It Had to Be You (Christiansen Family) (6 page)

“I don’t care about a party
 
—I wouldn’t fit in anyway. But a game . . . Besides, I thought you were a fan.”

“I’m not a fan. I’m family. And I’m certainly not going to dye my hair.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? Fun?”

“This is not fun for me. You embarrassed me.”

“Sorry.” He had advanced toward her and now stepped up, almost too close. “Just because I got a little enthusiastic about the game
 
—”

“A little? You
painted
your body!”

“I could paint yours if you want.” He said it softly, with a strange quirk to his mouth.

Eden nearly raised her hand to slap him. “Get away from me.”

“Eden, you’re too uptight.” He reached out to touch her, but she jerked away. His eyes darkened. “What’s your problem? I thought
you were like me
 
—looking for a little fun. I’m around dead bodies all day
 
—and so are you. Don’t you want to loosen up?”

“I don’t get that loose.”

“C’mon, don’t be that way
 
—”

“What’s going on here?”

She jumped at the voice echoing from the darkness of the tunnel. Not Owen, but she recognized it and wasn’t sure she should call it relief that rushed through her when Jace Jacobsen appeared from the shadows. He had showered, his hair still damp and combed back, curly behind his ears. He wore a long wool coat over dress pants, a silver tie at his neck.

Not looking in the least like trouble.

“J-Hammer. Wow,” Russell said. “So what happened tonight? You going soft?”

Jace frowned as if not sure what to make of Russell. Well, her either.

“I mean, you practically ran away from at least three fights. What’s wrong with you?”

She saw Jace’s fist tighten on the workout bag he held. “We won, didn’t we?”

“No thanks to you.”

Eden looked at Russell. “I think you should go now.”

“You’re right.” He reached out to grab her hand.

She pulled it back. “Not with me.”

“You came with me, honey. You’re coming home with me.” He reached for her hand again and this time caught it.

“Let go of her.” Jace hadn’t moved, but his voice did. Lower, warning. The growl of something dangerous.

“Stay out of this, Jacobsen. She’s
my
girl.”

Eden recoiled in a sort of silent horror. “No
 
—I’m
 
—”

“Whoever you are, I can promise you that you won’t like how this ends. Let her go.” Jace had advanced now, stood beside her.

Russell looked at him, his mouth tightening, then back to Eden. “You going to let this bully push you around?”

“Which one?”

“Fine. Find your own way home.” Russell released her hand and glared at Jace. “
Now
you choose to pick a fight.” He shook his head and walked toward his car.

Eden hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she saw his brake lights flash and he pulled out.

“You’re shaking. Are you okay?” Jace hadn’t moved. Just stood there beside her as Russell stalked away. And he smelled annoyingly good
 
—something fresh and a little spicy against the dank cement of the tunnel.

“Thank you. I don’t know what happened. Last date, he was a perfectly nice guy. This time . . .”

“Hockey can do that to a person. Turn them into something they’re not.”

“Or maybe it’s his true nature.” She noticed that Jace looked tired tonight, not unlike that night at Sammy’s. “For what it’s worth, it’s nice to go to a game without a fight.”

“Your brother nearly picked three.”

She shivered and pulled her jacket around her. “I know. I’m going to talk to him about that
 
—I don’t know what his problem is.”

“Hmm . . .”

“What’s that mean?”

He lifted a shoulder, glanced past her. “If you’re waiting for him, Owen lit out right after the game.”

“He’s gone?” Shoot.

“Uh, I hate to point this out, but do you need a ride?”

She looked up at Jace, standing there in the tunnel, the lights of the parking lot turning his face dusky, shadowy, hard-edged. “I . . . I can call a cab.”

“Don’t be stubborn. I have a car; I can drop you.”

“I live in Minneapolis. It’s not close.”

He started walking past her.

“Really, you’ll drive me home?”

For a moment when Jace turned, he resembled a sort of Highland warrior, his shoulders wide, his beard darkening his face, his blue eyes clouded and mysterious. “No, I’m going to drive you to Canada and dump the body.”

She stilled.

“Of course I’ll drive you home. It’s the least I can do after scaring off your date.”

She smiled but then doused it as she caught up to him. “You did scare him off. Thank you for that.”

“It’s what I do,” he said quietly.

Jace didn’t know why he was in such a surly mood. Tonight should have been a sort of victory for him
 
—no fights, no significant penalty time, and one assist. And except for a few jeers as he left the ice and a mild chewing out from his coach for letting Owen take his own hits, Jace managed to emerge uninjured. Best of all, he wasn’t leaving the game with a roaring headache. A twinge of pain in the front of his head, but that was nothing.

It was just that . . . something itched under his skin. Unfinished business, maybe, and it scared him.

For a second there, he’d almost wanted Eden’s date to make a move. Just so he could exhale, release the pressure from the game.

It might be wise to stop by Sam’s, get some of that Holy Tea, talk it out of his system before he did something stupid.

Like offer Owen’s bossy sister a ride home. It wasn’t as if they’d become friends
 
—the woman hated him, and he knew that. But he couldn’t exactly leave her standing in the cold, could he?

Maybe. Because she acted like she’d rather be walking home, the way she huddled on her side of the car, her hand around the door handle as if he might skid out into traffic, off the bridge into the Mississippi.

Thanks, but he’d learned his lesson about driving like a maniac in a serious machine. He kept it under the speed limit and between the lines.

“You shouldn’t be so uptight. The roads aren’t that bad.”

She glanced at him, and it occurred to him that she might not be worried about the roads.

Really, you’ll drive me home?
He began to take her words apart, wondering exactly what she meant. He’d joked with her, but . . . “You didn’t think I’d . . . well, that you weren’t safe in my car with me, did you?”

Her eyes grew wider.

“Maybe I should call you a cab,” he said, shaking his head.

“Sorry. It’s just . . .”

“It’s okay.” He sighed. “I get it. Too many headlines.”

Her voice came too fast. “Your life is your life, Jace. And I never believed the accusations, even before that girl dropped them.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” How he hated the press
 
—the way they pried, reported half-truths and dismantled lives. “And I was cleared, by the way.”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t even there
 
—”

“I
know
.”

“But you still don’t want to be alone with me.”

She drew in a long breath, and he wanted to floor the gas, get her home as soon as possible.

And never see Owen’s judgmental sister again.

Because if she knew about the scandal that had muddied his name, then she probably knew the rest. Knew about his mother, knew about the accident. Yeah, there could be plenty of judging from Eden Christiansen.

Which made him even more surly. “For what it’s worth, Owen is going to be a great hockey player. He doesn’t need quite so much mothering.”

Her mouth fell open before she said, “I’m not trying to be his mother. But for your information, all this fame and money has gone straight to his head, and he’s not himself lately. He’s going to destroy his career
 
—”

“And turn out just like me.”

She said nothing.

“You were thinking it. And you’re not wrong. I do see shades of me in Owen.”

“Then talk to him. You’re the team captain. You’re supposed to be watching the younger guys.”

“They’re grown men.”

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s
not
a kid. And you need to let him live his own life.”

“Stop talking to me. Just drive.”

She was right
 
—Minneapolis
was
out of the way.

Eden folded her arms, looked away from him, out her window. “You know, I never set out to be his babysitter. I don’t even want the job. But the fact is, my parents were busy running our resort,
and when he joined the junior league, it made sense that I helped out, making sure his equipment was in good shape, driving him to practice, checking in on his injuries. He’s basically lived with me for the last three years. This new contract with the Blue Ox is a huge change for him.”

Jace well remembered the stress of his year in the junior league
 
—pressure to always be at the top of his game, of scouts watching. He supposed that, without his mother to watch his back, he might have crumbled.

“I’ll never forget when the Wild signed him. I felt like
I’d
gotten that contract, watching him at the press conference, seeing his smile. He worked for it, you know.”

“As did you.”

She glanced at him. “It just felt like what you do when you’re in a family. Be there to cheer for each other. But yeah, his victory was my victory.”

Hmm. He’d seen that sentiment too often in his mother’s eyes. Loved it, really.

Her voice softened. “I try not to play favorites
 
—I have two other brothers
 
—but Owen . . .” She drew in a breath. “When he was ten, he was injured at an away game. I had driven him to the game, so we were there alone. A kid skated across his hand during warm-ups and nearly took off his finger. Scary stuff. We sat at the hospital in Duluth for two hours before my parents could get there. He climbed into my lap
 
—even though he was ten
 
—and held on, poor kid. I don’t know
 
—being needed like that . . . I just, you know. Love him.”

Jace said nothing but felt her words like an ache in his chest.

She sighed. “It’s not about the hockey. It’s about Owen. I’d be his biggest fan even if he played Ping-Pong.”

He smiled at that. “But then he couldn’t check.”

“Seriously. What burr got under his breezers tonight? A charging violation, clipping, slashing, elbowing
 
—”

“He knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s not Owen. He’s never been a dirty player. It was always about technique and finesse for him.”

“The NHL changes you. I used to be all about finesse too.”

She glanced at him, quick, as if surprised.

He tried not to be offended. “I came into the league with a slap shot that made goalies duck. And then, in my first NHL game, I mixed it up with one of the league’s legends. After that, I had a rep. They stopped seeing my slap shot and started seeing my . . . Well, anyway, the pros are all about the show.”

“But . . . you’re so good at it.”

He knew that wasn’t a compliment.

“Although I’m not sure your fans were too happy without a fight tonight.”

He glanced at her, feeling weirdly like he owed her some sort of explanation. “So was I dreaming, or did your boyfriend paint his body?”

A frown creased her face for a second. “I’d call it more of a nightmare, but yes. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

He wasn’t sure why, but that information stirred something inside him. “Really?”

“Yeah. I know him from work. And that’s the last time I go out with him.”

“You’re not looking for a rabid Blue Ox fan?” He meant it as a joke but wanted to wince when the words emerged like he might care or something.

“Hardly. I want someone tame. Pedestrian. Kind. Not a guy
who has to be in the limelight to feel good about himself.” She shook her head. “I want someone unremarkable, like me.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re unremarkable.”

She looked at him. “You’d pick me out of a crowd? You wouldn’t walk right by me?”

“Of course not. You’re pretty enough.”

Her face fell. Oh, way to go, charmer. He used to be a guy with moves, with the right words on his lips. In fact, he used to be a guy who didn’t even have to try.

Apologizing would only make it worse, but he heard the word tumble out anyway. “Sorry.”

Her tone suggested she was trying not to be hurt. “For what? Being honest? Listen, you and I run in different circles. And I’m happy with that.”

Happy with staying far away from him. He couldn’t pretend that didn’t punch him in the chest a little, despite the fact that extended time with the woman might make him want to hit something too.

However, Jace
might
indeed pick her out of a crowd. Might be knocked off his stride by those green eyes, the spray of freckles, and ask her to share a cup of coffee with him. Maybe dinner.

Yeah, he would notice her. But she wouldn’t even look twice at a guy like him. He wasn’t pedestrian. And the limelight had kept him alive for too many years. Most of all, no one would ever call J-Hammer tame.