Jersey Girl (Sticks & Hearts #1) (32 page)

Hearing Rivers say that shit to Cassie left a deep gash in my heart. Not only because it hurt to hear him saying those things about me. But also because in a way he'd been right. I
have
been with my fair share of women over the last four years. And I've made it abundantly clear to everyone with ears I'm not looking for a relationship. When Cassie came along, I'd been quick to tell her the same thing. She seemed content to simply be my friend, so spending time with her had been easy. Natural even. But every day, a little piece of her had wormed its way into my every thought. My every desire. My heart.

I want to believe what Cassie and I share is the real thing. But Vanessa had claimed to love me, and look how that turned out. After that heartbreak, it's been hard for me to freely hand over my heart to someone else. It's not because I don't believe Cassie will take care of it. I've been guarding it so long, I'm afraid I may not trust myself to give her my
whole
heart. Hell, after the way it was obliterated, I'm not even sure how much of it's left to give away. And she deserves nothing less than all of it.

So that's the question I've been asking myself since that night in my kitchen. Can I give it away and risk being hurt again? I'll keep searching until I find the answer. But I don't think it's fair to ask her to wait around while I try to figure it out.

I hadn't been prepared to see her tonight. I've skipped classes all week just to avoid running into her. I didn't want her seeing my face all messed up. I knew it would only make her feel guilty for not talking to Scott ourselves instead of letting him find out on his own. Davis told me how he found out, and the next time I see that prick, Justin, I'll be sure to kick his punk ass. Davis kindly pointed out I'll get my chance when we go against Minnesota after break. I'll gladly spend the night in the sin bin if it means I get to pound his face into the ice.

I make it back to the locker room and see the light on in Coach's office.
Christ, I cannot catch a break tonight
. There's no way I'm getting past his office without him seeing me, so I might as well say hello.

"Knock, knock," I lean in the doorway and wait for him to call me in. I know I could walk right in and take a seat across from him, but I'm not sure if he had the same idea as me and was counting on having the space to himself.

"Brantley, I'm surprised to see you here this late. Sit down and keep me company." He tosses his glasses on the desk and rubs a hand over his tired eyes.

"Well, I don't want to bother you. I just wanted to say hi, and wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Nonsense, get in here. I wanted to talk with you about something anyway." He points to an empty seat and then lowers his index finger. I take that to mean
park your ass in that chair
, which I've heard him tell me on more than one occasion, so I do as his finger says.

"I've waited three days for you or Rivers to have the balls to tell me what the hell went down between you two," his brow arches as he waits for me to respond. When I don't, he adds, "I'm still waiting."

"It was just a simple misunderstanding." I give my shoulder a shrug as if it's no big deal.

"Bullshit!" he barks, and the force of his voice knocks me back in my chair. "Two of my best players come in looking as if they've gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson, and you're going to sit there and tell me it was a simple misunderstanding?"

"He didn't like that I've been messing around with his sister," I concede.

"Yeah, I've noticed Cassie's been attending a lot of practices." He leans forward and scratches a hand over his chin. "So, what happened, he pull the big brother card on you?"

"Basically, but it goes deeper than that," I go quiet, and he takes that time to study my face. "He said I'm not good enough for her. You think maybe that's true?"

"First of all, I hate you even have to ask me that question. It tells me you actually believe that shit. Let me tell you something, Cage. You're a great kid. There's not a doubt in my mind you're more than good enough for this young woman. But it doesn't really matter what I think. What matters is what
you
think."

I draw a deep breath and let out a loud whoosh of air. "I want to be worthy of her love."

He nods his head and scratches his chin again. "I see. Are you in love with her?"

"Yes," I answer right away.

A smug smile fills his face as he sits back with his hands behind his head and stares.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask defensively.

"Nothing. I just like the way you didn't even hesitate when I asked that question. So what's next?"

"Not sure. Guess I need some time to think it through."

"Sounds like you're afraid of getting hurt again. I get that. What you went through was rough for a kid your age. But, in all the years I've known you I've never seen you back down when something you wanted was within reach."

He gets up and walks around to where I'm sitting, then leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"Allow me to make an analogy. It's the final game of the Frozen Four. Score is tied with fifteen seconds left on the clock and it's your puck. Spiker's in the net and he's all over the crease, leaving only the thinnest chance of scoring. Do you take the shot anyway?"

It's a no-brainer.

"Hell, yeah, I do. I have to take it. I wouldn't waste an opportunity to knock the chip off Spiker's shoulder, not to mention I wouldn't want to let my team down." He just looks at me and does that head bob thing again.

"Interesting. Allow me to draw another scenario. It's the Stanley Cup Finals. You're playing D for the Chicago—"

"But I'm not going to Chicago. I'm going to Detroit," I interject.

"Please, allow me to finish. You're with Chicago and it's down to the final seconds of game seven. It's all on you, and Rivers has been on top of his game all night. Stopping every shot on goal. The puck races down the ice, and at the last minute it's handed off to you, because you have an opening. Now, do you hesitate to take the shot because Rivers is your friend, and by scoring you'll strip him of the opportunity to win the cup? Or, do you take the shot?"

"Fuck, no. I'd still take the shot," I say with certainty. There's no doubt in my mind. Not because of what went down between us, but because of our love of the game. It's what we'd both expect of each other.

"Why, Brantley? Why would you still take that shot?"

"Because, I'd be a fucktard for passing up that opportunity. And because he'd expect nothing less of me."

"Good answer." He gives me a pat me on the shoulder and goes back to his chair. He doesn't say anything else, so I assume the analogy lesson is over and I passed. I get up and head for the door when his voice stops me. "Cage?"

"Yeah?" I turn my head and look at him over my shoulder.

"You
do
realize that in both of those analogies Cassie was the goal. Right?"

I think about it for a minute then scrub my hand down my face. "I do now."

"Right. I just have one more question. Why aren't you taking the shot?"

Good question.

I don't answer. Mainly because I can't right now. But he did give me something to think about.

CASSIE

"I'm making cookies," mom announces, pulling the mixer and her favorite bowl from the cabinet. "Wanna help?"

"Sure," I shrug and continue to bounce my heel off the cabinet door.

"Okay, first things first, grab a carton of eggs and two sticks of butter from the fridge."

"I think by
help
you mean be your gopher," I tease, then jump down from my perch atop the counter and retrieve the items. While I'm there, I snag a slice of cold pizza leftover from last night's dinner.

"Which cookies are you making this year?" I lean on the counter beside her and take a giant bite.

"White chocolate with macadamias, of course," she answers over the whirl of the mixer.

I smile, appreciating her efforts to try and cheer me up.

"I know what my baby girl likes." Her right eye closes in what's supposed to be a wink but ends up looking more like a nervous twitch.

With a mouth full of pizza, I reach over and pat her on the arm, "Pfhank ewe."

Her eyes roll to the ceiling. "Sweetie, it's not ladylike to talk with your mouth full."

"It's also not ladylike to say fuck, but you say it all the time," I remind her.

"That's just splitting hairs," she argues as I pop the last bite in my mouth, "and it's not even a fair comparison. There will
always
be a time where fuck is the only word that fits. Talking with your mouth full of pizza is just—"

"Gross," Scott finishes, coming up behind her and placing a kiss on her cheek. "Morning," he says to both of us. Mom smiles and returns the greeting. I, however, do neither.

"Scott, we were just making cookies. Would you like to help us? It'll be just like old times." She gives him a smile that reads
you're making cookies whether you like it or not
and hands him the mixer.

"What the hell. Sounds like fun. Cass, remember that time we—"

"You know what? I've suddenly lost my appetite for cookies. If you'll excuse me," I brush past them, not missing the defeated look on my mother's face as I grab my coat and walk out the back door.

I grew up on a dead-end street, which was great when we were kids. We would ride bikes and rollerblade for hours on end. During the summer months, dad would set up two nets, and before you knew it, there would be a crowd of neighborhood kids playing an impromptu game of roller hockey that would last long past the streetlights coming on. I liked the idea of having friends around if I wanted to go out, but oftentimes I just wanted quiet. Our house was always loud, full of people and a hockey game on television. I used to sneak down to the pond at the end of the street and sit for hours, reading or writing music. It was always so peaceful. Over time, it became my sanctuary.

I guess that's why my feet brought me here now. I'd left the house just to avoid Scott. We've been home for three days, and I have yet to have a conversation with him, but that hasn't stopped him from trying to corner me. Mom told us we need to sit down and air our grievances, while dad told her to let it be and leave our grievances to work themselves out. To be honest, I don't know how I feel about it.

It's easy for me to place all the blame on Scott, but it probably isn't fair. It hadn't been his fault I'd run from heartbreak in Minnesota and ended up at Great Lakes just to be closer to him. How could I really fault him for not realizing that sometimes a girl just needs her big brother? I mean, I'd never actually told him, so how could he have known?

But Brantley knew. That day in the diner, he'd listened as I poured my heart out, and he'd remembered. To be honest, that's probably why he'd been so protective of me early on. He knew I needed someone to look out for me, and he knew Scott had been too preoccupied to notice.

There was something about what Scott said that hadn't sat well with me. Actually, none of it had, but one thing in particular kept niggling away at my brain.

Brantley is a really great guy. He's smart, thoughtful, supportive. He's kind and gentle with me. Unlike Justin, not once has he ever laid a hand on me in anger. But above all else, he was a loyal friend. If you take all of those qualities and match them with what Scott said, things just didn't add up. Why wouldn't Brantley be good enough for me?

I was so lost in my own head I failed to hear the footsteps behind me. I guess that's why I react the way I do when he speaks.

"I thought I'd find you here." Every muscle in my body stiffens at the sound of Justin's voice. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

I spin around so fast he doesn't have time to react to my open hand until it connects with his cheek, and the resulting smack echoes around us.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he screams, clutching his face as if I've drawn blood.

If only.

"Me? You've got some nerve showing up here as if I owe you something. I owe you jack shit!" My nostrils flare as I stand toe-to-toe with the man I once trusted with my heart.

What a fool I'd been. But no more.

"Oh, I get what this is. It's about him, right? Cage is a fucking loser. I know his type. He'll talk sweet. Say anything to get you in bed. He'll fuck you a while before he grows tired of you and decides to stick it somewhere else." He's seething with rage. Spittle gathers on either side of his mouth and it's started to foam. The effect it has reminds me of a rabid dog.

"Sounds to me like you've just described yourself. Or have you forgotten you were once the sweet talker who fucked me over." My eyes narrow, daring him to deny it.

"You fucking bitch!" He grabs me by the arm, jerking so hard it feels as if it's been pulled out of its socket. "You think you can replace me with him? I've got news for you, sweetheart. You'll never find someone who'll treat you as well as I did."

I choke out a laugh, suddenly feeling fearless in his presence. "God, I hope not. You were the worst kind of asshole. Brantley is two hundred times the man you'll ever be."

"Be careful, Cassie. You don't want to say anything you may regret later. You know, I could fuck you right here and no one would ever know." His mouth is so close his breath heats my skin. "How do you think pretty boy would feel about that?"

"Just try and fuck me, and you're going to find out. He'll fucking kill you," I spit in his face.

Spit slides down his cheek as he throws his head back in laughter. "Oh, yeah, well Cage isn't here now, is he?"

"No, but I am. Take your fucking hands off her, Fairfax," Scott's booming voice thunders clear across the pond, and the next thing I know, Justin is lifted off the ground and thrown a good ten feet. Justin, being the stubborn ass he is, tries to pull himself up, but the heel of Scott's Timberland pushes him back to the ground. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay down."

"Cassie," he turns to me, "was this the first time he's laid a hand on you?" My eyes dart to Justin's, and his go wide with fear, pleading with me to cover his sorry ass. I look back to my brother, all two hundred and ten pounds of him, and shake my head no.