See Jane Score (28 page)

“That didn't hurt, you pussy,” Luc said as he looked down at the guy holding his shin and writhing in pain. “Get back up and I'll show you hurt.”

The whistles blew and Bressler skated by, shaking his head.

After the game, the locker room was more subdued than usual. They'd put up two goals late in the third period, but it hadn't been enough. They'd lost three–five. Phoenix sports reporters combed the room searching for sound bites, but no one was talking much.

Jane's father had suffered a heart attack, and the players felt her absence. Luc didn't believe the heart attack story, and was surprised that she'd turned tail and run. That wasn't like the Jane he knew. Then again, he didn't really know her at all. The real Jane had lied to him and used him and made a fool out of him. She knew things about him that he did not want to read in the newspapers. She knew that he iced down his knees and that everything wasn't one hundred percent.

He was an idiot. How in the hell had he let a short reporter with curly hair and a smart mouth into his life? He hadn't even liked her at first. How had he fallen so hard for her? She'd turned his life upside down and now he had to figure a way to get her out of his head. To get his focus back. He could do it. He'd battled back before, and he'd battled bigger demons than Jane Alcott. He figured all he needed was determination and a little time. Darby had told the team she wouldn't be back to work until next week.

One week. Now that she was out of his life physically, it shouldn't take that much time to get her the hell out of his head and get mentally back into the game.

And a week later, he was right. Partly, anyhow. He was back in his zone. Back to playing with skill instead of brute strength fueled by emotion, but he'd failed to get Jane out of his head completely.

The day he returned to Seattle, he felt bruised inside and out. He just wanted to sit on his couch, relax, and watch mindless television until Marie came home from school. Maybe they'd order out and have a nice relaxing dinner.

He should have known better. Like always with his sister, one minute things were fine, and the next everything went straight to hell. One minute she was filling him in on her day at school, then she took off her big bulky sweatshirt. Luc's jaw dropped when he got a good look at her tight T-shirt and her breasts. They were a lot bigger than when he'd left on his trip a week ago. Not that he stared, but he couldn't help but notice the difference.

“What are you wearing?”

“My
BEBE
shirt.”

“Your boobs are a lot bigger than they were last week. Are you wearing a padded bra?”

She folded her arms over her chest like he was a pervert. “It's a water bra.”

“You can't wear that outside the apartment.” He couldn't let her outside with her breasts pushed up and out like that.

“I wore it to school all last week.”

Holy shit, he'd bet just about anything that the guys at her school had stared at her chest too. All week. While he'd been on the road. Christ, his life was a mess. A whole churning cauldron of crapola. “I bet the guys at your school had a real good time staring at your hooters. And you can bet they weren't thinking very nice things about you.”

“Hooters,” she gasped. “That's disgusting. You're so mean to me. You always say mean things.”

Hooters
wasn't a bad word. Was it? “I'm telling you how guys think. If you show up in a big padded bra, with your
breasts
falling out, they'll think you're smutty.”

She looked at him as if he were a child molester instead of her brother who wanted to protect her from the little perverts at her school. “You're sick.”

Sick?
“No, I'm not. I'm just trying to tell you the truth.”

“You're not my mom or my dad. You can't tell me what to do.”

“You're right. I'm not Dad and I'm not your mother. I may not be the best brother either, but I am all you've got.”

Tears leaked from her eyes and messed up her makeover. “I hate you, Luc.”

“No, you don't. You're just throwing a fit because I won't let you walk around in a padded bra.”

“I bet you like women who walk around in padded bras.”

Actually, he'd grown an affection for, and an obsession with, small breasts.

“You're a hypocrite, Luc. I'll bet your girlfriends wear padded bras.”

Out of all the women he'd known, the one woman who had fascinated him the most didn't wear a bra. He wondered what that said about him. He tried not to care, but he did. His cauldron of crapola churned a bit more.

“Marie, you're sixteen,” he reasoned. “You can't walk around in a bra that turns boys on. You'll have to wear something else. Maybe a bra that has locking hooks.” That last he'd thrown in to be funny. As always, she failed to share his humor. His sister burst into tears.

“I want to go to boarding school,” she wailed and ran to her bedroom.

Her mention of boarding school set him back on his heels. He hadn't thought of boarding school for a while. If he sent her to boarding school, he wouldn't have to worry about her wearing padded bras when he was out of town. His life would be simpler. But suddenly the thought of her going away held not the slightest appeal. She was a pain and moody, but she was his sister. He was getting used to having her around, and the thought of boarding school no longer seemed like any kind of solution.

He followed her to her room and leaned a shoulder into the doorframe. She lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling, her arms spread out like she was a martyr on the cross.

“Do you really want to go to boarding school?” he asked.

“I know you don't want me here.”

“I've never said that.” They'd had this conversation before. “And it's not true.”

“You want to get rid of me,” she sobbed. “So I'll go away to school.”

He knew what she needed to hear and what he needed to say. For her as much as for him. He'd been indecisive long enough. “Too late.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You're not going anywhere. You live here with me. If you don't like it, that's too damn bad.”

She looked over at him then. “Even if I want to go?”

“Yeah,” he said and was surprised at how much he meant it. “Even if you want to go, you're stuck here. You're my sister and I want you to live with me.” He shrugged. “You're a pain in the keister, but I like having you around bugging me.”

She was quiet a minute, then whispered, “Okay. I'll stay.”

“Okay, then.” He pushed away from the doorframe and moved into the living room. He looked out the tall windows toward the bay. His relationship with his sister wasn't the best. Their living arrangement was less than ideal; he was gone almost as much as he was in town. But he wanted to know her before she left for college and grew into an adult.

Over the past sixteen years, he should have seen her more. He certainly could have. He had no excuses. No good ones, anyway. He'd been so wrapped up in his own life, he hadn't thought about her all that much. And that made him ashamed for all the times he'd been in LA and had never made a real effort to see her. To know her. He'd always known that made him a selfish bastard. He just hadn't ever really thought there was anything wrong with being selfish—until now.

He heard her soft footsteps and he turned around. With her cheeks still wet and mascara running down her face, she wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. “I like living here bugging you.”

“Good.” He hugged her. “I know I can never take the place of your mother or dad, but I'll try to make you happy.”

“I was very happy today.”

“You still can't wear that bra.”

She was quiet a moment, then gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

They looked out the windows together for a long time. She talked about her mother, and she told him the reason she kept the dried flowers on her dresser. He guessed he understood, although he did think it was creepy. She told him she'd talked about it with Jane too, and that Jane had told her she would put them away someday when she was ready.

Jane. What was he going to do about Jane? All he'd wanted was a peaceful life. That's it, but he hadn't had a peaceful moment since he'd met Jane. No, that wasn't true. When she'd been with him for those few short weeks, his life had been better than he could ever remember. Being with her was like being home for the first time since he'd moved to Seattle. But that had been an illusion.

She said she loved him. He knew better than to believe it, but deep down in a place he couldn't ignore, he wanted that lie to be true. He was a sucker and a chump. He would see her tomorrow night for the first time in a week, but he hoped that, like all pain, after the initial sting he'd become numb and wouldn't feel it anymore.

That's what he hoped, but that wasn't what happened when she walked into the locker room the next night. Luc felt her presence even before he glanced up and saw her. The impact of seeing her slammed in his chest and left him winded. When she spoke, her voice poured through him, and against his iron will, he soaked her up like a dry sponge. He was in love with her. There was no denying it to himself any longer. He'd fallen in love with Jane, and he didn't have a clue what to do about it. As he sat there with his feet jammed into his untied skates and the laces in his hands, he watched her walk toward him, and with each step his heart felt like it was pounding a hole in his chest.

Dressed in black, with her smooth white skin, she looked the same as always. Her dark hair curled about her face, and he forced himself to lace his skates, when what he really wanted to do was shake her, then hold her tight until he absorbed all of her.

The hardest thing Jane had ever done was walk across the locker room and face Luc. When she approached, he looked down at his laces. For several long seconds she watched him lace his skates, and when he wouldn't look up at her, she spoke to the top of his head. “Big dumb dodo.” She balled her hands into fists to keep from reaching out and touching his hair. “I want you to know,” she said, “that I have no intention of writing anything about you ever again.”

Finally he looked up. His brows were drawn over the turmoil in his blue eyes. “Do you expect me to believe you?”

She shook her head. Her heart cried for him. For her. For what they might have had together. “No. I don't, but I thought I'd tell you anyway.” She looked at him one last time, then walked away. She joined Darby and Caroline in the press box and took out her laptop to take notes.

“How's your father?” Darby asked, heaping more guilt on her head.

“He's feeling much better. He's at home now.”

“His recovery has been amazing,” Caroline added with a knowing smile.

After the first period, the Chinooks scored a goal against the Ottawa Senators, but the Senators rallied in the second frame and put up a goal of their own. When the final buzzer sounded, the Chinooks won by two points.

As Jane moved to the locker room once again, she wondered how much longer she could take this. Seeing Luc constantly was more than her heart could take. She didn't know how much longer she could continue covering the Chinooks, even though it meant giving up the best job she'd ever had and a chance for a better career.

She took a deep breath and entered the locker room. Luc sat in front of his stall as usual. He was bare from the waist up. His arms were folded across his chest, and he watched her as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle. She asked as few questions of the players as possible and beat a hasty exit before she broke into tears in front of the team. They'd assume she was crying because of her sick father and would probably send her more flowers.

She practically ran from the room, but when she was halfway to the exit, she stopped. If ever there was something she needed to stick around and fight for, Luc was that something. Even if he told her he hated her, at least she would know.

She turned and leaned a shoulder into the cinder block wall, in the same place Luc had once waited for her. He was the first to enter the tunnel, and his gaze locked with hers as he walked toward her, looking obscenely handsome in his suit and red tie. With her heart in her throat, she straightened and stepped in front of him. “Do you have a minute?”

“Why?”

“I wanted to talk to you. I have something I need to say, and think it's important.”

He looked behind him at the empty tunnel, opened the janitor's closet they'd been in before, and shoved her inside. He flipped on the light as the door shut behind them, sealing them together in the same place where he'd once kissed her passionately. As she gazed into his face, he neither smiled nor frowned, and his eyes looked tired but gave nothing away. Nothing of the emotion she'd seen earlier in the locker room.

“I thought you needed to say something.”

She nodded and leaned back against the closed door. The scent of his skin filled her with a visceral memory and deep longing. Now that the time had come, she didn't know where to begin. So she just talked. “I want to tell you again how sorry I am for the
Honey Pie
column. I know you probably don't believe me, and I don't blame you.” She shook her head. “At the time I wrote it, I was falling in love with you, and I just sat down and poured out my fantasy about you. I wasn't even sure if I was going to send it in. I just wrote, and when I was through, I knew it was the best thing I'd ever written.” She pushed away from the door and walked past him in the small closet. She couldn't look at him and tell him everything that needed to be said. “When I finished it, I knew I shouldn't send it in, because I knew you wouldn't like it. I knew how you felt about untrue things written about you. You'd made that really clear.” With her back to him, she wrapped her hand around a part of the metal shelving. “I sent it anyway.”