Jake
It takes nine months to grow a life.
It took nine months to destroy mine.
With an overwhelming indifference I watched my ten-year career slip away from me, and the life I once knew simply disappear.
I hadn’t been on skates since Tyler had been killed and as a result I had lost my job. Not to mention all the endorsement deals I had leading up to the Stanley Cup.
Sports drinks. Men’s active wear. Hockey equipment. I had endorsed them all. I was every sports management team’s wet dream because I was so bankable. Not to mention, the fact that I’d endorse anything. If they paid me enough, of course. Hell, I’d even endorsed a men’s aftershave called, Baton Dur, which roughly translated into hard stick in English. That deal alone had netted me a cool three million.
But those days were gone.
Now, I didn’t care about any of it. Money. Career. Hockey. Life. Because I had lost everything important to me, like family and friends, so I deserved to lose the rest of it, too.
I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to black out the memories. But feeling a little hazy from the bourbon, my emotional walls crumbled and the memories flooded in. Tyler’s pleading eyes. The spray of ruby red blood across the ice. Riding with Tyler’s body in the ambulance en route to St. Vincent’s. The look on Kit’s face when she arrived at the hospital.
My heart ached. Kit. Every night the same scene played out in my head.
Standing in the hospital corridor outside the ER where Tyler’s body lay. Kit sobbing against me. Her fists twisting in my jersey as she cried hard into my shoulder. If I wasn’t so numb—so completely and utterly devastated—I might have joined her. But I was too stunned to react. Too shocked to fully comprehend what was going on around me. Only that this couldn’t be happening. That Tyler couldn’t be dead.
Kit suddenly paused, looking at my blood-spattered jersey, a horrified expression spreading across her face. She took a sudden step back, her wide eyes taking in the blood of her husband all over me.
“You did this,” she whispered, completely alarmed and taking a farther step away. “He’s dead and you killed him.”
“Kit—” I reached for her but she flung me away.
“He’s dead because you were hungover and fell.”
“No, that’s not what happened—”
“Yes, it is. You fell and you cut his throat.”
She looked at me like I was scum.
“This is all your fault,” she suddenly cried. “All your fault!”
Kit’s best friend, Macy, stepped in and pulled her into her arms.
“Come on, Kit, you need to rest. Think of the baby.” Macy led her away from me. But Kit swung around one more time, her face a mask of tears and pain.
“He loved you. He goddamn loved you and what did you do? You fucking killed him!” She went for me then, crossing the space between us and pummeling me with her closed fists. “You killed him, you piece of shit! And now he will never know his baby girl. And she will never know how wonderful and brilliant her daddy was. Or how much he was looking forward to meeting her, protecting her, holding her . . . It’s all over, it’s all over because of you!”
Macy pulled her off me and dragged her away, and I watched with tears in my eyes as they disappeared down the corridor and around the corner. Gutted, I fell against the wall and slid to the tiled floor.
She was right, of course.
Tyler was dead and I had killed him.
If he hadn’t been late because of me, he would have been wearing his neck protection. But he’d forgotten to put it on. And he’d forgotten to put it on because of me.
Now he was dead.
As I drained the bourbon from my glass, a woman slid onto the stool beside me.
I glanced at her but turned back to the empty tumbler in my hands. Women. Just add them to the long list of things I had left behind. And this woman next to me would be no different. Even if she did have a face that made you double-take. Oh, yeah, I had noticed. She was smoking hot. But she could be the hottest woman on Earth and I still couldn’t care less.
Her voice surprised the hell out of me as she asked, “How about I buy you a drink?”
I glanced back at her and watched her signal for two drinks. There was something vaguely familiar about her and I wondered if I had nailed her? I let my eyes glitter over her again, taking in the luscious blonde hair, big brown eyes and . . . damn, she had some rack on her!
If I had any sense, I had to have at least tried whenever our paths had crossed.
But not recently. Definitely not recently.
“Mackenzie.” She introduced herself and handed me a shot of bourbon.
“Jake,” I replied accepting the shot glass. We clinked them over the bar before throwing them back. When she slammed her glass back down to the gleaming timber bar top she signalled to Pete for a refill.
I shook my head. “Oh, no. I’ve had about enough.”
I stood up and flicked a few bills onto the bar.
But blondie wasn’t taking no for an answer. She patted my stool. “Come on, Jake, have one more with me.”
One more and I’d be on my ass. But, hey, she was asking nicely. “Sure, why not.”
Again we clinked glasses and threw back our shots, and then I was ready to leave. But as I shook off the heat and aftertaste of the bourbon, it occurred to me that I knew her, I just didn’t know how.
“Do I know you?” I asked, again taking in the beautiful contours of her lovely face and the intriguing way her lips pulled to the side as she smiled. She grinned and damn if I didn’t feel that grin all the way down to my balls.
She smiled and leaned in close. “No. But as of two hours ago, I became your agent.”
* * *