Game Changer (19 page)

Even if he wasn't bound to a reality TV dating show with an ironclad contract, he and Harper didn't work as lovers. Whole stop. When they'd let lust rule their relationship, they'd been unhealthy and vindictive, punishing each other at every turn—the exact opposite of their relationship now. Instead of kissing her, instead of wanting something that was impossible, he should be expending his energy cultivating their friendship.

He raked his fingers through his hair, blinking and getting a grip before speaking again in a carefully modulated voice. “Good point. I'm leaving now. Night, surfboard.”

He walked from the room, his hand returning to cover his lips again, as though he could scrub away the lingering sensation of kissing her. Impossible. He had no doubt that the record of her—of the couple they'd tried and failed to become over and over—would be branded on his soul for the rest of his life.

In a mental fog, he walked to the living room and packed his bag, then set it by the door. It was good that he was leaving in the morning. Cultivating their friendship would be infinitely easier from thousands of miles away.

Three weeks later . . .

Harper and Kayla skated through center ice, dribbling pucks at the ends of their hockey sticks. Or rather, Harper was busy practicing hitting the puck while Kayla wobbled and flailed her hockey stick around in the air. Harper skated a quick circle around Kayla, satisfied by the lack of pain and the strength she felt returning to her body. She was just about ready for her refereeing debut in a couple weeks.

Her incisions were healed enough that her doctor gave her the green light to start wearing soft, wire-free bras along with breast inserts—cutlets, which was a gross but an accurate description—but bras didn't feel comfortable against her scarred skin yet. Plus, it was nice not having to worry about a bra. She'd hoped to become comfortable enough with her new shape not to use the inserts at all, but total acceptance was slow in coming. Often, she caught herself wearing baggy, formless shirts and sweatshirts, but she was trying to be gentle with herself about that. Someday, she would feel beautiful again and wear skintight clothes; she was sure of it.

“I've always wanted to learn to skate, but this is hard,” Kayla said.

“It gets easier. Just keep at it.”

“Yeah, for the whole two weeks I have left here. I'm sure I'll be a ready to join Bomb Squad after that.”

Harper sped up, then shifted into a perfect side stop. “Geez, I hope you never have to join Bomb Squad, but another hockey team would be great. You could put it on your own bliss list.”

“Speaking of that, you look about ready to call the league president about refereeing.”

“I am. I feel great and my skills are improving.”

Kayla smacked her stick on the ice and used it as a crutch to help with her balance. “What are you going to do next from your list?”

“I don't know. I'm almost done with everything on the list.”

“Really? That's so cool.”

It was, even though the idea of completing the list carried with it an element of sadness. “I think I'll need to come up with a new list here pretty soon so I can keep it going.”

“What do you have left?”

“Skydiving, which I'll do with Brandon because he got me that gift certificate, though I have no idea when because he's not sure what his shooting schedule is going to be like yet. I might wait until the show finishes taping. Let's see . . . what else . . . Going to the top of the Empire State Building.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It does, doesn't it? I've always been too cheap to spring for it because they gouge you with the price.” From her complete stop, she pushed off the ice into a sprint, then stopped just as fast. She was really getting good at this whole skating business. “Also left on the list is fishing.”

“You're kidding.”

“That's what Presley said, too, but she agreed to take me for my birthday along with Olivia and Marlena.”

“Actually, it sounds like a lot of fun. I wish I wasn't leaving so soon. I love fishing.”

“Oh, please. You're going to be off in boot camp. You won't have time to wish you were fishing.”

Kayla chuffed. “And that's supposed to be comforting?”

“Hey, you're the one who signed up. Are you and your parents getting along any better these days? You haven't mentioned them much.” She tapped the puck with her stick and sent it in Kayla's direction.

“They're okay. Still mad at me, but now I think they're mad because I left town instead of spending time with them.” Kayla wobbled toward the puck, her stick out. Lo and behold, she managed to stop it. “They're acting like I'm going to be walking off a plank, straight into a coffin. So we've been fighting about that over the phone. I keep telling them that insurgents aren't going to shoot me the minute I step off the bus on the base. Who knows where I'll be deployed? Or when? But they're not buying it.”

“Time will fix that.”

“That's what Grandma says.”

Donna had sent many casseroles to Harper and Kayla, along with innumerable dinner invitations, which mean that Harper had gotten to see more of Duke and his wife in the past four weeks since Kayla arrived than in the past few years put together. She'd expected Will to join them on occasion, but he took most of his dinners at Locks and the rest of the time he mostly lurked around the edges of Duke's property like a feral cat.

“Hey, ladies!” Presley called from the edge of the ice. She was dressed in a faux fur–lined coat and skin-tight white pants.

“What, no matching muff for that jacket? Girl, it's like you don't even understand retro fashion,” Harper joked as she skated her way.

Presley stuck out her tongue at the teasing. “Don't hate me, but I brought you some show-and-tell.” She held up a copy of
People
magazine. A full-body shot of Brandon was on the cover, with the headline reading, “You've Never Met a Groom Like This.” Naturally, he was shirtless, but all salaciousness was removed from the image by the American flag draped around his shoulders and his prosthetic foot, which was framed by text in a way that drew the eye to it—right after said eye finished admiring his ripped abs and the subtle trail of hair disappearing into a pair of black workout shorts.

Harper tore her gaze away. She'd been mesmerized by that particular photograph for a couple weeks now, ever since he'd seen the mock-ups, which he'd emailed to her. He was nervous about his reception by the public and afraid the cover would give the appearance that he was exploiting his injuries for fame, and he was nervous about criticism from other soldiers who thought he was treating the flag disrespectfully. She didn't think so, and had done everything she could to assuage his concerns. Now that the magazine was out, she'd have to call to reassure him again.

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because you miss him and we're all trying to avoid saying the B word around you, much less sharing shirtless photos of him that women across America are all ogling this week.”

Lovely. What a pal for pointing that out.
“Why would I mind? I'm proud of him. He's going to help
Meet the Groom
get their best ratings ever. I can feel it.”

“So, then, it's okay to mention that he was on the entertainment news show last night doing an interview? They called the segment ‘The Groom: Confidential', as if featuring him on a nationally syndicated show in in any way confidential.”

“We watched it,” Kayla said. “Good interview. He looks even hotter on TV than he does in person.”

“Agreed. In person, he just looks like another guy from the neighborhood,” Presley said.

Brandon would never look like just another guy from the neighborhood.

Presley stepped out on the ice, wobbling a little. “Have you talked to him lately?”

Every day, in some way or another. Usually texts. Sometimes video chats. She'd come to rely on their daily connection as an anchoring force in her life. “Yeah, we talk. Why?”

“Has he started filming yet?”

“No. On Tuesday.”

And every time she thought about that day, fingers of anxiety slithered through her. Flipping through the contestants' dossiers had been a fun, catty, and shallow exercise. But he was actually going to be dating those women starting on Tuesday and the thought of it made her feel off, the same way that passing his number to nurse Lindsay had made her feel off, even though she knew she had no reason to feel anything but happy for him.

Kayla said, “I think we should ban the B word for the rest of the night. This is our time. No boys allowed.”

No sooner had she said that than they heard a wolf whistle, followed by a catcall. One after another, the Bomb Squad players trickled in, their hockey bags and sticks slung over their shoulders.

“Speak of the devil.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Kayla called.

“Practice.”

Harper had forgotten about that. “Guess our time's about up.”

“We could stay and hang out with them. That would be good practice for you.”

“That it would. But what's all this
we
business? You can barely stand up without holding on to the edge,” Harper said.

“Yeah, but it'd be fun to fall into the guys and let them pick me back up.”

Harper shook her head. “Don't act like a helpless princess if you don't want to be thought of as one.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“She has a point,” Presley said.

Will walked out to the team bench, dressed in a gray T-shirt and hockey shorts, which were his typical practice clothes. “Hey, Harper, I heard from Brandon today. He sent Duke a magazine. He's on the cover.”

Harper skated to the bench, with Kayla inching along behind her.

“Don't say the B word,” Kayla said. “We're trying to forget his existence for one night.”

Will scratched his beard. “Why? Oh.”

Kayla
tsk
ed. “Boys are so dense.”

“Not a boy, not a dog that lives in Duke's yard, not—” Shaking his head, he swatted the air and stomped back through the hall to the locker room.

Guess Harper wouldn't let on that she'd compared him to a feral cat in her mind.
Oops.
She cracked the seal on her water bottle and drank deeply. In her peripheral vision, she watched Presley pull herself along the wall in approach.

Kayla swung up beside Harper, bracing her hands on the rink wall. “Will's kind of cute, in a lumberjack sort of way, don't you think?”

Harper hadn't given much thought to Will in a sexual sense before, because he wasn't her type—too big and burly, especially with that beard he was growing, and he was even younger than Brandon—but he really
was
cute in a lumberjack sort of way, now that Kayla mentioned it. “I could do without the beard, but he's got a nice face.”

“He's got a nice face that I can picture between my legs, is more like it,” Kayla said under her breath.

Harper spewed water, then devolved into a choking cough.

Presley slapped her back. “I'm going to use that line sometime. I mean, if I ever decide to give men a chance again. I like that.”

Kayla's head tipped to the side, her eyes narrowed, thinking. “Maybe I'll sleep with him before I go to boot camp.”

The proclamation struck Harper's funny bone, and apparently it did Presley's too, because they both burst into laughter.

“What?” Kayla asked.

Harper took Presley's hand and pushed away from the wall, skating backward while stabilizing Presley. She motioned with her head for Kayla to follow them. This conversation would be better had as far from the guys' locker room as possible. “You'd have better luck waiting until you get to North Carolina for boot camp. There isn't a single eligible bachelor in Destiny Falls who would dare sleep with Duke's granddaughter.”

Presley lowered her voice and clutched Harper's arm for support. “Even if Will didn't care what Duke thought—which he does, probably more than any other guy on the team—Will's a self-declared celibate.”

Kayla's mouth flopped open. “You're kidding.”

“No, she's not. He doesn't date, doesn't flirt, and doesn't hook up. He never has since he moved to town and joined the team.”

“Why?”

Harper shrugged. “Not sure. There's a story, but he doesn't talk about it and none of the other guys will either.”

“Celibacy is a lame idea.”

Said the twenty-two year old who was fond of walking around the bar in white shirts with bright pink bras and Daisy Duke shorts.

“I don't know. There's some merit to the idea,” Harper said. “I haven't had sex in a while and now that I'm flat, I'm not really eager to jump on that particular wagon. I'm thinking of officially going celibate, indefinitely.”

“I'm celibate. I'm done with men. Marc ruined the whole gender for me.”

Kayla looked in horror at them. “Doesn't anybody get laid in this town?”

Presley deep sighed. “I'm pretty sure Marlena and Liam screw like rabbits.”

“Oh, yes. I've caught them in the bar's supply room and in the alley behind the bar, and I've heard them in the restroom. Oh, and I've watched Liam's truck rocking in the Iceplex parking lot. More than once.”

“Disgusting,” Presley said at the same time Kayla said, “Awesome, but they don't count. They're married.”

Gabe cut their conversation short when he took to the ice. He was dressed in full goaltender pads and helmet, with his stick threaded through his hockey prosthetic. “Girls, hey. You mind taking your meeting off the ice? We're starting practice soon.”

“Harper's going to practice with you,” Kayla called.

“I am?”

“Sounds great,” Gabe said. “Got a helmet? I've got an extra one, but it's pretty nasty.”

“I've got my own. I bought one the other day to use when I start refereeing.” Was she really going to practice with the team? She'd never considered the idea, but it sounded like fun.

“Strap it on. I'm sure Duke'll let you practice with us, no problem. What about you, Kayla?”

“She'd be a liability,” Harper said.

Presley glided away from Harper, her arms flailing wildly, and latched onto Kayla. “Come on, Kayla, let's see if we can help each other off this slippery ice and let the team and Harper do their thing. I don't know about you, but I plan to flirt with Jay at the front desk until he opens the snack shack and sells me a beer.”

Harper skated a circle around her two friends and skated backward in front of them, offering them her hands. I'm headed that way to get my helmet, so I'll escort you two.”

Once she got her friends safely off the ice, she padded to where her purse and duffle bag sat on a bleacher seat next to Presley's black-and-white designer bag. Out of habit, she checked her phone and found a text from Brandon.