A Perfect Trade (Harlequin Superromance) (8 page)

“You, of all people, should know I don’t believe in God.”

“My point exactly.” He helped himself to a French fry.

“Hey, get your own fries.”

“You used to be better at sharing.” He plucked an onion ring from her plate and offered it to her. When she continued to glare, he shrugged and ate it himself.

Jenny stood, marched over to the waitress station and grabbed a bottle of ketchup. When she returned, she deliberately poured sauce over the fries and rings.

His heart kicked. She’d remembered he didn’t like ketchup. “Now, that’s just mean.”

He went to collect his own dinner and returned.

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Do you always force your company upon women?”

“I never have to force anything. They flock to me.”

“Like lemmings to a cliff?”

He grinned. “Not bad.”

“I’m just warming up.” She ate some of her burger and sighed. “I’d forgotten how delicious the food was here.”

“Not been back for a while?”

She shook her head. “Not for a few years.”

What had brought her back tonight? “I’m surprised you’re not at the game in Pittsburgh.”

“I’ve retired.”

“What? When?”

“When the season ended. I’ve handed over the puck bunny crown to Candi-with-an-
i.
”

“You’ve done all the players in the league?” The question, tinged with disbelief, slipped out before he could stop it.
Crap.
So what if she’d never slept with him. He didn’t compete with other players for women, or take up with their leftovers.

The fire in her blue eyes was replaced with ice. “I may have missed a few, but then I don’t sleep with married men or guys in steady relationships. Or jerks.”

Time to change the subject. “Why are you here tonight?” he asked gently.

Jenny blanched. Her vulnerable look had him worried enough to press. “What are you hiding from?”

Silently, she pushed her food around on her plate.

“Come on, Jenny. You look dreadful.”

“This from a man with a couple of still-raw scars on his face.”

“You don’t need me to tell you you’re beautiful. You get enough compliments elsewhere. You need the truth.”

She flinched. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Well, ‘nothing’ obviously doesn’t agree with you.”

Jenny shrugged. A small, heartbreakingly defiant gesture he’d seen before. A long time ago. Before he’d convinced her she could trust him. Before he’d destroyed that trust.

“It’s not important,” she said flatly.

Irritation bubbled within at her dismissal. He should have known better than to come over here. There would never be anything but pain and rejection when it came to Jenny Martin. “I give up. Enjoy your dinner.” He stood. “Whatever’s wrong, it’s eating away at you. Even this dumb ice-jock can see that. Talk to someone. Talk to Maggie or Lizzie.”

Fear twisted his gut as tears filled her eyes and spilled over. Now he knew for sure something was wrong. Jenny never cried.

* * *

D
AMN
. D
AMN
. D
AMN
.

Damn fate’s irony for bringing her full circle at the most vulnerable point in her life. Back to the first man she’d ever loved, and trusted. Talk about adding insult to injury.

Her heart had jumped when he’d slipped into her booth. The concern in his green eyes and in his deep voice had warmed her.

Jenny swiped at the tears and tried to compose herself. It had been hard enough to control her feelings tonight, without having Tru so close. She couldn’t handle him right now. She was too raw. The pain of her loss ached, deep inside. Yet the urge to lean on him, to absorb his strength, whispered through her.

No!
That’s how it had started last time. She was still paying the price of that mistake.

She should leave before the emotions coursing through her made her do something she’d regret. Jenny stood.

As she pushed past him, Tru’s hand caught her wrist. “Don’t go. I’ll leave you alone.”

Her pulse fluttered—fight or flight? She didn’t have the energy for either. She sank back into the booth. “All right.”

The sight of the cooling food—fat congealing, covered in red sauce—was too much for her roiling stomach. She pushed the plate away and reached for her drink. The burn of the bourbon as it slid down her throat was strangely comforting.

“Can I call someone for you?”

Using the sharp pain of her memories to bolster her strength, she stiffened her spine. “No, thanks. I’m just tired.”

“Bull.”

“Excuse me?” One eyebrow arched haughtily.

“You heard me.” He leaned over and planted his palms on the table. “This is more than being tired.” A tenacious look settled across his face. Glib answers wouldn’t cut it this time.

Yet she couldn’t share the truth with him. “If you must know, I lost my job.”

“I’m sorry.” Tru straightened and slid into the seat opposite her. “You’ll find another one. Maybe not with the same perks, but a decent job.”

Disappointment sliced through her. She knew what he meant by perks, but couldn’t be bothered to set him straight. “That’s not the problem.”

As she explained, she signaled the waitress for another Jack Daniel’s. The perfect anesthetic to numb the pain and chase away the misery.

It might even help her deal with Tru.

“The bastard.” He looked ready to deal Irving some old-style hockey justice.

She tamped down the pleasure that flared at his support. “It’s my own fault. I should’ve made sure my contract had been updated. I just assumed. Now it’s too late. At least until Harry wakes up.”

Her drink arrived and she took a large swallow. The second shot went down more smoothly, warming her tight throat. Jenny raised the glass to her lips again.

“What’s really going on?”

The bourbon went down the wrong way, making her splutter.

Tru was beside her in an instant. He swapped her Jack for a glass of water.

By the time she could breathe again, she realized Tru’s thigh was pressed against hers. His arm lay across her shoulders as he encouraged her to drink more water.

Heat flooded through her. She tried to edge away, but her bag took up the remaining space between her and the wall.

“Jenny?” The worry etched into his face was nearly her undoing.

“I’m fine.” She pulled her bag onto her lap then moved as far as the enclosed booth allowed. “Look, I appreciate the concern.” She hardened her voice. “But it’s none of your business.”

She reached for the glass of bourbon, drained it, then deliberately raised her hand for another. The waitress brought it almost immediately.

Tru’s intense gaze seemed to penetrate her defenses and see into her soul. “Whatever’s going on is tearing you apart.” He paused and sighed heavily. “I’ve never seen you cry.”

Because she’d never let him. Not even when she’d told him about the abuse.

She couldn’t bear the conversation another second. “I have to go.”

She swallowed the refreshed drink, but this one didn’t go down as smoothly. She swayed slightly as she stood. Damn. She should have eaten more of that burger.

Once again, Tru stopped her. But his touch only added to her light-headedness.

Great. Just what she needed. She shrugged off his hand. “If it’ll get you off my back, I promise to talk to someone.”

He didn’t need to know there wasn’t anyone she could tell.

Her head pounded. Waves of fatigue swirled around her. This time, she managed to push him away, but she didn’t get far.

“Come on.” He tossed some bills on the table then took her arm. “I’ll drive you home.”

The whiskey lay heavily in her stomach. “My car,” she muttered, as she walked unsteadily, each step taking serious effort and concentration.

“I’ll bring you by to pick it up tomorrow.”

She didn’t like leaning on him, but knew she couldn’t make it to the door without his support. “I’m not drunk. Too little food. Tired. Sick.”

“Will she be all right?” the concerned waitress asked, as they passed.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Jenny snorted. His kind of care she didn’t need.

Outside the diner, the cool air cut through some of the haze in her brain. Pain filled her. Pain from the past. Pain from the present. The image of that one pink line swam before her eyes. No baby. No chance of a baby. Her knees crumpled beneath her.

Tru caught her before she hit the wet pavement and lowered her gently to the ground.

Jenny welcomed the damp seeping through her clothes as she rested her cheek against the cool stone.

“You can’t stay here.” Tru’s sharp words made her frown.

Why was he being mean? “You’re not the boss of me.”

“No. I’m not.”

She nodded, pleased he’d agreed. The motion made her head swim. She moaned softly.

Tru swore, then swung her up into his arms.

Jenny thought about struggling, but it took all her energy to control her roiling stomach. Focusing on the hard chest beneath her cheek helped. She’d bet he was ripped beneath his shirt. She trailed a finger down the corded sinew of his neck.
Mmm. Yes.
Definitely ripped. Tight, flat abs, thighs like tree trunks, rock-hard biceps.

“Stop that.” Tru sounded strained as her finger slid beneath the open collar of his shirt. “If you don’t stop wriggling, I’ll drop you.”

Settling her head against his shoulder, she closed her increasingly heavy eyes. She barely registered him putting her into his car, or the drive home. As the car stopped, she tried to rouse herself. But her stomach began to churn dangerously. When Tru went to lift her into his arms, she shook her head. Acid rose in her throat.
Not in front of Tru.

She pushed away from him. But it was too late. Jenny dropped to her knees beside a large bush and threw up.

CHAPTER FOUR

W
AS
J
ENNY
AWAKE
YET
?

Tru wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his T-shirt and listened for any signs of movement upstairs. She’d been sleeping soundly when he’d checked on her earlier, before heading out for his morning run.

His heart thudded at the memory of her tousled hair spread across his pillow and the curve of one smooth shoulder visible above the sheets. She’d looked peaceful.

How many times had he dreamed of her in his bed? Only he’d imagined a different reason for her being there.

He listened a moment longer while he drained a glass of ice water. Not a sound. If she didn’t surface in another hour, he’d check on her again. Maybe even wake her. A picture popped into his head of him leaning over to press a kiss to her lips. His pulse hitched, even as he deliberately pushed the image aside.

She may be Sleeping Beauty, but for damn sure she didn’t see him as Prince Charming.

Besides, her strange behavior in the diner had really worried him. He had tossed and turned all night wondering about it. Something serious was wrong and he intended to find out what that was.

As Tru shoved his glass into the water dispenser in the refrigerator door, the phone rang.

Grateful for the distraction, he grabbed the receiver.

“Hey, bro.” Jake sounded happy. “What are you up to tomorrow night?”

Tru frowned. “Nothing much. Why?”

“The moms are throwing a party.”

Whose birthday had he forgotten? “What are we celebrating?”

“Maggie’s pregnant.” Satisfaction filled his friend’s voice.

A grin split Tru’s face and he fist-pumped the air. “Congratulations!” He laughed. “Bad Boy’s going to be a dad. Who’d have thought?”

“It’s kinda weird, but in a good way. I’ve been getting some practice with Emily.”

Maggie’s ten-year-old daughter had, like all ladies, taken to Jake very quickly. “Yeah, but a baby is different. Crying and diapers and all that stuff.” Tru would enjoy razzing Jake about that.

“Maybe we’ll be on the road a lot.” Jake yelped. “Ouch. I’m kidding, Maggie.” She must have hit him. “A dirty diaper doesn’t scare me.”

“Brave words.” Tru suppressed a shiver. “I’m glad I’ll be the one who gets to have fun, then hand the kid back when they get cranky or poopy.”

The twinge in Tru’s chest called him a liar.

He’d always hoped he’d have kids someday. The problem was finding the right woman, since he firmly believed children should have two parents who were committed to each other.

His thoughts wandered back upstairs. To the woman who could still make his heart soar with her smile and make it ache with her tears. Years ago, they’d talked about getting married and having a family. Did she still want the whole package? Once again, those pregnancy vitamins came to mind. He frowned as an idea occurred.

Was Jenny’s problem related to having a baby? The thought burned his gut.

Jake’s voice interrupted his musing. “Your turn will come and when it does, remember payback’s a bitch.”

If only. “We’ll do some serious celebrating at the party, while you can still stay the course—I hear those midnight feeds are killer.”

Jake groaned.

Tru was hanging up when Ike walked into the kitchen.

“I passed the mailman.” His brother tossed a stack of letters onto the table. “Thought you might want to go work out, but I guess you’ve already been.”

“Just for a run.” Tru cast a nervous glance at the ceiling. He didn’t want to explain what Jenny was doing here until he’d had a chance to speak with her.

“You hear Jake’s news?” he asked, to distract his brother.

“Nope. What’s up?”

When Tru told him, Ike whooped. “Jake will make a cool dad.”

What kind of father would I make?
Was poor fathering in the genes? Even though Jake’s dad had provided a great role model once their father had left, Tru couldn’t help wondering if that was enough.

“Do you ever think about Dad?” The question had slipped out, but he was curious to hear his brother’s response. Especially as Tru knew he couldn’t continue to ignore their old man’s letter, no matter how much he might want to.

“Never.” Ike’s voice was cold, hard. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, his expression unapologetic.

“You don’t wonder where he is?” Tru couldn’t hide his surprise. “If he’s okay?”

“Why the hell should I care where he is or what he’s doing? The bastard didn’t think about us when he walked out on Mom for that rich woman in Boston. Nor when he was lazing around in that mansion getting his nails manicured while Mom worked her fingers to the bone to keep a roof over our heads.” Ike gave a snort of disgust. “For me, Radek Jelinek died the night he left.”

Guilt coursed through Tru. Was he a traitor because he was curious about their father? If Ike was this angry at the mere mention of their old man, how would their mom feel? What about their younger brothers, Kenny and Linc?

Maybe it would be best if he forgot about the letter.

But what if their father had changed? Could Tru live with himself if he cost his brothers the opportunity to reconnect with their dad?

Tru’s burden of guilt was heavy enough. His actions had already cost his brothers so much. If there was a chance he could make things right...

“You know it wasn’t our fault Dad left, right?” Ike’s question, unerring in its accuracy, speared Tru in the gut.

Unable to voice an answer and unwilling to explain, Tru shrugged.

Concern filled his brother’s green eyes. “Radek Jelinek only cared about himself. He wanted everything this land of opportunity offered, but he didn’t want to work for it. Meanwhile, Mom had three jobs.”

“He worked, too.” Tru didn’t want to defend their father, but Ike wasn’t being fair.

“Occasionally. He couldn’t hold one down for any length of time, not even the one his uncle gave him when he and Mom emigrated.”

“Dad was sick a lot.”

“There was nothing wrong with him.”

There was no point inflaming Ike’s bitterness any further. “What’s your point?”

“He was always going to leave. He was only waiting for a better offer.” Ike put his hand on Tru’s shoulder. “Tough as it was, we were damn well better off without him.”

Tru couldn’t argue with the last part. “You’re right.”

Ike grinned. “I’m the eldest, I’m always right.”

“You keep believing that, bro.” Tru slapped his back.

“Hey, I can still take you down if I want.”

“Sure, but then who’ll protect your ass out on the ice?”

“Good point.” Ike straightened. “I’d better hit the weights. Catch you later.”

After his brother had gone, Tru sorted through the mail. Brooding about the past wasn’t helpful—the future was what mattered. God knew he had more than enough to worry about with that.

His breath caught when he came across a white envelope with familiar, spidery blue writing and a Boston postmark. Like the last one, this letter had been forwarded from the Ice Cats’ office.

Crap.

Tru stared warily at the envelope as if it might jump up and bite him. The old man was persistent. Too persistent?

He should open the letter. What could his father have written that was different from the first letter? An explanation? Not a chance. Still...

Tru tossed the letter on the table. His father had waited all these years to get in touch; Tru wasn’t going to rush to read what he had to say.

His priority now was, as it had always been, to protect his family.

The second letter meant he could no longer put off hiring someone to investigate his father. He needed to know if Radek Jelinek was on the level. If he wasn’t, the decision was easy—he’d tell his father to get lost. If he was, Tru would have to decide what to tell his brothers and his mom.

A thump came from upstairs. His heart gave an echoing thump.

Like it or not, the time had come to confront his past in more ways than one.

To right the wrongs. To heal the hurt.

Otherwise, his future wouldn’t be worth a damn.

* * *

H
ER
PILLOW
SMELLED
of Tru. Impossible. Jenny had never slept with him.

She’d wanted to back when she’d thought he was The One. But that had changed when the promise he’d sealed with a kiss had been smashed with his betrayal.

Pushing away the dark thoughts, Jenny burrowed deeper under the covers, inhaling the scent of fabric conditioner and Tru.

Her head pounded, her stomach felt raw and her mouth tasted like sweaty hockey gear. Why did she always forget that whiskey was great going down, but hell coming back up? Worse, she’d tossed her cookies in front of Tru. All the years she’d spent trying to make him believe she was in control had been blown away.

Groaning, Jenny contemplated staying in bed for the rest of her life. It wasn’t as though she had to be anywhere. But hiding had never solved anything. She should brush her teeth and shower—maybe then she’d feel close to human. Jenny poked her head out from under the pillow and forced her eyes open.

Dazzling sunlight half blinded her. She quickly covered her face with the navy pillow. On second thought... Jenny was almost asleep when a thought jolted her awake.

Navy?
Her pillows were pink. Slitting open one eye, she swore.

Navy pillows. And sheets. And curtains. The comforter was Black Watch tartan. There were blinds instead of sheers, and a huge flat-screen TV instead of an antique mirror.

Definitely not her room. Where was she?

“Jenny? Are you okay?”

Realization dawned. No wonder the pillow smelled of Tru. Oh, my God. What had she done?

“Jenny?”

She yanked the sheets up to her chin. “I’m fine.”
Don’t come in!

“Can you handle breakfast?”

Her stomach protested. “Umm...no.”

“Not even toast?”

She should eat something. “Toast would be good. May I use your shower?”

“Sure. Clean towels are in the bathroom cupboard.”

“Thanks.”

Jenny waited for his footsteps to fade, then leaped out of bed and dashed to the bathroom, stopping dead when she realized she still wore her underwear. What exactly had happened last night?

She opened the medicine cabinet. Alka-Seltzer, perfect. Downing the medicine, she turned on the shower and stripped.

“Oh, yes,” she moaned, as the water pummeled her aching muscles.

She wanted to linger, but much as she dreaded facing Tru, the sooner she found out how much trouble she’d got herself into, the better.

She toweled off, then dressed in last night’s clothes. Shoving her panties into her purse, she headed toward the smell of toast.

In the cheery kitchen, Tru leaned against the counter, mug in hand. A snug-fitting, faded Ice Cats T-shirt topped a pair of equally snug-fitting, faded jeans. His still-damp hair told her he’d also had a shower. His feet were bare.

She’d always thought he had sexy feet. Hell, he had great legs, too. Speaking of which...

“You look better than you did last night.” Tru brought her back to earth with a bump.

“The shower revived me.”

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“Just water, thanks.” She slung her purse on the back of a chair, then sat at the table. “So, about last night...how come I ended up here?” Embarrassment sharpened her tone.

Tru handed her a glass of water. “Given the state you were in, I was worried about leaving you alone. Good thing, because when we got here, you threw up, then passed out.”

She bit back a groan of mortification. She was no better than a rookie who’d partied too hard. Still, given their antagonism toward each other, she was surprised Tru had cared. “Obviously not one of my finer moments.”

“Stuff happens and we deal with it the best we can.” Tru slid a plate of toast in front of her. “Are you ready to eat?”

“Not really, but it might settle my stomach.”

“Do you want anything on it?”

“Better not risk it.” She took a slice of toast and nibbled it.

The silence in the kitchen was uncomfortable and heavy, with too many things unsaid. The past hung over them like a cloud.

“I appreciate you looking after me,” she said grudgingly.

“No big deal.” He shrugged.

Once again, his response surprised her. This polite stuff was totally out of character.

“What’s going on, Tru?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not your usual
charming
self.”

No reaction. His gaze seemed fixed on something far away.

“Tru?”

He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Apart from my career tanking, I’m great.”

She’d seen the gossip about Tru being traded. “I’m sorry about Max. For what it’s worth, I think the Cats would be crazy to trade you or let you walk.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m planning on staying.” The sharp edge to his voice said he wasn’t as confident as he’d like her to believe. “Contract negotiations haven’t started yet, but they will once a new coach is in place.”

Unsure how to respond, Jenny bit into her toast—they both knew the odds of him staying in Jersey.

“Anyway, you’re the one I’m concerned about.”

She blinked. “I’ll be all right. Money will be tight for a while, until I find another job.”

“That’s not what upset you last night.”

The toast stuck in her throat. Tru had always been perceptive. That’s how, years ago, she’d finally ended up telling him about her uncle.

She wouldn’t make the mistake of sharing a secret with Tru again.

Jenny took several deep swallows of water. “I’m scared of letting Lizzie down. I want her to finish college.”

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people willing to help you out.”

Hurt from his insinuation sparked an angry flame inside her. “If you mean get a handout from one of the players I’ve slept with, think again. I’m not a prostitute. Nor do I need their charity.” She gritted her teeth. “Besides, for the last time, I’ve retired.”

“That’s the best you can do?”