Mackenzie
I wasn’t easily deterred. And I couldn’t afford to be. If I wanted to save face in front of Garrick and my father, then I needed to get Jake back on the ice. And if that meant taking an early flight to Saskatchewan, and enduring an I-might-just-die flight in a shaky Piper Saratoga to Moose Lake while battling snow and sleet . . . then so be it.
After checking into a quaint B&B in town just ten minutes from Moose Lake, I quickly sent off a text message to my father and Garrick before driving out to Jake’s cabin.
When I knocked on his door and he answered it, his eyes immediately narrowed. To say that I was unexpected would be an understatement.
“I think they call this stalking,” he said.
“It’s called business. What sort of agent would I be if I didn’t visit my favorite hockey player?”
“The good kind.” His beautiful eyes glittered across at me. “No phone call? Text?”
“I was afraid your phone would hit on me if I texted you. Or call me names.” Ignoring his obvious displeasure at seeing me, I held up a couple of Quest bars—which I knew were his favorite—and waited for him to invite me in. Christ, it was cold. When the Canadians put on winter they certainly didn’t hold back. “You like Quest bars, right?”
Typically, Jake was determined to be an ass. “Apparently, I prefer bourbon,” he replied sarcastically.
I pulled the bottle of bourbon out from under my arm and held it up triumphantly. “Now are you going to let me in? Or do you really want me to freeze to death on your doorstep.”
“Do I have a choice here?”
“Not really.”
He sighed and with a roll of those piercing eyes he opened the door wider for me to step inside.
The cabin was small but cozy. It was basically one room with an entire house squished into it. In the small kitchenette to the left, red-and-white-checkered curtains hung by a small window overlooking a frozen pond out in back. Across the room—and by across the room I actually mean just a few feet away—a fire crackled in a beautiful riverstone hearth in front of a lumpy couch. Under the only other window in the cabin was a large comfy bed with the quintessential patchwork quilt.
Warmth from the fire engulfed me but my teeth still chattered with the cold.
“This is nice,” I said, noting that Jake had already opened the bottle of bourbon and was pouring some into a glass. He handed it to me but I shook my head, my teeth still chattering.
“You want to talk to me, you drink this,” he said, his eyes hard. It amazed me how something so beautiful as those eyes could hold so much unhappiness.
“It’s a bit early . . .”
The look on his face was a clear indication that there was little room for negotiation.
Fine.
Bully.
I took the glass from him and without hesitation, threw back the bourbon. I waited as it carved a hot path down my throat and spread a delicious warmth across my chest. Annnnnnd, there it was . . . the God-awful aftertaste. Ugh. I screwed my nose up and squeezed my eyes shut. Bourbon tasted like ass. But at least it warmed me up almost immediately.
Jake chuckled. It was the first time I’d even seen a hint of a smile on his face since I’d arrived.
And it was fucking perfect.
“Warmer?” he asked.
It was then I realized that he’d insisted I drink the alcohol more so to get me warm than to get me plastered.
“Thank you.”
He refilled my glass.
“You know, I don’t normally drink alone,” I said.
I watched as he took another glass from the cabinet above a small stove, and added a splash of bourbon, then watched as he tipped his head back and downed the rich, gold liquid. The way his throat worked as he swallowed was mesmerizing. In fact, all of him was. From the broad shoulders and big biceps, right down to the dark beard hiding his handsome face.
Damn. That wasn’t good. In fact it was bad. Noticing how hot my client is just wasn’t an option.
I blamed the cargo pants he wore. They fit every part of him perfectly. And they had those pockets and stuff hanging off them, so he looked like he was part of SWAT or something equally as sexy. He wore a short tee over a long-sleeve tee and his hair was an inky, wild mess that tumbled past his shoulders.
The guy was genetically blessed but was completely and utterly unaware of it.
That, or he just didn’t care.
Going by his demeanor, I didn’t think Jake cared about too much.
“We need to talk,” I said.
Jake raised a dark eyebrow. “Sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” he deadpanned. He sat down on one of the dining chairs and rested an arm on the table in front of him. “It’s okay, I understand, it’s you and not me.”
I chose to ignore his obvious sarcasm.
“I have a plan,” I said happily.
“Does it involve you hopping back in your car and leaving?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
I joined him at the small table between the kitchenette and the fireplace. I shrugged off my jacket and hung it over one of the chairs.
“I want to set up a meeting between you and the Fury,” I said.
Jake sighed. “If you’re anything, you’re persistent.”
“My dad told me you never called to cancel your contract.” I waited, watching him for any signs of discomfort because he had been called out. But I got nothing. He just stared at me. Completely poker-faced. “He said that you had an agreement. That you were to listen to my pitch about representing you. And then afterwards, you could call him and he would terminate your contract. But he said you never called.”
That told me more than he realized. It told me that somewhere inside of him, Jake wasn’t ready to let go of his hockey career just yet.
But again, Jake remained poker-faced.
“I don’t think you want to give up hockey,” I continued boldly. “That somewhere deep inside of Jake Pennington there is still a tenacious desire for hockey. That maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to let go.”
He paused for a moment. And as our eyes remained fixed, and the seconds ticked by, I held my breath. I was sure he was going to budge.
Finally, Jake broke the silence.
“No,” he said, folding his arms.
I sighed and didn’t bother trying to hide my frustration.
I poured another shot, threw it back, and then pushed the bottle away. I still had to drive and any more bourbon would ruin me. I glanced out the window. It was snowing now and I would need to leave before it got too heavy. Not being a native to snow, I hated driving in it.
Jake watched me, amused. “Are you okay?”
I swallowed hard, driving the aftertaste of bourbon down my throat.
I gestured to the little window that sat over the little kitchen sink. It was now late afternoon and it looked like the snow was getting heavier outside.
“It’s snowing again,” I said, trying to hold back another cough as bourbon bit at my throat. “I’m going to have to leave before it gets too heavy.”
Jake stood up. “Well, what can I say? Thanks for stopping by.”
I didn’t budge.
Instead, I made one last attempt at getting him to at least consider joining the Galveston Fury. “Please think about this.”
“I have. And I’m not going back to hockey,” he said. “And that is that.”
He was being stubborn. This was a lost cause and I might as well leave. Which was awful because I had a huge fucking bet in play. I needed to make one more attempt at convincing him, but before I could answer there was a pounding on the door that nearly sent me skyward out of my skin. Jake looked at me like I might be mental.
Yep. He thought I was a weirdo. Whatever.
I twisted in my seat and watched as Jake opened the door where, in the next second, a ten-foot giant Canadian appeared in the small space.
“Hey, Billy,” Jake shook the older guy’s hand.
“Hey, Jake, Alice wanted me to make sure you were aware—” catching sight of me, the man stopped talking and looked apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”
Jake looked over his shoulder at me.
I stood up. “That’s alright, I was just about to leave.”
The giant man looked apologetic again. “I don’t think so, young lady. That’s why I’m here. There’s a blizzard coming. A big one.”
“Blizzard?” I choked the word out.
“Going out there now would be suicide.”
“But I’m only staying at the B&B a few miles down the road,” I explained.
“That’s a ten-minute drive. You don’t want to risk it,” the exquisite looking Canadian said. “You’re both welcome to join Alice and me. We’re a couple of minutes across the pond. But Willy and Maggie have a bad case of bronchitis each, so it’s a bit noisy.”
I looked at Jake.
“Mackenzie, this is Billy Redwing, my neighbor. Billy, this is Mackenzie—” he hesitated before saying it, “—my agent.”
He ignored my suddenly smug smile. But I felt a swoop of joy in my tummy and couldn’t hide it. He had just admitted I was his agent which was a sign that maybe I was reaching the stubborn hockey player after all.
“Billy and his wife, Alice, have eight children,” Jake explained. “Willy and Maggie are two of them.”
“Our place is a bit bigger. There’s plenty of food and it’s warm. This blizzard might keep us snowed in for a couple of days.”
A couple of days?
My blood pressure went up.
I looked at Jake who was already looking at me. I gave him a little shake of my head. He must’ve understood because when he turned back to his friend he said, “Thanks, Billy, but I think we’ll be okay.”
When Jake closed the door behind Billy, I stood up.
“I have to go.”
“You heard Billy—”
“You don’t understand.” Anxiety prickled along the length of my spine. “I can’t be cooped up here for the next couple of days.”
Jake’s perfect brows rose but he said nothing. He just watched me as I dived headfirst into my meltdown.
Turning, I grabbed my coat from the back of the chair.
“If I leave now I will make it.” I thrust my arms into the sleeves. “It’s not even a ten-minute drive.”
“That’s not a good idea.” Jake crossed the room and stopped me from doing up my buttons by turning me around. Towering above me, he cupped my shoulders. “I think you’re going to have to accept facts.”
“What?”
“That you’re stuck here for the night, whether you like it or not.”
The sudden flurry of snow against the windows made me jump. And that’s when it hit. Like a wrecking ball toward my brain. Anxiety. I could feel the prickles of it spreading across my skin like a slow-moving plague.
He was going to think I was mental. He looked at me with those stupid, incredible eyes and my anxiety attack went from a Mount St. Helens to a Pompeii-size eruption.
Oh, boy.
This was going to suck.
* * *