Chapter 9
NINE
AUSTIN
I lugged my bag toward the Range Rover, guilt churning in my gut as I wondered how on earth I’d never realized that Jane attended college. Was I a terrible person?
Now that my failure had been brought to light, I wanted to rectify it and learn everything about her. The desire surprised me, considering I was rarely interested in anything except hockey.
But first, I needed an answer to my earlier question. I’d completely drop the subject if she asked me to, but I couldn’t deny the rejection—however well-deserved—had pricked my ego. Perhaps that was why I’d acted like such a jerk.
I reached the car. She’d already popped the trunk, so I placed my bag inside and climbed into the passenger seat rather than the back as I usually would.
“Hi, Jane.”
She flashed me a smile, then started the engine and pulled out of the lot. “Hey. Good training?”
“Better than yesterday.” My ankle was fully recovered, apart from the occasional twinge, and Coach Dunn had taken the time to thank me for my notes on the other players and apologize for cornering Jane. “By the way, I have something for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Curiosity laced her voice. “What?”
I grabbed the cardboard box out of my jacket pocket and placed it on the console between us. “Chocolates from Coach Dunn to say sorry for being a little too aggressive in his questioning the other day.”
“That’s nice.” The corner of her mouth lifted in the most enchanting way, and suddenly, I wished I’d thought to buy her chocolates too.
Although purchasing gifts for my personal assistant might cross a line of a whole other kind.
I didn’t want her to think I was sexually harassing her.
“I mean, it’d be better if he didn’t do anything to apologize for, but I never expected anything, so he exceeded my expectations. ”
Who even was this woman?
I wasn’t used to Jane being so assertive or direct. Was this a new side of her, or had she always had a spine of steel but hidden it until I’d pushed her into showing her true strength?
“It would. We should talk when we get home.” The thought of being open with her made me want to squirm, but if we were going to clear the air, it needed to be done properly.
She glanced sideways. “Why not now?”
“Because at home, you can leave if you want. Right now, you’re stuck in the car with me and that feels like a bad situation to put you in.” I may have been an oblivious asshole in the past, but I was trying to do better.
Her face did this strange twitchy thing. “Are you afraid I’ll make a scene like I did when I stopped the car in traffic?”
“No.” Although I’d rather avoid that too.
“Good. That wasn’t my finest moment.”
“Don’t apologize.” That was the last thing I wanted or deserved. “You were rightfully angry with me. I’m just sorry I was a dick, especially when you’d already had to deal with my dad.”
She snuck a peek at me, and there was something sly in her expression. “I wasn’t going to apologize.”
“Oh.” Speaking about yesterday reminded me about what had started our confrontation in the car. “What did he want?”
“Other than to get inside your house, I don’t know.” Her tone softened. “I’m sorry I just dumped that on you yesterday without any warning.”
“It’s fine.” I understood why she’d done it.
What wasn’t fine was my dad having dropped by in the first place.
Getting me into the NHL had been his dream since he’d fallen short of achieving it himself due to an injury in college.
That would be all right if I’d shared his burning desire to get there no matter what it took, but I hadn’t.
Unfortunately, that hadn’t mattered to him.
As soon as I’d shown an ounce of talent, he’d started piling on the pressure to be better and better, pushing me to train for hours, and berating me when it wasn’t enough.
Now I didn’t know how to be anyone other than the person he’d made me into. He’d driven me to the edge of my mental, emotional, and physical abilities time and time again. I’d left him behind as soon as possible, but to a certain extent, the damage was already done.
“Any more changes with the team?” she asked, taking pity on me and changing the subject.
“According to Stephen Robertson, the new manager, the logo is getting redesigned, so we’ll have all new uniforms before the season officially starts.
” Apparently, it would signal to the public and other teams that we were new and improved.
Personally, I didn’t think a logo could achieve that much.
There needed to be more driving the change than surface-level stuff.
“Did he say what they’re changing it to?” she asked, switching on the indicator and turning onto our street.
“Just that it will still be a fox.” The fox had been our symbol for as long as I’d been on the team, supposedly because foxes were chaotic and mischievous. I couldn’t help wishing we’d been able to channel a little more of their wiles and cunning too.
She nodded but stayed quiet as she pulled into the driveway and pushed the button to open the garage door. We crawled inside and she closed the garage again before shutting off the engine.
I got out and grabbed my bag from the trunk while she slung hers over her shoulder, then we made our way inside. It was a gloomy day, the sun already sinking down the horizon, so I flicked on the lights to brighten it up.
We went to the kitchen and Jane began rummaging around in the fridge, presumably to find something to cook for dinner.
Knowing her, she already had a meal in mind.
She was always organized. I was so glad she’d taken over meal preparation.
It was a load off my shoulders not to have to cook at the end of the day.
I made us each a decaf coffee. I kept mine black and added a little sugar and creamer to hers. I’d seen her make it that way for herself before.
Placing the cup in front of her, I said, “Talk with me. Dinner can wait.”
Her lower lip disappeared behind her teeth as she wrapped her hand around the cup. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, we need to sort this out.”
With a sigh, she rounded the counter and leaned against it, facing me. “I suppose you want an answer to what you asked me this morning?”
“If you’re willing to give me one. If not, just tell me to leave it alone and I will.”
A divot appeared between her eyebrows, and for a moment, I thought she might do just that, but I still wasn’t expecting her to straighten and walk away.
As I watched her retreat, I considered chasing after her, but I’d told her I wanted her to be able to leave, and she was choosing to do that, so I had to respect her wishes.
My shoulders slumped as I stared at the glossy black surface of my coffee, wishing I could have something stronger.
Footsteps approached, and I looked up.
Jane strode in, a bottle of Corona beer in one hand, a fine mist of condensation already forming on the glass.
She opened one of the kitchen drawers, withdrew a bottle opener, and cracked the lid off, then plunked it on the bench, got a lemon from the fridge, sliced a wedge out of it, and slid it inside the bottle’s neck.
Finally, she gulped down several mouthfuls.
“I needed more than a decaf coffee for this conversation,” she said, returning to her earlier position against the counter.
I stared, stunned. “You… don’t strike me as a beer drinker.”
I’d always imagined Jane as more the sort of person to enjoy a nice glass of wine, or just stick to expensive coffee from hipster coffee shops.
She laughed, and her eyes sparkled. Usually, they were a pleasant brown color, but when they shone with amusement, they became a tapestry of different shades of brown, green, and gold.
“I grew up in a household of hockey players,” she explained, raising the bottle to her lips once more.
She sipped, and I forced my eyes away from the bobble of her pale throat as she swallowed.
“After Dad retired, we still watched every one of his games, and nothing goes better with hockey than beer and chips.”
“I can’t argue with that.” It made sense, now that I knew who she was. I had to admit, I’d made assumptions about her, and it seemed many of them were wrong.
Jane glanced over at me and then down at the counter. “This is going to be hard for me to get out, so just bear with me.”
My stomach twisted as guilt assailed me. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Let’s just forget it and cook some dinner. I’ll even help.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m doing this. Okay.” She drew in a breath between her teeth and exhaled sharply. “The truth is, I have a speech disfluency.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I stutter. It used to be really bad. As a little kid, I could hardly get out full sentences. It took so long for me to say anything that I’d just give up.
The particular style of disfluency I experience gets worse when I’m emotional, tired, or drunk, so when I was younger, I’d get frustrated with myself and then being upset made it more and more difficult.
It was a vicious cycle. I still regress sometimes under those same conditions. ”
“I never noticed. You don’t seem to stutter more than most people.” It was hard to imagine her struggling as much as she claimed to have, but when I recalled the images of that shy child I’d seen when I’d Googled her, I had to admit she’d come across as being very withdrawn.
She shrugged. “I worked really hard for a long time. I can usually keep it under control these days, although not always.”
God, that was impressive. She’d been almost debilitated by this problem but hadn’t let it get in her way.
“Is that why you’re studying to be a speech therapist?” I asked.
“Exactly.” She flashed a grin, but it wavered.
“I had an incredible speech therapist and I owe so much to him. I want to help others the same way. You have to understand, with both Dad and Uncle Wayne in the NHL when I was young, there was a lot of attention on my family, which made it even harder for me to improve.”
My frown deepened. “How do you mean?”