Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Summer
For the next few days, we stayed in our respective corners—he in the pool house, me in the main like the lady of the manor.
I did research, worked on scouting reports, and kept an eye out for my name on the gossip websites.
There were a couple of mentions but nothing particularly scurrilous.
A few distant photos taken by the paps of Dash in St. Bart’s showed up online, but the family wasn’t commenting right now.
In the mornings, before the sun started to beat down, Hatch and I biked on the rural back roads and along the lakefront.
In the evenings, he grilled on the patio.
My appetite had returned with a vengeance.
I ate like a starving woman—steak, shrimp, the best Mediterranean-marinated chicken I’d ever tasted. And cheese. So much cheese.
After dinner we’d sit in the wicker chairs out back and watch the sun set in a watercolor-striped sky.
Sometimes we’d dip into TV shows, usually Taskmaster and Downton Abbey, comfort watches for me.
Hatch was new to Downton and I enjoyed explaining to him the foibles of the British upper classes at the turn of the last century.
(His comment that Mary was the worst was spot on.
Mary was the worst and Edith was done dirty at every turn.
Writers, just let her be happy!) My villain origin story was the untimely death of Matthew Crawley, and I loved sharing that with someone.
One night, just over a week from my doomed wedding day, we were relaxing on the patio after scarfing down a particularly excellent charcuterie board. There was a stillness in the air that made me sad, like summer was ending though it had barely started.
I took a breath. “I can’t hide out here forever. It’s not fair.”
“To me?”
“Especially you. I don’t want to interfere with the team brotherhood. The longer I stay here the more likely it is that someone will recognize me. Or maybe I’m assigning myself too much importance in the Rebels universe.”
He stretched out his long legs, and I averted my greedy gaze. That was another side effect of my recently returned appetite. It came with a ramped-up libido. I wanted to attack Hatch Kershaw like he was a hunk of mature cheddar.
“Definitely. No one would even think for a second that erotic romance novelist Shelby Mae is the former fiancée of Rebels superstar Dash Carter the Third.”
“Can you believe there were three people called Dash?”
“It’s pretty incredible.” His phone rang; he checked and silenced it.
“Who’s that?”
“My agent.”
“I can step inside if you want to talk to her.”
He shook his head. “It can wait. She’s shopping me to other teams.”
I sat up straight in the chair. “You’re leaving the Rebels? But you only just got here.”
“I’m thinking about leaving. I only agreed to the trade in to play with Dad in his final year.”
“It’s been great for the team, having you both on it.”
He shrugged. “Good optics, I suppose.”
“And now he might stay for another year. How do you feel about that?”
“I want him to be happy. But I also want to play without the comparisons.”
“You’re a right winger, he’s a D-man. Not too many comparisons, but I can see why it might be tricky for you. He does suck up a lot of attention.”
He laughed. “He does! He always has. I’m not looking to hog that much of the spotlight. Playing under the radar is fine by me. But I played better in Denver.”
His team before he came to Chicago. It was true—his stat sheet had slid since his arrival. He hadn’t played that well in the Finals either.
“Why do you think that is?”
He considered it for a moment. “I think I’ve let the media get to me. I go out there, worried I won’t play well, that I’ll disappoint Dad. Then I don’t play well, and it becomes some self-fulfilling prophecy, at which point I feel like shit because I’m blaming him, when I’m the problem.”
“He did push for you to play on the team in his final year. Maybe that wasn’t part of your planned career trajectory, and you felt you’d lost some control over your life.”
He looked relieved that I understood. If anyone knew about the perils of letting someone else take the reins, it was me.
“Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“No. He wouldn’t like it. And I hate the idea of blaming him for my bad play. It sounds petty.”
I could see how that might not be received well. “I think he’d rather you were honest.”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
Not for the first time in his presence, a lovely calm settled over me. So strange when before I’d felt nothing but tension whenever I was near him. I looked out over the garden, then snuck a glance back at him, only to find him watching me.
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m just thinking how weird things have turned out. The two of us here, breaking bread, biking the trails, sharing confidences, listening to ‘valet’ pronounced with a T on some snooty period piece. Basically, getting along like normal people.”
“Snap. I was thinking that, too. I guess I’m not sure why it was any other way.”
“Does it matter as long as we’re friends now?”
“I suppose not.” But I still wanted to know what his deal was and why I had offended him so much for so long. I was also torn about the “friends” label, especially when those calves of his made me squirm. Of all things.
“It’s such a nice night,” he said. “Would you like to go for a drive?”
“I’d love it.”
We drove around the lake with the windows down and the wind in our hair.
John Cougar Mellencamp’s “Jack and Diane” came on the radio, the perfect soundtrack as we traveled the back roads.
It was a summer feeling, and reminded me of those days in Mississippi, tooling around in Jez Corden’s TransAm.
At fourteen, I was too young to be hanging out with boys like Jez, but I was a wild thing who needed freedom to roam.
A couple of months later, Momma met Clark, and he saw a chance to make a buck and tame my wildness at the same time.
You ain’t gonna be messin’ with those trailer trash boys, Shelby Mae. We want you intact for your husband.
I had thought it the biggest joke. Barely fifteen and my marriage arranged by the man who had spent less than six months with my mother.
She was too drunk or high to figure out his game.
He could have done anything to me, and she wouldn’t have noticed.
Thankfully he wasn’t interested in me that way.
Small mercies that my utility was as an asset to be sold.
So I ran away. But Clark found me in Biloxi and brought me back. That was when I realized I needed a plan. A way for him to never find me.
“Oh, that looks pretty.” I pointed to an opening off the road.
Hatch stopped and backed up. “That’s where the kids park. Overlooks the lake.”
“We could just look at the water, couldn’t we?” Instead of each other.
“Yep.” One syllable, into which he managed to infuse a dumpster truckload of gravel.
A minute later we were parked, facing the lake, the headlights shining on the water. Suddenly the car was the size of a postage stamp, the air leaden like a summer storm was brewing. I got out and stood in front of the hood.
The car door closed behind me. “You want up?”
“Up?” I turned to find him standing close, holding a light blanket. The headlights provided just enough light to illuminate his thoughtful expression.
“On the hood? If we’re gonna park, we need to do it right.”
“Oh, okay.”
He spread the blanket out. His hands gripped my waist gently, and he took a second to adjust his hold before lifting me with ease and placing me on the hood.
For a few moments, he held his hands curled on my waist and stood before me.
My thighs itched to part, to bracket his hips, to draw him in like that night we’d kissed outside the restaurant, but he retreated before that impulse could overtake my common sense. He climbed up and sat beside me.
Across the bay, the lights of Saugatuck twinkled. I’d seen signs earlier saying we were officially in Douglas, the next town over.
“Jason’s joining the Rebels in the fall,” he said. Jason Isner was Theo’s half-brother, Hatch’s uncle, and a star defenseman for the Boston Cougars.
“I’m so glad that worked out.”
He tilted his head. “You knew?”
“I’m the assistant—or I was the assistant to the GM.
I knew there was talk of bringing him over.
We have to be realistic about your dad’s longevity.
Even if he decides to stay on, we need to build up the defensive bench.
Lars isn’t getting any younger and MacFarlane is good but not ready to lead.
Jason would be a great addition to the D-lines. ”
He looked surprised. “You do know your hockey.”
I chuckled. “You don’t work in the front office for close to five years without picking up a few things.
I’ve drilled down on the Central Scouting rankings, compiled reports, put together presentations.
When Dash was at away games, I spent most of my time researching the league prospects for the Scouting and Player Development Division. ”
“Ryder had you doing that?”
“Not Ryder. I brought it up once, but he didn’t seem interested.
One night at a game, I got talking to Scott Kincaid and I told him a couple of things about one of the rookies, just some strategy analytics.
Nothing major.” Hatch was staring at me, intense as ever.
“I told him that I’d love to be a scout one day.
One thing led to another, and I started producing reports for him. ”
“Is that what you’ve been working on with my laptop?”
I nodded.
“But you gave up your job.”
“I did. I regret that. I regret caving to Dash. But I think I had it in my head that separating myself from this administrative job would allow me to take the scouting option more seriously. That people might take me more seriously. I convinced myself that this would be a good step.” But then I overheard Dash and his mother talking about getting me knocked up as soon as possible.
“And now I’ve messed it up completely. I made Dash look like a fool and no one’s going to take me seriously at all.
I’m just the flake who climbed out a bathroom window in her wedding dress.
What does she know about NHL prospects or Corsi scores or whether Jason Isner is a good fit for the team?
He is, you know! I told Scott all about it when I handed in my report. ”
I sniffed, which had Hatch looking alarmed.
Woman. Tears. Bad.
“Hey, it’s okay.”
It really wasn’t, though. Love was for suckers. No more. From here on out, I was going for what I wanted.
Starting now. Tonight, I wanted to be Shelby Mae again, that girl who scrapped and scraped her way out of the backwoods. I’d leaned too far into Summer, trying to be all things to everyone. Determined to never make waves and accept compromise as the measure of success.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. He inched closer, and the heat off him burned through me. “You’re going to figure it out.”
“Right now, I can’t see the road ahead.” As long as I stayed here in this bubble, I didn’t have to look too far. Not with a gorgeous guy like Hatch Kershaw blocking the view. It wasn’t his fault. He had been nothing but kindness itself, and here I was taking up so much space.
I raised my gaze to his. “I’m not making things easy for you, am I?”
“You never have,” he bit out. And the heated look he gave me? I would say it was hatred but that wasn’t right. This was more like … torment.
“What do you mean by—”
The rest of my query was swallowed by a kiss.