It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (13 page)

But having dinner with Jace wasn’t exactly showing up on the front pages as his latest squeeze.

Right?

The thought nearly made her turn around, but Jace stood behind her, inadvertently barring her escape.

And he was probably right. Who would notice
her
?

Jace led her to the end of the bar, took off his jacket, and hung it on the back of a chair. “Do you want to wait here or join me in the kitchen?”

“Kitchen, please.”

“Hey, Nell. Watch our coats, will you? And can you get Eden something to drink?” He looked at her.

“Um. A Sprite?”

“Two, please,” Jace said, surprising her again.

He led her into the kitchen, all stainless steel and redolent with the comfort-food smell of onions, garlic, and french fries.

“This is Emilio. He’s Sam’s head cook,” Jace said. A good-looking Hispanic man in his midthirties raised a spatula in greeting. Two burgers sizzled on the grill; next to them a pile of onions and mushrooms simmered in butter.

Maybe she should have ordered a burger.

“And over there, that’s Toua, our line cook.” The Hmong man seemed about Owen’s age, maybe a little older. He wore a stained apron, and his eyes watered from chopping onions, but he smiled at her through his tears.

“I’m just going to whip up a couple sandwiches, if that’s okay?” Jace said.

“No problem, Mr. Jacobsen,” Emilio said.

Eden nearly asked if this was a regular occurrence, but, well, she didn’t really want to know the answer. Tonight, she would be special.

She watched as Jace fixed two sandwiches.

“Are you sure you don’t want ham on it? Or roast beef?”

“Nope. Just the cheese. I’m into comfort food.”

“As you wish.” He winked at her but turned away fast to add a slice of roast beef to his. Then he slapped them on the grill.

“If you ever retire from hockey, you could make your living as a short-order cook,” she said.

He glanced at her but didn’t join her smile.

What? Did she say something
 
—?

“I envy Sam a little. I’d love to have a place like this, where friends gather after work, people come to watch the games. It’s a real community place.”

He scooped up the sandwiches, plated them, then added a handful of homemade chips and a pickle spear from a jar on the counter to each.

“Okay?” he asked, any vestige of the previous chill vanished.

Maybe she’d dreamed it.

“Perfect,” she said and took her plate back to the bar.

He joined her there, and Nell delivered their Sprites. Overhead,
an Edmonton-versus-Calgary game played. Jace glanced up at it now and again as he squirted ketchup on his plate.

She cut her sandwich, bit into the first half. “This is delicious.”

“Garlic butter on the outside. It’s Sam’s special recipe.”

“You and Sam are pretty good friends for him to share his secrets.”

He smiled. “Yeah, well, he knows mine, so it’s only fair. He picked me up and stayed with me through some pretty bad crashes.”

Oh? She wanted to follow that up, but his attention reverted to the game.

“Yes!”

Eden looked up at the screen. “Did someone score?”

“Calgary. I have a pal who plays for them. We were in the juniors together.”

She reached for the ketchup. “When did you start playing hockey?”

“I was six years old. My mom enrolled me in an after-school program because she worked and needed free babysitting.”

“Wow. I bet she didn’t realize she was creating a monster.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and she wanted to take it back, rephrase.

“I didn’t mean monster
 
—”

“No, that’s okay. I know that’s how some people see me.”

“Not your fans.”

“Some of them. But they like it.”

“And you?”

He chuckled, but it seemed to have nothing to do with humor. “I was never much of a fighter. Never liked to mix it up at school. I liked to play hard, though, and fighting was part of hockey,
especially ten years ago.” He took a breath. “It didn’t help that I ended Boo Tanner’s career the first game of my rookie season.”

She stopped eating. “What?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No, why would I?”

His eyes narrowed for a second; then he picked up a chip. “I was jacked up for the game. It was my first time out, and I really wanted to show the Wild what I could do. So I went after one of the legendary enforcers
 
—just so the team could see I could take a hit and be a go-to guy.”

“I’m not a fan of the fighting.”

“It’s controversial, no doubt. But it’s about intimidation and strategy. When there’s a fight, there are penalties, which means that one or both teams have less guys on the ice and we can get the power-play units out during penalty minutes.”

“Owen was on that unit last year.”

He put down the chip and took a sip of soda. Didn’t look at her. “But I think the biggest reason we still have the fights is because the fans like them.”

She’d seen that, felt that
 
—the adrenaline that rippled through the audience during a throw-the-gloves-off brawl.

“I have a pretty strong right hook. And when I hit him, Boo went down so hard that he knocked his helmet off and hit his head. He suffered brain damage.” Jace paused. “I was the Wild’s new tough guy. But Boo never took the ice again. He’s in a wheelchair today.”

Oh.

He stared at his plate with a long breath. As she watched him, what looked like pain
 
—maybe even shame
 
—flickered across his face.

She could almost see the reel playing in his head as he relived it, and she heard his words rebounding back to her.

The NHL changes you.

“I’m sorry,” Eden said. He didn’t move, so she put her hand on his arm. “I misjudged you.”

He frowned. Then, surprisingly, shook his head. “Actually, no, you didn’t. And that’s the worst part. When I’m out there, on the ice, fighting, it feels . . . sometimes it feels good.”

She blinked, trying to understand his words.

“It just feels so good to let that adrenaline take hold. To hear the roar of the crowd. I . . . like it. Or I did.”

He met her eyes as if searching for something. Judgment, maybe.

“Do you still like it?” she said softly.

“It doesn’t matter. It is what it is.”

Jace turned his gaze to the television. “I’d like to get back to the days when I loved to play hockey just for the sake of hockey.”

“Are you thinking of retiring?”

She read the answer in the way he watched the game, saying nothing.

“What would you do?”

For a long moment, he seemed to ignore her. Then, “Owen says he comes from a small town on the north shore.”

Hmm. “Deep Haven. Population 1,300.”

“Where everyone knows your name.”

She laughed, probably putting more effort into it than necessary. “Yeah. Maybe. But in a way it feels like home.”

“Like family?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But yeah, the entire town shows up at
the VFW to watch Owen’s games. So there’s a lot of small-town love.”

“I grew up in International Falls. Played on a dozen different teams until I landed on the Wild. I signed with the Blue Ox three years ago when they launched the franchise. It felt like a good idea at the time.”

There it was again. The sense that this might be the end of an era.

He took a sip of his soda.

“I have to admit, I expected you to order a beer.”

“I don’t drink. Gave it up after . . . after the accident.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not what you expected, huh?”

She shrugged. “And yet your favorite hangout is a bar.”

“And grill.” He lifted his sandwich.

“But my guess is that you don’t come here for the food, do you?”

When he turned to her, he wore a smile and something in his eyes that made her chest warm. “Nope.”

So the man wanted family. Or a place to belong.

Maybe someone to belong to.

Where had that thought come from? She focused on her sandwich. “Mmm, this is good.” For cryin’ in the sink, she sounded like an idiot.

“Do you miss it?” Jace asked.

“What?”

“Your small town. Or is your exciting life as a journalist enough to keep you busy?”

She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her or not. “I miss it. A lot. But I can’t go home.” Not yet. Not when she still had so much to accomplish. Or prove.

Whatever.

“Why? Don’t they have a newspaper in Deep Haven?” He finished off his sandwich.

“Not one that will hire me. We have two reporters, and they’ve been there since the dawn of time. I’m not likely to find a position there. And, well . . . Owen needs me here. Especially now.”

He said nothing.

She looked up at the screen, suddenly thankful for the cheers of the crowd.

Finally she said, “Someday. When the time is right, I’d love to move back home, write articles for the local weekly, maybe raise a family.”

“With someone normal and boring.”

She felt his eyes, his attention, on her. “Yes.” But her voice emerged small.

He smiled, turning toward her, hooking his foot on her chair. “How boring does this guy need to be?”

He said it slowly, and the act of him capturing her stool, even tugging it a little his direction, sparked something so unfamiliar in her that Eden had to catch her breath.

Her mouth dried and she set down her sandwich, wiped her lips. Found casual words, even if they came out a bit shaky. “Extremely. The kind of guy who loves mowing his lawn on a Saturday afternoon. And walking the dog. And isn’t afraid to read a book and
 
—”

“Makes boring grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner?”

Oh, he had amazing eyes. Blue with gold around the irises, and they reached right out and tugged her in. His hair lay in tousles behind his ears, and she had the crazy, wild impulse to reach out and twirl her fingers around one of those dark, luscious curls.

So maybe she wasn’t complete ice around him.

Especially when he balanced one arm on the bar, the other on the back of her chair, leaning into their conversation. Yes, dressed in a white button-down shirt and dark-blue jeans, he made pedestrian look downright dangerous. Then the smell of his cologne twined around her, the same one that still embedded her jacket.

“Um.”

“Or maybe cereal. I pour a mean bowl of cereal.”

Cereal? His lopsided, devastating smile must have created a sort of cozy, hypnotic effect on her. Slowed time, dimmed noise, and suddenly only they remained, caught in this quiet, safe place where Jace Jacobsen made her feel as if she were the only girl in the room.

I like Lucky Charms.
The words tipped her lips just as a woman ran up and threw her arms around Jace.

“Hammer! Baby!” Thin and sexy, she wore a bright-red shirt that she probably had to paint on, her blonde hair long and curly. Her French-manicured hands caught his face for a quick kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t get to give you a birthday kiss.” She looked like she might actually climb onto his lap and deliver a more thorough version at that moment.

And right then, the cocoon dissolved.

Jace’s hand slipped from the back of Eden’s chair even as he turned to the woman. “Haylee.”

Eden could have guessed. The woman looked like a Haylee. All curves and too much hope that someone might take her picture and slap it onto Facebook with J-Hammer’s tag.

What was Eden doing here? With Jace Jacobsen? Clearly she’d lost her mind.

She looked around, saw a few patrons watching the commotion. One man had his phone out, pointing it their direction.

Oh no. She couldn’t be Jace’s next hot thing. A momentary glimmer in his life for the tabloids to inspect.

Besides, she wasn’t that kind of girl, a rink bunny. In fact, she felt sorry for those girls, needing someone like Jace to make them feel good about themselves.

“I gotta go.” Eden slid off the stool. “Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Eden
 
—”

But Haylee had her arms around his neck, and that’s the last Eden saw before she grabbed her coat and pushed through the crowd.
Oh, please don’t let anyone be loading a Twitpic.

Jacobsen’s new girl. #whathappenedtohammerslovelife

J-Hammer goes slumming. #hammerslovelifeslump

Eden pushed out into the cold, fumbling for her phone. Cab, she needed a cab.

“Eden!” Jace had followed her out, his jacket in his fist.

“Jace
 
—no, you can stay. I’m good. It looks like you had something
 
—”

“Stop, please.” He shrugged on his jacket as he ran to catch up with her. “Haylee is just a friend.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Eden forced a smile. “I’m just going to go home.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, his lips a tight line. “I’m sorry if she made you uncomfortable.”

“No. Don’t be silly. Hey, I’m cool. If you want to stay here with her
 
—”

“I don’t want to stay here with her.” His blue eyes turned dark, stormy.

And there it was, the legendary J-Hammer temper. She bristled and backed away.

He grimaced as if in pain. “Sorry.”

“I’ll call a cab.”

“I’ll take you home.” He started across the street, then came back to her when she didn’t follow. “What?”

“I just . . . Thanks for dinner, but I think maybe this was a mistake. I know you mean well, but we’re . . . we’re very different people. I think it would be best if I try to find John Doe on my own.”

His mouth opened slightly. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go.”

Yeah. Whatever.

She climbed into the car and held on to the side bracket as Jace drove her home in silence.

“W
E NEED TO GO OVER
what happens next, Sam.”

Sam stood outside Maddy’s room, exhaustion sinking into his bones, his hand braced on the doorframe to keep everything from spinning out of control.

Stay calm. Hang on.

He didn’t know Miss Priestly, but he recognized the clinical tone of the transplant coordinator, the pursed lips of disappointment. She was young, unmarried, wore a black turtleneck that matched her dark hair swept up in a bun.

She reminded him of Mia. Except for the fact that she held his daughter’s heart in her hands.

“Now that she’s stabilized on the Berlin Heart machine, we need to talk through how this happened and how to proceed.
Follow me.” She turned, and like a dog on a leash
 
—why not; she had all the power
 
—he followed her down the hallway to a small office.

She motioned for him to sit on one of the lime-green chairs, and no amount of cheery orange cartoons or dancing children on the walls could soften her next words.

“Surely you were warned that something like this could happen if you didn’t take care of her.”

Sam sat down, stung. “I . . . I don’t know what happened.”

“It says here you missed an appointment
 
—”

“She was doing so well, and . . . I know. It’s just so expensive.”

Her face twitched, and she looked away, down at her iPad. “Sorry. Of course I’m compassionate to the costs. This is terrifying for both of you, I know. . . . But the truth is, I have to ask some hard questions. Because this is Maddy’s second go-around for a heart
 
—not a commodity we easily grant second chances for.”

He sat back in the chair, his words gone.

“I’m going to schedule you to talk with a social worker.”

“About what?”

“I’m concerned about Maddy’s care. Is there anyone at home besides you? A wife? Girlfriend? Nanny?” She looked again at her iPad, bringing up the keyboard.

“No, I’m not married. I don’t have a girlfriend, and I can’t afford a nanny.”

“Mmm . . . So it’s just you and Maddy at home. And your income? It says you are self-employed.”

He was suddenly aware of the fact that he wore a Sammy’s T-shirt, a pair of grimy jeans that Jace had grabbed from what he thought might be the clean clothes. Truth was, he needed a
shower, a shave, and probably another cup of coffee before he had this conversation.

“I own a bar and grill. And my income is just fine.” A lie, but what choice did he have?

She looked up, lips pinched. “You know that’s a factor
 
—we need to determine if you have adequate insurance and resources for the aftercare medicines.”

“We’re fine.”

“Really? Because according to our records, our mail came back, returned.”

“We moved.” He looked away, through the glass doorway.

“And when did you first see signs that Maddy might be rejecting the heart?”

“I . . . I don’t know. She started getting sick, and . . .” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She’s nine years old. Please don’t let her die.”

Miss Priestly leaned back, folded her arms over her chest. Sam felt it then
 
—his grip slipping, the sound of a wail stirring deep inside.

“We’ll do all we can to help her, but I’ll be honest. I’m not sure the board is going to agree to give you a second chance.”

The sound grew louder. “What can I do?”

She sighed, and for the first time, he saw real compassion in her eyes. “You might want to consider whether Maddy would be better off in a medical foster home. If you want her to live, you might have to give her up.”

“Eden! You’re just in time for the game!”

Eden stepped into the room to Grace’s greeting, carrying the
takeout her family had asked her to pick up on her way over from work. Thanks to her University of Minnesota days, she knew just where to go. Mrs. Chau even remembered her favorite order
 
—house fried rice.

She set the bags on Owen’s bedside table, and Grace began to open them. “Take-out Chinese. The one thing Deep Haven can’t provide.”

“I have no doubt you can cook circles around Mrs. Chau.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Grace said, pulling out the containers.

Her parents sat in chairs pulled close together, leaning against each other. They seemed to have aged a year this week, especially with all the specialists’ visits and trying to deal with Owen’s panic.

Now, his face still bandaged, he sat up in bed, reluctantly surrendering his gaze to the pregame on the flat screen. The cameras panned the gathering crowd.

“Can you see Casper and Amelia?” Ingrid asked.

“Mom. Are you kidding me?” Eden said, helping open a box of the Chinese food.

“How fun for them to catch the game. I’m just sad Owen isn’t back yet.”

What, were they all living in some sort of dreamworld? Did they not listen to the doctors? No peripheral vision meant that Owen couldn’t track the puck. But Eden said nothing as Grace scooped up some rice for her. She unwrapped her chopsticks and pulled up a chair, watching the announcers.

She could almost smell the crisp breath of the ice, the salty popcorn, the spicy brats. Hear the raucous music ripple through her, feeding her adrenaline.

So maybe she’d miss it a little, but Casper had picked her up
in a crazy hug when she arrived this morning with tickets to the game. “You’re the best, Sis.”

“They’re not technically mine,” she’d said but accepted the gratitude anyway. She hoped he and Amelia had fun. Besides, it would do her good to sit this one out, let the memory of Russell die a quiet, quick death.

John turned up the volume to hear the two hometown announcers, Reilly and Warkowski. They were talking about Kalen, the new goalie.

“With twenty-five saves last game, he’s showing real confidence in the net. He doesn’t give up on pucks. He keeps fighting them off. With that kind of determination, he’s going to be a real backbone of the defense.”

“Talk about backbone
 
—Jace Jacobsen has the lights on him tonight with the absence of Owen Christiansen. The Blue Ox are a puck-possession team, yet tonight we’ll have to watch the chemistry with the newest power forward, Maxwell Sharpe. We were watching in practice
 
—what did you see, Reilly?”

“You know I’m a Blue Ox fan, but LA is a cup-championship franchise,” Reilly said. “We need to really work on our power plays, maybe see if J-Hammer can help us out with that.”

“No mix-ups in the last game
 
—what’s with Jacobsen?”

“No word, although I talked to the trainers this week and they said he’s still struggling with migraines. Could have something to do with him playing it easy last game.”

Easy? Since when did Jace do anything easy or halfway? And he hadn’t mentioned migraines. But maybe that had something to do with his silences, the way he’d suggested leaving hockey.

Eden put her chopsticks down as they played shots of the last game, of Jace backing away from a check, of Owen following it up
with a clip. She shot a look at her father, who raised his eyebrow but said nothing.

“The franchise says he has it under control, but who knows. We will see what kind of choices he makes tonight. We’re moments away from puck drop. Let’s go onto the ice and talk to Jace about tonight’s game.”

The scene flipped and Eden’s mouth nearly opened at the sight of the blonde she’d met at Sammy’s
 
—Haylee?
 
—on the ice with Jace, dressed in his Blue Ox uniform, his helmet strap hanging. “So with Owen Christiansen gone tonight, what is your strategy against the former Stanley Cup champions?”

So that’s how he knew her. Which gave some explanation as to why he hadn’t just pushed her away. Behind him, the music played, nearly drowning his words. “We’re just going to play good hockey, try to keep possession of the puck and take as many shots on net as we can. Last game we had thirty-two shots on goal, and we’ve got to keep the pressure on, get it in the crease.”

Even through the television, he had a sort of hypnotic power with those blue eyes, the low rumble of his voice. Tonight, geared up, he looked every inch the beast he became on the ice.

For the first time, Eden could admit that it sent an unauthorized tremor of delight through her.

Oh, boy. She should remember that, most likely, he hadn’t given her another thought after dropping her off last night. Probably went back to the bar to cozy up with Haylee.

“Your power-play team was legendary last year. Without Christiansen, do you feel you’re at a disadvantage?”

Jace nodded. “You’re always at a disadvantage when a player like Owen goes down. But we have a strong team, and everyone is
ready to step up. Will we miss him? Yeah. But it’s all about teamwork. Of course, we’re hoping Owen makes it back real soon.”

Eden glanced at Owen, hating that he looked like he wanted to cry. Or throw something.

“And what about power plays? Is J-Hammer going to get it done? What are we going to see tonight?”

Jace smiled, and Eden felt a full-on swirl of something sweetly intoxicating.

“Great hockey,” he said.

I’d like to get back to the days when I loved to play hockey . . .

He skated away, leaving Haylee to close the segment.

The family sat in silence, Grace staring at her food like she might be examining it for secrets.

Ingrid got up and retrieved a plate of moo shu pork. “Are you going to eat, Owen?”

“I’m not hungry, Mom.”

She nodded and took her plate back to her chair.

John cleared his throat. “Owen, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but you have a few choices here. You can blame God for your circumstances, get angry, and turn away, or you can lean into Him and let Him turn this to blessing.”

“Really, Dad? That’s what you got for me
 
—trust God? Have you noticed that God took away my eye? My life?”

Eden stiffened at Owen’s tone.

But John leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. “That’s what I got for you, yep. Because here’s the truth: life is not without suffering
 
—the Bible tells us that. But the fact is, suffering is part of God’s love for us.”

Even Eden stared at him now.

“God makes us suffer on purpose?” Grace asked, her tone matching Eden’s thoughts.

“He doesn’t stop it. And if He has the power to stop it, then you could say that He lets it happen. So the question we have to ask is, if God is love yet God says yes to suffering, how do those two fit together?”

No one answered him.

“We expect God’s love to be all nice and neatly packaged. But He’ll do what He has to in order to draw us to that place where we need Him. Know Him. Are overwhelmed by His love for us.”

He got up, ventured over to the food. Looked in the bag and pulled out a container, which he handed to Owen. “Satan’s plan for our suffering is the destruction of our faith. God’s plan is for life. For love. You need to make a choice, Owen. Are you going to pray and lean into God? Or are you going to let this take you apart?”

Owen took the food but didn’t open it. “Depends on if I get to play hockey again.”

“And if you don’t?”

“God doesn’t love me.” Owen met his father’s eyes without flinching.

John drew in a breath, let it go.

Eden still held hers.

“Then you’ve missed the point of your entire hockey experience. God really doesn’t care if you play hockey at all, Owen. God’s only concern is what you do with the life you’ve been given.”

Owen put the food down and looked away. “My life is over. All I have left is anger.”

“That’s not true. I get your anger, but don’t push away the people trying to help you.”

Behind John, the game began. But he continued to look at Owen, even as Owen stared through him to the screen.

Eden wanted to weep. Still, her father’s words simmered inside her.
God’s only concern is what you do with the life you’ve been given.

She set her food down. “I’ll be right back.”

Going out into the hallway, she quick-walked toward the elevators, then took a right and ventured down the hall to John Doe’s room.