Slap Shot, page 23
And the doorbell rang. She considered not going down. It was clearly posted—even on the back door—that Eat Cake is closed on Sunday.
It rang again. Clearly, she would get no peace until she went down. After all that bread and jam—plus the eggs and sausages she intended to have—a trip down the stairs wouldn’t do her any harm.
In a Regency romance, it would be him, but this wasn’t a Regency romance. That had already been proven well enough by her appetite and the fact that she wasn’t sitting in Emile’s servants’ quarters in threadbare hand-me-downs. Also, no ball, though she had taken care of the tea and toast well enough.
She peered out of the peephole. Angels above and demons below. This was a Regency romance after all. Except he wasn’t wearing a top hat and cravat. Not a cane in sight. He looked good in his Lululemon sweatpants and Sound hoodie, but that didn’t sway her. But what was wrong with his face? It was a mess—black eye and swollen nose. If that had happened on the ice last night, she’d missed it. But not her problem. He’d heal.
She stuck her head—and only her head—out the door. “Go away. Get out of here.”
“What?” He looked not only surprised, but also amazed.
“What do you mean what? Has no female ever denied you entrance before?”
“Not that many.”
“Add me to the short list. No top hat, no entrance.”
He frowned and shook his head. “Gabriella, what in the hell are you talking about? What top hat?”
“Never mind. I wouldn’t let you in even if you had a top hat and a tussy mussy. And I’m not having sex with you.”
He looked at her in a way that every woman wants a man to look at her. He’d done that before. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see it. “I’m not here for sex. I’m here to talk to you.”
Down the block, the bells of the First Methodist Church of Beauford rang on—eleven o’clock. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the cathedral lighting candles?”
“No. I’m supposed to be here. I’m done lighting candles. And I told my family just that.”
Now that was a surprise. “And they let you go?”
“They couldn’t have stopped me, but to be fair, they didn’t try.”
Maybe she shouldn’t have, but she opened the door a little wider—probably because curiosity will make you do stupid things. “Then I guess you’d better come in and tell me about it.”
Once upstairs, she sat on the sofa. When he went to sit beside her, she pointed to the Stickley Morris chair. “Over there. What happened to your face?”
“I’ll get to that, but I’d like to tell you about what happened with my family first.”
“Did one of them hit you?”
He shrugged. “They probably should have for not telling them that you were coming to lunch yesterday. You should probably hit me, too, for the same reason.”
“Don’t forget about depriving me of the Tour of Italy.”
“Believe me, I never will, Gabriella—not for the longest day I live.” He looked pretty miserable, but she refused to feel sorry for him.
“So tell me.”
“You were right. I had to put an end to it. I told them that they should mourn Philie as they chose, but I am done with the never-ending funeral, that I have to move on. I said that whether I ever returned to St. Sebastian to live or not, we were family and that I loved them.” He opened his eyes wider and leaned forward. “And I told them I love you. There was more, but that was the important part.”
The toast and the tea and the marmalade rolled in her stomach. It was good. It was bad. It made her hope. It made her want to run.
“But you’re emotionally unavailable. Seven good women and a puppy dog told you so.”
He moved from the chair to the sofa and took her hand. She didn’t stop him. “Turns out seven good women and a puppy dog didn’t know as much as they thought they did.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Do you remember when I told you I was emotionally unavailable because I didn’t love Philie?”
“Yes.”
“Turns out I had that all tangled up, like I had a lot of things tangled up.” He took a deep breath. “It was something Patrick said that made me remember that I did love her—as well as I could at that age. She was my first love. Things weren’t good when we got married, still weren’t good when she died. But I think we might have turned it around. I would have done my best.”
“I never thought any different,” Gabriella said. “Of course you would have. That’s who you are.”
“Maybe it would have been enough. Maybe not. But I had to come to terms with that before I could give myself permission to acknowledge that I have fallen in love with you. Plus, there were some things my little sister said. When Michelle asked if you were my girlfriend and you said no, it was like a knife in my gut. I thought that was exactly what I wanted—until she said she was hoping you’d marry me. I knew then that’s what I hoped, too. So please, Gabriella, put me out of my misery. Do I have a chance?”
It was a lot to take in, and she couldn’t just pick out the parts she liked and ignore the ones she didn’t “I won’t be the thing that divides you from your family.”
“You wouldn’t be. I swear. They actually listened and accepted what I said. I think we’ll all be better for it. They saved you a seat at The Big Skate.” He smiled a little half smile.
But his family wasn’t the only problem. There was also hers. “Emile would go completely off the rails.”
“Oh, that.” Bryant closed his eyes. “He would. He did. And I’m glad you weren’t at The Big Skate to see it.” He gestured to his face. “I had it coming.”
“Emile hit you?” For a moment, she felt lightheaded. “Tell me.”
“When Emile and Amy got there, they came to say hello to my family. Michelle asked Emile where you were and told him you gave her that scarf.”
“Pashmina.” Why she bothered to correct him, she didn’t know.
“Yeah, that.”
“I shouldn’t have given it to her. My motives weren’t pure. I wanted her to like me—maybe more than you.”
“No problem there. But that wasn’t the half of it. My dad told Emile how great you are and how they all hoped things would work out for you and me.”
“And Emile hit you? Except for Amy’s ex, he has never hit anybody.”
“Now I’m in the ranks with Cameron Snow. And so is Jarrett. Emile hit him for knowing about it.”
“What? How?”
Bryant raised his hands. “Please, Gabriella. I’ll tell you everything, though it might take a year. I’ve been up all night with your brother. Can’t we just talk about the important parts now?”
“A year? You think we’re going to have a year?” So many unanswered questions, but she felt happy at the thought of the year. An hour ago, she thought she’d never see him again except across a room or on the ice.
“If I have my way, we’ll have the rest of our lives. Forever.”
Her heart raced. Forever was the best word ever invented. She wanted to write it on a cake. “But what about Emile?”
“He’s fine, happy even. Turns out, his reasons for not wanting you with a hockey player were never what he said. On some level, he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t end up with a hockey player like your father—someone who would hurt you.”
Chills went over her. “I never knew,” she whispered. She felt frozen. The ranges of emotions were wearing her out.
Bryant moved closer and put an arm around her. “Are you all right?”
“You see, that was my reason for never dating hockey players, too. I was afraid.”
He placed a hand on her cheek. “But now?”
“I know you aren’t like my father. I know you would never hurt me—or a child.”
“Our child,” he said and her stomach turned over. “And Emile knows that now, too.”
The feelings in her heart flowed over and bubbled out of her mouth. “I love you, Bryant.”
From time to time, she’d thought he looked like an angel, but never more than now with the glow of happiness lighting his face. “So we can go shopping for a ring?”
She laughed. “Yes. But I warn you: I won’t marry you for a year. You and your family need some time to heal. And we might want to think about getting some furniture for your house.” Her furniture was perfect, but there wasn’t nearly enough.
“Our house. Do you really think it will take a year to buy some couches? We could go to Pottery Barn. That would be quick.”
“No Pottery Barn. I also need some time to plan the wedding. Michelle and I aren’t wearing off the rack.”
He frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Maybe I need to buy Michelle those diamond earrings. I owe her big.”
And then he kissed her so thoroughly that she didn’t even have the presence of mind to think where she would put her library table in what would be their house.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Jess Verdi for helping us dig a little deeper.
And to those precious boys Justin, Joe, Ian, Brandon, and Kevin, who always have the answers for our hockey questions.
About the Author
Alicia Hunter Pace is the pseudonym for the writing team, Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones. They are USA Today best-selling authors who live in North Alabama and share a love of old houses, football, and writing stories with a happily ever after.
Find Alicia Hunter Pace at:
Their website www.aliciahunterpace.com
On Facebook at www.facebook.com/pages/Alicia-Hunter-Pace/176839952372867
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Turn the page for an excerpt from
Misbehaving in Merritt
Chapter One
In Merritt, Alabama
As Audrey Evans made her way down the narrow aisle between the red leather booths of Lou Anne’s Diner, head after head popped up like the domino effect in reverse. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen this happen, nor was it the first time she’d wondered what caused it.
It couldn’t have been her good looks that caused the whiplashing heads, nor was it because they recognized her as an ESPN college football sideline reporter. In fact, she looked nothing like her carefully groomed and stylist-dressed TV self. Her white-blonde hair was stuffed under a baseball cap, her body was hidden beneath an oversized Under Armour hoodie and fleece pants, and she wasn’t wearing makeup. No. Maybe it was because she didn’t give a damn if they looked at her or not and they sensed that.
There was one head that did not pop up as she approached him. Never had. Merritt High School head football coach Nathan Scott sat there bent over his iPad and playbook in all his golden, good-looking glory. A little smile played with Audrey’s mouth. No wonder she’d been half in love with him back when they’d dated. Well. That was Gatorade under the bridge and would have been even if Nathan hadn’t been happily married now. After her recent ordeal, Audrey wouldn’t go so far as to claim she was done with men—she liked them too much for that, and one bad one wasn’t going to ruin it for her—but she was through with them for a while at least, and done with controlling, chest-beating athletes forever. She was switching to poets, artists, and philosophers.
Finally, Nathan looked up and immediately stood.
“Audrey.” He bent and kissed her cheek.
“Hello, Nathan.” She managed to rasp the words out.
Nathan’s brown eyes widened in surprise. A reporter’s voice was her bread and butter, and hers was gone.
“Do you have a cold?” he asked.
“No.” They settled themselves into the booth across from each other. “I’m injured.”
“What happened? When will you recover?”
She opted out of the first question and moved on to the second. “I probably won’t—at least not completely.”
He nodded. “I see.” And Audrey was sure he did. His senior year at the University of Alabama, Nathan had been a shoo-in for the Heisman Trophy and a guaranteed NFL first round draft pick one minute and a former star wide receiver with a shattered knee and a broken dream the next. He knew what it was like to have a destroyed career.
“I doubt it will make big news. It’s not like I’m Kirk Herbstreit. But you got me the job with ESPN. That’s why I texted and asked you to meet me. I wanted to tell you before they announce that I am no longer there.”
“I didn’t get you the job,” he protested.
“Near enough.” He had put in a good word for her after he’d been falsely accused of sexual misconduct with a student and Audrey had ferreted out the truth.
He shrugged. “I might be in jail if it weren’t for you. I definitely wouldn’t be coaching.”
She started to deny it, but she’d learned in the last week not to waste her words.
Lou Anne appeared and put a plate of grits and eggs in front of Nathan. “Here, baby.” She laid a hand on Nathan’s shoulder before narrowing her eyes in Audrey’s direction. “Does Tolly know you’re out and about with another woman?”
“No,” Nathan said.
Of course he wouldn’t have told his wife. Not because he minded her knowing, but because it wasn’t important enough that he’d thought of it.
“I’m sure it will be on the Cheese Grits Telegraph by now,” Nathan continued. “After all, I did choose to have my tryst at this very private diner where no one in Merritt, Alabama, ever goes for breakfast. Lou Anne, this is Audrey Evans. Audrey, please meet Lou Anne, who gets up in the morning to boss me around.”
“Oh!” Lou Anne’s face changed. “You are the one who saved my precious boy! What can I bring you? On the house, on the house for the rest of your life.”
“What he’s having.” Why not? The television wouldn’t be adding ten pounds anymore.
“Oh, baby. I’m going to bring you some tea with honey and lemon for that voice.” And she was gone.
“So tell me,” Nathan said. “How did it happen?”
“I had a bicycle wreck and fell against the handlebars.” The lie got easier every time. Still, Nathan frowned. Was that a look of doubt? She couldn’t tell. They’d only gone out a few times, slept together even fewer.
If he doubted, he let it go. “So ESPN fired you? Isn’t that a little premature? Football season is seven months away.”
Audrey pulled his plate toward her and began to eat. One of the perks of having a damaged voice was people didn’t expect you to ask permission or apologize.
“By all means, have my food,” he said. “Now answer my question.”
“That’s complicated. They were willing to wait and see. They talked about finding something else for me if I don’t recover. But ultimately, we all decided to end it now.”
“And you were all right with that?”
Lou Anne appeared with the tea and a fresh plate of food and was gone just as fast.
Audrey sipped the tea. Not bad. It wouldn’t help, but it was tasty. “They bought out my contract.” She could live on that for a while—quite a while if she were careful. And there was no way to be careful enough in New York.
“It was never about the money for you,” Nathan said.
“It becomes about the money when the source is gone.” Not exactly true but it sounded good. “Anyway, I wanted you to know since you stuck your head out for me. And I wanted to tell you why.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Then go ahead.”
Her scalp prickled. “Tell you what?”
“How you really got injured.”
Hellhounds and demons! He was on to her. “I did tell you. I fell on my bike. Ass over teakettle.”
He shook his head. “No. You’re lying. I can tell.”
“Since when did you ever know enough about me to tell if I’m lying or not?”
“Oh, please. Are we really going down that road? Aren’t you dating Kemp Sanders and his two Super Bowl rings?”
“I don’t date Super Bowl rings.” Her voice wouldn’t go icy, so she tried to convey it with her eyes. “And I’m not dating Kemp anymore.” That was the understatement of the decade. “But don’t flatter yourself that I’m carrying a torch for you or give me the ‘it wasn’t you, it was me’ speech.”
“It wasn’t you or me,” he said. “It was Townshend; it was always Townshend, from the time I was twenty years old.”
That would be his wife. Everyone called her Tolly, except him. Well, good on them. Let them have their special names and their story of how they’d never been able to move on from each other. Audrey didn’t want Nathan. True enough, she had been plenty dazzled by Nathan at one time, but it had been a passing fancy and a short one at that. But regardless of her lack of residual feelings for him, right now, she didn’t want to hear about anyone’s blissful life.
Nathan took a sip of his coffee. “But enough of that. Tell me the truth.”
He used his coach voice, the one that made teenage boys shudder and beg for mercy. If Audrey had been one who was going to shudder and beg for anything, she’d have done it way back in the trailer park when her mother was stoned and the electricity had been turned off. But there was something about Nathan that inspired compliance. Or maybe it was that she wanted to finally tell someone what had happened with Kemp. And why not? She and Nathan were nothing more than acquaintances. She could tell and then drive out of his life to wherever she decided to go next. It wasn’t as if they would be seeing each other on the street. And she did know him well enough to know he wouldn’t tell if she asked him not to.
“Okay. But this is my business, and I don’t want it told. Clear?’
Nathan nodded.
“I didn’t have a bike wreck. Kemp asked me to marry him, and when I said no, he jammed me against the wall with his forearm. That’s it.”
