just say something like ‘miss you’? Or ‘wish you were here’? Or ‘come back from your road trip and fuck me again’?”

“Thanks for that visual.” Devin’s face scrunches up in disgust. “So you guys haven’t…since Christmas?”

I shake my head, not bothering to mention Chooch’s bathroom because I want his face to go back to normal. “She says she needs to be friends again. That she needs time. She’s had six fucking years.”

I stare out the window at the snow-covered Brooklyn scenery.

“A committed relationship nowadays is work. A fuckload of work,” Devin explains as he rubs the back of his neck thoughtfully. “If you and Jessie aren’t sure that you’re in the right place emotionally to take that on, then don’t. Ashleigh and I love each other, but sometimes with this job and Conner and everything…it’s just not all shits and giggles. It’s actually probably better you didn’t rush into that as kids.”

The cab pulls to stop in front of the Counting Room. Devin pays the driver and we get out and make out way across the icy sidewalk and into the bar.

I push Devin out of the way and walk in first, explaining “Winners before losers.”

Devin smirks. “Sure. But the winner should also buy the drinks. I have to save my money for the All-Star game coming up. You don’t. You weren’t invited.”

We make our way downstairs to the spirits lounge because Devin only drinks whiskey after a loss, a stupid little ritual he developed when he made the NHL. He said it’s because he hates whiskey. I don’t get the logic, but whatever. No one understands why I only wear red underwear on game days. We all have our quirks.

We walk up to the bar and I order a Crown Royal for Devin and a spiced rum and Coke for myself. Then, drinks in hand, we make our way to a free table near the back of the room. We talk about Cole’s upcoming wedding and how Luc and his team are dead last in the entire league. Neither one of us can figure out why he’s struggling.

“You know it’s fucking killing him too,” I say sympathetically as I take off my jacket and hang it over the back of the chair.

“You’ve got a hot blonde completely checking you out,” Devin informs me, an amused smile on his lips.

I stop rolling up the sleeves on my dress shirt and glance over my shoulder. Sure as hell, there is a tall blonde in a pair of painted-on skinny jeans and a low-cut sparkly gold top batting her heavily eye-shadowed eyes at me. She’s pretty—tanned skin and brown eyes and a ski jump nose. A year ago…hell, a few months ago…there would be no question that I would end the night with her on my cock. Now there was zero chance. But I turn back to him and grin. “What can I say? I’m hot.”

“You’re a watered-down version of me,” he retorts, and sips his rye whiskey.

“Is that the lie you tell yourself?” I laugh and shake my head at his delusion.

“Incoming!” Dev pipes up a second later.

I turn to find the blonde standing right behind me.

“Hi,” she says with a bright smile. “Let me buy you a drink.”

I’m about to politely decline when she takes my hand and drags me toward the bar. I realize she wasn’t asking me, she was telling me. Again, this would have been hot a few months ago, but now, it is a complete turn-off.

The blonde slides herself into a small space between against the bar between two groups of people, takes my hand and pulls me in next to her. “I’m Erica.”

“Hi, Erica,” I say, subtly stepping back and bumping a girl behind me in the process. “I’m Jordan.”

“Jordan Garrison. Number forty-four on the Seattle Winterhawks,” she replies with a deep, sultry grin. “I know. I’m from Bangor originally. Everyone in Maine knows the Garrison brothers.”

Speaking of brothers, I glance over at mine. He’s alone, nursing his drink and looking down at his phone in his hand with a scowl.

“This place is crazy busy,” Erica says, still smiling suggestively. “You know, I have a fully stocked bar at home. My place is just around the corner.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” I pat her shoulder and, without looking back, make my way to Devin.

“Oh, fuck. What did you do?” Devin asks with a smirk when I get back to the table. “How’d you blow that? It looked like a sure thing.”

“Have I mentioned I love the confidence you have in me,” I snap, and make a face at him like I used to when we were kids. “I’m not interested in sure things. Apparently I’m only interested in impossible things.”

He stares at me, glass hanging halfway to his open mouth. “You aren’t filling the void, are you?”

“What?”

“Keeping busy with substitutes?’

“What the hell are you talking about?” I bark, annoyed.

“Scratching the itch?” he asks again.

“Huh?”

“You haven’t been fucking other chicks, have you, Jordan?”

“The only thing on my goddamn dick is my hand,” I reply angrily. He must see the sexual frustration on my face because he seems to believe me. “I haven’t touched anyone else since I laid eyes on her at Mrs. Caplan’s funeral.”

“Have to admit I did not see that coming,” he says, amazed, which annoys the fuck out of me. “So you’re serious about her this time.”

“I was always serious, asshat,” I say angrily. I take a deep breath and then say, “But I want it to be different this time. I want her to believe me.”

“Okay. Well, if you don’t want to die of sexual frustration, you’re going to have to do something you won’t like,” he warns me, and puts his glass down on the table as he leans closer to me.

“I’ll do anything at this point,” I confess, and I mean it. I’m desperate.

“Make a grand gesture,” Devin advises, giving me a big, dopey smile. “Pull out all the stops. Do something romantic and embarrassing and completely out there. Girls love that shit. It makes them realize you’re vulnerable, and they trust vulnerability.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I feel nothing but despair at his idea; I despise vulnerability and I’m romantically clueless. “I offered to buy her house. That’s a big thing.”

“You’re going to buy the Caplan farmhouse?” Devin blinks and gapes in disbelief. “That gesture screams financial incompetence more than romance.”

“Fuck you. It’s a good house. It just needs to be fixed up,” I state firmly. “And besides, I thought if I owned it maybe she would still feel like it kind of belonged to her and she would still want to visit Silver Bay. That’s romantic, right?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “Not if you didn’t tell her that when you offered to buy it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Devin nods and sighs at my hopelessness. “Valentine’s Day is coming up. Do something related to that.”

“I don’t want to wait that long,” I mumble, feeling defeated again.

Devin lets out an annoyed huff and picks up his glass again. “Okay, then. Give up. Invest in lube.”

“You’re useless,” I tell him, even though he’s not. He gave me a solution. I just have to figure out how to do something big and romantic while hundreds of miles away from her on a four-game road trip. Also, figure out what big and romantic even is. I never got the chance to do anything romantic for Jessie in the past. I went from being the handy friend who lit the pilot on a burned-out furnace or chased raccoons from under her porch to the guy who slept with her and punched her ex in a jealous rage. Nothing romantic about either of those things. And it’s not like I learned from other relationships. After Jessie…well, romance wasn’t something I wanted to share with anyone who “filled the void,” as Devin had crudely called it.

Devin must sense how high my stress levels are over this because, as he finishes his drink, he reaches over and cups my shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

“Don’t worry. It’s Jessie,” he reminds me with a quiet confidence in his voice that actually soothes me. “You’ll figure something out and it’ll work.”

“Thanks, Dev.”

“Sure, Jord.” He lets go of my shoulder by giving it a little shove. “Now get me another drink.”

I decide he’s right as I wave a waitress over and order us two more drinks. I need to lay it out there—once and for all.

D
espite the fact I only got four and a half hours sleep, I’m feeling cheerful and oddly content as I pull into the parking lot at work. Just like the last four nights since Jordan left on his road trip, I had trouble sleeping last night, but it wasn’t because of the usual conflicting feelings that had been warring in my heart since New Year’s. This time it was one clear emotion keeping me up—doubt. He had said he was going for drinks with Devin, which meant he was probably going to some sexy, hip watering hole in Williamsburg filled with beautiful, single, eager women. He was single. We were friends. He could do whatever he wanted, but it would still break my heart.

Against my better judgment, when sleep refused to come, I’d picked up my tablet and surfed the net, hoping it would make me drowsy. It didn’t, of course. In fact, I was wide awake when I typed that stupid puck bunny website into my search bar and waited for it to load. I clicked right through to his section, and my heart sank when I saw a brand-new post, only a few hours old, by someone with the username E_Cat14. The subject of the post was “Double Garrisons…” It glared at me, bold and bright, taunting me to click on it. So I did. Because I was weak and pathetic, I clicked.

The first thing that loaded was a continuation of the subject. Now it said: “Double Garrisons…aren’t double the fun.” Underneath that, she’d loaded a picture. It was of Devin and Jordan sitting alone at table in a dark bar, both holding tumblers with dark liquid, both deep in conversation with each other, unaware of anyone around them. My body relaxed and my eyes reluctantly pulled away from the two handsome brothers to the message underneath from E-Cat14. She wrote, “
So I finally ran into Jordan Garrison, which should have been a dream come true if all the stories on this site are to be believed. I got up the guts to ask if I could buy him a drink and got him to come to the bar with me. He seemed nice at first but before I could even order, he told me he was sorry and ran back to his brother. I get that Devin blows chicks off ’cause he’s married, but Jordan is supposed to be DTF. Conclusion: I think you’re all making the sex stories up. Dude is clearly gay.”

After that I’d had trouble sleeping because I couldn’t stop laughing. I’d even woken up and reread it. A couple people had commented on it with a few “LOLs” and a few “better luck next times,” and one even bitched she’d run into him a few weeks ago and he’d blown her off too.

When I open the door to our office, Tori is standing in the reception area with a crooked, slightly crazy-looking smile on her face. It reminds me of a cross between a hyena and a high school cheerleader on uppers.

Suspicious, I ask, “What on earth is going on that could cause that look on your face?”

She grabs my hand and pulls me to the reception desk. Kelli, our bubbly nineteen-year-old front desk girl, is grinning just as maniacally. She points to a huge bouquet of flowers on the desk beside her.

“Someone has a secret admirer and it’s not me!” Kelli says in an excited singsong voice. I turn to look at Tori again. The flowers must be for her.

“Sadly, it’s not me either,” she tells me with a quick frown, but the hyena smile comes back a second later. “It’s you! These came for you!”

I look at the flowers again. They’re lilacs in shades of white, purple and blue. Lilacs have been my favorite flower for my entire life. We had a bush outside the barn and when it bloomed in June, I would cut every flower I saw and fill the house with vases of them, completely ignoring Callie’s hay fever.

But it’s winter and lilacs aren’t in bloom. Whoever sent these must have known my affinity for them and spent a ton of cash to get them off-season. Kelli unsticks the card that’s taped to the side of the vase and hands it to me.

“Find out who it is!” Kelli demands. “Unless you know. Do you know who sent them?”

I swallow. I know who I want to have sent them, but Jordan wouldn’t do this. He has no reason to send me—his friend—flowers, right? I shake my head, indicating I don’t know, and stare at the big white envelope in my hand. It’s not like a typical flower card; it’s the size of a real card, which is weird.

I’m nervous as I open it with all these eyes on me. I pull the card out of the envelope and my heart melts—it’s homemade. The drawing on the front is in pencil and ink, and it’s a replica—albeit a much more detailed and less crude version—of the card framed on the wall in my bedroom.

He’s written “Happy Early Valentine’s Day” on the front. I try to keep my hands from trembling as I open it to read.

I feel my heart swell and my grin stretches to the point that my cheeks hurt.

“J? Who the hell is J? And when were you a goalie?” Tori asks, reading over my shoulder. “Is that from Jordan Garrison?” She just about screams his name.

“Shhh!” I command.

A patient in the attached waiting room looks up at the commotion. I smile in apology and reach for the flowers.

Kelli is positively bursting with excitement. “Jordan Garrison is sending you flowers? Are you two dating?”

“No. Just old friends.”

“Boys don’t send flowers to just friends,” Kelli informs me matter-of-factly, like I’m an idiot. “No matter how old.”

I walk away, heading back to my office with the beautiful, aromatic display wobbling in my hands. As I place them on my desk, I can’t resist taking a moment to inhale their beautiful fragrance. My eyes flutter closed. I remember being young and how stressed and scary it was most of the time—being alone and responsible for my siblings—and then I remember this smell calming me. This smell and the smile of my best friend—Jordan’s smile—are my fondest teenage memories.

I grab my cell off my desk and send him a thank-you message.
Got the flowers and card. You’re adorable! Thank you.

I sigh and stare at the flowers. I miss kissing him. I miss having sex with him. I think about it all the godforsaken time.

Tori walks in and when she sees my face, her smile falls.

“Are you okay?”

Tears blur my vision. I blush, embarrassed, and wipe them before they can fall.

“Yes. I’m fine.” I nod. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

“Turns out I got something from Jordan too,” She holds up an envelope and smiles. My heart lurches in my chest and I feel the blood drain from my cheeks. Tori must see it too because blurts out. “Nothing romantic like yours. Just a pair of tickets and VIP access passes to the next home game and an apology.”

“Oh.”

She pulls out a piece of paper and starts to read from it. “Dear Tori…”

“You don’t have to.” I shake my head.

“You want to hear this, Jessie,” Tori insists, and continues. “Dear Tori. I’m not sure what to say other than I’m sorry. You have every right to hate me. There’s no excuse that justifies my not remembering you right away. But I hope you know it reflects on my lack of character, not yours. These tickets don’t make up for anything, but I hope you’ll take them and maybe even bring Jessie. I’m hoping time will prove to both of you that I’m not that guy anymore. Sincerely, Jordan Garrison.”

She folds the paper and looks up at me. “I’m thinking I’m going to forgive him.”

“Really?”

“I knew it was just a one-night stand when it happened. I also knew he was really drunk that night. It’s embarrassing he forgot me but he regrets it. That’s all I can ask.” Tori shrugs and gives me a small smile. “How about you?”

“Me?”

She points at the flowers. “You say you two didn’t date in high school, but it’s been clear since the beginning that something happened between you two.”

Mr. Howard, our next appointment, appears in the doorway just as my phone starts to ring. “I’ll get started. Join me when you’re done,” Tori says, and turns and smiles at our patient. “Mr. Howard! How’s the hip today?”

As she ushers him down the hall toward the training room, I glance at my screen, disappointed to see Callie’s name, not Jordan’s.

“Hey, li’l sis,” I say.

“You need to say that twice,” I hear Callie’s voice.

“What?”

“Rosie made me do a conference call,” Callie explains.

“Hi, Jessie!” Rosie says happily.

“Why are we three-waying?” I ask.

“Because we’ve talked over the house thing,” Callie says, her voice terse. “And we’ve decided you can sell it to Big Bird.”

“Callie,” Rose says with scorn.

“What?” Callie argues defensively. “This is as nice as I get.”

I roll my eyes and smile, but I’m skeptical. When I first presented the idea to them, Callie was dead set against it. Even Rosie seemed a little uncomfortable with the idea, although she didn’t yell “Over my dead body” like Callie.

“Are you guys sure?”

“He’s going to pay what we ask,” Callie states. “No haggling.”

“I’m sure he’ll have no problem with that,” I say.

“Okay, then,” Rose says. “What now?”

“I guess I’ll tell him we’ll sell to him. He gets back from a road trip tonight and he’s playing the Royales tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll let him know after that,” I say. An expected sadness starts to sprout in my belly. I guess I’m going to miss the house more than I thought. “I gotta go. I want to put fresh water in my flowers before my next client.”

“Flowers?” Rose asks, a tinge of excitement in her voice because the girl was aptly named. She loves flowers.

Callie snorts. “I’d ask who from, but I think I know the answer.”

“You know the answer,” I confirm.

“Barf,” she says.

Then Rose quietly says, “I kind of have a date tonight.”

“WHAT?” Callie and I say in unison.

“A guy in my English lit class asked me out,” Rosie tells us in a robot voice. “I said yes.”

“Why would you do that?” I can’t help but ask.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re in love with Luc,” Callie states in typical, blunt Callie fashion.

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Rosie snaps in a harsh tone that’s totally out of character for her. “And I wish you would all stop.”

“What did he do wrong?” Callie says.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Rose replies. “He has a girlfriend and there is nothing wrong with that. So, please just let me move on from my ridiculous childhood crush already.”

Callie and I remain silent for a long time. The pain in Rose’s pretty voice is heartbreaking. I want to pepper her with questions about what happened between now and Christmas when she and Luc were basically fawning all over each other, but I know it’s not the time.

“Okay, then,” Callie finally says. “So, one hockey jock is out and the other one is in. Again.”

“Jordan is not ‘in,’” I blurt out.

“I love you, Jessie,” Rosie says in a despondent tone, like a mother talking to her problem child. “I love you so much, but you’re such a complete idiot.”

I hear a click.

“Rosie?” I say, but there is no answer. “Rosie?!”

“She hung up on you,” Callie announces with awe in her voice. “Go, Rosie!”

“Why the hell would she do that? What’s she so pissed about?”

“Maybe it’s the fact that you have a boy completely and utterly in love with you and you won’t do a damn thing about it, when she would sell her perfect little soul to have Luc care about her half as much as Jordan does for you.” Callie takes a breath. “Or maybe she’s just PMSing.”

I say nothing as my eyes land on the card on my desk; I inhale the sweet lilacs again.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Callie muses softly. “Maybe you don’t love him anymore.”

Instantly I say, “I’ve always loved him.”

“No, Jessie, I mean
love
him,” Callie argues. “That horrible think-about-him-all-the-time, forgive-him-anything, need-him-to-be-happy, can’t-think-of-touching-another-person kind of love. That thing I hate that I hope never happens to me. Maybe you don’t love him like
that
.”

I say nothing.

“You need to tell him, J,” she says a bit sadly. “If you don’t love him like that, you have to tell him. I mean, if you can’t or whatever, it’s okay—it is—but he needs to know. Then he can move on. You may lose your friendship, but it’s one-sided right now anyway because he does love you like that.”

And then she follows Rose’s lead and hangs up on me, albeit gently.