It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (21 page)

But maybe that’s how they all looked at each other in a small town like this. Maybe they considered Eden theirs, and he was walking right into disaster tonight, making the kind of headlines that would send Eden sprinting out of his life.

He was setting up his shot, hoping it didn’t go wildly wide.

“What do you feel like?” he asked as a waitress came up to take their order.

“Hey, Kelly, how about a couple lemonades and a basket of curly fries,” Eden said. She unwound her scarf, listening to the music, bobbing her head to the beat. As the song ended, she leaned over to Jace. “The gal on the guitar and the guy with the harmonica, they’re friends of Darek’s . . . Claire and Jensen. The bass guitarist, Emma, is married to the drummer, Kyle Hueston. He’s the cop I called to get the license plate info on our John Doe.”

Jace knew some of that but just nodded. He glanced around for Darek and his girlfriend but didn’t see them. Maybe it was a sign.

Their curly fries came, and he used them to sop up a mixture of mayo, mustard, and ketchup. Eden made a face, shook her head. “Good thing we’ll be back to real life tomorrow.”

Real life. He sort of hoped not. Maybe a different life, one more real than any in his past ten years.

“I can’t believe it
 
—J-Hammer Jacobsen!”

A tall, shapely blonde, well past her college years, held a couple glasses of beer. “I can’t believe you’re here, in our little town. Did you come with Owen?” She shot her question Eden’s direction. “Is he home?”

Eden drew in a breath. “Hey, Bree. Yeah. He’s up at the lodge. But he’s not going to make it down tonight, and we’re leaving in the morning.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about his injury. We can’t wait until he’s back on the ice.” She returned her attention to Jace. “You know, me and the girls are big fans.”

He slid his arm over the back of Eden’s chair. “Thanks.”

“We’re probably having a party later tonight. You
 
—and Eden, of course
 
—are welcome to stop by.” She gave him a grin.

“Thanks, but we’ve got other plans. . . .” He glanced at Eden and smiled, then looked back to Bree.

Her mouth made a perfect O. “Have fun, Eden.”

Eden looked at him once she was gone. “We have other plans?”

He said nothing, just smiled.

“Jace
 
—”

The band ended their song, and he leaned back, clapping, his heart thundering. Especially when Jensen
 
—Darek’s buddy
 
—caught his eye.

Jace rose, even as Jensen stepped up to the mic. “We have a great surprise for you tonight. A friend is in town, and he’s asked to sing something special. So put your hands together and give a warm Deep Haven welcome to Jace Jacobsen!”

He didn’t look at Eden as he went to the front.

His hands had turned slick, his stomach roiling. He needed to get on the ice, warm up, and in about ten minutes he’d be fine. But this wasn’t a game, and he had about ten
seconds
to get himself together or fail big.

He took the mic, smiled into the applause. Latched his eyes on Eden. “So I found out that my friend Eden once sang this song, years ago. Apparently she won a contest with it, so I was hoping she might come up here and help me sing it.”

Eden sat up in her chair and looked around, behind her. As if he were talking about a different Eden?

The band played the intro, and Jace took a breath, started in. “‘Why do I do just as you say . . . ?’”

Eden pressed her hands to her mouth as a few heads turned her direction. A number of others wore grins, some singing along.

Jace gestured to her. “C’mon, Eden.”

Her eyes widened, and he sang a few lines to the crowd, then glanced at her again.

“‘I wandered around and finally found the somebody who . . .’”

Eden stood. Jace held out his hand to her. “‘For nobody else gave me a thrill
 
—’”

Then, without a word, she headed toward the door, pushing past patrons, nearly knocking Bree over.

His throat tightened, his voice turning hollow as he stood onstage. What
 
—? He managed to eke out the last of the lines as the door swung shut behind her.

“‘Wonderful you, it had to be you . . .’”

Before the last of the notes died out, nearly before the applause started, Jace was out the door, following his wild shot into the night.

She’d never been more mortified.

Eden didn’t stop at the corner, nor at the beach, just headed straight out toward the lighthouse, the breakwater that stretched across the harbor. The last bastion of land before the chilly depths of Lake Superior
 
—where she had writetn her best poetry, where she stared at the stars. Where sometimes she could actually believe that God noticed her.

Not tonight. Clouds blocked the stars, and nothing but the puddle of false light from the tall streetlamps directed her steps.

The wind whipped up, getting under her jacket, chapping her face, and she wiped it with her bare hand, hating that Jace had conned her into wearing leggings and a dress. She had no business trying to look pretty. She’d just freeze.

She heard his voice in the wind and refused to turn around. Maybe she could lose him in the night.

“Eden!”

He was closer now, and she wanted to hate him more for the
fact that he was in shape and could run her down. But then again, that’s what he did. Ran over people. Bullied them. Eviscerated them, on the ice and off.

She picked up speed.

She heard him behind her, not even breathing hard. Fine. She slowed, walking through the parking lot of the lighthouse. She didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t have to show him how
 
—

“Eden!” He caught her arm, and she cried out as he spun her.

He reacted as if he’d hit her, bouncing away, and it felt good for a second to put him in his place. Yeah, he
had
hurt her.

“Eden, what is it? What did I do? I thought . . . I thought you’d like the song. I thought we could sing it together
 
—”

She held up her hand, shook her head, turned away from him. “Just go away, Jace. You’re right
 
—I never should have brought you here.”

But he didn’t leave
 
—in fact, he followed her, stepping in front of her, a wall to stop her cold. “What do you mean I’m right? I never said that
 
—”

“But you were thinking that. That you don’t belong here in this backwoods town.”

“I like this town.”

“Or with my normal, boring family.”

“Your family is anything but boring! They’re fun and kind and
 
—”

“Fine!” She looked at him then, not caring that he might see her tears. “Then you don’t belong with me.”

He closed his mouth, his lips a tight line. “What are you talking about?”

Oh, now he was going to act stupid. Or maybe she was the stupid one. “Right. I forgot. We’re
just friends
.”

She pushed past him, but he caught up again, walking beside her. “I thought you liked that song. I thought you’d enjoy being onstage.”

“I don’t want to be onstage! Especially with you!”

That shut him up. And hurt him by the way he flinched. It slowed her down just enough for her to hear her heartbeat.

“The fact is, yes, I like that song. A lot. But don’t you see, Jace? Next to you, I’m . . . I’m just a shadow.” She bit her lip, looking away. “And . . . well, I guess I always thought it would be sung to me by someone who meant it.”

His voice softened, so much it hurt. “Eden. What makes you think I didn’t mean it?”

She couldn’t speak, her voice trapped deep in her burning chest.

He slid his hands over her shoulders. “Okay, I’m going to take another wild slap shot here and say that . . . I like you, Eden. More than friends, and . . . I know I totally crossed the line with you, but
 
—”

“Stop, please.” She stepped away from him. “Jace, you and I are worlds apart. I . . . I don’t fit into your life. I’m a sidelines girl. I don’t want someone
 
—”

“In the spotlight. Right. You said that.” He shook his head. “But I don’t believe you. I think you’re just scared that someone might notice you.” He leaned close, his aftershave rich and exotic. “Maybe that I might notice you.”

His tenor rumbled through her, and for a second, she was back in the VFW, watching as he took the mic, his blue eyes finding hers. Listening to his voice as he sang, the words landing on her heart, sliding inside.

It had to be you.

No.

She pushed him away. “No, Jace. You don’t understand. You’ve just been swept up in the small-town nostalgia. The minute you get back to St. Paul, you’ll see. I’m not . . .”

“Remarkable? You’re a girl I might walk right by?”

She closed her eyes.

“Why don’t you let me make up my own mind?” He put his hands on her shoulders. Standing in the glow of the parking lot, splashed with light that outlined his shoulders, the wind teasing his hair, the overwhelming beauty of him could chase words from her. “I find you amazingly remarkable. I would totally notice you across a crowded room.”

And as she stood there wordless, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

Again.

His five o’clock shadow brushed her chin, her upper lip. He tasted sweet, of lemonade and salt, and his smell rushed over her
 
—masculine, strong, bold.

Jace.

Was kissing her.

And just like before, the force of him in her life turned her . . . afraid.

Yeah, afraid . . . that if she stepped into his embrace, his life, he’d figure out that she shouldn’t be there.

He sighed, releasing his hold on her, beginning to move away.

No. No more standing on the sidelines watching everyone else reach for their happily ever after.

Eden curled her hands around his jacket lapels. “Jace,” she said softly against his lips, and then, before he could escape, she kissed him back.

He responded like the man she knew, putting those strong
enforcer arms around her and diving in, 100 percent and more. His touch was a little untamed, a groan easing from the back of his throat, all that coiled strength and desire that he showed on the ice pouring into her.

He pulled her closer, deepening his kiss, nudging her lips open for more, a decadent thrill curling inside her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, formed her body to his, swept up by the fact that, in her arms, this amazing man came a little undone.

Yet she also felt everything that lay below the surface
 
—kindness, patience, the tenderness of a man who was so much more than his headlines. The guy who played and fought
 
—and loved, maybe
 
—full-on.

Eden realized she was standing on her tiptoes, maybe even melting a bit, because he finally bent down, picked her up in his amazing arms, and carried her over to a snowy picnic table under a streetlight. He brushed away the snow, then set her on it, angling into her embrace and cupping his hands around her face, meeting her eyes.

She couldn’t breathe. Not with the way he was looking at her, his eyes so blue, filled with emotion.

She felt moisture in her own eyes, and it escaped, dripped down her cheek.

He ran his thumb across the tear. “Did I do something wrong?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “The lights are a little bright, I guess. I’m not used to it.”

He kissed her nose, her forehead. “You will be, Eden. You will be.”

A
S
S
AM EXPECTED,
Maddy had completely charmed everyone in the pediatric transplant ward
 
—doctors, nurses, aides, and fellow patients.

His daughter even had a boyfriend, a ten-year-old named Trey Harrison. Of course she did, because no one could keep from falling head over heels for the nine-year-old with the effervescent smile.

And this afternoon, she and Trey presided over the group of patients, mostly under the age of ten, waiting for kidneys or livers or lungs, as a clown tried to teach them how to tie balloon animals. Only Trey, like Maddy, waited for a heart. Like Maddy, tubes ran from his body to a small cart on four wheels that housed the
external ventricular assist device, acting as a heart to pump blood through the body.

Trey’s parents huddled at the end of the hall, consulting with their doctor. Word had filtered down the ward that Trey now topped the list in their area, after only thirty-seven days. But he’d already fought one bout of influenza and a respiratory tract infection. Now, according to his concerned parents, his body showed signs of metabolic acidosis and acute peritonitis. He had a ticking clock on his chart.

Sam hated himself for his thoughts. He wanted Trey to get his heart.

He just wanted
Maddy
to be next in line. To live.

The party felt like a Band-Aid, a faint hope to normalize lives, help the children
 
—and their parents
 
—see beyond the hospital walls. Some children could even leave the unit, visit the activity center.

“You know, events like these give parents a chance to escape, grab a cup of coffee, or return home and nap, shower, catch up on work.”

Britta, Maddy’s transplant nurse. Sam remembered her from Maddy’s last stay. He wished he didn’t.

“Sam, you didn’t leave the hospital all weekend. We have your phone number. We’ll call you if anything happens.”

He looked away as Maddy showed her new creation to Trey, who had made a crown. Maddy didn’t even look toward Sam.

“Here. I’m guessing you didn’t have lunch.” Britta handed him a Coke.

Sam cracked the tab. “Thanks.”

Britta was silent for a long moment. “They wouldn’t deny a nine-year-old a heart.”

“No
 
—but they can take her away from me, put her in a foster home that can provide the right support.”

Britta shook her head. “You’re a great dad. You haven’t left her side. Not once. I see you. You read to her and sing to her and play games with her
 
—even the social worker sees that.”

He took another sip of the Coke, relishing the bite and the way, for a second, it woke him.

“You know, I thought when Maddy got her heart, it was over. I had prayed for so long . . . But the truth is, I’m broke, I have no house help, and I’m barely able to provide for her. If I were looking at my case on paper, I’d agree with the social worker. There is precedent for removing Maddy from a medically untenable situation.”

Britta stared at him, her eyes wide.

“If I fight it, it will be worse. The hospital could get the state involved, and I’ll lose custody, maybe permanently. But if I sign her over to the hospital, then they can assign her to a medical foster family and she’ll go there until my situation changes.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Like that will happen. I can’t pay the bills I have. How will I pay these? But how can I sign my daughter away? It would be like tearing my heart from my body.”

She slipped a hand over his arm.

Sam leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes. He pressed the Coke can to his forehead, relishing the chill against his hot skin.

“Sam, you need a break. Listen, you get out of here. I’ll be here to watch her. And you can be back in time to read her a bedtime story.”

But he didn’t budge. “I can’t leave her. You know that.”

“Actually, you can. If you don’t take care of yourself, you can’t possibly take care of Maddy.”

That shook him out of his daze and made him reconsider. He looked at Maddy, then back to Britta. “Okay. Just for a little while.”

Stopping by Maddy’s room, he grabbed his jacket, not sure where to go.

And then, yes, he knew.

He took Washington Avenue to Third. The old depot with the Milwaukee Road sign rose up from the corner, three stories high. He found an empty meter and parked.

The chilly breath of the ice rink saturated the building, the scent of it crisp and sharp. A few skaters were on the ice, but Sam didn’t look at them as he headed toward the rental desk.

He laced the skates on with a quick, practiced motion, the feel of the ice beneath his blades beckoning.

He’d forgotten the freedom of it, but it filled him in an instant when he glided over the surface, strong and smooth. He cut hard and crossed over to the left, then skated fast down the length of the arena. On the far side, giant windows pushed back the night, and overhead, girders sparkled against the lights and the glare of the diamond-cut ice.

He rounded the rink again, then stopped, ice spraying. A line of sweat edged his brow, and he bent over, breathing hard, listening to his heart pump. His strong, healthy, reliable heart.

Working out the kinks?

He straightened, trying to shake Mia out of his brain. Trying not to see her dark hair flying out from her stocking cap, the way she turned, skating backward to take his hands.

Why was it when he felt most overwhelmed, she showed up to haunt him? Or to charm him into the past? Sometimes he could still hear her laughter, see the softness, the invitation in her eyes.

Still remember skating up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist, molding her body to his as he taught her to skate.
Follow my movements.

No one had known him like Mia. No one understood how it felt to hold back fear and hope behind such tightly clenched teeth.

And no one ever would.

You’re so beautiful, Mia.
He remembered that part too. The smell of her hair. Those doe-brown eyes, her lashes so thick and full that they could mesmerize him. He could almost taste her kiss.

Sam gripped the boards before the memory of holding his wife in his arms took him to his knees.

No. He couldn’t think one more minute about Mia or Maddy and how everything had been stolen from them.

Didn’t want to believe that God had somehow betrayed him. But maybe he needed to stop relying on a God who didn’t seem to care.

But giving up on God seemed so . . . Well, then he’d really be alone, right?

Sam skated off the rink, changed into his shoes, and headed back to the hospital.

The sound of an alarm echoed down the hallway the moment the elevator opened. The code.

Sam took off in a sprint.

No. He wasn’t ready
 
—

He heard the commotion, the counting, the orders even before he reached the room. And then a terrible, awful relief swept over him as he clung to the door.

Not Maddy’s room.

Trey’s.

He stood there holding on to the jamb as he watched the
doctors work on him, the nurses responding to orders, trying to keep his heart pumping. But the child was already blue.

Sam headed to Maddy’s room, holding her tight when he heard Trey’s mother scream.

Eden didn’t need flowers on her desk to put a smile in her day. Jace’s voice mail, husky and masculine, asking her out after this afternoon’s practice, could fragrance her entire week.

Never mind the stack of obit orders waiting for her or the fact that Kendra had arrived early and seemed to be tracking down another hot lead for the remembrance page. Eden had hunted up the issue from Saturday and spotted a below-the-fold article Kendra had put together, this time about a man who’d helped start a string of restaurants in the Twin Cities, including one that hosted a Saturday dinner for the homeless.

Kendra, becoming a real reporter while Eden hitched herself to one star after another. She tried to shake off her brother’s words, tried to lean into Jace’s embrace, to tell herself that they could belong together. But the fact was, she still wanted to do something amazing on her own.

She hung her bag over her chair, shucked off her jacket, and sat down, thumbing through the obit orders, the messages.

“Hey! How was your long weekend?” Kendra peered over the top of the cubicle. She had her auburn hair in two long braids today. “Did you do anything fun?”

Eden smiled and lifted a shoulder, tempering her excitement. Wait and see if Jace would still chase her across a crowded room after a week or two. “It was normal. We brought Owen back with us.”

“We?”

Ah, shoot. “I might have taken Jace Jacobsen to Deep Haven with me.”

Kendra raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“He’s Owen’s teammate.”

“And his bedside nurse? Please.”

Owen had still been sprawled on her sofa in surly slumber, so she took his Charger to work. She wanted to suggest he return to his own apartment, but frankly, she didn’t know what he might do if she kicked him out. Throw himself from the balcony? Hopefully not, but he’d become a picture of despondency, and she wanted to cry at the sight of him, disheveled, smelly, his hair tangled and unruly. With his bandage removed and the stitches healing, the remnants of the bruises fading from his face, he resembled a meth addict more than a superstar hockey player.

Kendra came around the cubicle and crouched next to her chair, her hazel eyes rich with mischief. “He spent the weekend with you?”

“We didn’t really spend the weekend together
 
—”

“You know what I mean.” She looked Eden over. “Is that a new dress? What’s going on? Are you . . . are you
dating
him?”

“Shh. No. Or . . . I don’t know.” But she had borrowed a few fresh outfits from Grace, just in case she hadn’t dreamed up the entire weekend. She wore a green sweater dress, black leggings, tall black boots. So much color felt flamboyant, but . . . oh, she could nearly burst with the news.

“I kissed him.”

“You kissed Jace Jacobsen?”

She pressed her hands to her mouth. Nodded. “I kissed him a lot.”

Kendra’s mouth opened.

“But you can’t tell anyone. Because . . . I mean, really. I don’t belong in his world.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course you do.”

“No. But maybe . . .”

“What?”

“Nothing. I just keep thinking that there is something about him that is . . . normal. He’s funny and . . .” Scared. And real and
 
—

“Eden, I hate to tell you this, but there is nothing remotely normal about Jace Jacobsen. Shall we do a Google search and see how un-normal he is?”

“Thanks.”

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t belong together. No one knows hockey like you do. You practically live at the arena.”

“I’m not a rink bunny.”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant you’re not wowed by all his star power. You know, because of Owen.”

Right. Mmm-hmm.

Kendra lowered her voice. “Is he still searching for that John Doe with you? Because this came in yesterday.” She held up a pink message slip. “The caller said his name was Zach. And I quote, although I’m going to have to put on my best nasty voice: ‘I tracked down my friend about that guy.’” Kendra looked at her over the top of the note. “Good thing you don’t need any specifics.” Then, “‘He says he doesn’t know him, that he just hooked me up with him because he needed wheels. He met him playing pickup basketball at a local community center. Now leave me alone.’”

Eden could nearly hear Zach in her words. “Let me see that.”

Indeed, Kendra’s scrawls matched her recitation.

“Who is the mysterious unidentified ‘him’? Please say John Doe. Please, please.”

Eden laughed. “Yes, fine, we’re still looking for John Doe
 
—”

“I thought I told you there was no story in that.”

Eden winced, glanced up at Charlotte, standing in Kendra’s cubicle, peering over the top. She wore a black headband in her hair, too much red on her lips.

“It’s just a side project
 
—”

Charlotte shook her head. “Eden, you don’t have time for side projects. Not today. You’ve already taken way too much time off, and frankly, I’m not sure your heart is in this job anymore.”