3. Luke
CHAPTER 3
LUKE
W hen I gave my notice to the owner of the hardware shop, he flat-out offered to make me the manager of the place. Mr. Tempe said he’d planned to do it at some point, anyway. I thanked him and politely refused, telling him this was what I really wanted, even though it wasn’t. I didn’t want to embarrass him by saying the pay bump wouldn’t be enough, although I’m pretty sure he already knows that.
Regardless of Clearwater’s close proximity, I’d never spent any time in Sarabella. Kind of one of those places I wanted to visit at some point, but not high on the list. But I think I’m going to like it here. The town seems to run at a slower pace, and the people are friendly.
Doesn’t hurt that Gabe and Olivia’s place isn’t far from the arena and a quick ride to Mango Key Beach, which is fast becoming my favorite beach of all. And I can drive back home on the weekends to make sure the house, lawn—and Mom’s roses—stay in good shape.
Practice starts in a week, but Gabe said I had free run of the place to get a jumpstart on training. A year and a half away from the ice put a definite dent in my endurance. These pockets of time, alone on the ice, have helped bring my anxiety under control. Plus, I got first dibs in the newly renovated locker room.
Most days, I come in early, but today, the workers needed the rink clear to work on the boards and plexiglass upgrades, so I waited to practice until after they left. Surprisingly, getting back on the ice wasn’t as hard as I expected. Thank goodness for muscle memory, even if they’re sore and cranky at the moment. But this is a far cry from playing with a team who may or may not accept me as their captain in front of spectators.
Despite my progress, that challenge stirs up a sick feeling in my gut. I just need to push through. Then, I’ll adjust and fall into a daily pattern I don’t have to think about. That’s what I tell myself every day as I leave the ice and head to the locker room.
That, and I’m doing this for Kinsley.
When I open the locker door to stow my skates, the bottom hinge comes loose. I gained some handyman skills working at the hardware store all those years, so fixing a hinge is child’s play for me. Unless the screws are stripped, which I’m thinking might have happened when they installed it.
The workers left several toolboxes around, so I bum a Phillips head from the one sitting on the end of the bench. It’s after hours, but I figure they won’t mind as long as I return it. Putting pressure from behind with my free hand, I put more force into the screwdriver, hoping to get a better grip, which makes me grunt.
“Need some help with that?”
I turn toward the unexpected sound of a woman’s voice and become entranced by the biggest brown eyes I think I’ve ever seen perched under a fringe of glossy, dark bangs. Then she blinks her long lashes.
The screwdriver slips and stabs my palm, making me hiss .
She dashes over. “Hey, are you all right?”
Out of curiosity—yeah, let’s call it that—I do a quick appraisal of her long hair pulled back into a ponytail to see if the rest of her hair is as lustrous, which it is. And probably silky to the touch. I drag my attention to my hand, which has started to bleed a little. Nothing serious, but I may have bruised my thumb muscle.
That’ll be fun holding a hockey stick in the morning. “Just a scratch. No worries.”
“I didn’t know anyone was here.” She lifts one shoulder as if she’s embarrassed. Or maybe she’s shy.
“I was just finishing up.”
She leans in for a closer look. “You’re bleeding. Got any Band-Aids around here?”
Her delicate fragrance of orange blossoms and clove fills my nose, tempting me to inhale her scent until it fills every inch of my lungs and imprints her on my brain. I want to reply, but my mouth seems paralyzed.
She blinks those long lashes again. “I might have one in my car if you don’t.”
A vague memory of seeing when I pinched the screwdriver floats in. I blink and clear my throat. “I think there’s some in that toolbox.”
I’ve scarcely taken a step in that direction when she darts over, finds the box of Band-Aids, and plucks one out.
“Great. Neosporin, too.” She pulls apart the backing and adds a dab of antiseptic cream, then gestures toward my hand with it. “May I?”
I swipe away the bit of blood with a clean towel, then hold my palm up. “Sure.”
Her fingers brush my skin as she applies the Band-Aid, making me acutely aware of the warmth of her touch.
She holds out her hand. “Sophie Adams. I’m a journalist with the Sarabella Herald Tribune.”
“Luke Jameson.” I shake her hand but don’t add that I’m a hockey player. A key lesson I learned in the short time I played in the AHL was to keep my mouth shut around reporters. I’d witnessed too many guys getting misquoted or targeted for little to nothing. Then, my own run-in with one of them after my mother’s accident confirmed they couldn’t be trusted with anything personal.
Her smile spreads, making her eyes tilt. “Pleasure to meet you, Luke Jameson. Have you lived in Sarabella long?”
I shake my head as I lean over to pick up the screwdriver I dropped. “Just moved here recently. New job.”
“I grew up here, so if you want to know where to go for the best burger or which beach has the best shells, I’m your girl.”
My girl? Why does that make me want to return her grin in the worst way?
Doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to date anyone. Besides, she’s a reporter. I never was a fan of the limelight, but even more so now. I have my reasons for not drawing attention to myself. Just let me play the game I love—used to love—and stay out of my face.
As beautiful as I may find Sophie Adam’s face, I don’t want her in mine.
I hold up the screwdriver. “I should get back to what I was doing.”
Her smile slips, and she blinks as if she’s startled. “Oh, right. Me, too. I just wanted to get a feel for the place before tomorrow. I’ve been assigned to report on the team for the entire season, so I figured I’d get a jump on things. Not exactly the assignment I wanted, but I’m hoping it will open the door to what I really want to do.”
Takes me a moment to digest her rapid spew of words. However, the way she emphasized ‘entire’ with that adorable eye roll, as if she’s not looking forward to it, sets off warning signals. And that she sees this as a way to get what she really wants makes me even more cautious. All the more reason to keep my head down. She’s most likely searching for any dirt she can find to disparage an already less-than-stellar team that’s been under some shaky management in the past.
I did some digging out of curiosity after I let Gabe know I was accepting his offer. Something about inappropriate behavior between the previous owner and one of the trainers. None of my business, but regardless, I recognize a hungry shark when I see it. And Sophie Adams fits the bill. Nothing like a little scandal to get your name recognized.
“Okay, then. Have a good evening.” I drop the screwdriver back into the toolbox.
Sophie waggles her fingers to say goodbye.
I nod, then wait as she heads out the door leading to the tunnel.
She’ll find out soon enough that I’m on the team. Tomorrow, by the sound of it. But I think I’ve made it clear I’m not the talkative type. With reporters, that’s just common sense in my mind.
My gut, on the other hand, can’t seem to let go of her fruity-spicy scent or the sensation of her touch.
And those eyes—I have a feeling those will haunt my dreams tonight.
The locker room sounds more like a high school reunion, with all the guys reacting to seeing each other after the break, except for me. They just keep side-eyeing me as I lace up my skates until one of them steps forward, hand out. “You must be the new guy. Luke, right?”
I shake his hand, which only reminds me of my encounter with Sophie last night. I haven’t seen her, so maybe she’s not here yet. “Yeah, Luke Jameson. ”
“Ethan McKennen.”
“I remember.” Specifically, playing against him a few times right before I left the game. Recently recruited, Ethan still had a greenness about him then, which had nothing to do with his team colors.
“Oh, yeah?”
I nod. “You were just recruited.”
He cringes. “Was I that memorable?”
"You really want me to answer that?”
He laughs, then bumps fists with me. Not a bad start for the day.
One of the other guys walks over with a cocky grin as if he’s ready to compare notes. Based on his very youthful appearance, I’m guessing he’s a rookie. Most likely recruited straight out of the junior league, which means two things: he’s good, and he knows it.
His expression slips into a moment of confusion, then surprise. “Hey, you’re Jammer. You used to play for the Barracudas.” He shakes my hand next. “I watched you when I was playing junior league. Luke ‘Jammer’ Jameson. You melted the ice, dude.”
Called it. “Thanks.”
“Jayce Brady.” He puffs his chest out and lifts his chin as if about to make a challenging comment, but Gabe walks out of the coaches’ office and calls for everyone to listen.
He stands with his hands on his hips. “Welcome back, everyone. Besides Derek and me, we have a couple more additions to the team this season.”
The guys in front of me meander to their benches, giving me a clear view of Gabe and his assistant coach, Derek. Then Sophie steps out from behind them and stands on Gabe’s other side.
Gabe holds his hand out toward her. “This is Sophie Adams, a journalist from the Sarabella Herald Tribune. She’s going to be with us for the season, doing profiles and reporting on the games. So, be respectful and cooperative. This is about our reputation, and we all know that needs some help right now.”
A low rumble of conversations breaks out between the players.
Sophie does the same finger waggle she did with me last night. “Hi, guys. Great to be here.”
I restrain a snort at her words, remembering what she said about this being her gateway to something better. The rest of the guys murmur and nod, but I see some of the same wariness I’m feeling in some of their expressions.
Gabe shifts his focus to me. “Second piece of news—we have a new player. Luke Jameson, also known as Jammer, just signed on with us.”
A few of the players applaud and let out whistles. Then there’s Jayce with his buddies I’ve yet to meet, staring at me like he’s trying to figure out what makes me tick.
I lift my hand in thanks for the welcome, then slide my gaze to Sophie because she’s hard to resist looking at dressed in black pants that hug her hips to perfection and a bright pink blouse that brings out the blush on her cheeks.
She’s studying me with a confused expression that does little to diminish her beauty. If anything, it heightens it because I’m betting she’s unaware of how that borderline frown makes her lips appear puckered for a kiss. But then her eyes narrow as she presses them together. Maybe that blush has more to do with anger now.
“He’s also your new captain.”
This draws a louder mumble from the guys and a few sharp looks. I warned Gabe this wouldn’t go over well. New coaches and a new captain—that’s a lot of change for these guys all at once. Guess I—we—have our work cut out for us.
Gabe lifts his hands to quiet the grumbling. “There’s no one else I’d want to have my back if I were playing.”
“But you’re not.” Jayce’s pointed stare bounces from Gabe to me. “And he hasn’t played in over a year.”
Several of the guys around him nod and murmur. Sophie is jotting notes down on a small notebook she must have had stashed in that oversized bag she’s carrying. The rest of the guys are talking between themselves in a steady hum.
Already a bad start. And I’m not sure precisely what to do at the moment. Do I take a stand and say something to back Gabe up? Or do I keep silent and hope all the wrinkles in this tattered crew get ironed out over time?
Gabe turns and nods at Derek as I rise to my skates, but before I can say anything, Derek raises his voice over the din. “Head to the ice.”
While the guys file out, I lag back to speak to Gabe, but Sophie approaches me first.
She frowns up at me. “You’re a hockey player?”
I hold out the bottom of my practice jersey with the blazing sun logo and crown that represents the team. “It appears I am.”
“You didn’t tell me that last night.”
I grunt. “You didn’t ask.”
She glances back and forth as if to check who might be listening in on our conversation, then lowers her voice to a rough whisper. “Because you said you were one of the workmen.”
“No, I didn’t.”
She crosses her arms and tilts her head. “You had a toolbox.”
I give her my best noncommittal expression. “I never said it was mine.” My sarcasm creeps in before she can reply. “You know, for a reporter, you don’t seem to be able to keep your facts straight.”
She lets out a soft gasp. “I’m a journalist.”
I immediately regret my words—I really didn’t intend to insult her, but there’s something about her that seems to bring out my defense mechanism. Probably because she’s already jotting down who knows what about us .
“Sorry. Journalist.”
She drops her arms, blinking those big eyes as if she’s suddenly unsure of herself. “You were fixing a locker door, so…”
She really doesn’t want to let this go.
“So you made an assumption. I didn’t think reporters—pardon me—journalists were supposed to do that.”
What is wrong with me? Why does this woman bring out the snarky side I normally only share with my sister? But Kinsley’s required to love me since we’re family. If I keep this up, Sophie will use that pen of hers to slash and burn me. It’s happened before.
Sophie straightens her back and lifts her chin, looking unfairly cute yet provocative in a bristly way. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
She spins around, and speed walks out of the locker room. The oversized bag she’s carrying swings behind her as if she’s toting something heavy inside, which adds to my curiosity about her. Maybe she carries an arsenal of notebooks and pens in there for backup.
Gabe chuckles as he approaches. “Still wearing that barbed wire, I see.”
I drag my attention away from the empty doorway. “She’s a reporter.”
“Journalist.” He considers my words, then nods. “And we need her right now.”
I turn and grab my gloves. “Wasn’t it you who told me to watch my tongue around them?”
He smirks and puts his hands on his hips. “Yes, and that includes not insulting them.”
I press my lips together. He’s right. That wasn’t my finest moment. “You’re right. I’ll apologize when I get a chance.”
Gabe bumps his fist against my upper arm. “I appreciate that. You’re the captain, so the guys are going to take their lead from you.”
I want to counter with a negative comment. It’s obvious Jayce and his buddies already have a problem with my presence. Somehow, I don’t think they’re going to accept directions from me anytime soon. But I’m here, and I made a commitment to Gabe. I’ll do my best to show up like the man he expects me to be.
Even if it means talking to a very attractive journalist with a secret agenda.