Chapter 12 Ash
ASH
My arm locks across Tish’s shoulders and I press her back into the seat.
The RV fishtails and the team bus behind us gives one long, low horn that crawls up my spine.
Jake is up, braced at the galley with one hand on a headrest, jaw set the way it gets right before he drops gloves.
The driver muscles the wheel as we grind across the rumble strip. We’re shot to one side of the RV as it spins to the side, then the rig shudders onto the shoulder and we’re still.
Everyone starts talking at once. Tish’s breath saws once against my forearm, and warmth seeps into my skin through my sweater.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, but her face looks like all the color has been drained out of it. Across the aisle, Becky and Krystal stare at me with saucer eyes.
“You ladies okay?” I ask.
They nod, their eyes staying wide and alert.
“Good.” I keep my voice slow and even. I don’t want to make the girls even more nervous. “Unbuckle, one at a time. We’re going to step outside for some air.”
I stand and offer my hand. Becky takes it, the kids’ coats draped over her arm, and climbs down from her seat then Krystal follows, behind her friend.
Tish rises last.
She looks composed, but I can see the adrenaline humming under her skin.
Her hand brushes the top of the seat and lingers there for balance. I want to take it in mine and assure her everything will be okay.
But I don’t.
A few days ago, I would have, before my feelings for her became so out of control. But then, maybe I always felt this way but buried those feelings because of Trent.
“Step down for me,” I tell the girls. Becky nods and hops. Krystal places each foot like a chess piece on the RV steps. They plant themselves against Tish’s side as they pull on their coats, and I take one step back to give her space then realize I don’t want space at all.
“You cold?” I ask.
She shakes her head then admits, “A little.” Her breath fogs in front of her and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
The wind lifts it right back out and it floats for a moment against her cheek.
I have a sudden image of that hair spread over a pillow, and I shudder with just how much I wish that was true.
I pull off my beanie and set it on her head before my good sense intervenes. “Here. Warm up.”
She blinks then laughs softly. Damn she looks so cute!
Her nose is already turning red from the cold, but the way my beanie sits, cupping her face because it’s too big for her head, makes her dark blue eyes seem to glitter against the weak sunlight.
Jerking my attention away from Tish, I make sure everyone is off the RV and away from the road, then call the Thunderwolves bus while Coach argues on his phone with dispatch.
He listens, jaw locked, then steps away and speaks with the clipped patience I’ve heard on the ice a million times.
Grant picks up after the third ring. “We’ve had a blowout,” I say, not bothering to offer a greeting. We have a game tonight, so time is of the essence. “Circle back and pick up first line.”
“Can’t,” he answers, “Damn bus overheated. We’re giving it some time to cool off before we decide whether to call for a tow.”
“Damn it,” I mutter and disconnect the call.
I pocket my phone. It’s stupid cold out today and as the wind swirls around me, that cold bites into my cheeks.
When I turn, Tish is standing with the girls near the RV steps, turning in slow circles and taking pictures of the bus and surrounding area with her phone.
“You’re already working,” I comment, not sure what else to say but wanting to talk to her. Even if it is mundane.
She shows me the caption she’s drafted: Everyone’s safe. One tire down on the way to our first stop. We’ll keep you posted. Hear the howl. There’s not a single word in there that can be twisted into some kind of scandal.
I nod. “Post it.”
She does. Her fingers tremble for a second when she hits send. I pretend not to see it.
Then her hand drops and she exhales, and for a moment we just stand in the cold together, not touching, but I swear there are sparks zinging between us.
Probably wishful thinking on my end, though. She sees me as a big brother, like Trent. Not boyfriend material.
I step back toward the front of the RV to put some space between me and Tish, and to get my head on straight.
This…desire for her is not right. It’s always been there, but until recently I’ve been able to keep it boxed away.
But lately, that hasn’t been so easy to do. Lately, every time I see her, I want to be closer to her, wrap her in my arms, and kiss her until she’s breathless.
I glance back where Tish stands near the girls. I’m doomed. Even trying to put distance between us, I still can’t keep my eyes off her.
She stands with the wind in her hair and both girls tucked against her sides, a hand resting on each hood like she is anchoring them to the earth.
Her cheeks are pink from the cold. My beanie sits low on her forehead and it looks better on her than it ever did on me, anyway.
Jake drops down from the RV and strolls toward her. He angles his body so he blocks the wind for Tish and dips his head to speak close to her ear.
I can’t hear the words, but I recognize the cadence he uses when he wants someone to smile. It works. The corners of Tish’s mouth soften then lift.
It hits me like a shoulder to the sternum. I even recognize the feeling—jealousy.
That I’m feeling such an emotion is another blow.
I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous over a woman before.
I’ve always felt that if she’s mine, then no man can take her from me. But that doesn’t work with Tish because she isn’t mine.
I take two steps toward Tish and Jake before I realize what I’m doing. Shit!
I can’t just walk over there and drag Jake away like every muscle in my body wants me to do.
But seeing her laugh, all carefree and shining eyes, with Jake of all guys, makes me want to forget my control.
Forget that I’m the captain of the team and have to set an example for the others. Forget that Tish is not my girl.
Coach crosses the gravel and heads toward me, his face red with frustration. He holds his cell phone and shakes it once.
“Idiots!” he gripes. “They can’t get any mechanics out here for at least an hour.” He glances at his watch. “At this rate, I don’t know that we’re going to make the game.”
My mouth tightens.
This won’t look good for the Thunderwolves.
With the amount of bad press we already have, missing a game on tour will just whip the reporters into a frenzy, each coming up with their own suspicions about why we didn’t make it.
None of it will likely be true, but when it comes to the press, headlines are what matters.
They can always bury a correction later if they need to, on the bottom of page twelve where no one will read it.
“They should be able to delay the game if necessary since this is out of our control,” I tell Coach.
He shrugs with uncertainty then walks away, making another phone call, presumably to the other team or maybe to try and find a mechanic that can make it out here.
I step down off the shoulder and circle the front of the RV to get a look at the blowout.
The tire is a wreck, which is what I expected after the wild ride we had after it blew.
The rubber is shredded and the sidewall is blown out.
There’s no way to repair it, not when the sidewall is damaged, so we will definitely need a new tire.
The valve stem catches my attention. It’s not torn; it’s sliced.
The cut is too clean to be caused by road damage, a neat little nick that would hold at low speed and fail when pressure and heat did the rest.
My stomach tightens.
I angle closer and study the lug nuts.
Three of them show bright, fresh threads, the kind you see when a nut has been loosened and spun back on by fingers, not a wrench.
Cold climbs slowly from my knees to my throat.
This was not bad luck.
This was sabotage.