Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Hatch
I must have been out of my mind.
What was I thinking taking Summer here of all places?
So I’d planned to head here after the ceremony, even had a suitcase in the trunk.
Probably poor form not to attend the reception but I would have done my duty.
I was looking forward to a little alone time, a chance to decompress after the season.
But just the sight of her, bedraggled, thin, scared, but doing everything in her power to hold it together, had me jumping in to play the savior. Completely absurd because that wasn’t me.
That was my dad. He was the kind of guy who rescued people.
When he knocked up my mom—with me—he stepped up to the plate immediately.
He never had doubts about what should happen next, and that certainty played a big part in how he wooed my mom.
She needed that, someone to take the reins.
If the stories my great-gran told me were to be believed, my mom resisted big time.
But that push-pull eventually settled into the balance they had now.
We were alike in looks, my dad and me, but not so much in temperament. I suffered a lot of comparisons to him, mostly about our game, but sometimes about our personality differences. Where my dad was easygoing, I was less likely to let things slide.
None of this really explained my behavior. I didn’t usually jump in and take over. I was typically more cautious than that. But today—no. Very little thinking and a whole lot of acting on instinct.
When she asked me to help her out of her wedding underwear, I almost walked out of there.
Touching her was so wrong and completely unfair to Carter, who must be feeling so low right now.
Yet here I was playing his part, undressing the man’s bride.
The pearls of her spine bulging so prominently, her skin red raw from the tightness of the underwear, that butterfly tattoo—all had combined to make my heart beat madly.
This whole thing was mad.
During the journey down, I’d left my phone off, and now I checked it, bracing myself for drama and accusation.
Plenty of messages from family and friends, but I focused on the wedding party group thread, absurdly named “Carter’s Cool Crew,” like we were in middle school.
Created by his best man and cousin, Saxon Carter the Third, it fortunately did not include the groom, which gave leave for everyone to gossip away to their hearts’ content.
Peyton Bell, aka Dingaling, got the ball rolling.
D’s freaking me out.
NoBo
Man, he must be crushed.
Jakey
Yeah, I can’t imagine getting dumped like that. Pretty hard core when your girl would rather escape out of a bathroom window than marry you.
Dingaling
No, that’s just it. He’s kind of okay with it? Like this is just a hitch in an otherwise regular run of events.
I tried to understand Carter’s thinking here. Why the hell would he think of this as a “hitch”?
NoBo
So he’s gonna talk to her? Change her mind?
Dingaling
Maybe? He said something about how she’s flighty and indecisive. He thinks his mom scared her off and that she just needs time to think it through.
Jakey
Not sure I’d be that understanding.
NoBo
Not sure it sounds like Carter.
Carter Goon 1
C-Man rules!
Carter Goon 2
Fuck that bitch!
The inestimable contribution of a couple of Carter’s douchey cousins, whose names I never bothered to learn. They’d obviously decided the champagne shouldn’t go to waste.
NoBo
KJ’s being awfully quiet. You still with us, man?
KJ was me: Kershaw Junior. A few more texts followed, mostly speculation on what Summer was thinking and why she’d handled it that way. The thread had been quiet for the last thirty minutes, so my contribution was due.
Sorry, guys, I was driving and had my phone off. Figured I’d hit the road as soon as I saw it was a bust.
NoBo
You missed Carter’s mom turning into the Wicked Witch of the West. She flew out of the church on her broomstick.
Jakey
Can you blame her? She spent a lot of money on that shindig.
Dingaling
Drop in the bucket for the Carter dynasty. Not sure screaming at the bridesmaids was justified. Rosie had to be restrained from throwing a punch!
I smiled. That sounded like my friend.
Carter Goon 1
Auntie Arabella is pissed!
Carter Goon 2
Not as pissed as you, fuckhead. You ruined my tux!
Me
So did they hold the reception anyway?
NoBo
Yep. Food was great! No dancing, though, because, obvs.
Good old NoBo. Always had his priorities straight.
My phone rang with a call from my agent. I wasn’t really in the mood, but she was currently working on some business stuff that was time sensitive.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Lauren Yates—or Special Agent Lauren as I’d nicknamed her—was the sister-in-law of Gunnar Bond, one of my dad’s old teammates on the Rebels roster.
Formerly an excellent professional hockey player, she had retired and moved into agenting with The Mallinson Group.
I had signed with her last year a few months after I was acquired by the Rebels.
Previously, I was with my dad’s agent, Tommy Gordon, but I always felt like I was in his stable more as a favor to the old man.
As soon as I switched to Lauren, I got an endorsement with Sunshine Granola and just missed out on the Holy Grail of deals, an underwear branding.
“Just checking in on one of my favorite clients.”
“More like thirsting for a steaming hot mug o’ tea.”
She laughed. “Oh yeah, baby! Give it to me.”
I filled her in without mentioning my part in it and Summer’s current location.
“That is wild. I hope Summer’s okay. She’s always come across as such a nice person.”
So everyone said. Did nice people jilt the man they supposedly loved?
“You heard from the Fenton people?” She was talking to the hockey equipment business, trying to cut me a deal.
“Not yet, but I have heard from Tampa.”
“And?”
“Very interested. I’ve been trying to convince them you’re undervalued. That the deal getting you onto the Rebels wasn’t as good for you as it should have been.”
Only now my brand was tarnished. In the last year, I hadn’t played up to my potential with the Rebels and part of the reason was because I felt pressure as Theo Kershaw’s son.
We didn’t play the same position—he was a D-man, I played right wing offense—but that didn’t stop the comparisons.
To start, the press and the franchise had loved it, but when I wasn’t always dressed for a game or above the third line, there were the inevitable digs at the fact I would never be as good as him.
Playing on the Rebels for my dad’s final year was one thing.
But if he continued, I wasn’t sure I wanted to live in his shadow.
First world hockey player problems, for sure.
“That’s good, I suppose.”
“Thought that’s what you wanted. Are you worried your dad will take it badly?”
Yes, but I hoped he’d understand that I had to think of my career now. I’d given him a year of the Kershaw Dad-and-Son show.
“Hatch, you still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, I don’t want to broach it with Rebels management unless we’re sure.”
I should have been jumping at the opportunity to get away. To reset. But something in me resisted. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure. Just don’t think too long.”
We hung up with plans to check in after a day or so. I had made career decisions before based on my gut. I wasn’t sure how well it served me.
Look at the events of today.
“Hi.”
Summer stood at the entrance to the living room, swimming in a pair of my sweatpants, rolled up at the ankles, and a faded University of Michigan tee. That was my alma mater. I’d given her my clothes because I felt odd about borrowing stuff belonging to my family.
Her hair was wet and sleek down her back. She must have found a hairbrush in the bathroom. All her make-up was gone, and before me stood Summer, stripped to basics.
The basics were beautiful.
“Hey,” I said, after five awkward seconds of gawping at her. I hadn’t reckoned on the impact of seeing her wearing my stuff, how it created this weird tug in my chest—and other areas.
She stepped in further. “Thanks for the clothes.”
“Sorry there’s no underwear. Well, there is, but I didn’t think you’d want to wear my boxers or anything belonging to my great-gran.”
Her mouth twitched. “This is fine.”
Which meant that maybe she had no underwear on? Definitely braless, I’d made sure of that.
“You hungry?”
“Not really.”
She hadn’t eaten all day and now it was close to four in the afternoon. “I’m going to make a sandwich.”
She followed me into the kitchen. “You had food here already?”
“I put in an order to the local grocer yesterday.”
Her eyes widened. Such a lovely shade, that violet-blue with flecks of gold. “You were already planning to come here?”
“I usually spend time here every summer.” I gathered sandwich supplies and started putting one together: Muenster cheese, turkey, lettuce, tomato, mayo. I held up the mustard and gestured in offering. When she didn’t respond, I reasoned, “You already gave your crackers away to the ducks.”
“Okay. No mustard.”
I topped the sandwich with a thick slice of country wheat and placed it before her.
“Water okay?”
At her nod, I filled a glass from the Brita filter. Then I set about making my own sandwich. “Don’t wait for me.”
She waited anyway. Hell, she wouldn’t last long in the Kershaw house where no one waited for anyone. I needed her to eat—it felt important that she get some sustenance—so I finished up quickly and took a seat at the kitchen table.
I picked up my sandwich. She picked up hers and took a bite, chewed, moaned, swallowed, then took a sip from her own glass. I was fascinated by the bulge of her slender throat.
“God, I’ve missed cheese.”
“Cheese?”
“Yeah, I’ve been dieting, so I cut out dairy. Which kills me because cheese is my favorite thing in the world.”
I too loved cheese, but I didn’t have a raging hard-on for it. “What’s your favorite?”
“Triple crème brie.”
“This is a cheddar house. Though we have a soft spot for Pinconning, because, Michigan.”
“Might have to do a cheese-off.” She smiled and there it was again, that weird lurch in my chest.
I focused on my sandwich because the last thing I needed was to have that sunshine smile affecting me.
“Why did you help me?”
“Because you asked.”
“I expected you’d let me hide out at your condo in the city. But this …” She looked around. “This is better.”
“Sometimes you need distance to acquire perspective.” How wise I sounded. I’d tried for distance for years, for all the good it had done me.
“But I can’t stay here forever, can I?”
“Maybe you should sleep on it.”
“I’ve been sleeping on it for five years.”
My gaze snapped to hers. What did that mean?
“Or maybe I should say, sleepwalking. Through my life.” She shook her head, like she was arguing with herself. “I can’t believe I let it go this far.”
As the altar? A streak of anger bolted through me. All these people hurt, and she had made me an accomplice. This woman was something else.
I needed to get out from under the spell she had over me.
“Think I’ll take a shower myself.” I was still wearing my tuxedo pants and shirt. The tie and jacket had been dispensed with a while ago, but I needed to change and restore some sense of normality.
Or as much as I could with Summer here.
She watched me stand and put my plate in the dishwasher. Those violet eyes assessed me.
“You’re mad at me.” Not a question.
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I’ve placed you in this awkward position. With a teammate. With your team. Maybe even with your family because you brought me here.”
“I’m not mad. I don’t feel anything about this situation.”
Her lips curved slightly. “Oh, you’re mad alright. Absolutely pissed at yourself for stepping in and at me for forcing your hand.”
“You were kind of sad and lost there, so how am I gonna resist that?”
“Just doing your good deed for the day.”
“Uh huh.”
“Even if it makes you look bad to others.”
What was this? “I don’t care how I look to others.”
“Doubt that. We all care. What I can’t understand is why you did it.”
“Like I said—”
“Right, you couldn’t resist my sad and pathetic presentation, and you’re a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
I didn’t respond. Just looked at her as she shot sparks through her eyes. Why she was angry at me for doing her this favor I had no idea.
But part of me liked it. Because seeing this side of her meant I might have misunderstood her before.
There might be a whole other Summer I could learn.
Instead of a fire blanket, I opted to throw paraffin on the flames. “You suddenly don’t seem all that grateful.”
“Oh, I am. I’m also confused. Because why would you do this when you so obviously hate my guts?”