Break Away (The Baltimore Banners Book 5) (6 page)

JP raced forward, his skates a natural extension of his legs as he gained speed and flew across the ice. Mat passed the puck and JP reached it for it, felt it hit the blade of his stick as he set himself up for the shot.

But he was holding the stick wrong, the angle off, and the puck bounced and slid away before being picked up by one of the New York players.

"Fuck." JP shook his head then raced across the ice, stopping with a spray of ice as he jumped over the wall into the player's bench for the line change. He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to slam his stick against the bench, refusing to look over at the coach. He didn't need to look at Sonny to see his displeasure, not when he could feel the tension rolling off him.

His play had turned to shit. And it wasn't a gradual turning. No, it had happened from the first puck drop of the night. Like someone had flipped a switch on his abilities. And his ice time had been cut dramatically since then.

Now here they were, late in the third period and trailing New York by one. If they lost this game, it would be JP's fault. He'd had at least two perfect scoring chances and he had blown each of them.

"Fuck." He grabbed a water bottle and shot a stream into his mouth, swished it around and spit, then took a long swallow. What the hell was wrong with him?

An image of deep blue eyes and soft golden hair came to mind and he ruthlessly pushed it away. He couldn't afford to think about Emily now.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

And that, right there, was the problem.

He took another swallow of water and looked up at the giant screen, his jaw clenched so hard his back teeth ground together. Ten seconds, five...the buzzer sounded and the New York team skated to their goalie, piling on him in celebration of their win.

JP slammed his stick against the boards then filed out of the player's bench with everyone else. Sonny's cool gaze impaled him, his scar a fiery slash on his chiseled face. There would be yelling in the locker room tonight, no doubt about it.

And JP was certain a lot of it would be aimed at him. And rightfully so.

Two hours later, his ears still blistering from the post-game chewing out, JP walked into the hotel bar. He paused, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, then walked over to the grouping of tables several of the players had moved together.

"You need a drink." Mat grabbed a bottle and passed it to him but JP shook his head. He didn't want a drink.

Hell, he didn't know what he wanted.

"No, he needs to get laid." Derek Caulton joked. JP shot him a dirty look then grabbed a chair, turning it around before straddling it. He draped his arms across the back then grabbed the bottle Mat had just offered him.

"I thought you didn't want it."

"Shut up." JP tilted the bottle and took a long swallow. No, he didn't want it, but maybe it would help.

"I'm telling you, you need to get laid. That's the best thing for you." Derek said again.

"Knock it off." Randy took a long swallow of his own beer, his gaze never leaving JP's. He wondered what Randy saw, wondered if his friend was seeing too much. Randy, more than anyone else, would realize that JP was acting odd.

A glum silence settled over the table, broken only by the sound of clinking glass and the techno music being pumped through carefully hidden speakers. The bar was dimly lit and not very crowded. It wouldn't be, not here in New York when an entire city of thriving nightlife waited just outside the hotel doors.

Eight months ago, JP would have been first in line heading out of those doors. But not now. Not for quite some time.

What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe Derek was right. Maybe he just needed to get laid.

He glanced around, noticing the trio of women at a nearby table. All three were watching them, their gazes direct, their silent offers blunt. JP met the eyes of one of the women, their gazes holding for a long minute.

She was probably in her mid-twenties, with dark curly hair that fell in seductive waves down her back. She was wearing a tight black dress, cut low and showing off a generous amount of full cleavage. Her red lips bloomed into a full smile as she crossed long, lean legs, the hem of the tight dress pulling up past her thighs, giving him a glimpse of what she was offering. JP's eyes skimmed her legs, pausing to rest on the five-inch fuck me pumps before gliding back up her body and resting once more on her face.

Eight months ago, he would have walked over to her, bought her a drink, then taken her up to his room. Tonight he just looked away, not even remotely interested.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Several of his teammates shifted in their seats, suddenly more attentive. The three women had made their move and were walking over to them, no doubt tired of waiting. Ten minutes later, only Randy, Mat and JP were left sitting at the table.

"So where's your head been?" The question came from Randy, more curious than accusing. But still close enough to Sonny's earlier private chewing out that JP inwardly winced.

I need your fucking head in the game, Larocque.

No shit. So did he.

Randy was still watching him so JP took a long swallow of beer then shrugged. "It was an off night."

"More like an off week."

"He's thinking about Emily."

"Shut up, Herron."

"Who's Emily?"

Mat ignored his warning and leaned across the table. "Some woman he's been stalking."

"
Ferme ta gueule
. Just shut the fuck up."

He must not have said it loud enough because Randy and Mat just gave him a curious look then turned away from him.

"Is this the one he brought back after the game two weeks ago?"

"Yup. The one with the kid."

"The kid's name is Taylor. And that's her niece."

Randy turned sideways and propped one foot on the chair next to him, his brows a dark slash over his eyes. JP held his breath, waiting, wondering if Randy would make the connection.

"Emily. Emily." His voice faded from a whisper, his mouth silently moving. JP shifted and looked away, knowing what was coming. "Emily. Didn't you date some girl named Emily a few years ago?"

"You used to date her?" Mat didn't bother hiding his surprise. JP carefully held the bottle between his hands, staring at it so he wouldn't have to look at either of the two men staring at him.

"If it's the same Emily, yeah, he used to date her. It was getting serious, too, if I remember correctly."

"Serious? JP? No way. JP doesn't do relationships."

"Yeah well, it was a long time ago."

"You know I'm sitting here, eh? You can stop talking now." JP lifted the bottle to his mouth and drained it, still not looking at either one of them.

"So is it the same girl?"

"Woman. Yes."

"Get out. You really dated her?" Mat chuckled then shook his head. "She's not really your type, is she?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"So what happened? If I remember, it all ended pretty quickly."

"Probably because she's not his type."

JP shot a dirty glare in Mat's direction, which was promptly ignored. He shook his head, glanced over at Randy, then looked down at the empty bottle in his hands.

What happened? He was an ass, that's what happened. A chicken shit coward of the worst kind. But he wasn't about to tell either of his teammates that.

"You trying to get back with her?"

JP's head snapped up at Randy's question. He met his friend's questioning look for a brief second then shook his head.

"No." His chest squeezed painfully and he swallowed, shook his head again then cleared his throat. "No, of course not."

"Then why the hell are you stalking her?"

"I am not stalking her."

"Dude, you dragged me to a youth hockey game at fucking seven in the morning two weeks ago so you could see her. That's stalking."

JP ignored Mat, tried to ignore the thoughtful look Randy was giving him. He raised the bottle to his mouth then frowned when he realized it was empty. He turned in the chair, caught the bartender's attention, and silently asked for another round.

"None for me. I'm going up." Mat shook his head and stood. He pulled his wallet out and tossed a few bills on the table, said goodnight, then walked away. JP looked after him, shaking his head as the kid walked away.

Kid? Mat was twenty-four to JP's twenty-nine, hardly a kid.

JP didn't want to know why he suddenly felt old.

"None for me either. I'm going up, give Alyssa a call. I feel like I haven't seen her in weeks." Randy tossed a few more bills on the table then looked down at JP, sympathy in his eyes. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"Having a woman come into your life and disrupt everything you thought you knew."

"Fuck you, Michaels."

Randy chuckled and walked away, leaving JP sitting at the table by himself. The bartender came over and delivered his single beer along with the check, then left.

JP was suddenly alone, the only person left in the bar. He reached for the bottle, lifted it to his mouth then sat it down without drinking.

What was wrong with him? He had never been the last person to leave a bar before, let alone the last one to leave by himself. He needed to get his head on straight, get his head back in the fucking game.

And Randy was wrong. There wasn't a single woman capable of disrupting his life. There wasn't.

JP tossed a few more bills on the table, enough to cover the check and tip and then some. He left the full beer on the table and walked out, trying to convince himself again that Randy was wrong.

He'd have a better chance of convincing himself of that if he could just get the image of clear blue eyes from his mind.

JP sat in the SUV, the engine still running. He should probably shut it off, unless he wanted to draw attention to himself, just sitting here with the engine running. Looking around, the cars in this quiet neighborhood tended to be family cars—sedans, minivans, mid-priced SUVs. The Range Rover Supercharged didn’t really stick out. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself. There weren’t exactly many high-dollar vehicles from what he could see.

The neighborhood was a complex of townhomes, similarly built with brick and siding facades. Middleclass, well-maintained, modest. A respectable neighborhood for couples and young families.

A neighborhood where someone sitting in a high-dollar SUV with the engine idling at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning would be noticed.

Yeah, he needed to turn the engine off. Or turn around and leave.

Maybe Mat was right. Maybe he was turning into a stalker.

JP took a deep breath then let it out, his hand reaching for the keys in the ignition. He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, then turned the engine off and pulled the keys out.

The sudden silence was jarring, making him pause. He muttered under his breath, calling himself an idiot, then opened the door and climbed out. But he didn't move, not just yet. He couldn't. It was almost like he was being held back by some unseen force.

Ridiculous. All he had to do was walk the twenty or so feet to the front door then raise his hand and knock on it. Or ring the doorbell. Not exactly an energetic feat, or one requiring much focus.

So why was he standing there, unable to move?

Because he was a fucking idiot.

JP jammed the keys into the front pocket of his jeans then stalked toward the front door, frustrated with himself. He rang the doorbell, holding the button in longer than necessary, then waited.

What if she wasn't home?

No, she was home. Taylor had told him as much less than an hour ago, when he had seen her at the rink before her game. The disappointment that had surged through him when he realized Emily wasn't at the rink was still fresh, surprising him.

And what the hell was he doing? Why the almost desperate need to see Emily again? She had made it clear, the last time he saw her, that she didn't want to see him. So why was he bothering? Why the burning need to see her, talk to her?

He didn't know. Part of him didn't want to know.

The door in front of him finally opened, just enough so he could see Emily's soft face through the crack. Her hair, tousled from sleep, fell around her shoulders, a few loose strands falling in front of her eyes. She blinked, pushed the hair from her face, then pressed her lips together in a tight line.

"Hey." JP winced at the inane greeting. Couldn't he do better than that? Apparently not, because nothing else came to mind. He rocked back on his heels, waiting for Emily to do something. Say hello, tell him to get lost, slam the door in his face. Something.

But she just stood there, frowning, one hand clenched tightly around the edge of the door. A long minute went by and still she didn't move.

"Can I come in?" His voice was too soft, too hesitant, like he was afraid she'd say no. He cleared his throat, ready to repeat the question, but she finally opened the door and stepped back.

He crossed the threshold then stopped, not sure what to do next. The door closed behind him with a soft click then Emily moved past him, walking through the living room into what looked like a large country kitchen at the back of the house.

He paused, not sure what to do next. Follow her? Stay here?

"What do you want, JP?" Emily's voice was muffled by the distance, just loud enough to be heard over the rattling of silverware and plates. The scent of coffee drifted out to him and he breathed in deeply, welcoming the smell.

He moved through the living room, barely noticing the overstuffed red and white checked furnishings and simple country décor, then stopped at the wide doorway to the kitchen. He leaned against the wall, his eyes focusing on Emily as she busied herself with making coffee.

She was still in her pajamas. At least, he thought they were pajamas. A simple pair of lightweight gray sweatpants that stopped just below her knees and a loose pale blue shirt that floated around her. She turned and JP swallowed, noticing that she wasn't wearing a bra. He looked away and cleared his throat, feeling like a pervert for noticing the way the soft material clung to the gentle swell of her breasts when she reached for the coffeepot.

"You weren't at Taylor's game."

Emily paused, tension tightening her body. Then she sighed and poured coffee into a mug, still not looking at him. "Monica's been taking her."

JP nodded then jammed his hands into his back pockets and rocked back on his heels. He had no idea what to say next, hadn't planned on what to say. He looked down at the floor and studied the pattern of the soft brick tile, waiting for inspiration to strike.

A loud crash echoed around them, breaking the silence. The sound startled JP and he jumped back, looking around. Emily stood in the middle of the room, her hands clasped behind her neck as she stared at the shattered mug and spilled coffee at her feet.

Something close to a whimper filled the room, the sound soft, cut off quickly. JP moved forward, grabbing a towel from the counter before bending down to wipe up the mess.

"Don't. I have it."

"
Non
. No." He held up one hand, gently pushing her away, then reached for the shards of broken ceramic. A flash of red caught his eye and he looked over, an unexpected surge of protectiveness filling him. "You're hurt."

"It's just a cut."

"You're bleeding." JP stepped around the puddle, looking for the trashcan. When he didn't find one, he tossed the wet towel and the shards of mug in the sink then reached for the roll of paper towels. He tore off a handful then moved back to Emily.

She was standing in the same spot, her hands still clasped behind her neck, her gaze focused on the spill around her. JP closed his hand around her elbow, wanting to move her away from the broken pieces still on the floor. But she jerked out of his grasp, turning on him so quickly her hair fanned around her face.

"Stop! Please. Just, don't touch—"

"Emily,
ma chère
, you're bleeding."

"Why are you here? Why, JP?" She stared at him, her eyes wide, her face drained of color. She seemed frantic, desperate almost. Something squeezed in his chest and JP fought to pull air into his lungs. He reached for her again, his movements slow and cautious. But she let him touch her, didn't pull away when his hand closed around her elbow once more. She wasn't looking at him, her shadowed gaze focusing on something behind him. He didn't care, as long as she let him lead her to one of the chairs.

He pulled one out and turned it around for her, then gently guided her into it. But she still wouldn't look at him. It didn't matter, not really. Not now.

JP knelt on the floor in front of her and reached for her bleeding foot. Her skin was cold, the line of blood already congealing. He wiped at it with the paper towel, leaning closer to make sure the cut wasn't deep.

"I don't think it needs amputating." He kept his voice light, thinking that she might respond to his gentle teasing. But she didn't look down at him, didn't even move. He swallowed his sigh and sat back on his heels, the paper towel held loosely in one hand. "Do you have bandages?"

"Hm? Yeah. The cabinet next to the pantry."

JP pushed to his feet, looking around for a few seconds before seeing the larger cabinet that ran from floor to ceiling. He opened the cabinet next to it, searching through the shelves until he found a small white box with a red cross on it. A first aid kit, of course. He paused, then grabbed the brown bottle next to it and placed both on the counter so he could dampen a few more paper towels to better clean her foot.

He grabbed everything then turned, forcing himself to smile. "I think this should—"

The words died his throat and he nearly dropped everything on the floor. Emily sat hunched over in the chair, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. No tears streaked her face but he could see the moisture building in her eyes. Moisture she tried to blink away.

He hurried over to her and dropped everything on the table, then knelt in front of her once more, reaching for her. Her hands were cold, her fingers stiff yet fragile in his. She held herself away from him, her back straightening as she turned her head to the side.

"Emily, what is wrong? Where does it hurt?" But she didn't answer, just pursed her mouth into a tight line and shook her head. He squeezed her hands, silently urging her to speak, but she remained quiet.

JP didn't know what to do, didn't know what was wrong. He held her hands for a long minute then gently pulled his own away and reached for the small kit and bottle of peroxide. She stayed still as he cleaned the cut on her foot, not moving at all as he gently dried the skin then carefully placed an adhesive bandage over the small wound.

Silence settled around them once more, filled with a tension he didn't understand. He sat back on his heels, gently cupping her foot in his hand, letting the warmth of his hold seep into her chilled skin.

And still she didn't move.

"Why are you here, JP?"

"I wanted to see you."

"Why?"

"Because I..." His voice drifted off, his mind unable to find an answer that would satisfy her. Unable to find an answer that would satisfy even him. Why was here?

He didn't know. He only knew he wanted to see her. Needed to see her.

He shook his head then gently placed her foot on the floor before he gathered up the remains of his quick first aid treatment. Once everything was either put away or thrown away, JP busied himself with cleaning up the rest of the spill, careful to wipe the floor so there would be no stickiness left. Then he stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, and looked around, not sure what to do next.

Why was this so hard? And why couldn't he answer her question? He had gotten up early this morning and gone to the practice rink in the hopes of seeing her, thinking that maybe Taylor's team was playing and Emily would be there. He had been half-right, and the disappointment he felt when he realized Emily wasn't there had surprised him. So he had come here instead, still wanting to see her.

Why? Was he really nothing more than a stalker, like Mat had claimed?

No. There was a reason he wanted to see Emily. A reason he needed to see her.

He needed—

JP took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss, afraid to admit to himself what he needed. Who was he kidding? He knew why.

Emily brushed by him, the move surprising him because he hadn't noticed her get up from the chair. He looked over his shoulder, watching as she pulled another mug from the cabinet and busied herself with fixing a fresh cup of coffee. She didn't bother looking at him, her body language telling him without words that she didn't want him here.

He should leave. If he was smart, if he had even an ounce of sympathy or decency, he would leave.

Instead of moving to the door, he moved closer to Emily, not stopping until his body blocked hers against the counter. Not touching, but near enough so she wouldn't be able to flee, near enough he could feel the chill coming from her skin.

The urge to pull her into his arms was strong. He wanted to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and warm her with his own body.

But he wanted answers more. No, not answers. Information. Information he should have asked for five years ago, details he hadn't realized he needed until seeing Emily several weeks ago.

Details he was certain she didn't want to share.

Emily pushed the mug away then grasped the counter with both hands, her back to him. Did she know? Could she read his mind? Or did she merely sense what he wanted?

"Will you tell me?" The words came out in a hoarse whisper, the strangled sound harsh in the silent room. Long seconds went by, filled with nothing more than the quiet ticking of a clock he hadn't before noticed.

Emily stiffened even more, her knuckles white from where she held onto the counter. He didn't think she would answer, even when she pushed away from the counter and stepped by him.

He followed her into the living room, watching as she lowered herself to the sofa. She curled up in the corner and grabbed a small throw pillow, hugging it to her chest as she curled her legs under her. The sound of her breathing filled the room, long deep breaths, like she was readying herself.

JP moved to the sofa and took a seat next to her, not quite touching but still close enough. Probably too close. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, not ready to see the pain he felt drifting over her in desolate waves.

"What do you want to know?"

The question caught him off-guard and he wasn't sure how to answer it. What did he want to know? He wasn't sure.

Memories of that night five years ago came rushing back, the clarity surprising, sobering. He hadn't recalled the details since then, had pushed them so far back in his mind because he hadn't wanted to remember them. But they were there now, at the front of his mind, painfully clear.