It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (15 page)

“’Cause . . . I don’t know. I’ve tried for so long to get a real reporter job. An obits rep sounds so . . . inconsequential.”

“Not to the family of the deceased. Think about it
 
—you are this person’s last chance to leave a mark on the world. You get to help the world figure out what made them special.”

She glanced at him. “Exactly. I believe inside every person is something heroic. One thing. I try to find that one thing, something small I can add. Of course, I have to keep it short and sweet, if I can insert it at all. But it makes for a better story.”

“No, it makes for a better life. I wish the paper had written that kind of obit for my mother. They hadn’t a clue how heroic she was
 
—raising me alone, shuffling me to practice for 5 a.m. ice times. Going into hock to buy my equipment. They only focused on . . . on her mistakes.” His throat tightened; he’d never really told anyone that before.

Her voice was soft. “She sounds amazing. You still miss her.”

“Of course. She was my mom. She came to every single game and sometimes practices, too.”

“What about your dad? Is he still around?”

“No dad.” Jace kept his voice even, not quite ready to dive too far into his past. “My parents weren’t married, and he wasn’t interested. Until, of course, I made the NHL.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m used to people only wanting me for my fame.” He realized how woe-is-me that sounded. “Not that I minded. For the right people, I’d give it all away. It’s just that . . . I guess I thought my life would look different. My fame would feel different. Now I just want normal.”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, realizing what he’d said.

Silence filled the car as they headed back to the arena. Finally Eden said, “If you want normal, I have an idea. My parents took Owen home today
 
—back to Deep Haven
 
—and they want me to come up this weekend to get him. It’s a really pretty place, quiet and relaxing . . . and, well, would you like to come along?”

He turned toward the parking lot, her words wrapping around him, nestling into him. She wanted to spend time with him?

He didn’t quite know what to do with the hot spurt of feelings inside. “We do have the All-Star break coming up. I guess it would give me a chance to check in on Owen. Since I am the team captain.”

She had the grace not to raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll have to see if I can leave Maddy and Sam, but she’s stable and just waiting . . .” He sighed as his thoughts touched them for a moment.

Eden slid her hand on his arm. “If you need to stay for them, I understand.”

When they stopped at a light and he turned toward her, her pretty eyes caught him with a sweetness.

“I think I can get away.”

She smiled. “Good.”

And then, because apparently he couldn’t stop himself . . . “So do you want to get something to eat?”

Sam couldn’t ignore the guilt he felt at leaving the hospital. But he needed a change of clothes
 
—he’d gone through everything Jace had brought him
 
—and a moment of fresh air. Clarity. Some escape from the suffocating reality of Maddy’s condition. Of course, he’d
waited until she fell asleep, her breathing steady, the Berlin Heart keeping her alive, one beat at a time.

Sam pulled into the bar lot. The place was nearly empty
 
—he’d told Nell to close early on nongame nights. But he didn’t want to see anyone, so he grabbed his duffel of dirty clothes, then entered through the back door.

Nell, however, spied him from the bar and raised her hand. He nodded and escaped to his place.

The chill in his apartment crept into his bones
 
—it smelled vacant, the milk that he’d left out five days ago souring on the counter. He flipped the wall switch, and light fell dimly over the threadbare tweed sofa that served as his bed, his blankets still in a heap at the end. Toeing off his shoes, he hung his coat on a freestanding rack, then went to the kitchen, where he capped the milk jug and threw it away. He wet a dishcloth and wiped the counter; crumbs were a good way to attract mice in these old buildings.

Then he went to Maddy’s room, stopping in the doorway. He’d shoved her bed into the corner
 
—it took up most of the room, and he’d had to remove the canopy. Her dresser sat in the hallway, but he’d managed to find a place for her Beanie Babies in a basket in her room. They lay scattered around her bed, evidence of Maddy’s playtime before everything went south.

Sam emptied the duffel into a hamper in the bathroom, then retrieved clean clothes for the next few days from the closet he used at the end of the hall.

If you want her to live, you might have to give her up. . . .

Sam sank to the floor, leaned his head against the wall.
She’s too little to die, Lord. But how can I give her away?

You have to believe, Sam.

He heard the voice deep inside and thought it might be Mia’s. Or maybe just his own desperation talking.

As soon as the transplant coordinator started talking to him, he’d realized he’d failed his daughter
 
—and probably Mia
 
—again. Maddy needed a mother.

He should have dated again, but how could he bring someone into his life? With a child who needed 24-7 care? How would he find anyone who might understand, might willingly walk into this life?

Sam got up, shook away the loneliness. Blew out a breath against the sweat that had formed along his spine. He had to get through, alone.

He filled the duffel with his shaving cream, a razor, some shampoo and soap, a comb. A glance in the mirror made him cringe. If he were the transplant committee, he might turn a hobo like him down. At the least, the social worker would look at his situation and turn in a negative report.

He barely had a home for them to live in, was behind on his mortgage for the bar, and the truth was, he couldn’t work and care for his daughter.

He needed help.

But his mother, who’d helped care for Maddy, had passed away two years ago, and his sister had her own children
 
—three of them. She couldn’t take Maddy.

Not that he could let her go.

Sam stood in the kitchen, staring down at the parking lot. He’d had plenty of offers for the bar, its location only two blocks from the Xcel Center, a prime spot. And he’d collected enough memorabilia over the years to have a hefty investment.

The bar he could let go of. Not easily, but at least he’d have cash.

And if he had cash, then maybe he wouldn’t have to wait
 
—hope, pray
 
—for a heart. He’d done the research. Last time, as Maddy lay in the hospital, gray and slipping from him, he’d gotten desperate. Made some calls. Found a name. Contacts, right here in St. Paul.

He’d found an answer.

Was it really so illegal to pay for an organ? It was an exchange of property, and frankly, the family of the deceased would need the cash. He was doing a service.

It felt like more of a crime to make Maddy suffer. Even die.

If the hospital wouldn’t give Maddy a heart . . .

No. They would. They had to.

C
LEARLY
E
DEN HAD LOST HER MIND
asking Jace “J-Hammer” Jacobsen, Mr. Charming, America’s eligible bachelor, tough guy, and all-around superstar, to her parents’ humble lodge in the woods for a long weekend. What had she been thinking taking Monday off, stretching out the three days to four?

He’d said
normal
, and her brain simply clicked over into Eden-will-save-the-day mode. But nothing about Jace Jacobsen resembled
normal
.

Starting with his condo. Eden stood outside the entrance of his building, a twelve-story piece of history with ornate scrolling around the double security doors, a marble entryway, a towering ceiling dripping with a hammered-brass chandelier, and a
doorman who announced her even as she waited to be buzzed past the security gates and into the elevators.

No, nothing normal here, especially as she entered the elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse, punching in the code provided by the doorman. The doors opened into a small antechamber with a black- and white-checked floor that led to double mahogany doors at the far end.

When she hit the bell, she heard a low drone as if she were entering Dracula’s castle. She waited so long she nearly turned to run, and then the door opened.

Jace stood there, looking anything but normal in a pair of sweatpants
 
—
only
sweatpants
 
—his hair freshly wrung out yet still dripping water upon perfect, glistening skin, a towel flung around his neck. He’d shaved, his jaw sharp and smooth, and she had the unsettling urge to press her hand to his cheek, run her thumb over the smoothness of his skin.

She averted her eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of those sculpted shoulders, a washboard stomach, a scattering of dark hair across his toned chest, biceps bulging in his arms as he hung on to the ends of the towel.

No, not normal. And not the kind of guy she’d ever brought home.

Not like she might be bringing Jace
home
. As in, to
meet the parents
.

Besides, he’d made it clear that he was going for Owen.

“Uh, hi
 
—”

“Sorry, I meant to be ready.” He stood aside to let her in, and she walked like prey into the heady scent of freshly showered male.

Oh, boy.

“Practice went a little long today. I’ll be ready in a jiff.” He
pulled the towel back over his head, rubbing it as he took the stairs two at a time.

Who had a stairway in a penthouse? Clearly Jace had to be on the top
 
—very top
 
—of the world.

“No problem. I’ll wait.” Or flee. Preferably while he ducked back into his bedroom, because what colossally stupid thought had taken possession of her? She blamed it on Jace, luring her with his easy charm and the sense that he actually wanted her company.

A guy with a penthouse apartment overlooking the cupola of the Minnesota State Capitol building hadn’t a clue what
normal
meant.

Yes, she should run. Now, as fast as her unathletic legs could carry her.

She pried herself away from the view, noticing the steel-gray pallor of the horizon. She’d hoped to get on the road early, make it to Evergreen Resort in time for a game of Dutch Blitz, but with the sun blotted out by the cloud cover and a hint of blizzard in the air, they wouldn’t arrive home until late tonight.

Home. Could she really call it that anymore after nearly ten years away? Or maybe it would always be home because she certainly didn’t want to give that label to her shabby apartment on Franklin.

A giant floor lamp arched over the sunken living room with white leather sofas, a black marble fireplace, and white shag carpet. It emanated the sense of a snow cave, the perfect lair for the abominable snowman.

Not a picture hung on the wall or over the mantel. No frames on the marble side table.

In fact
 
—she turned and scanned the room
 
—the place seemed almost austere. No color except for an arrangement of white roses
and green zinnias
 
—really, Jace, flowers?
 
—anchored in the center of the glass-topped dining table.

“Hey, Eden!” Jace poked his head out of his room. “Grab a couple vitaminwaters from the fridge, will you? I have a cooler on the counter. There’s also a couple of packed dinners in the fridge for us.”

Packed dinners? She walked into his kitchen and flicked on the light. It made all the stainless steel and black granite gleam. She opened his Sub-Zero fridge and found the vitaminwaters, along with two white bags labeled with Jace’s name. Opening one, she found a bag of grapes, a veggie wrap, and a container of hummus and pita chips.

She’d planned on stopping at McDonald’s. What
normal
people did.

He came down the stairs as she was zipping the cooler shut. He’d changed into a royal-blue dress shirt, black jeans, and carried a white sweater and a large duffel bag.

He set it on the floor as he pulled on the sweater. It hugged his body, accentuated his tight waist, and the blue only set his eyes on stun.

Eden wore her old jeans and one of Owen’s Deep Haven Huskies hockey hoodies. He’d left it at her house after she’d laundered his clothes, and she decided to borrow it. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and couldn’t remember if she’d applied makeup
 
—probably, but she’d been in a hurry this morning, and surely it had rubbed off by now.

She should give him the opportunity to bow out. Surely Jace Jacobsen had better things to do than spend the weekend drinking hot cocoa, tucked away in a lodge in the forest. What was she
thinking, that he’d join a local pickup game of hockey on the lake or play Sorry! with the family?

Right. She was trying to figure out how to broach the topic when he caught her eyes as he tucked his wallet into his back pocket.

“I can’t remember the last time I got away
 
—like, without the press or the team.” He smiled at her. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Oh. Okay.

“Are you sure you can get away?” She just had to ask, didn’t she, and it sounded pitiful and even like . . . like she might not
want
him to go.

But when her breath hung in her chest waiting for his answer, she knew she did.

“It’s the NHL All-Star break. I don’t have practice until Tuesday.” He hiked up the duffel bag. “Although I might have to find a gym in your little town, see if I can work up a sweat.”

She had the urge to wipe her brow. “Good. I’m glad.”

She couldn’t remember having such a hard time choking words out last time she’d chatted with Jace. But he hadn’t put his hand on her shoulder before, even if it was to get by her in the kitchen to grab the cooler. “All set?”

“Yeah.”

Oh, she would have to conjure up more than one-word sentences if she hoped to enjoy
 
—or even endure
 
—the five-hour trip north. “You have a nice place here.”

He flicked off the kitchen light, ignoring the one in the living room. “Yeah. Graham rented it and furnished it. It’s a little bare, but I like the view. The sunrises are breathtaking.” He picked up his keys and headed down the hallway.

“It’s very clean,” she said as she followed him out and wanted to snatch the words back. Clean? How pedestrian.

Except, well, maybe he should get used to pedestrian. Normal. Unremarkable. At least for the next four days.

He gave a laugh as they waited for the elevator. “I have a league of housekeepers
 
—they clean the place and stock the fridge.”

Of course. Eden wrapped her dirty parka around her and slunk into the lift behind him.

At least she had Owen’s Charger. She pulled out the fob and clicked open the doors, unlatched the trunk. Jace loaded his duffel and then slid into the passenger side, dumping the cooler in the backseat.

She had the strangest urge to hand him the keys like she had before. But she knew her way north and was capable of driving Owen’s fancy car.

She wasn’t
that
ho-hum.

As she pulled out, she glanced at Jace. He appeared sandwiched into his seat, his long legs against the dashboard, his head skimming the roof of the car.

“The seat goes back. You can’t sit like that for five hours.”

He motored the seat back, reclined it, stretched out his legs. “Better.” He’d donned his aviators as if he might be hiding.

Right. Jace hadn’t a hope of hiding
 
—not in the car and especially not in her hometown. There was simply so
much
of him. He filled the car with his presence, sitting with one leg pulled up, his hand resting on his giant thigh, the other stretched out, casual, as if he didn’t know his own power. His hair hung behind his ears, drying into decadent curls that begged her to twirl her fingers through them.

Oh . . . my. Now where had that thought come from?

They were barely friends, nothing more. She had simply invited him along because he’d needed a break
 
—she would do the same for Owen when he seemed too tightly wound, the game getting into his head.

But one glance at the quirk of a smile, at the sheer size of Jace, and she realized. This wasn’t Owen.

Owen was a twenty-year-old kid. Jace was a life-size, devastatingly handsome, even dangerous hockey player. No, not just a hockey player. An enforcer. A tough guy, the kind that made players veer a path around him. The kind that made women line up outside the locker room.

What Eden had just invited into her world was
anything
but normal. In fact, she might as well admit it.

Trouble just sat down next to her for a five-hour drive.

She tightened her hands on the steering wheel, drew in a breath, and it lodged in her chest. It seemed he took up all the available air in the car too. She’d probably need oxygen by the time she arrived in Deep Haven.

“Are you okay? You seem tense.”

“I’m fine.” Oops, she didn’t sound fine. “Great game last night. Another excellent goal.”

He nodded. “I kept thinking of what you said.”

He did? “What did I say?”

“You said shoot the puck.” He smiled and her heart nearly left her chest.

Yeah, oxygen and CPR.

“Sounds like good advice.”

“Yep.” He reached for the radio. “How about some music?”

He flipped right to the Sinatra station. Michael Bublé’s cool tones filled the car.

Jace started singing along in a low tenor. “‘The night’s magic seems to whisper and hush . . .’” Rich and dark, like chocolate syrup sliding through her.

She hadn’t a prayer of a normal weekend.

Good thing Jace’s purposes in heading north were to help Owen, because clearly he’d read way, way too much into Eden’s invitation to her home. For a long, desperate moment, he’d actually talked himself into the idea that they might be friends . . . or even edging toward more.

What had happened to straight-talking, unfazed Eden, the girl who treated him like a regular guy?

The girl who made him
want
to be a regular guy. A guy who coaxed laughter and tease out of her.

Yeah, he wanted
that
Eden back. Not this tightly coiled, pensive driver who could make him leap from a moving
 
—and broiling
 
—car.

Jace longed to turn the heater down. She had it blasting, and he might climb right out of his soggy skin.

It didn’t help that the night had begun to bullet them with snow, coming at the windshield like the galaxy in a
Star Wars
jump to hyperspace. He had pulled off his sweater, tried to loosen his shirt, but short of taking it off and hanging his head out the window like a dog, he hadn’t a prayer of escaping the sauna in the car.

“I’m turning into beef jerky here,” Jace said, hoping for a laugh.

“You’re really hot? It’s a blizzard outside.” She frowned, and he once again tasted the acrid burn in the back of his throat that said
she regretted inviting him. “It’s just that with all the snow, I want to keep the heat on the windshield. I don’t want any buildup.”