Winning It All (Hometown Players Book 4) (26 page)

I make it all the way to the parking lot before I realize that I don’t want to drive his car home. If I drive his car home, I’ll have to see him again when he comes to pick it up. And I don’t want to see him again. Not now. Maybe never.

I can hear him behind me so I turn, ready to give him the key, but he starts talking before I can. “What was I supposed to do, Shay? How was I supposed to tell you?”

“You know how you tell me? You just do. You tell me. It doesn’t matter when or how, just say it,” I explain angrily. “Or do you condone his behavior? Are you following the old boys’ code? Covering it up because that’s what hockey brothers do.”

He looks like I just stabbed him. “Of course I fucking don’t. Jesus, Shay, can’t you figure that out by now?”

“The only thing I’ve figured out is we jumped into this ass backwards and way too fast,” I blurt out, and the scary part is I kind of mean it. Ever since I met Sebastian, everything I’ve done has been completely out of character. And the exhilaration of that has suddenly and completely melted into regret. I jumped out of the plane and now I’m realizing my chute might not open.

He says something in French under his breath. I think it’s a swear word. “Shay, I saw him kissing a woman once.”

“At the jersey retirement.”

He nods. “Right after you had rejected me
again
. And then when you stopped rejecting me, I was scared that telling you would change that.”

I press the palm of my hand into my forehead and close my eyes. “Not telling me changes that. Protecting his cheating does that.”

When I open my eyes, he’s taken a step closer to me. “Shayne. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is. I don’t condone what he’s doing, and I would never do this to you. Or anyone. Ever. So don’t try and make this about us.”

We’re right in front of each other now. Other people are in the parking lot too. Chris Dixon and his wife and kids are walking to their car. Jordan and Jessie are walking hand in hand toward their car. Sebastian watches them go and the turns to me. “Jordan and Jessie are in love.”

“I know.”

“It’s real, and it started with an undeniable connection, that they just couldn’t break no matter how hard they tried. And, trust me, they tried,” Sebastian tells me, and his baby blue eyes turn pleading. “Tell me you don’t feel that kind of connection between us?”

I struggle to pull air into my lungs because suddenly breathing is impossible. I don’t answer him, exactly. “I need to be able to trust the person I am with, and after tonight…”

“This is bullshit,” he says harshly. “You’ve been looking for a way to talk yourself out of this since I talked you into it. And you know what? I’m going to let you this time.”

He lifts his eyes and gives me a look I’ve never seen on his face before—defeat.

“I didn’t tell you what I saw your dad doing. I should have. I wanted to, but that isn’t enough for you.” He shakes his head and shoves his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “So that’s it. This was always some sort of competition, I guess. I just never expected to lose.”

My emotions are doing a one eighty. All that anger and regret I felt minutes ago is now confusion and fear—and loss. I’ve lost him. Oh God, is that what I really wanted? Because suddenly, now that it’s real, it’s not. It’s not at all.

“Sebastian…”

“Look, take the car home.” He takes my hand and drops the key back into it. For the first time ever his touch is abrupt. “I drove the Aston here anyway. I’ll pick it up from you in a few days or send Chooch to get it or something.”

He turns and heads back toward the arena doors. I see Chooch standing there awkwardly, waiting for him. I want to stop him but I can’t. I know that it’s over. I can feel it in my bones, and the pain is literally immobilizing. So I stand there, his car key dangling from my hand, and watch him drive away.

I’m blurry eyed with exhaustion as I ease off the freeway and into the upscale residential neighborhood I grew up in. It’s early, so there’s not a lot of traffic. My mom hardly sleeps, so I know she’ll be up, even though it’s not even seven yet. My dad will still be asleep. He’s always been a late sleeper. I lay awake half the night last night, which is why I’m heading to their house so early. I want to tell my mom what’s happening. She has a right to know. And I want to confront my father and tell him I know and that I don’t approve. It won’t make a difference to him, but I want to do it anyway. Fighting with him is still better than sitting at home thinking about Sebastian.

My mind and my heart are stuck on Sebastian. I feel like I had a right to be upset with him for hiding my father’s infidelity from me. And in a way, when he said he was going to let me go, and I realized there would be no chase this time, it felt like a relief. A horrible relief. It’s the only way I can describe it. I no longer have to take risks with my heart. I don’t have to go against my safe, simple nature and trust this wild, complex hockey player. But at the same time, deep down where it counts, in the dark recesses of my jaded little heart, I don’t want to go back to safe and simple. I don’t even know if I can anymore.

I turn onto the street I grew up on. Nothing’s changed here in years except maybe the trees have gotten taller. The oak in the front yard of our place used to be shorter than our second level. Now it eclipses the second floor, fully shadowing what had been my bedroom window. I pull into the driveway behind my mom’s car and put Seb’s car in park.

I ring the bell and look up toward the security camera I know is hidden in the bottom of the porch light. My dad installed it when he was still playing and would be away for long periods of time. My mom swings open the door, still in a set of gray silk pajamas and slippers with a dark lavender bathrobe over them. “Shayne! Are you okay?”

I don’t know how to answer that. So I don’t. “Can I come in?”

She nods and holds the door wider. “Of course.”

I step into the house I’ve been avoiding for years. It looks different. She’s redecorated since the last time I was here. The dark carpet that was in the entryway when I was growing up is now espresso wood. The walls, which were cream, are now a pure white with dark wood crown molding.

“Dad still sleeping?” I ask and try not to sound so hopeful, but I don’t want to see him.

“I was just having coffee. Can I get you some? We have an amazing coffee machine,” she gushes and puts a hand on my back, guiding me toward the kitchen at the back of the house, as if I won’t remember where it is. “I don’t ever go to Starbucks anymore. I can be my own barista.”

The kitchen has been redone too. It’s now all white—cabinets, floors, walls, with a gorgeous blue glass tile backsplash and stainless-steel appliances. “This is gorgeous, Mom.”

She beams. “Thanks! I picked out everything myself. Your dad wanted a designer, but I have an eye for these things. I think it’s perfect.”

“It is,” I agree and sit at the breakfast bar.

“Let me make you a latte. Caramel or vanilla?” She smiles so brightly I can’t say no. And her grin deepens when I tell her caramel because she remembers that’s my favorite flavor of anything.

My heart starts to ache again, but this time not for the loss of Sebastian. For my mom. She loves me, and I’ve been punishing her for her choices that really have nothing to do with me. And I know I’ll want to do it again if she reacts the way I think she’ll react when I tell her what I know. I watch her quietly as she putters about the pristine kitchen, hitting switches and moving dials on the large built-in coffee machine on the counter next to the stove.

She puts the steamy mug with perfect foam down on the counter in front of me and picks up her own half-empty one from before I got here and leans on the counter in front of me. I sip the drink and smile at her because it’s delicious. She smiles back, victorious.

“Mom, you didn’t answer me. Is Dad still asleep?”

She shakes her head. “He stayed in the city last night.”

I stare at her and she stares at her coffee mug. This conversation isn’t going to be painful for her. She already knows. I can tell. I can feel it in my bones. “How long has it been going on?”

She finally looks up from her coffee. She looks tired, emotionally. “I realized he was seeing Lacey again last week. I think it started when they saw each other at the jersey ceremony.”

“I thought it was because he was playing. He was on the road and the lifestyle was too hard and athletes had too much tension and energy to exude,” I say and place my mug a little too roughly on the counter, so it clanks loudly. “Well, he’s not a fucking athlete anymore.”

My mom takes a deep breath. “No he’s fucking not an athlete anymore,” she agrees, and her voice has an edge to it I’ve never heard before, not to mention the fact that she swore—and let me swear. “Now I have no excuses for him. He’s just a plain old cheater.”

I feel like she should cry. But she doesn’t. She looks, scarily, like she doesn’t give a shit. She levels me with a stare. “Shayne, I know you don’t approve and I don’t expect you to. I don’t expect anyone to. The fact is, I loved your father, but I loved what he could give me even more. And I’m paying the price for that.”

“Mom, it’s never too late to fix things,” I tell her softly. “Leave him. Find someone who will love you. You deserve it.”

She smiles at me, but it’s rueful, and then she lifts herself off the counter and smooths her mussed hair. “Your dad loves me. He’s just not in love with me. I don’t know if he ever was. But like I said, I was in love with the fact that he got me out of my small town and off my parents’ farm more than I was in love with him, so I guess we’re even. And I got what I wanted.” She runs her hand along the smooth marble countertop, giant diamond wedding ring glinting in the sun coming through the window. “Everything money could buy, and most important, he gave me you and Trey. Believe it or not, that’s what I am most grateful for.”

She picks up her mug again and takes a sip of her coffee before turning to look out the window and over her massive backyard with the pool and spa. “Besides, it won’t last with Lacey. Or the next one he finds. I’m what lasts. I’m the glue that keeps him together and he knows that. This isn’t everyone’s version of love, but it’s ours.”

I stare at her in awe and horror. Growing up, my mother told us she loved us almost every day. She told us to love each other too, but I realize now there is a very distinct difference between being told to do something and seeing something happen. I didn’t see or feel love actually happening in my house. I saw jealousy and lies and denial and anger. Their version of love was the only thing I experienced, and it’s left me without the ability to trust or love someone completely.

“What if I can never trust anyone?” I feel the hot tears slip down my cheeks.

She walks around the island and hugs me, and I don’t fight it for the first time since I was young. “Don’t let our mistakes be your downfall, Shaynie. Please.”

“I think it’s too late.”

She pulls back and looks at me with a small smile. “You just told me it’s never too late to fix things. Take your own advice.”

Can I fix this? Will he let me?

I hold the door to the recording studio open for Stephanie and she steps inside. I follow and Chooch walks in after me. I tell the woman at the front desk that we’re here for the Elevate Fitness recording and she ushers us back to a tiny, dimly lit room with mixing boards and leather couches. A glass wall looks into a room with microphones and headphones everywhere. I drop down onto a couch and shake my head when the receptionist asks if I’d like anything to drink. Steph orders a peppermint tea and Chooch asks for a bottle of water.

When she’s gone Chooch leans toward me from the couch to my left. “You barely looked at her.”

“Yeah? So?”

“So she’s worth looking at,” Chooch explains. “And that’s not like you.”

“You’re the single one. Go for it,” I mutter and rub a hand over my ever-growing facial hair because it’s itchy as hell. Thank God this isn’t a TV commercial. I look like a homeless guy and Chooch, who grows facial hair in weird patches, looks like a teen caught in his awkward phase. As much as the playoff beard annoys me, I’ll be devastated if I get to shave after our game tomorrow night.

“I thought you said you and Shayne were over?” Chooch questions.

“We are, but it’s only been six days. Give me a break.”

“You’ve never needed one before,” he comments.

I glare at him. His thin lips snap together and he leans back on the couch.

The receptionist walks back in with their drinks and I glance up at her. She’s tall, lithe, with pretty blue eyes, nice brown hair and a warm, friendly smile. And I might as well be looking at a toaster oven. That’s how much I care.

She asks me one more time if I need anything, and when I politely decline again, she informs us that Trey and the recording engineer will be here in five minutes.

I can feel Stephanie’s eyes on me so I turn. She pats my knee and smiles. “So when are you going to talk to her?”

“I’m not. It’s done,” I reply and pick at the cuff of my Henley. “We handled the whole thing wrong from the beginning. And for a while there I thought it might work anyway. But she was looking for a reason to run, and I couldn’t stop her from finding one. I realize now it’s impossible to force someone to give you a chance, so I’m moving on.”

“I’ve seen you moving on and this”—she waves her hand up and down in front of me like a model showing off a prize on
The Price Is Right
—“this is not moving on. This is wallowing and suffering and longing. This is what you’ve wanted. Love.”

“Then love sucks,” I bite back.

Chooch chuckles. “Yeah, it does. But when it doesn’t. Man, oh man…”

I want to glare at him, but he’s got such a far-off look in his eye and a whimsical smile on his face that I don’t think he’d notice. Trey and some dude with two sleeve tattoos walks in.

“Hey! Thanks so much for taking the time to do this,” Trey says as he shakes my hand and then Chooch’s. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

“No problem,” Chooch replies with an easy shrug. “It’ll be fun.”

“I know Avery wanted to do it himself, but…well, you know,” my sister says and I give her an incredulous look. Since when does Stephanie Deveau defend Avery Westwood? What? Is she his publicist now?

Trey nods. “Yeah, once he explained his situation it made perfect sense. I’m thrilled to have you guys.”

The guy with the tats introduces himself as Owen, the sound engineer. He asks who wants to go first. Chooch volunteers, so Owen takes him into the other room, the one through the glass, and sets him up.

Trey hands me a script and sits down on the couch Chooch vacated as Stephanie picks up her tea and heads to the door. “I’m going to go get chatty with the receptionist. See if she’s single and if she has any interest in Chooch.”

I can’t help but laugh at that despite my mood. “Look at you, wingman.”

She grins. “Why the hell not? Get him back on the horse. Unlike you, he’s ready for another horse. You still have miles to go on yours, whether you admit it or not.”

She leaves the room and Trey follows her with his eyes before turning back to me. “I feel like she just called my sister a horse.”

“She did,” I reply and then clear my throat awkwardly. “We broke up.”

Trey sighs. “I thought maybe something like that was going on. She’s been showing up at work every morning with her eyes all red and her skin blotchy. When I asked her if she wanted to come to the recording today, she acted like I asked her if she wanted to drink a salmonella milk shake.”

I smile, but it’s mirthless. We don’t say anything for a long time. I glance at the script, which he assures me is a guideline and not something I need to repeat verbatim. I can tell he’s just so thrilled we’ve agreed to endorse his place. It was Avery’s idea. After that night at Jordan’s, he seemed really broken up about not helping Trey out, so he did the second best thing, he asked us to. It made me realize that Avery never wants to hurt anyone and that maybe I was giving him a harder time than I had to about not re-signing with the team.

Owen comes back in, and we sit quietly and listen as Chooch records a few versions of his endorsement. He sounds articulate and believable, but Owen complains about the mic quality and disappears back into the other room.

Trey leans back and rests his ankle on his knee. He’s looking at me but his expression is unreadable. Our brief conversation from a few weeks ago when he found out I was dating his sister surfaces in my cloudy head. I sit a little straighter. “So is this the part where you kill me? Because I would recommend you do it after I record so you can use my endorsement posthumously.”

“You use big words for a French kid. No wonder my sister likes you. She’s always loved vocabulary and wordy people. It’s why my quietness makes her insane,” Trey jokes. I’m kind of kidding also, about him killing me, but I wonder if he will make good on that threat eventually. He smiles. “I know you didn’t hurt her. If you hurt her she’d be furious, but she’s crying, so that means she did this to herself. And she knows it.”

I feel like I need to tell him the whole story. “I saw something I should have told her about but I didn’t. So I kind of annihilated what little trust she’d let herself build in me.”

Trey looks confused by that, and I realize I’m probably going to have to tell him I watched his dad cheat on his mother. Dear God, when did my life become a telenovela?

“Your dad…” I begin awkwardly. “I saw him at his jersey retirement…he was getting close to…”

“Lacey Millbury?” Trey finishes for me, and I nod. “Yeah, that’s been on and off since I was a kid.”

“Your dad and his teammate’s wife?” I have to reconfirm because it seems insane to me. Not only are you fucking with your marriage, but you’re fucking with the second most important relationship you’ve got when you’re a hockey player: the bond with your team.

“Shayne caught them when she was fourteen,” he elaborates. “We were having a Cup party and dear old Dad and Lacey disappeared to bang in the upstairs bathroom. Shayne walked in on them. Doggie style.”

I grimace and so does Trey. Because really, no one wants to see their dad like that. Ever. With anyone. Trey swallows down the visual and continues. “She was devastated and angry and would have made a huge scene, but my mother grabbed her and took her to her room. Mom was more angry at Shayne for wanting to announce her discovery than she was at her own husband. Looking back, I realize my mother knew it had been going on, but she was all about public image. Still is. She’d rather look like a happy home than be one.”

“That’s horrible,” I can’t help but say, and I have a new respect for my own mom, who got out of a loveless marriage, even though it wasn’t easy on her financially or emotionally.

Trey shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s not my marriage. And I promised myself it never would be. Sure, I had my fun in college, but I always knew if I ever did settle down, I would do it with someone I wanted to be faithful to.”

“I know.” I nod because he’s describing my philosophy.

“Shayne took it a lot more personally, though. Not only did she blame the hockey lifestyle, but she also developed trust issues. And she became…closed off. Until you.”

Owen walks back in and sits down at the console, hits a button, and leans into a mic and tells Chooch to go again. We listen to a take or two and then Trey leans toward me. “The one thing I have to say about my sister is that when she makes a mistake, it guts her. And if you give her another chance, she’ll never make it again.”

I turn my eyes from him to the carpet beneath my shoes because I don’t want him to see the conflicted look I’m sure is all over my face. Is he saying Shay thinks ending things with me was a mistake?

If so, then I guess it’s a game of who’s willing to risk the next move…