It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (24 page)

She closed the curtain that divided. “Just you, honey. And J-Hammer here. You’re all he has.” She checked her watch. “Get some sleep. I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.”

“Thank you.”

Becky stopped at the door. Smiled. “We all need someone to watch over us, don’t we?”

W
HAT
J
ACE HAD DONE
to deserve waking with Eden asleep next to him, her head on her folded arms, he didn’t know.

He still couldn’t believe she’d fought for him
 
—her exchange with his trainer and the team doc last night hadn’t escaped him, despite the drug-induced fog. And the fact that she’d stayed all night . . .

She deserved better than him, a guy who’d spent most of his life trying to figure out how to hurt people. And enjoying it
 
—or . . .

John Christiansen’s story rose inside him. So maybe Jace hadn’t enjoyed the fights, but rather the adrenaline he got from the applause, the approval sliding in and filling all his empty places.

He still thirsted for it.

Maybe he’d never slake his thirst, but Eden seemed to temper
it
 
—just having her here, as the sun slid over the room, the rose gold of morning hueing her pretty face, balmed all the jagged, bruised places inside.

He put his hand on her head, her hair silky between his fingers, and an unfamiliar fullness swept through him, thick and sweet and tasting of something he’d forgotten.

Love.

Oh . . . no. He swallowed, but the feeling didn’t dissipate, only grew and pulsed inside him. Yeah, maybe.

He loved Eden Christiansen. The kind of love that made him long for her smile, her belief in him. The kind of love that made him want to know her. Want her to know
him
.

The thought caught him up, took his breath. Because what if she did?

What if she knew exactly the kind of man he truly was? The things he tried to bury in his heart?

And that made it all the worse because Jace realized with brutal clarity that he
didn’t
deserve her. Not this woman who so easily gave up herself for others, who saw him
 
—oh, how he hoped
 
—as the man he wanted to be instead of the man in the headlines.

His touch roused her and she opened her eyes, blinked. Then she looked at him, her hair tousled, so much worry in her expression that it could steal words from him. “Good morning, tough guy. How are you?”

He swallowed, not sure of his answer.

“Is your migraine gone?”

“Yes.” He ran his hand over her cheek. “You didn’t have to stay. . . .”

Her smile dimmed.

“But I’m glad you did.”

“Oh.” She sat up, out of his reach, and tried to smooth her hair. “I must look like Medusa.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

That seemed to rattle her, but he didn’t temper it with anything but a smile, trying to put into his eyes exactly what it meant to him to have her spend the night at his bedside.

Which made him the most selfish man on the planet. “You’re missing work.”

She shook her head. “It’s all good. I called in, and I’ll take the later shift. Kendra’s covering for me.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “Not that it matters. I’m like a factory worker, typing in death notices. They could get a robot to do my job.”

“Eden
 
—”

“No, it’s okay.” She smiled at him, something fake and shallow. “Let’s talk about you instead. Like the fact that when you said you suffered from a few headaches, that might have been the understatement of the world? Excuse me, but you could
die
if you get into another fight.” And now her smile vanished, her expression angry.

“I think that’s oversimplifying
 
—”

“I talked with Doc and Adam. They told me exactly how simple it is. I can’t believe you are still playing
 
—”

“Eden, it’s part of the job. It’s who I am.”

“There are plenty of hockey players who don’t get into fights.”

“It’s not just that
 
—it’s a violent sport. And hitting and checking and crashes are part of the game.” He reached out for her. “Owen was trying to remind everyone he still has the . . . chops . . . for the game.”

“No. Owen was angry and trying to get back at you. Don’t defend him.”

“He wants to play
 
—I don’t blame him.”

“You don’t blame him? At what cost? His vision? Your
life
?” Her voice rose, and he glanced past her to the door. Thankfully, it remained closed, but how long could they hide out here before the press found them?

“Listen, Eden. I’m a hockey player. Don’t ask me to be someone different.” He couldn’t read her expression and maybe didn’t want to. “I’m hungry. Are you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“I know. But not here. Please?”

“I could force down a cup of coffee, I suppose. But you’re not leaving
 
—”

“I am leaving. Before the press gets wind of me.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand. “I promise to talk to Doc Wilson. But I’m starving and I don’t want hospital food.”

“Probably because you left your lunch on your pristine white carpet?”

“Ugh
 
—”

“Don’t worry; I cleaned it up.”

And now he felt worse. “Eden, you’re not my housekeeper.”

She made a face as if his words stung.

He caught her hand. “But thank you.” He ran his thumb over her hand. “The last thing I remember is you telling me you ran into a dead end with John Doe. But I know you can find him. Don’t tell yourself what you can’t do but what you
will
do.”

“Are you my coach now?”

“If I have to be. Be glad I’m not making you skate lines.”

She laughed, and it turned his day golden.

“C’mon
 
—let’s sneak out of here. I have an idea.”

She made a great accomplice as she found his clothes, then watched the door from the hallway while he dressed and they made their escape. No one stopped them as they got on the elevator and Jace hit a button.

“What are we doing?”

“Checking on John Doe.” He took her hand and walked her to Doe’s room, easing the door open into the quietness of the morning, the dim light, the sound of the monitor analyzing his vitals. He seemed so peaceful, but Jace knew if the guy was still in there, he longed to break free of the dark mesh that held him prisoner.

He knew it because he feared it. Experienced it. Last night, as the drugs took him, his body had moved as if through gravy, the world blurry, tilted on its axis. Not unlike the moment he’d plunged into Gray’s Bay in Lake Minnetonka, into the darkness that had sucked him under.

“Are you okay? You’re pale. Is your headache coming back?” Eden looked at him, worry in her eyes.

“We can’t leave him trapped like this.” He stood over Doe. “Every time I see him, I think about going into the lake. I was totally wasted, but it was like slamming into the boards with no padding. Just a hard slap and then darkness sucking me under. If a couple of high school guys coming home after a late game hadn’t seen me, I would have died down there. They dove into the water
 
—risked their own lives
 
—and pulled me out.”

She nodded.

“I suppose you read about it.”

“Owen was all over it. He idolized you, and it shook him. It shook us all.”

“It was my birthday
 
—and two days after my mom died. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“I know what it’s like to be alone. Trapped. And to wish you could break free, start over. Afraid that you’ve gone so far down, you’ll never find the light.”

“There’s always light, Jace. God’s love is too bright for the darkness to win.” She turned to Doe, wrapped her hand around his. “We’ll find your people; I promise.”

So this was what love felt like. Only this wasn’t the deep tenderness he’d had for his mother. No, this felt more like explosions in his chest, the sense of going under.

Jace turned away before he couldn’t breathe.

He felt Eden’s hand on his arm.

“While you were sleeping, I googled the area and found an address for a community center in Frogtown. It’s not far from the deli. Would you go with me?”

Then she laced her hand in his, and he would have followed her anywhere.

They trailed a plow into the Frogtown area as fat flakes drifted onto the windshield. Jace turned on the wipers, the rhythm pulsing in time with the lingering pain in the front of his head.

Shovels had already dug out the lot of the Hope Community Center, but a thin layer of powder lay upon an old Suburban. Jace pulled in next to it, glanced toward a flooded lot beside the center. A makeshift ice rink.

Eden climbed out of the car, holding on to her Caribou coffee as if it were a hand grenade, for protection. And yes, in this neighborhood, for once he wished she were wearing her long, puffy parka and UGGs. Although he wouldn’t argue at the sight of her in leggings tucked into those long, slender boots.

Jace slid his eyes off her and opened the door, the heat blasting in the entryway.

A half basketball court on one end, carpet and a tutoring center on the other, the place looked like the neighborhood hangout, with old furniture around an ancient television set. Pictures of work teams and kids playing sports hung in cheap metal frames on the wall. Along the far end, a mural of the community suggested the diversity of the area. A verse marked the top of the mural.
1 John 3:18. “Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions.”

A man wearing a sweatshirt that said
Hope is alive
, his dark hair cut short and graying around the edges, emerged from an office near the door, his hand outstretched. “Matt Conners. I’m the director here. How can I help you?”

Jace took his hand. “Jace Jacobsen. This is my friend Eden. She works for the paper.”

Matt was nodding. “You play for the Blue Ox, right? Great couple games
 
—what, three goals? You have an away game tomorrow, right?”

He wasn’t sure why the man’s words warmed him. “A quick game against Chicago; then they follow us home for a rematch.”

“Good luck. How can I help you?”

Jace launched into the story about John Doe. He caught Eden’s hand as he talked. Life just felt better with her next to him.

“So we’re trying to figure out who this kid is. He looks about twenty, blond . . . plays basketball. It’s a long shot.”

Matt had gone quiet. “Hudson. It sounds like Hudson Peterson. He was a regular around here until a couple weeks ago. Just . . . vanished one night. He was out delivering some sandwiches to a bunch of homeless kids, and well, he never came back.”

“You didn’t report him to the police?”

“We called, but we didn’t know where he lived
 
—he just showed up about six months ago and started helping out with the youth. And the homeless shelter down on Sixth. And we’d see him at church sometimes. I thought he might be a college kid from the area. Maybe Bethel or Northwestern.”

Eden spoke up. “Peterson’s a pretty common last name, especially for Minnesota. Is there anything else you can help us with?”

Matt turned to stare at the pictures on the wall as if trying to pick him out. “I think he ran track. He was talking about starting up a track club when spring came around. Mentioned a sprinters team. Maybe he ran track for a local school.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Jace held out his hand.

Matt took it but didn’t let him go right away. “Have you ever thought about coaching? It’s all volunteer, but that’s part of the problem.” He motioned to a set of pictures, a collection of motley seven-year-olds with broken gear raising their sticks in triumph. Jace recognized himself as a kid in the too-fresh, eager faces. “We could use some help.”

“He’d love to coach,” Eden said next to him, and he shot her a look. She was grinning, something of mischief in her eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” Jace said. He gave Matt his number. “Let us know if Hudson turns up, will you?”

He pulled Eden outside, into the cold.

“What?” She climbed into the car as he went around, slid into the seat. “Jace?”

With Matt’s words, a darkness had climbed inside his chest, settling like dust. “I’m not coaching a bunch of kids, okay? I have nothing to teach them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that no one should be taking any lessons from me.” He reached for the ignition, but she stopped him.

“What’s going on?”

“You seem to be missing something here. People will always see me as J-Hammer Jacobsen, goon. They don’t want me teaching their kids.”

“The only one who sees you as a goon, really, is you. I think you’d be a great coach.”

“No. Trust me, I wouldn’t.” He moved to put the key in the ignition again, but she took it from him. “Eden, c’mon
 
—”

“Why do you keep saying that? Okay, yeah, I can admit that I thought you were a jerk, a womanizer, even a brawler. But then I got a good look at the real Jace Jacobsen, and I see this kind, tender, compassionate man
 
—”

“I nearly killed someone, okay?” He didn’t mean for his voice to bounce out so hard, so angry. “There, see? I’m not the guy you think I am.”

Only then did he notice that she hadn’t flinched. “I know about Boo. It’s hockey. It was an accident.”