Quick Trick (A Rough Riders Hockey Novel Book 1) (16 page)

G
rant was fucking miserable
.

Everything about this gig had been as tedious as he’d expected—the flights to get here, the traffic from the airport, the wardrobe fitting for a tux, Bridgette’s pawing at the cocktail party beforehand, and now, he and his teammates were standing in a brutally cold DC wind that created a thirty-four-degrees-feels-like-seven-degrees situation just to watch some lights turn on.

The only light in this dark cloud had been the performance by Giselle Diamond. Despite the cold and the wind, she’d put on an outstanding show. Her voice silenced the massive audience until the end of a song when the applause and cheering rose to ear-splitting levels. That had been the only part of tonight he was sorry Faith had missed.

Faith.

He took a covert glance at his phone to check for texts, emails, or voice messages. Still nothing. That knot of fear digging into his ribs tightened a little more.

“Would it be...how you say...vulgar, to ask how the fuck we got here?” Andre Kristoff asked in his thick Russian accent.

“It’s called rude,” Beckett Croft, one of the team’s best defensemen answered. “And sometimes, you just gotta say what you gotta say. What I want to know is how the fuck do we get out?”

“Better question,” Tate Donovan said under his breath, “is how to shut you guys up so we don’t get
kicked out
.”

“Whose idea was it to bring the fuckin’ Boy Scout along?” Rafe Savage cut a look at his best friend since childhood and his current teammate on the Rough Riders. “I’ve got my eye on a couple of sweet pieces of ass from the cocktail party, and I’m taking at least one of them home tonight. So if you plan on acting as the goddamned hall monitor, stay the fuck away from me.”

“I’m going to repeat that to you the next time you call me from jail looking for someone to bail out your skanky ass,” Tate shot back, using a high-pitched girlie voice to repeat, “Stay the fuck away from me.”

Normally, Grant found Rafe’s and Tate’s bitching entertaining. Tonight, he found nothing entertaining. Absolutely nothing. He’d only been away from Faith for about thirty hours and all he could focus on was the hollow ache in his gut.

Rafe pulled his jacket tighter against the bitter DC wind. “Bet he wouldn’t talk so damn long if he were out here instead of up there, shielded and warm. Fucker.”

“Say that a little louder,” Beckett told him. “Maybe to that Secret Service agent or bodyguard or whoever the hell that is on your right.”

“It’s a free fucking country.” He met the steely gaze of the noted agent or guard. “Isn’t that right? Sir.”

The man didn’t respond but took in every last detail of their group before scanning the crowd again.

“Would you guys shut up?” Hendrix said from behind them, his arms crossed, jacket pulled up around his ears. He stood between Andrade and Lawless, all three of them using Grant, Beckett, Rafe, and Tate as wind blocks. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Jesus Christ.” Grant bounced from foot to foot, trying to stay warm. “Don’t stand still, boys, or your ass cheeks’ll freeze together.”

“That ain’t all that’ll freeze together,” Lawless offered.

A murmur of movement rippled close to them. Someone nudged their way to the front of the crowd. Grant glanced that direction just as Bridgette stepped up beside him. She wore a winter-white wool trench over the barely there midnight-blue dress she’d had on at the pre-party, and slipped her arm through Grant’s, snuggling up beside him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. She hadn’t been invited to the lighting, only the parties before and after as Grant’s arm candy. “How’d you get in?”

“I used to date the security guy.” She beamed up at him with pearly whites that made her coat look positively dingy. Her bright blue eyes danced with clandestine thrill.

In the two hours since he’d picked her up at her apartment, Bridgette had tried three times to convince him to spend the night with her. Yet all Grant could think about was Faith. Faith and what she was doing with her Christmas Eve day without the ice-sculpting contest on her agenda. Faith and all the texts she hadn’t returned. Faith and his calls she hadn’t taken.

He knew how to read the message she was sending loud and clear. He just wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of it. And now that he was back in the middle of this hot mess he called a life, everything he’d found cute or quirky about Faith to begin with were the very things he loved about her now. Missed about her now.

And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

Thankfully, the ceremony ended within ten minutes. Grant grabbed a private limo ride to the reception with Bridgette and spent the ten-minute drive repeating what he’d already told her earlier in the evening. But this time, he wasn’t as nice about it. Bridgette pushed from the limo livid and strode past Donovan and Savage, who were waiting for him at the curb.

When Grant stood from the car to tip the driver, Rafe said, “What the hell did you do to ruin that sure thing?”

“Go find your coeds.” Grant pushed his billfold back into his pants pocket and wandered their direction. He was already exhausted and it was only eight o’clock. “I’ll keep the hall monitor in check.”

Rafe pounded Grant’s fist. “I owe you.”

“Grow up,” Tate yelled at Rafe’s back, which he ignored.

Grant and Tate joined the reception, neither interested in being there. They spent half an hour talking about Grant’s shoulder, the team, and the games Grant missed while he was in Holly. Which only reminded him of that ache in the pit of his stomach and made him glance at his phone again.

Still nothing. And God help him, all he could think about was her walking away, with her
“Safe travels, Grant Saber”
ringing in his head
.

Tonight, the words felt more like a permanent good-bye than a see you later.

“Who is she?” Tate’s question pulled Grant’s gaze from his drink. Tate had his shoulder against a pillar, his eyes on Grant.

“Who is who?”

“The chick? The one who’s not texting you back. The one who’s making you wish you were somewhere else?”

“What makes you think it’s a chick? Maybe I’m just sick and tired of this monkey-suit-smile-for-the-camera shit. Maybe I’m thinking about negotiating my next contract differently next time around.”

“Because otherwise you’d have done Bridgette in the bathroom at the pre-party already and be looking for another empty closet somewhere in here. Or, if you’d already tired of Bridgette after one ride, you’d be prowling with Savage.” Tate smiled, but it wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t smug. It was sad. “And, because I’ve been there. Not all that long ago. I recognize the signs.”

Ah shit.
Grant had forgotten about Tate’s divorce. “Hey, man, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. It sucks. And I’m here to tell you, if you love her, it doesn’t get any better.”

Grant downed half his drink, wincing at the burn. “Just what I needed to hear tonight.”

Did he love her? Grant had never been in love. He knew he was crazy about her. Certainly didn’t want to think about the coming weeks and months without talking to her, seeing her, touching her.

But
love
?

“God, I’m tired.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just want to go home.”

No. Not home. He wanted to go to Faith.

He wanted to
go home to Faith
.

Home and Faith.

Yes.

They fit.

But, still… Was that love? And did it matter?

“If you’re this tied up over her, why didn’t you bring her with you?” Tate asked. “I mean, I don’t blame you. That dumbass right there”—he lifted his beer toward Rafe where he was chatting up two beautiful women—“is enough reason.”

Grant glanced at Rafe, then back at Tate, confused. “What?”

“The chick you’re twisted over. Why didn’t you just bring her with you? You could have made it a mini Christmas vacation.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but every excuse he pulled up fell flat—she didn’t have any family to stay in Holly for. She’d given up on judging the contest. The hardware store was closed Christmas Day.

Why didn’t I just bring her?

A sick feeling spread across the floor of his stomach. To push it away, Grant blew Tate off. “What kind of question is that? Who’d want to come to one of these things? They’re boring as shit. I don’t even want to come.”

“You’re not serious. Dude
,
this is an exclusive event with the fucking president of the United States, not to mention a blockbuster country music mogul. I know the whole celebrity thing doesn’t do anything for you, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t do anything for
her
.”

He thought of Faith’s reaction to the news of his obligation.
“That’s an opportunity most people will go their whole lives without ever experiencing.”

That icky feeling in his gut rose through his chest.

“Chicks
dig
this shit.” Tate gestured around the room, where everyone was talking and laughing with others. “Everyone digs this shit. Well, except losers like us.”

Grant was a loser, all right.

A major loser.

In fact, he was pretty sure he’d lost the best thing he’d ever found.

He replayed his last fifteen minutes with Faith over in his head again and again.
“Safe travels, Grant Saber.”

“Grant?”

A woman’s smooth voice tugged him into the present, and he looked into the eyes of a woman he’d hooked up with a few months back. Kim? Kelly? Kris? Kira? Something with a K. She was so his type—so urban, so sleek, so perfect, so superficial. And he didn’t even remember anything about their time in bed, just that he’d slept with her. He knew without any doubt he’d remember every minute with Faith.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh yeah,” Tate said with a lift of the brows as he brought his drink to his mouth. “I forgot who I was talking to. That’s a good reason not to bring her.”

Everything inside him pushed back. No. He didn’t want to go back to that life. He’d touched something real, and nothing else would ever measure up.

He turned and shoved his drink into Tate’s hand. “All yours. I’m done.”

“What? Grant—” He pushed both drinks into one hand and grabbed Grant’s arm. “You can’t just walk out. The big wigs aren’t even here yet.”

“Then they’re going to miss out, aren’t they? I’ve met my obligations, and they weren’t one of them.” Grant jerked from Tate’s grasp and threaded his way through the crowded room toward the exit and the limos waiting beyond.

* * *

F
aith pulled
the last package of drill bits from the last box of inventory that had once filled the shelves of her basement, and hung it on the designated hook. Releasing a sigh, she rested her hands on the top of the step stool, surveying the shelves around her for organizing opportunities. But she already knew there were none to be found—she’d organized every shelf in the store, top to bottom, end to end over the last thirty hours since she’d said good-bye to Grant.

She’d only taken a break to watch the tree-lighting ceremony—and boy had that been a mistake. Her mind replayed the sight Faith was sure she’d never forget, of Bridgette Ferreira cutting through the crowd and sliding right into place at Grant’s side, smiling up at him like an adoring Barbie doll.

Her stomach dropped to her feet again with the force of a ninety-degree roller-coaster plunge. Faith’s core muscles tightened to protect her against the inevitable pain. “He certainly didn’t waste any time picking up where he left off.”

God, she was so gullible.

So many emotions roiled inside her, they made her dizzy. She had to find something to keep her mind occupied, or she was sure she’d drive herself insane.

Faith climbed down the short ladder and snapped it closed. The metal clap echoed through the empty store. Not a soul had come through the front door in hours. Everyone in town and about a thousand other visitors were all at the festival.

And just like that, the ice-carving contest, her dad, and Natalie joined Grant in her uncomfortable thoughts. She wondered if Charlie Dumphies had won for the fourth year in a row. Wondered if anyone had missed her. And whether or not Natalie had gotten the validation she’d been looking for out of her role in the event.

Faith might never get the answers to those questions, but she had learned one important thing—she didn’t need the festival the way she’d thought. She’d also learned she now didn’t have anything to do to keep everyone out of her head. She hung the ladder on a hook in the back, closed her eyes, and exhaled. “It can only get better, right?”

Even if that were true, it didn’t help her now. Now she just had to find a way to get through it. She turned to face the store and all its empty aisles, cleaned and straightened to perfection.

“There certainly isn’t anything left to do here.” Her gaze stopped on the front doors. “And I won’t be making one damn sale today.” A wave of anxious misery snaked through her, and she pressed a hand to her forehead as thoughts of failure, of losing the store, of going bankrupt swam in her head. “What now, Faith? What the hell are you going to do now?”