Home and Away (2 page)

Well, okay, he’d never lay a hand on someone in anger
off the ice.

Now Callum was left with Rupert looking like he had a very large and profoundly uncomfortable poker up his butt. He was glaring at Callum like if he tried hard enough, he might be able to light Callum on fire.

There was probably something wrong with Callum that this didn’t make Rupert any less attractive.

Could long-term celibacy lead to the early onset of dementia?

Rupert’s lips pursed, and Callum realized he was about to get another tongue-lashing—of the uptight, bitchy variety, not the potentially more fun kind.

“What do you want me to do?” Callum asked, hoping to forestall the lecture he probably deserved.

“Pardon?” Rupert asked haughtily. His tone made it clear that Callum was the equivalent of something stuck on the bottom of Rupert’s shoe. The accent helped, too.

“Where do you need me? What should I do? I said I would help, and I will,” Callum said. He’d come here because he loved his sister and wanted to help her—with or without her permission—but he also wanted to learn more about the team he’d bought into, and the people who were running it.

That included Rupert Smythe, even if the other man obviously wished Callum were several thousand miles away and never to be heard from again.

Rupert studied him dubiously and Callum forced himself not to fidget. He tried to think how he could present himself as helpful. Which, okay, was probably a little late, but whatever. “I need to check into my hotel at some point, but otherwise I’m ready to start now. Whatever you need.”

“You came directly here?”

“From the airport. Yes.”

Rupert lost his bitch face long enough to look worried. “Is everything okay in Boston? I know you told Garrick that nothing had happened, but you seemed to be in a hurry to get him out of here.”

Callum grimaced. “No, they’re fine. I mean, as far as I know. And I don’t want to know more. Because any further discussion about what may or may not be happening in Boston may or may not get into the details of my sister’s love life, which may or may not involve more than one man and—
ugh
. Yeah,
no
.” He shuddered.

A hint of a smile curled Rupert’s lips. “Fair enough.”

Callum stared at Rupert’s mouth. “So, where do you want me?”

Rupert’s frown returned, and with it the efficient, controlled businessman. “There is a meeting of the construction team at one o’clock.” Rupert thrust a massive binder across the desk. “This is my copy of the project information. Garrick has another. Learn it.”

Callum knew an olive branch when it was waved in his face. Or smashed over his head, as the case may be. “Great.”

He didn’t miss how Rupert stepped back, putting himself more than arm’s distance away again. What the fuck was up with that?

“It’s still only part of what you’ll need to know, but perhaps if you learn something, you’ll get through the meeting without embarrassing yourself. Or me.”

Seriously, the dude was such a
bitch.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Callum had been traveling for a living for longer than he cared to remember, so getting settled at the hotel took all of fifteen minutes, even with his hockey equipment bag and his hastily thrown together luggage. He had no idea how long he would be in Moncton, so he’d packed for the long haul. He usually spent his summers training in Denver, but he could do it just as well here. Better, possibly.

Denver knew him. Or thought they did. But Moncton? Not as much. Even in a nation full of hockey fans, he hoped he would only occasionally be recognized, since no one expected him to be in New Brunswick and ninety percent of his television time was spent beneath a mask.

He loved his job, was proud of his career, but what he really wanted was to be anonymous. Just for a while. That wasn’t going to happen, of course, but even a little less attention on him would be welcome.

He decided to unpack his clothes into the closet and drawers, something he never did while traveling during the hockey season. When he was done, he thought he could comfortably ride out a couple months in this generic room as well as he could at home.

He wasn’t sure what that said about his apartment in Denver.

Settling down with the ream of paperwork, he soon realized why Rupert had been happy to dump it on him. It was an overwhelming amount of information. Quotes, projections, project plans, contractors, sub-contractors. Callum’s head was going to explode. Instead of trying to learn it all, he focused on that day’s meeting agenda and anything he could find that correlated to that. He was just about to call Garrick and beg for mercy when his phone rang.

He didn’t recognize the number. Normally he wouldn’t answer, but it might be Rupert, which shouldn’t encourage him to answer either, but—

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi. Is this Callum Morrison?”

Definitely not Rupert. Callum waivered, considering hanging up on the unfamiliar voice. “Yes?”

“Um, this is Jack Chevalier. Garrick LeBlanc gave me your number. I hope that’s okay.”

Callum hadn’t been able to make a lot of sense out of the tome on his lap, but he
had
managed to learn the name of the project manager. “Hi, Jack. I was just reading about you.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “You have?” Jack said finally.

“Sure. Rupert gave me the project plan. I see your name all over it—and everything else in this binder.”

“
Oh!
Okay,” Jack said with what sounded like a relieved chuckle. “That’s what I’m calling about. Garrick says you’re going to take over for him here in Moncton. He seems to think Rupert might not be inclined to help you get settled?”

Jack’s obvious confusion was yet more evidence that Callum’s sparkling personality had brought out the very best in Rupert.

“There’s an understatement. And yes, I’m stepping in for Garrick. I hope that’s okay with you.”

“That’s great. G needs to be in Boston right now.”

Callum wondered, again, what the hell was going on in Boston and if he should ask. He promptly discarded the idea. He still didn’t want to know.

“Yeah, well, I should probably apologize. It’s going to take me a while to get up to speed.”

“How would you like a crash course before our meeting at one? You know there’s a meeting at one, right?”

Callum chuckled. “I do. But that’s about all I know.”

“Okay, we can fix that. Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.”

After having his morning ruined by Callum Morrison, Rupert’s day continued downhill at such a remarkable trajectory, he could only hope to hit bottom soon. He’d briefly looked forward to the meeting at one and Callum’s inevitable comeuppance, but now he wasn’t as certain it was a good idea to throw Callum to the lions.

Not that he gave a rat’s arse about Callum, of course. It was the lions that were giving Rupert trouble.

Each day, about mid-morning, Garrick would walk through the arena with Jack and check on the construction. And, more specifically, on the contractor. The project was coming along well, with some small delays, but Jack and Garrick’s vigilance kept them to schedule as much as possible.

Unfortunately, Jack was nowhere to be found. And making Callum do the walk-through would be a complete waste of time. He was clueless, and god forbid anyone recognized him—it would bring the entire site to a halt. Not that Callum was much to look at, but this was Canada. And Callum was, as much as Rupert was loathe to admit it, very good at his job. His
real
job, playing hockey. No self-respecting hockey fan would pass up the opportunity to fawn over him a little.

Except Rupert, of course. He would rather poke his own eye out than give that man another minute of his attention.

What would it take to force Callum to go back to Denver and his perfect life with his perfect supermodel girlfriend? Whatever it was, Rupert was willing to do it. Posthaste.

But in the meantime, in an effort to keep things on track in spite of Garrick’s departure, Rupert was conducting a quick walk-through alone. He
hated
doing this, and to date had successfully managed to avoid the responsibility, along with most aspects of the construction project. But no matter how much Rupert relished the idea of Callum being knocked down a peg, he wasn’t going to let this project get knocked down, too.

He walked briskly, mentally checking the work being done against his memory of the project plan, nodding at the men who acknowledged him, ignoring those who didn’t. So…mostly ignoring everyone.

He’d survived almost the entire experience when a bellow of rage erupted from the mezzanine bathrooms, followed shortly by a huge man stumbling backwards. He crashed into Rupert, slamming them both into a stack of drywall along the railing.

Rupert’s head spun as he crumpled to the floor. Before he could figure out what the fuck had just happened, or even suck any air back into his lungs, four men stormed through the bathroom door, bearing down on them fast.

Rupert’s stomach plunged, and he scrambled backward as the man who’d landed half on top of him was hauled to his feet. Rupert shook his head, struggling to understand what the men were yelling about. It took him far longer than it should have to figure out that was because they were yelling in a coarse Quebecoise French.

Forcing his brain to shift gears, he was able to determine someone had cheated at cards, and another man’s mother was of questionable morals and profession. Oh, and these men didn’t use the term “cocksucker” as a compliment.

Rupert knew what Garrick would do, were he here. He’d step in, shove the men apart, and get everyone back to work. The men weren’t much bigger than Rupert—some were actually shorter than he was—but they were strong. And they knew each other.

They were, for all intents and purposes, a team. A potentially unified front. Rupert was only one man and an outsider, to boot.

Hating himself more than a little, he scanned the corridor for an escape. He let out an undignified yelp when one of the workers wrapped a strong hand around his arm and yanked him back onto his feet. He’d no more than caught his balance when his original assailant and another man lunged for each other, fists flying. They barreled into Rupert, shoving him back, his arms pinwheeling, his wingtips useless against the layer of dust on the tile floor.  His back slammed into the balcony railing, forcing the air from his lungs with a feeble, terrified sound. He grabbed the railing with both hands and planted his feet, holding on for dear life and refusing to look over his shoulder to the drop below.

He was so focused on the men fighting in front of him that he didn’t see Jack and Callum running toward them until Callum’s voice boomed throughout the arena.

“
What the fuck is going on here!?
”

Everyone, including the fucking idiots fighting practically on top of Rupert, froze.

In the time it took everyone to take a deep breath, Callum managed, barely, to wrestle himself back under control. He’d nearly had a fucking heart attack when Rupert had gone reeling backwards toward that railing.

Callum glanced over at Jack. They’d been laughing and joking around as they’d arrived to do the daily walk-through, Callum feeling so much better about his odds of proving to Rupert that he could pull his weight around here. Jack had helped him cram for the meeting later, making Jack just about Callum’s favorite person in the world right now.

It didn’t hurt that he was also, quite possibly, the best-looking human being Callum had ever laid eyes on. Even now, when his face was a mask of anger.

“You got this, Jack?” Callum asked.

Jack dialed his phone with one hand, glaring at the fucking idiots in front of him. “Yeah.” He pressed the phone to his ear. As soon as someone picked up, Jack started shouting in French and the workers all cringed in unison. Callum barely spoke the language, but he understood half of what Jack said based on years of listening to the colorful cursing of his French-Canadian league-mates. Jack liked the word
tabarnak
a lot.

Callum went to Rupert. “Are you okay?”

Rupert looked at him, pale, his pupils tiny black pinpricks lost in a sea of blue, and nodded. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Callum swept his gaze over the men surrounding them, and swore to himself that if he saw a single one of these guys on their site again, he’d fire the construction company first and figure out how to unfuck the project schedule later.

He moved to put himself between Rupert and the assholes Jack was currently dressing down at great volume. Rupert flinched.

Jesus Christ
. It was one thing to be terrified, another altogether not to hide it in front of these assholes.

He grabbed Rupert’s arm, ignoring the way his eyes widened, the barely audible whimper, and pulled him away from the railing. Callum would have nightmares about that fucking thing for weeks. He marched down the corridor toward the Ice Cats’ offices with Rupert in tow.

When Rupert opened his mouth, Callum squeezed his arm. “Just shut up.”

Rupert sucked in furious gasp. Callum had no illusions—Rupert wasn’t just going to ignore his suggestion, but do so loudly.

“Please,” Callum added quietly.

That, at least, shut Rupert up long enough to get around the corner. As soon as they were out of sight, Callum dropped Rupert’s arm.

Rupert practically dove out of reach.

“You are the most highhanded, arrogant bastard I’ve ever met,” Rupert snapped. The color returned to his face, glowing hot on his cheeks as he brushed plaster dust off his perfectly tailored, wildly expensive suit.

Callum knew he looked like a bumpkin next to all that sartorial splendor. Then again, this was a construction site, and it wasn’t like Callum wanted to get into a fashion competition with Rupert. If Callum ever tried to wear a suit like that, he’d look like a gorilla stuffed in a leotard.

Callum sighed. “I was trying to help,” he said, knowing it was pointless.

Rupert’s head jerked up, his hand frozen mid-swat above his shoulder, a cloud of plaster dust hovering around him. “How was that, exactly? By dragging me off like a naughty child?”