Offside (17 page)

Billie shivered, aware the spell was broken,
and she yanked up her dress while avoiding his eyes. She should
leave. She should run as fast and as hard as she could and get the
hell away from Logan.

And yet, when he moved behind her and wrapped
his arms across her chest she let him. When he pulled her back
against his warm, hard, body…she let him drag her back in the
shadows because she was that weak.

“Hey,” he whispered against her neck. “Are
you all right?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.

“I didn’t mean to come on so strong, but
Christ, there’s something about you that drives me insane.”

Suddenly all the insecurities she’d bottled
up for so long came alive. They pressed into her chest. They made
it difficult to breathe and she wriggled until Logan released her
and she stepped away from him. She’d never been good at any game
other than hockey and right now, she felt like she was playing the
game of her life and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to
lose.

“What are we doing, Logan? I mean, we can’t
do this. We just…we can’t.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a few steps,
hands balled at his sides until they relaxed and he shoved them
into his front pockets. She felt the tension that sat on those
shoulders—she felt it like a knife pressed into her chest. When his
dark eyes settled on her once more, they were flat. His mouth was
tight and she knew she’d made him angry.

“I don’t get you.”

God, this night had gone south fast.

“I want you,” he repeated. “I thought it was
kind of obvious but the real question should be what the hell are
[i]
you
[i] doing? Because something’s up. I just don’t know
what it is.”

How could she explain? What would she
say?

“I don’t like being played and right now,” he
continued and took a step forward. “I feel like that’s exactly what
you’re doing.”

That hit a nerve and her back was up
instantly.

“I don’t play games.”

“No?” He moved even closer and it took a lot
of gumption for Billie to not step back because there was something
dangerous about Logan right now. He looked like he could eat her up
and spit her out with no thought whatsoever.

“I think it kinda runs in your family. Maybe
it’s an inherited gene or something. All you Barker girls—”

“That’s going too far.” Her pulse spiked and
pounded a rhythm that was dizzying.

“[i]
You
[i] kissed [i]
me
[i] the
other day or did you forget about that?”

Her cheeks burned and she ran cold fingers
along them. “I told you that was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen
again.”

“Why? Why the fuck can’t it happen?” he
challenged. “We’re both adults. We both want each other, or at
least I’m straight up about that but you…you I can’t figure out. I
know you enjoyed it so why the denial?”

The underlying anger in his words was sharper
now and she knew he’d passed the point of just being pissed off.
Nope, he’d crossed that bridge and was now heading down another
road entirely. One called fury.

She felt helpless because she had no idea how
to fix this. Billie didn’t know how to explain everything without
making herself look pathetic or cheap.

Or like a liar.

“Because,” she searched frantically for an
excuse that wouldn’t sound lame.

“Christ, I knew getting involved with the
Barkers wasn’t a good idea.”

Her head shot up. “Well, no one asked you
too.”

He continued on as if he hadn’t heard her.
“Betty was difficult but you’re something else entirely.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Pain twisted inside her chest so hard, that
for a few seconds she couldn’t breathe. She squared her shoulders,
and pushed at the damn, feathery wings that flapped behind her as
she began to shiver. Whether it was from the cold or the deluge of
emotion or plain old fatigue, she had no clue.

“It means your sister Betty liked to play
head games and I was stupid enough to let her play with mine a long
time ago.” He sounded bitter.

[i]
He sounded like he still
cared
.[i]

Billie shrank back as his voice rose.

“It means that I’m not playing this game with
you. I was burned once by your sister and hell if I’m going to line
up for another ride on that crazy train. I’m done with the hot and
cold and then the fucking, see-you-later.”

Logan gave her a disgusted look and turned on
his heel. She watched him take four or five steps before he paused
and spoke without looking back.

“What time on Monday?”

“What?” she barely managed the word.

“I paid one thousand dollars for the
privilege of your coaching abilities, so what time Monday
morning?”

She swallowed thickly and forced herself to
answer.

“Six A.M.”

“See you then.” He disappeared inside the
community center, leaving her alone in the parking lot.

Logan Forest was right about a lot of things.
The Barker sisters were seriously flawed—all of them. And
maybe—just maybe—she was the most screwed up one of them all.

Because that Christmas Eve when he’d been
home from college he’d pursued Betty relentlessly and her sister
had let him. But when he’d shown up at a keg party held for one of
the junior hockey teams, it wasn’t Betty-Jo Barker who’d finally
given herself to him that night. It wasn’t Betty-Jo who’d followed
him into that dark room and thrown herself at him.

And is sure as hell wasn’t Betty-Jo who’d
lost her virginity to him.

Logan might have believed he’d finally
snagged the untouchable and beautiful Betty—the one who’d been
driving him crazy for days. The one whose sights were already set
on the big apple and an exciting modeling career.

The one who no longer had time for small town
boys.

Except that it wasn’t [i]
that
[i]
particular Barker triplet he’d made love to.

It wasn’t [i]
that
[i] particular Barker
triplet that he’d shared an incredible night with.

Nope. It had been her. Billie.

He’d been a little drunk and it had been
dark. And she’d wanted him for so long that when it came down to
it, she’d let him believe she was her sister, because up until that
night, Logan Forest hadn’t even known she was alive.

When he’d come around the house looking for
her sister Betty the next day, she’d waited for a spark of
recognition. She’d waited for that moment, breath held, her heart
pounding so hard she could still feel it. How could he not know it
had been her in the dark? How?

But there’d been nothing in his eyes and when
she’d told him that Betty had left for New York hours earlier,
she’d pretended not to see the hurt in his eyes. Or the questions
that were never asked.

He’d stared at her for several long moments,
then he’d turned around and left without another word.

She’d shut the door, leaned against it, and
she’d cried her heart out.

Then Billie had packed her bags and left for
Europe a full day before her sister Betty headed to New York.

It was dark outside when Billie rolled out of
bed and glanced toward her window. Dark and rainy.

Wonderful.

She slipped her feet into a pair of old
slippers she’d claimed when she’d come home. They had large bunny
heads on the end and the ears flopped around when she walked, but
they were warm so she was willing to overlook the fact that they
looked ridiculous.

An overly large sweatshirt lay on the chair
at her desk beneath her window. She pulled it over her T-shirt and
shivered as another wave of rain blasted the side of the house. It
sounded like ice pellets and she peered out once more but couldn’t
anything beyond the fog from her breath.

Already the now familiar knot of, what—fear?
apprehension? shame?—burrowed inside her gut and she’d give
anything to climb back into bed, throw her old, wool blanket over
her head and sleep until she could forget everything.

She glanced once more at the clock and winced
as another volley of rain hit the window. It was five in the
morning—Monday morning—and she needed to be ready and on the ice
for her one-on-one with Logan, which gave her less than an hour
before she’d have to leave.

“Yay for me,” she muttered.

An entire hour to be spent with the one man
in New Waterford she wanted to avoid at all costs. Her stomach
rolled crazily as she let her hair out of the clip on top of her
head and ran her fingers through the tangled mess.

Maybe Logan would be a no-show.

[i]
Sure, because he was the type to back
down
.[i]

She knew better. He wouldn’t let her off so
easy.

He had been more than pissed Saturday night
and she didn’t blame him. He was right. The Barkers
[i]
were
[i] screwed up and Billie might be the worst out of
all of them.

She’d flirted with Logan. She’d kissed him.
She’d done the hot and cold thing just as he’d said.

But how could she go home with him even
though it pretty much was all she thought about? How could she when
she wasn’t sure whether or not she was nothing more than a
replacement for her sister, Betty? She’s the one he’d wanted all
those years ago. She’s the one he thought he’d already had.

And how could she entertain any type of
relationship after what she’d done? He’d never believe that night
wasn’t planned. He’d kissed her first, thinking she was Betty and
she’d just…gotten too carried away.

“Crap, Barker, you’ve really done it this
time,” she murmured, rubbing her eyes as she tumbled down the
stairs. She rounded the corner as she stepped onto the worn, wooden
planks, “and then some.”

Billie took a few steps down the hall and
paused, curiosity piqued when she spied soft light emanating from
the back of the house. Someone was up. For a moment she considered
turning around because it was probably Bobbi—no one else had reason
to be up at this God forsaken hour, but her tummy rumbled and she
shivered.

Hot coffee and a bowl of cereal was what she
needed to get her going.

[i]
A one way ticket to Belize is what she
really needed, but that wasn’t going to happen anytime
soon
.[i]

Billie was nearly to the kitchen when she
heard the soft whistling. It was barely above a whisper but,
nonetheless, she could make out the tune.

The [i]
Rocky
[i] theme.

She clutched the edge of her sweatshirt as
goose bumps rolled across her skin. Her Dad used to whistle to her
when she was younger. It was a way to get her to focus and the
theme from [i]
Rocky
[i] was their song. It was the one he
used when she was five or six and he was tying up her skates. The
one he’d whistle on those long drives to games and practices, or
while out in the driveway practicing shots for hours at a time.

Jesus, it was hard to listen to, because he
sounded so damn…normal.

Billie peeked into the kitchen and held her
breath.

Her father was at the stove, whistling his
tune while he stirred—she sniffed the air—porridge. And not the
microwave stuff she’d been buying lately, but the real deal. The
stuff that would stick to your stomach and get you through the most
brutal hockey practices ever.

The stuff that made mornings like this one
doable.

Her father was dressed casually, in jeans and
a sweater—the red cable knit that he’d owned forever. He looked
frail and she hated how the sweater and jeans hung off his frame.
[i]
Hated it
[i].

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes because
it was so hard to see him like this. Trent Barker had always been a
tall, strapping guy, who could easily scoop all three of his girls
into his arms and make everything instantly better.

“Pull up a chair, Billie, this is almost
done.”

Shock held her silent for several long
moments, until he turned around, eyebrow arched and pointed toward
the table. “Are you going to stand there and gawk, or are you going
to eat?”

His voice, slightly weak, was gruff enough to
automatically elicit a response and she jumped, nodding
stupidly—blinking away the tears—as she moved toward the table.

“I’ll grab some juice,” she said softly.

She filled two glasses and then sat down,
watching in silence as her father moved around the kitchen,
gathering two bowls and a couple of spoons. He searched through the
cupboards for some brown sugar and then finally filled their bowls
with steaming hot, porridge.

Just like so many mornings she’d spent with
him in the past.

The need to throw her arms around him—to hold
on and kiss and hug him—was overwhelming. She’d been home for
nearly a month and there hadn’t been many days when he’d been
‘himself’. The man she remembered.

The dad she loved.

Trent Barker slid into the chair across from
her and quietly fixed his bowl of porridge. Billie did the same,
watching the way his fingers curled around his spoon and the slow
methodical way in which he ate.

It was something she’d done many times
before. Countless times. Billie and her father up before dawn,
getting ready to head to an early practice or leave for a
tournament.

It was so familiar and so achingly sad.

Once they were done eating, Trent grabbed her
bowl and rinsed them both in the sink. They’d not spoken at all,
instead, they’d eaten in silence, a silence that not only hid
things, but was in a way, comforting. As long as no words were
spoken, Billie could almost believe that nothing had changed.

Almost.

“So, you’re back from Europe.”

Billie nodded, watching the way his eyes
crinkled in the corners when he concentrated. There were a lot of
new lines around his eyes, and deep grooves in the pockets of his
cheeks. His hair, thick as ever, was now nearly silver, the ebony
curls long gone.