Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Calling the Shots

Calling the Shots
Ellen Hartman


Bryan James knows everything about hockey. That's a passion he and his daughter Allie share. What he doesn't know is how to be a single father. And the way he's scrambling to hold his thirteen-year-old's world–and his–together kind of proves that.So does the fact they're in community mediation after Allie's run-in with another player on her own team! There's probably some valuable learning in this for Bryan, but he's too distracted by the other player's parent Clare Sampson. She's smart and beautiful…and outraged at what's happened. Worse, she wants nothing to do with his beloved sport, his amazing daughter…or him! Luckily he's been in this game long enough to know there's always another play to get you what you want.









“Hot” and “hockey mom” had never connected for him before. Not until Clare.


In all his years watching his daughter play hockey, Bryan had never once noticed how good another player’s mom looked in jeans. He’d never wondered how hot she’d look if he had the chance to see her in a skirt—or out of a skirt, for that matter. Now he couldn’t be near Clare for five minutes before his thoughts skated down paths they hadn’t taken since he got married…or since the divorce.

He looked back at the action on the ice. He was not, under any circumstances, going to let himself think about Clare that way again. They had to get along to help the kids through this mediation thing.

And he’d be willing to bet the counselor didn’t expect them to sleep together as part of the deal.


Dear Reader,

I wrote the first scene of this book long before I knew exactly what the story would be about. I had an idea for a dad and a daughter he loved fiercely but couldn’t quite connect with, and from that scene grew Calling the Shots.

I love to write about the complicated, messy side of relationships. In the book Clare says that she can’t trust herself and I can relate to that idea. How do lovers, or even parents and children, move past the fears and doubts that get in the way of satisfying connections? How does anyone have the courage to try again when they’ve been badly hurt in the past? When is it worth taking a risk and when is it smarter to run?

I hope you’ll enjoy reading along as Bryan and Clare wrestle with these issues.

Extras, including behind-the-scenes facts, deleted scenes and information about my other books are on my Web site, www.ellenhartman.com. Look for other Harlequin Superromance authors and readers on our Facebook page at www.facebook.com/HarlequinSuperromance. I’d love to hear from you! Send e-mail to ellen@ellenhartman.com.

Happy reading!

Ellen Hartman




Calling the Shots

Ellen Hartman





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Ellen grew up in Pennsylvania where she played many sports including baseball, basketball and track. (Her efforts for the cross-country team were more comical than athletic.) After graduating from Carnegie Mellon with a degree in creative writing, she spent the next fifteen years writing technical documentation. Eventually, she worked up the courage to try fiction and has been enjoying her new career as a romance author.

Currently Ellen lives in a college town in New York. She and her husband spend much of their free time watching their sons play baseball, soccer and, of course, hockey.


This book is dedicated to the parents and volunteers who share their time, talent and enthusiasm with kids through youth sports, especially my brother, Jerry.

In his first outing as a stand-in coach, he led our sister’s basketball team to their only “almost-win” of the season. The story of that game is a family favorite!

I would also like to thank the parents of the Ithaca Youth Hockey Squirt travel team who answered my questions about hockey terms and technique. Chris Thomas was especially helpful, and I regret that I wasn’t able to include some of his hilarious cheers in the book.

Finally, I continue to rely on the expertise and support of my critique partners, Diana, Harriett, Leslie, Liz and Mary. They were particularly helpful at the beginning of this project when Tim underwent a much-needed personality makeover.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE




CHAPTER ONE


BRYAN WAS BEYOND LATE. He’d missed Allie’s entire practice. He just hoped she was still at the rink. He’d texted her, but she hadn’t replied. His sister, who watched Allie when he was gone, wasn’t picking up, either.

Not good.

So not good. People weren’t almost an hour late to pick up their thirteen-year-old kids from hockey. At least not people who were good at being parents.

He was going to have to arrange a backup plan for the nights he was coming from out of town. One more arrangement to get this whole precarious mess he and Allie were calling a family under control.

He sure as hell hoped Erin’s new life was worth it.

He pulled into the drop-off circle at the front of the rink. It was past nine o’clock—no one was going to complain if he left the Lexus there for a few minutes.

He took the stairs three at a time, his bad knee twinging as he landed on the icy top step, but he ignored the old pain. Bryan yanked the doors open, the blast of warmth hitting him hard after the bitter cold air. He was already scanning the lobby, checking the worn, tweed couches for his daughter when Danny Jackson, the rink manager, popped his head out of his office.

“Bryan,” Danny said. “I need to talk to you.”

Bryan glanced over but kept walking toward the locker rooms. “I’ll be back in one sec. I’m late picking up Allie,” he called. She wasn’t in the lobby but she had to be here somewhere. She wouldn’t have asked someone to drop her at the apartment. Not when she knew he was out of town.

“There was a fight, Bry,” Danny said. “That’s what we need to talk about.”

Just that quick there was no air in his lungs. No spit in his mouth. “Is she hurt?”

“No.” Danny looked uncomfortable, pulling his wrinkled golf shirt down over his gut as he opened the door wider. “Allie’s fine.”

“A fight?” He’d already started for the office, even though he hadn’t entirely processed what the guy meant. Allie took her hockey seriously, and yeah, she was still playing in the coed league at an age when most girls opted for the single-sex, no-contact league, but a fight? A hockey fight? At practice?

That was when he noticed the mess around the skate shop on the opposite side of the lobby. The display in the front window was knocked to pieces, and the glass from the window glinted on the floor. A rack of jackets was overturned near the entrance door. Allie’s stick with the distinctive fluorescent purple tape lay partially under the collapsed sandwich board advertising current sales.

He looked back to Danny who tugged at his shirt again.

The top of Allie’s head was slightly visible beyond Danny’s shoulder in the office. He tried to push by the smaller man but Danny locked his arm, blocking the doorway, and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry about this.”

“Let me see her.”

Danny stepped back and Bryan was past him and kneeling next to Allie. He barely registered that there were other people in the room as he put his hands on either side of his daughter’s chin and raised her head. Allie. His girl. For a second he couldn’t focus, he was so relieved that she was in one piece. He stroked her jaw with his thumbs, happy to have her there so close, and then he blinked and her features became clear. Her lip was split, a thin line of blood where the skin was cracked. Her small, upturned nose, with the exact same smattering of freckles his ex-wife had always hated on her own nose, was fine. She had a scratch on one cheek but nothing looked too bad except her eyes. She wouldn’t look straight at him, had her gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder. Allie was scared. Not hurt scared, but scared scared in a way he hadn’t seen since those first panicked days three months ago when Erin had told them she was going on tour with Lush and Allie would be staying with him full-time.

What the hell had happened to put that look back in her eyes?

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

When she nodded, he let his eyes skim quickly over the rest of her. There was blood on the neck of the Sabres jersey he’d given her for Christmas and the knee was torn out of her jeans, the skin underneath raw and weeping blood, but she looked all right. She was in one piece and he’d made it home, late but not too late, and whatever else happened, he could handle. He would handle. Somehow he’d make this right for Allie because although she deserved the best, all she had right now was him.

He slid one hand around to the back of her neck and then down to rest on her shoulder, reassuring himself as much as her as he turned to stand. His knee protested when he straightened it, but he barely noticed. With his immediate worries answered, the other people in the room finally registered. His gaze jerked from the woman in the chair next to Allie to the boy sitting on the far side. The boy who’d hit Allie. The boy who better have a damn good explanation for himself.

“Danny?” he said, his voice tight. “What happened?”

Danny pointed at the chair and Bryan sat—he had questions, but he trusted Danny to answer them. Danny was a straight shooter. He’d coached Bryan back in squirt hockey, and had never given him bad advice.

Allie’s cut knee was jerking up and down a mile a minute next to his. He rubbed her shoulder, trying to release some of her tension but the knee kept bouncing.

“Clare Sampson, meet Bryan James, Allie’s father. The kids already know each other,” Danny said. “A little too well.”

Bryan didn’t recognize Clare Sampson. She was dressed more stylishly than most of the hockey moms he saw around the rink; her navy belted car coat couldn’t possibly offer much protection from the metal benches. Her straight, sleek brown hair was tucked behind her ears and her eyes were also brown behind a pair of trendy-looking glasses with dark green frames. Her face was attractive, or would have been if she hadn’t been glaring at him as though he was a spot on the front of her white silk shirt. She must have kept her own last name because he didn’t know any dads named Sampson.

“Allie and Tim got in a pretty serious fight in the skate shop after practice,” Danny said. “I was fitting a pair of skates in the back and they were going at it before we could break them up. I haven’t taken stock yet, but I’m guessing there’s quite a bit of property damage—the front window’s broken for sure. Luckily neither of them is hurt too bad.”

Bryan leaned forward so he could see around Clare. The boy was sitting slumped in his chair, an ice pack on one eye, the neck of his shirt stretched and the skin underneath scratched. A bruise was blooming on his chin. His good eye was open but as soon as he saw Bryan looking at him, he closed it. Even allowing for the fact that he was a little beat up, Bryan didn’t recognize him.

“What happened?” he whispered fiercely to Allie. “How does that kid even know you?”

His daughter’s head dipped lower and her knee started bouncing harder so Bryan knew he’d made a mistake even before Clare’s mouth tightened and she snapped, “Tim is on the Twin Falls Cowboys, Mr. James. Same as Allie.”

Bryan leaned forward again for a second look at the boy and Allie muttered, “Right wing, fourth line.”

“Fourth line?” he said. “I didn’t think we had a—”

“Dad,” Allie said.

At the same instant Tim reopened his good eye and said, “It’s only my third week.”

“Discussing hockey positions isn’t the point,” Clare said. “Your daughter started a fight with my son and despite what Mr. Jackson says, Tim is not okay.” Bryan was all set to rip into her when she added, “And this is not the first time she’s done it.”

Not the first time? What did that mean? He looked to Allie, but she was staring at the floor again.

“Mom,” Tim protested, his voice cracking.



CLARE KNEW SHE WAS crossing a line her son hadn’t wanted her to cross, but she was frankly out of patience.

Allie James was a pretty girl, an excellent athlete and as far as she could see, a hot-tempered bully.

Clare straightened in her chair and patted Tim’s arm, but her son jerked away from her, the ice bag he’d been holding on his eye flinging drops of water onto her pants and the linoleum floor. He scuffed the water with the toe of one black sneaker. “I asked you not to do this,” he said with an embarrassed glance at Allie.

She ignored the guilt she felt as she said, “What happened, Mr. James, is your daughter attacked Tim after school on at least two occasions and then again tonight. I want to know what you’re going to do about that because I’m this close—” Clare held two fingers up, leaving barely a micron of space between them “—to calling the police.”

“The police? They’re kids.”

Despite his dismissive tone, Allie’s father sat forward, his attention on her now, not Tim. Good. He should know how serious this was and exactly who he was dealing with.

“Ms. Sampson,” the manager said. “Let me give Bryan a quick rundown of what happened tonight. I hope we can work this out without getting the police involved.”

Clare nodded. She’d give them a few more minutes but if she didn’t like what she saw, she was breaking up the boys club and getting some help down here. She might have just moved to Twin Falls while these guys seemed to be old friends, but that didn’t mean she had to let them push her or Tim around.

“After practice, Allie and Tim were in the pro shop. Like I said, I was in the back so I didn’t see what happened, but Cody MacAvoy was there, and he says Allie jumped Tim.”

Clare was watching Allie’s father closely. He winced at the manager’s last words.

His blue eyes were shadowed by the dark brown hair falling across his forehead. She’d noticed when he came into the office that he was much taller than the rink manager, and that he held himself with confidence despite a slight limp. Now, slumped in the chair next to his daughter, he looked considerably less formidable. He was shooting worried looks at Allie and nodding as the manager told the story, but she wasn’t sure how much he was really taking in. If circumstances were different, she could imagine sympathizing with him—this was a horrible situation and the man looked exhausted.

“It took two of us to…uh…pull her off him.”

Clare started to reach for Tim, to brush the hair off his forehead at least, to reassure herself, but she saw him tense and so she disguised the gesture by tucking her own hair behind her ear.

She and Tim had always been close—it was just the two of them and had been right from the start.

This year, ever since Tim started seventh grade, he’d been pushing her away. His reach for independence was natural, she knew. Healthy, even. But it scared her.

She’d told him she would stay out of the trouble he’d been having with Allie, but he couldn’t expect her to ignore this. She’d been right there in the lobby, half watching a repeat of Friends on the TV mounted over the snack-bar window while scrolling through her e-mail in another futile attempt to clear her in-box. Then there’d been yelling and the sound of breaking glass and a horrible cracking sound she figured out later was Tim’s head hitting the floor. She’d turned as the kids had come rolling out of the skate shop like some grotesque, many-armed monster. Thank God they’d avoided the broken glass, most of which was off to the side.

She’d never seen a fistfight before and the little she’d witnessed of this one had been brutal and desperate. She’d stood frozen while the rink manager pulled Allie off Tim, and Cody, a boy from their team, helped her son to his feet.

It had taken all of her self-control not to slap Allie’s face right there even though she’d never hit another human being in her life. She didn’t want to punish Allie for the physical damage she’d caused Tim, but for the anxious, bewildered look on his face as he was helped to his feet. And to be honest, for her own frustration. A thirteen-year-old girl hockey goon was not what they needed now while Tim was trying to get used to a new school and before either of them was comfortable in the new town.

“The kids won’t say what started it,” the man continued. “In fact, neither of them has said much of anything at all.”

Clare put her hands in her lap, squeezing them together hard, letting the discomfort remind herself to be strong here even if it made Tim or Allie or Allie’s father unhappy.

“Allie, does Danny have this straight?” Bryan asked.

She lifted her head. “I don’t care if she does call the police, I’m not talking about it.”

“Allie—”

Clare never found out what Bryan had intended to say because Allie put an end to the conversation by pushing her chair back and running out of the office, slamming the door behind her so hard the pictures rattled on the walls.

Bryan was up and ready to go after his daughter when Clare spoke.

“It’s late and we really have to get home if we’re going to get any sleep tonight.” She heard the frustration in her own voice, unable to care enough to conceal it. “We’ve accomplished nothing. I don’t see any choice but to file a police report, because honestly, Allie’s not showing any remorse and I can’t believe that Tim is going to be safe here or at school.”

Tim slumped lower in his chair, but Bryan looked furious. “I don’t know who you are, lady, but you don’t know Allie. She’s a thirteen-year-old girl, not a monster. You don’t call the police over a kids’ fistfight.”

Clare stood up, refusing to raise her voice, but not willing to back down. “Allie has attacked Tim on three separate occasions. Maybe if she realized that there are consequences for her actions she’d think twice before she does it again.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“And you’re irresponsible. Your kid is out of control and you don’t even know it.”

He stared at her, his jaw tight, the blue of his eyes dark under his lowered eyebrows. If she hadn’t been defending Tim she might have felt intimidated. Even dressed in what she assumed were his business clothes, there was something about him that suggested strength coiled not too far under the starched dress shirt. He opened his mouth to respond but then made a disgusted sound and turned toward the door. The rink manager grabbed his arm to hold him in the room.

“Clare, I know you have valid concerns,” he said. “And, Bryan, I know you want to go after Allie. But I’m hoping instead of lawyers or, God forbid, the police, you’ll consider using the mediation program. The offices are right down the block at the community rec center, and I can tell you they get results.”

He handed a card to Bryan and stretched across the empty chair to give one to Clare. He looked seriously from her to Tim. “The best thing for the kids is to get them to work this out, not to let it fester. They can start to enjoy themselves on the ice.”

Clare felt a spike of anxiety. “Tim’s not going back on the ice, not in a hockey uniform. We’re finished with hockey.”

“Mom,” Tim said as he stood up. “I’m not quitting hockey.”

He started to brush past her. “Tim, wait,” she said.

“I’ll be in the car. I’d like you to take me home if you can make the time before you have Allie arrested for giving me a black eye.” He dropped the ice bag on the floor and then left the office, slamming the door harder than Allie had. A trophy rocked back and forth and then fell off the bookcase next to the door, but Bryan caught it before it hit the ground.

There was an awkward moment while the three adults stood in the sudden silence. Bryan carefully replaced the trophy, wiping the dust off the base with his finger. Danny broke the tension by saying, “I’m going to have to report this. The board will discuss it. Signing up for mediation will show you’re serious about working together and maybe they’ll let the kids stay in the league.”

“Let them stay?” Bryan said. “Allie’s not even supposed to be in this league. She got recruited by the Upstate Select team. If Erin hadn’t…” He stopped. “Twin Falls Youth Hockey should be happy to have her.”

“The board takes bullying seriously,” Danny replied.

“I know.” Bryan seemed to lose all his anger as he nodded, rubbing his thumb across the card before slipping it in his pocket as he reached for the door. “I gotta find Allie,” he said, looking directly at the rink manager. “If Ms. Sampson wants to pursue this mediation thing, she can get in touch. If not, I guess I’ll talk to the police when they come knocking. I’ll call you tomorrow about paying for the damage.”

He put his hand on the door frame, his knuckles whitening. He took a breath and Clare watched as he consciously relaxed his shoulders. She was sure he’d just counted to ten in his head, and she appreciated that even though he was mad, he was trying to keep his temper in check. If only Allie had some of his self-control. She appreciated even more that this time he made eye contact with her, not his friend.

“Allie’s a good kid,” he said. “I don’t know what went on tonight or the other times, but…” He paused and then repeated quietly, with conviction, “She’s a good kid. We’ve just…it’s been a rough year.” He gestured toward the ice bag melting on the floor. “I hope your boy is okay.”

She wasn’t anywhere close to forgiving him or Allie, but she managed a nod. She could acknowledge the effort he’d put into being civil without backing down from her own feelings.

When he was gone, Clare bent to retrieve her purse. She was drained and all she could think about was going home to crawl into bed with a heating pad and a book. If only all her books weren’t still packed in boxes. It didn’t really matter, because first she had to decide how to approach this situation and she had to get through to Tim. She wondered what Allie’s father would tell his wife, what that would feel like, to share these burdens with another person who loved your child the way you did. Tim spent a month every summer with his dad in Italy, but Matteo had never been involved in Tim’s day-to-day life.

The rink manager was watching her. “I’d understand if you called the police,” he said quietly. “That fight was scary and they’re not even my kids. Still, I’ve seen the mediation program work wonders. Allie’s definitely got problems she should work on. This program might help her.”

She was tired of these guys circling the wagons around Allie.

“I’m not sure why you believe I care about Allie’s issues,” Clare snapped.

“Because her issues are Tim’s issues. At least that’s how it sounds to me.”

“Tim isn’t the one hitting people for no reason.”

“How do you know there’s no reason?”

That stopped Clare. She knew there was no reason because Allie was a bully and Tim was her kid. Her well-adjusted, nonbullying kid. Right?

Clare had been sure that Tim hadn’t done anything to instigate this trouble. Except now there was a doubt. Not a big one and not something she wanted to consider. But what if Tim were partly responsible? Not that he or anyone ever deserved to get punched. But what if? He’d never been a bully, but he certainly wasn’t an angel. He almost always had some behavioral bumps when he was settling into a new school, but his feelings about their latest move were intensely negative.

Obviously she and Tim had some talking to do. The problem was that lately, talking was the one thing they couldn’t seem to manage.




CHAPTER TWO


AS HE DROVE HOME, BRYAN had half an eye on the road. Allie was silent in the seat next to him, her face flashing in and out of clarity as the shadows thrown by the streetlights blinked across the car. He couldn’t really see her. Couldn’t tell what was going on with her.

Didn’t have any idea what to say.

All he knew was that the kid Clare Sampson described wasn’t his kid. His Allie was competitive, driven even, but she wasn’t a bully.

Was she?

As soon as that traitorous doubt entered his mind he wanted to step on the gas and drive, take him and Allie down the road to a new town where they could start over. That’s what he’d always done, hit the road, let his commitment to his sales job run interference for him. He’d never taken his daughter with him on the road, never expected to have to, because she’d always been safe at home with Erin. He’d understood that his role was to make the money, that was what his wife had wanted from him. But now the roles were changed. He and Erin were divorced last year. Three months ago, she’d left Allie with him, and Allie, apparently, was beating people up left and right.

He hit the blinker before he made the left onto Green Avenue.

Screw Clare and her kid and everyone else. His kid was not a bully. He knew Allie.

What a freaking nightmare.

“Is she really going to call the cops?”

Those were the first words either of them had spoken.

“No. Of course not.” He wanted so desperately to reassure her that he lied. He had absolutely no idea what Clare had in mind. What would he want if the situation were reversed; if Tim had been the aggressor? He hoped to hell Clare was a more forgiving person than he was.

He made the last right turn and pulled into their driveway.

“Dad!” Allie said, hunching her shoulders and tucking her face into the front of her Twin Falls Cowboys jacket.

He followed her horrified gaze out the car window to the front of the little white Cape Cod where he and Erin had spent their entire marriage and where Allie and Erin had lived after the divorce.

“Sorry. I forgot.” He threw the car into Reverse and pulled out. They’d sold the house when Erin decided to go on the road with the band, and Allie had moved into his apartment. He hadn’t had time to keep the house up and Erin wanted the money.

He drove to the apartment complex and pulled into the empty space outside their door. The light over the front door and the one on the deck were both off, the windows dark. The lights were supposed to be on a timer, but it looked as if that was one more system he’d set up that wasn’t working the way it was meant to.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he asked.

“Mr. Jackson already did.” Allie stared straight ahead at the dashboard while she spoke. “It was exactly what he said. I punched Tim first and then we had a fight. I…” Her voice wavered and she stopped. When she started again, her tone was more defiant. “I hit him really hard and I wanted to hurt him, but then some grown-ups broke it up and now his mommy is going to call the cops. All right? That’s what happened. Exactly that.”

Her chest was rising and falling with her rapid breaths.

“Allie, that can’t be the whole story.”

“It is.” she said. A few tears slid down her cheeks. “I beat Tim up and that’s it.”

Bryan put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen,” he started, but she pulled back and opened her door.

“He’s an idiot. Why is he even on the team?” she yelled.

“Did he do something or say something to you?”

“No. Nothing.”

She slammed the door and ran through the thin coating of snow on the walk. She pulled the extra key out from under the empty planter on the cement steps and opened the front door. He watched it all unfold and he didn’t move a muscle.

In his mind, he saw what should happen next. He was supposed to go after her and get this sorted out. If she’d been honest about what prompted the fight, maybe he could have done that. He imagined himself following her into the house. They’d sit at the table in the kitchen and he’d make hot chocolate or they’d share a plate of Oreos. He’d tell her that she was grounded and she’d have to write a letter apologizing to Tim and another one to Danny, and there’d be extra chores so she could work off some of the money for the damages. He’d be stern and she’d be sorry and then he’d make a joke that wasn’t very funny and she’d smile anyway and things would be okay again. He’d seen Full House. He knew how it was supposed to work.

Except she hadn’t been honest. It wasn’t as simple as she punched Tim, Tim fell down. He sighed. Thirteen years in sales had taught him about reading people.

He had no doubt that she’d started the fight or that she’d wanted to hurt the kid. She’d definitely told the truth about those parts. But there was more to it than that. She wasn’t a bully. She was hurt and angry and something that happened between her and Tim had upset her deeply enough to make her snap.

So yeah. It was his job to reinforce that hitting people wasn’t okay. She needed to be disciplined, but she also needed to be helped. Unfortunately for Allie, he’d been caught up in his job for most of her childhood, and even when he’d been around, Erin hadn’t let him take the lead on much of the parenting. She’d said it was disruptive to the routine if he did things his way when he was home.

He’d felt so guilty over not being able to give Erin and Allie everything he’d planned that he’d decided the best thing he could do for them was to work and make sure they had everything they wanted. And now that he was in charge he was out of his depth.

He flipped his phone open and scrolled through to Erin’s number. She might be off living out her childhood dream of being a hairdresser to the stars, or at least to the latest designer girl band, but she should be able to spare a few minutes to tell him what the hell to do for their daughter. Was it asking too much for him to want some advice? After all, she disrupted the routine in a pretty freaking thorough way when she left them for her job.

Of course, she didn’t pick up. She rarely did when he called her. He left a message but didn’t go into detail.

He should work out a code with Erin so she’d know which calls she couldn’t ignore. He’d text the code word and that would be the sign that he wasn’t messing around. The code word could be Uncle.

He rested his head on the steering wheel briefly before climbing out and opening the trunk. He grabbed Allie’s hockey bag and her stick and his own suitcase and leather laptop case. The skates and gear samples he’d taken on his sales calls could wait until morning.

When he hitched the bags higher on his shoulder, his knee protested, but he refused to baby it. The accident that ended his hockey career had controlled him for a long time, erasing his choices, forcing them to move back to Twin Falls, and him into exactly the kind of sales job his dad had had and that he’d sworn he’d never take. He’d decided years ago that he wouldn’t acknowledge the pain from his knee any more than he’d let what might have been rule him.

When he pushed the front door open, the shower was running in the bathroom down the hall. Allie had the music on, too, some band he didn’t recognize blasting over the noise of the water, so any chance of an immediate conversation was gone.

Bryan kicked the hockey bag to the side and then unzipped it and took the wet shin guards and socks out. He laid them on the drying rack around the corner in the living room, unrolling the striped blue-and-green socks and shaking out Allie’s jersey.

He stretched it flat to dry. Allie’s number seventeen was the same one he’d worn. Same color, same team, same name. James, number seventeen, Twin Falls Youth Hockey.

Erin would have killed him if he’d put the drying rack in the living room when they lived together. Hockey gear smelled like a pungent combination of dampness, sweat and locker room, but to him that smell was home. Before Allie, his best times had been on the ice. Hell, even after Allie, his best times had been at the rink, watching her skate and knowing this was one thing they shared, the one thing he was sure he could talk to her about that he knew better than Erin.

Home hadn’t ever been comfortable for him. He’d been out of his parents’ house, boarding with strangers during his junior-hockey days by age sixteen. He’d been married before college, and then he and Erin had so much upheaval in the beginning of their marriage. They probably shouldn’t have lasted as long as they did, probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been away so much.

Even this apartment, the first place he’d ever lived on his own, felt temporary. He’d picked it because it was close to his old house. Danny and a couple other guys helped him move his stuff in and he’d never done another thing to make it his own. He’d been living there for almost a year before Allie moved in and he’d had to go out and buy silverware and a set of dishes so she didn’t have to eat out of take-out containers every night.

He kept planning to get some better furniture or maybe even look for someplace bigger—the apartment had two bedrooms but the living area was small and he and Allie were constantly tripping over each other. He wished he knew what Erin’s plans were after the tour ended. She hadn’t said she was staying in California, but he didn’t really see her coming back to Twin Falls. If she wanted Allie to move to California with her, where would that leave him? Would Allie want to go?

He picked up Allie’s stick and leaned it in the corner with the other five or six already balanced against the wall. If only teenage girls were as uncomplicated as a sheet of ice and a couple of nets.



TIM’S ROOM WAS DARK but Clare knocked and when he didn’t answer, she went in anyway. He was an indistinct lump under his covers and for a second she was able to fool herself that he was six again and the worst problem in his world was the possibility that Target would be out of the red Power Rangers costume and he’d have to be the blue one for Halloween.

“I’m sleeping,” he muttered. Still angry at her.

“Tim, let’s talk about this. What are you thinking?”

He sat up abruptly, his face half-lit by the streetlight outside his window. The one eye she could see was swollen almost shut, turning his familiar features grotesque. “What I’m thinking is that you keep butting in when we already talked about Allie and you’re supposed to let me handle it.”

She came into the room and sat on his bed but he pulled away, lying back down, facing the wall.

“The parameters have changed since I agreed to stay out of this situation.”

“I’m not one of your software projects, Mom. You aren’t involved. I’m handling it.”

“Tim.”

“Mom.”

“I don’t even know what it is. Why is Allie bullying you?”

“She’s not bullying me.”

“I saw what she did to you tonight.”

“That wasn’t bullying—it was a fight.” His tone implied that she was being dense on purpose, but she wasn’t. She was trying to understand.

“I don’t see the difference if the outcome is you’re hurt and she’s not.”

“Did you want me to hit her back?”

That stopped her. What exactly had she seen? Allie and Tim, rolling on the floor. Had he been defending himself? Was it still bullying if he’d chosen not to fight back? Would she have wanted him to hit the girl?

“Why can’t you explain what’s going on? Is this your idea of teenage rebellion?”

“Where do you even get this stuff, Mom? It’s not rebellion. It’s me, living my life. You always want to fix everything for me, but you have to butt out.” He pulled the covers tighter over his head. “You can make me move seven times a year, do the new-kid thing every single grade, but you can’t tell me how to be me.”

Clare sat, taken aback by his anger. She’d seen Tim “do the new-kid thing” as he put it, many times. It hadn’t ever bothered him. They moved a lot, following her software security consulting jobs around the country. She’d ridden out the bumpy beginnings often enough to know he’d decided the fastest method to make friends in a new town was to get noticed. Mostly that strategy involved acting up in class or on the school bus. Her son had a lot of energy and when he put his mind to something, he generally saw results. Half the time she’d laughed with him about his efforts to jump-start his social life.

She felt instinctively that this issue between him and Allie was different, more personal and more dangerous. If only she could be sure she was pushing him to let her help because she was a responsible parent and not because he’d closed her out for the first time.

She jostled the bed as she stood up and Tim twitched the covers even tighter. She didn’t lean down and kiss the blanket in the approximate location of his forehead. She didn’t smooth the covers across his feet, making sure they were tucked in tight at the bottom of the bed the way he liked. She didn’t even touch him gently on the shoulder or give his knee a reassuring pat. The pat would reassure her, but it would make him mad.

She waited for a second.

She knew she had issues. Her only sibling, Gretchen, had been diagnosed with a fatal neuromuscular disease at the age of ten. As soon as they’d gotten the diagnosis for Gretchen, almost before the family had processed the news, the doctors had hustled eight-year-old Clare through testing to find out if she had the same time bomb ticking inside her.

When her tests had come back negative, she’d felt such fierce relief and then horrible guilt. She and Gretchen had always shared everything and suddenly they were on opposite sides of a chasm. For the next ten years, their family had revolved around Gretchen—a desperate search for a cure, treatments meant to slow the inevitable and extend her life, gifts and wish fulfillment and last time to see this, do that, be here, and above all, worry. So many ordinary things—infection, a fall, even overexertion—were dangerous and Clare grew up hemmed in and protected right along with Gretchen. Even emotions were dangerous. How could Clare feel stifled by the caution and care that might be saving Gretchen’s life? How could she be angry about anything when she was the one who got to grow up? How could she indulge her wild side when Gretchen was so reduced?

Clare might be overprotective now, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew damn well that the root of her worst, most instinct-driven decisions was buried deep in the screwed-up psyche born of being Gretchen Sampson’s healthy little sister.

The trouble was, being aware of her issues wasn’t always enough to help her decide if a decision was a good one or one warped by her past.

She backed toward the door, one hand pressed flat against her lips to keep from saying anything that would upset Tim further. It was hard to be silent when her every instinct was screaming at her to help him. Now. Her work in computer security was all about immediate action in the face of immediate threats. That world made sense. This wasn’t work, though, this was Tim. Immediate wasn’t the answer this time.

She flicked on the light in the hall and then pulled his door almost shut. “I love you,” she whispered, loud enough for him to hear, soft enough for her to deny he’d heard if he didn’t answer her.

“I’m not quitting hockey.” His voice was muffled by the blankets. “It’s how you fit in here.”

It was possible that the only word she hated more than hacker was hockey.

She pushed the door partway open again. “You’re going through a rough time.” She understood that much, but she couldn’t let him defy her. “That’s the only reason I let you stay on the team after you signed up behind my back. If I say you’re quitting, you’re quitting.”

Tim threw off the covers and sat up. “The reason I had to sneak behind your back is because you won’t listen to me about what I want. You drag me all over the country for your job and nothing I say matters. If I’d asked you if I could play hockey, what would you have said?”

She took a moment. She wanted to say the right thing but she also wanted to be honest. “I’d have asked why. You were happy figure skating in Baltimore. Why did you want to start hockey now?”

“’Cause,” Tim answered, his expression giving her no clues. He pressed on with the relentless teenage antagonism she was still not used to. “Then what would you have said?”

He had her and they both knew it.

“I imagine I would have said no. I have reservations about the risks of hockey, and frankly, Allie is a great example of the kind of kid who plays, the kind of kid I wanted you to avoid.”

“That’s why I didn’t ask.” He shook his head and his long hair fell straight across his forehead, making him look younger than he was. “You would have talked me out of it or talked me into something else. Hockey is mine. I like hockey. When you live in Twin Falls, you play hockey.”

“But the bullying—”

“It’s not bullying!” He flopped down and rolled up in his blankets again. “Close the door,” he said. “And turn out the light.”

Clare nodded. He couldn’t see her, but she wanted to acknowledge him, to make it seem as if they were having a conversation, not a shouting match.

She pulled the door shut, turned out the hall light and then went into her own room, fumbling until she found the light switch on the left side of the door when she’d been sure it was on the right. The new house was still unfamiliar. She hoped that would change soon.

When Tim was little, picking up stakes and moving to wherever her next freelance contract led had been exciting. She and Tim would scope out the town, making lists of things they wanted to visit, buying maps, researching on the Internet. They’d both enjoyed discovering a new place, meeting people, trying the local activities. They’d played games memorizing local landmarks so they wouldn’t get lost while they learned how to get around.

She hadn’t seen Tim’s change of heart coming until it was too late. Two years ago when he was in fifth grade, she’d accepted a longer-term contract in Baltimore. The city was terrific and they’d taken full advantage of all the attractions. She’d been having such a good time that she hadn’t even really noticed that for the first time, Tim was living somewhere long enough to put down roots. Not just the kind of roots where he knew the pitching rotation for the Orioles, but the kind of roots where he knew his way around his friends’ kitchens and got voted class president in sixth grade.

The economy tanked right when her contract was coming to a close and she’d been lucky to get this gig at a local bank in Twin Falls. Relieved to have the work, she probably hadn’t paid as much attention as she should have to Tim’s protests about having to move again. She’d been so sure his anger was temporary or a general symptom of this personality disorder known as being a teenager.

He wasn’t coming around.

He still missed his friends from Baltimore and at the same time, he was working hard to make sure they also put down roots in Twin Falls. He was digging in.

He’d tried to make her promise they wouldn’t move again until after he graduated from high school, but she couldn’t. She was on a nine-month contract here. The business economy wasn’t anywhere close to stable and, as her recent experience looking for a job had proved, she didn’t have a hope of predicting where her next contract would take them.

What a mess.

The house they were renting was bigger than their norm and her bedroom—what the Realtor had called a master suite—stretched the entire southern wall of the house. There were built-in bookcases on either side of the door. She’d brought two cartons of books up from the garage before she left for the rink, but she didn’t have the energy or the interest to unpack them now. She lifted one box onto the other and slid the stack back against the wall.

Standing at the foot of the bed, she started to undress, putting her blouse in the net bag she used to store her dry cleaning, wiping her shoes with the soft cloth she kept in her closet before sliding them into the shoe bag, choosing a set of blue-and-white striped pajamas. She picked her coat up from the end of the bed and put it on a hanger, but then reached into the pocket and pulled out the card the rink manager had given her. What was his name? Jackson. Bryan had called him Danny. She would have to remember that.

The card read “Community Mediator, Lila Sykes.” Followed by a phone number and the line, “No one should have to do this alone.”

True, Clare thought. She might be alone in this new town, but that didn’t mean she had no one to talk to. Her computer was on the desk near the window. She sat down and called up a video-phone screen for Lindsey, her best friend. The time difference from New York to Seattle meant it was early enough that Lindsey might be out at dinner, but luckily, she was home. Seeing her, so familiar, so dear, almost made Clare start crying.

“Hey!” Lindsey said. “I’ve been dying for a distraction, how did you know?”

“I wish I could say I’m psychic, but the truth is, I need advice.”

“Shoot.”

“Tim got in another fight with that girl I was telling you about. A bad one this time.”

“Is he okay?” Lindsey was Tim’s godmother and his number-one fan.

“Fine. I don’t know how, but he’s fine.”

“For God’s sake, Clare, what is wrong with that girl? Where are her parents?”

“I met her dad tonight. He…well…let’s just say he doesn’t seem to know his daughter very well.”

Lindsey held her fists up to shadow box the screen. “Say the word and I’ll come out there and teach him and his spawn some respect.”

“We’ve had enough punching around here.”

“I could egg his car, at least.”

Clare smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. Lindsey was so much more to her than a friend. They’d met the first day of kindergarten and—except for a three-month stretch in seventh grade when they’d stopped talking while they both tried to attract Gene Fisk, the first boy in their grade to hit six feet—they’d been best friends ever since. Lindsey had idolized Gretchen every bit as much as Clare had and she’d been the only one of all their friends who’d really understood what it felt like when she’d died.

Lindsey’s house had been Clare’s refuge. With four kids in the family and a rotating lineup of pets, the house had been chaotic enough that Clare was forced to be outgoing when she was there. She could finally relax and be herself.

She and Lindsey had gone to Stanford together and now her friend worked as a software test engineer in Seattle. Lindsey’s house was down the street from the one she’d grown up in, where her parents still lived. She was Clare’s emergency contact, the executor of her will and the only person who’d been at every single one of Tim’s birthday parties. After Clare’s mom died and her dad continued to grow more distant, Lindsey’s steadfast friendship had come to mean more to her every year.

Clare’s face felt hot and there were tears in her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to talk to Lindsey about Tim’s attitude.

“How about instead you tell me what to do next?” She pushed her glasses up on her forehead to rub her eyes. “He’s really mad at me about moving him again. I understand what he’s saying, that we don’t live the same way as other people. But that’s always been okay with him. We get to see all these new places and meet people and we’re not tied down. Do you think he actually wants to settle down or could this be a phase or…I don’t know…him pushing back against me and my values?” She was talking too fast.

“Your values?” Lindsey asked. “You move all the time because of your values?”

Clare was confused by Lindsey’s surprise. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I guess I never realized. I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. “What I mean is I assumed you were eventually going to land somewhere, once you got to the point where you could…” Lindsey shrugged on the computer screen.

“Could what?” Clare asked.

“Relax?” Lindsey suggested.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, for a while there, your life was a minefield. In the space of four years Gretchen died, you had Tim, you graduated from college and then your mom died. I didn’t blame you for wanting to get far away from Seattle. It made sense that you weren’t ready to really connect with anyone or build new relationships.”

“Freelancing meant I had more time for Tim,” Clare said.

“It’s been good for you.” Lindsey put one finger on the screen. “Listen, I’m not trying to fight. It’s just, I guess because you never sold the house here that I always thought you’d be back.”

“I can’t sell it, Lindsey, but I can’t come back.”

Clare’s mom had died in a car accident while driving home alone at night from a bereavement support group. Her father moved into an apartment a few years later and gave Clare the house. Tim had been about two at the time and she had briefly considered settling in Seattle, close to Lindsey and her father, but she hadn’t been able to face living in the house. Frankly, she thought her dad gave it to her because he couldn’t stand to live there or to sell it, either. Her dad was more and more withdrawn, even from Tim, so she could only guess at his feelings. She tried not to think about the place beyond making sure the taxes were paid and that when she signed with new renters they had decent references.

“I worry about you sometimes,” Lindsey said. “You have so much to offer if you ever decide to put down roots somewhere. Maybe Seattle isn’t that place, but maybe there is a place that could be home for you.” She paused. “If you’re ready for a home. Which you might not be.”

“Maybe for me, home isn’t one place, it’s a feeling. How I feel about Tim and you. Can’t that be true?”

Lindsey shrugged. “It can be. But is it? For Tim, too?”

Clare looked out the window into the dark backyard. A spotlight mounted on the house lit the snow-covered bushes. “If my son was going to lobby for a permanent address, I don’t know why he picked this one. It’s freezing cold and all anyone wants to talk about is hockey. I mean, we lived in Monterey, we were in Baltimore, we had that place with the river in the backyard in Indiana…and he’s digging his heels in over Twin Falls, New York?”

“It might not be where so much as when. He’s thirteen. I bet being the new kid is harder in middle school.”

“That’s what he said.”

“I’m not colluding with him, I swear, but I remember how tough middle school was, and it got worse every year straight through high school. Maybe he’s nervous about fitting in.”

“He doesn’t seem nervous. He seems mad.” Clare sighed. “What’s with all the maybes, anyway? You’re supposed to be telling me what to do.”

Lindsey frowned. “I should probably skip the advice and just come throw eggs. I bet I’m better at revenge than I am at sympathy.”

“If I decide vandalism is the appropriate response, you’re my first choice for second-in-command.”

“Throwing eggs is hardly ever appropriate, Clare,” Lindsey said in a prim tone. “I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘emotionally satisfying.’”

“Thanks, Lindsey. I’m pleased I picked an appropriately bloodthirsty godmother for Tim.”

“I got your back, my friend. Fists or eggs, whatever you need.”



LATER, AS SHE LAY ON her side, holding the extra pillow close to her chest, listening to another snowstorm tapping on her window, the fight played over and over in her mind. With everything she did to keep him safe, that mess had happened right under her nose. She heard the crack of Tim’s head on the ground, the shattering of the window, him saying, “I’m handling it.”

Tim didn’t understand yet that so much about life couldn’t be handled. You could go along the way her parents had with your two daughters and your ordinary life on a friendly street in a good neighborhood and life could still run so far off the rails you’d never find your way back.

No one could expect to handle life. Loving anyone sometimes seemed like the biggest, stupidest mistake you could make. She couldn’t un-love Lindsey or her dad, and Tim was a part of her own soul, but she could try her best to keep him safe.

That must be what all parents wanted, right?

She remembered the confusion and determination in Bryan James’s voice when he’d told her that Allie was a good kid. She wondered what he’d said to Allie once he caught up with her. Did he have the right answers? Or was his house full of the kind of empty upset that hers was?




CHAPTER THREE


BRYAN TRIED TO TALK to Allie over breakfast but she studied her bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats cereal with complete concentration and refused to answer his questions. He followed her down the hall when she went to the shower but stopped when she closed the bathroom door in his face. He knocked.

“I’m getting ready for school, Dad.”

Not that long ago, “getting ready for school” meant scrambling into her boots and snowpants before she ran to the bus. Now it meant an hour in the bathroom doing God knew what. Actually, Erin would have known what she was doing. Would have been able to help her with it. He hated feeling so useless.

“I can’t pretend nothing happened, Allie.”

She turned the shower on.

He spun around, but there wasn’t anything handy for him to kick. She was so good at avoiding him, but that was how they’d gotten into this mess. He didn’t know what was going on with her and based on what Clare had said, he’d already missed a lot. The trouble was, she wasn’t going to talk to him about it. Not voluntarily, anyway.

She stayed in the bathroom until about forty-five seconds before the bus pulled up out front. He’d retreated to the kitchen, leaving the hallway empty, letting her think she had a clear shot at escape. When she got to the entryway, he waylaid her, positioning himself between her and the door as she stepped into her sneakers, shrugged on her backpack and flipped her braid over her shoulder. Even though he was squarely blocking the door, she did an excellent job of pretending she was alone, not even glancing at him when she accidentally stepped on his foot.

“You’re grounded,” he said abruptly. “Come home straight after school.”

Finally she looked up, her mouth open. “Grounded until when?”

“Until you sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

She closed her mouth. He prayed he wouldn’t cave. The bus beeped. He willed her out the door. She didn’t move. The bus door groaned as it closed and she flicked a glance over his shoulder to the road.

“Fine,” she said. “Fine. It’s not like I have anywhere to go, anyway.”

The bus beeped again. The driver wouldn’t wait much longer.

“Can I go to school, or am I grounded from that, too?”

He stepped aside and she pushed the door open. Snow swirled in around their feet. The storm door closed behind her with a snap, cutting the cold air off.

He stood watching her, but the glass fogged as she climbed onto the bus and he lost track of her. “Have a good day,” he said, knowing it was inane but wishing there was some way she could hear him.

He slammed the inside door closed and smacked it with his palm.

You’re grounded? He’d never grounded anyone before. Where had that come from?

In the kitchen, his cell phone lay next to his laptop on the table. He called Erin. Screw her if it was only 5:00 in the morning in L.A. Her fault for moving so damn far away from her kid.

She didn’t answer, and he left a short message to call him. She probably wouldn’t. It usually took about three tries before he could contact her and it was a rare day when she actually called him back anytime during daylight hours.

She was busy, she’d say.

Bryan picked up Allie’s bowl and took it to the dishwasher. He put the box of cereal back in the cupboard and wiped off the table. Erin was busy all right.

Busy leading her new life. The divorce last year hadn’t exactly been a surprise. They hadn’t been close since before Allie went to kindergarten. When they slept together it had been about physical release, not love. But she’d been a good mom to Allie. They hadn’t been girlfriends like some of the moms and kids he saw on TV, but their relationship was decent. He thought it was, anyway. Who could tell, though?

During the course of their divorce, he’d learned exactly how much Erin had hidden from him. She’d had an affair with some guy she met at karaoke night at the Holiday Inn. She’d claimed she was restless, but the affair hadn’t satisfied her any more than being married to him had.

So she’d given up men and started taking classes and entering hairstyling competitions. She’d flown out to Los Angeles for a weeklong workshop and shortly after she got back she’d filed for divorce.

He hadn’t fought her on custody because it had never occurred to him that she would want to leave Twin Falls. It made sense that he’d get an apartment, he’d keep his travel schedule and he’d see Allie on the weekends.

He’d had no idea Erin was looking for more than a release from him until she’d blindsided him and Allie again at the beginning of the summer. She tried out for and was cast on a reality show following the U.S. tour of the girl band Lush. The show hired stylists and a hair-and-makeup crew to travel with the band for six months.

When Erin left on the tour in September, he’d cut a deal with his boss to scale back his traveling, and arranged for his sister to watch Allie when he was away. But he’d been pitifully unprepared to face their new reality. He used to have two jobs: earn the money and deal with Allie’s hockey. Since Erin left them, he’d encountered a whole world of unfamiliar challenges—and even the two things he’d always done well were messed up. His sales numbers were off and with this fight, Allie was in danger of losing hockey. He’d never expected to be a single dad and now, all signs indicated he was screwing it up.

Bryan picked up the dishcloth and wet it, running the water hot and then wringing the cloth out. He wiped the table, lifting the place mat from Allie’s place and then his, and shifting the stack of school papers she’d unloaded from her backpack.

Her grades were slipping. There was a science test buried in the stack with a red note on the top that read, “See me.” He wondered if Allie had followed through. Should he call the teacher and find out?

He turned the test over and glanced at the questions, but then dropped it back on the table and shifted a pile of other papers on top of it. He backed up a step. Nothing, not the night he wrecked his knee, not losing his scholarship, not even the day he’d crawled to Danny for a job after he flunked out of college, had knocked him on his butt as hard as failing Allie.

“Damn it, Erin.” He banged his fist on the table and then threw the dishcloth at the sink. It landed with a splat and slid down to settle in a cereal bowl half-full of water. He hated feeling incompetent.

Bryan turned his back on the kitchen, grabbed his keys and his skate bag, and headed for the rink. The locker room was empty when he got there. He sat on the uneven green bench and carefully buckled his knee brace over his jeans before strapping on his skates.

Fifteen minutes after he pulled into the lot, he was on the ice. He pushed himself hard, ignoring the protests from his knee, as he powered through lap after lap.

He was the only one skating. Danny had open-ice times most mornings but other than a moms-and-toddlers group that came on Thursday mornings, not many people got out here on weekdays. He was glad to be alone. Glad he didn’t have to see anyone and could let the ice and the speed and the cold air fill his mind with nothing but white and the rhythmic pattern of red and blue lines rushing under his skates.

This was what he knew how to do. He didn’t have to think, his muscles were trained and his body did the work. At the center line, he forced a full stop, spraying ice off his blades. Pushing off in the opposite direction, he savored the pull in his muscles when he dug deep on the crossovers.

He’d almost been one of the lucky ones, the guys who got to make a living playing sports. He could have put his body to work for Erin and Allie. Instead, he’d thrown that chance away on a drunken stunt.

He understood now that getting drafted, getting his scholarship, hadn’t meant much. They were merely steps on the long road to the NHL, but at the time, he and Erin both felt he’d gotten his ticket. They hadn’t counted on him wrecking his knee at the end of his sophomore season. After the surgeries, he’d worked at his rehab harder than he’d ever worked at anything, but the knee never came back to what it was and his future in the NHL was gone before he’d even had a taste.

It didn’t take him long to flunk out of school, losing his chance at a degree and a job with a future.

He and Erin wound up living in Twin Falls in the apartment over his sister’s garage. Erin rented a chair in a local salon and got pregnant a few weeks later. Danny gave him a reference and he got a small territory as a sales rep for Dutton Skates, a company that made hockey equipment and team gear, which he’d gradually expanded until he was making a decent living and they’d been able to buy their own house. He’d tried to make it enough, but the weight of disappointments and regret had crushed their family, he thought, almost from the start.

Bryan pushed harder, trying to get himself to the place where he could stop worrying and just be. The ice swept under him, the boards flashed past. But every time he almost got himself to the zone, he’d see Allie the way she’d looked last night in the car. Defeated. Alone. Scared.

He pulled up short again, giving his knee another excuse to complain, and bent over, gripping his thighs, trying to catch his breath and wondering if he’d ever be able to breathe right again.

Someone banged on the glass and he looked over his shoulder. Danny. He kept his head down for another minute until he was sure he had himself under control and then skated to the door and let himself out.

“Figured you’d be here,” Danny said. “How’s Allie?”

Bryan shrugged. “How would you be if you were her?”

“Did Clare call Lila Sykes?”

Bryan pushed the sleeves back on his fleece. “Who’s Lila Sykes?”

“She’s the mediator, Bry.” Danny frowned.

“I haven’t heard from anyone yet.”

“Well, if you haven’t heard from the police, maybe that means she’s not going that route.”

Bryan should be grateful, but he wasn’t. Clare was scared, he got that. Heck, he was scared, too, and with more reason since by all accounts it was Allie who was running wild. But knowing what Clare might be dealing with didn’t make him feel any more charitable toward her.

“I almost wish she had called the police. Can you imagine a cop actually filling out a report for a kids’ fistfight?”

He expected Danny to agree with him, but the other man responded quietly, “You weren’t there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” Danny stopped. He tucked his shirt in nervously. He wasn’t going to say whatever he’d started with. “It just means Allie could stand to talk to someone. She’s been through a lot and she seems…angry. Not the Allie I’m used to.”

“But won’t forcing them together drag it out? Why is it a good idea to make her spend time with the kid she’s got a beef with?”

“Because they would get the beef resolved. She could start to move on.”

Move on from whatever was bugging her about Tim or from all the other stuff that had to be bugging her? Bryan didn’t want to get into any of that.

“Who is that Tim kid, anyway?” he asked. “I never saw him around.”

“They moved here right before the season started.” Danny’s phone rang and he looked at the screen. “Wait one sec. It’s John Langenforth.”

Bryan rocked back on the heel of his right skate, trying to stretch some of the tightness out of the muscles around his knee. He shouldn’t have pushed it that hard.

Danny gave him a thumbs-up as he ended the call. “John’s trying to set up a meeting for you and Tim’s mom.”

“Only the mom?” Bryan asked.

“I haven’t seen a dad.”

“Is she divorced? What’s the kid’s sign-up sheet say?”

Danny bent and tugged at a worn piece of sealant on one of the rubber floor tiles. “That’s confidential. I can’t discuss it with someone who’s not on the league board.”

“Quit trying to recruit me for the board.”

“You know damn well I’m really trying to recruit you to coach.”

When a client wanted to cancel an order or make a return after the contract date and Bryan had no intention of either pissing the client off or letting them go, he had a special voice he used. It was equal parts empathy and firmness. I hear you, but you’re out of luck. He tried it on Danny. “I understand the shortage of qualified coaches, but I don’t have the time to take on an additional responsibility.”

“Bullshit,” Danny said. “Don’t give me that salesman crap. You never miss her games. You could work it out—get a decent assistant coach and you’d be all set.”

He couldn’t believe Danny was bugging him about coaching. It was so obvious he was doing a bang-up job as a dad, why not give him another dozen or so kids he could mold and shape? He could squeeze the disciplinary hearings with the board in around practice.

“I had the pleasure of playing for my dad, Danny. I’m not going to inflict that on Allie.”

“You’re not your father,” Danny said. “And Allie’s not you.”

“Forget it. She loves playing. I’m not bringing any of that James Family professional hockey crap out there and polluting her game.”

He connected with Allie over hockey and at this point in their lives, that was it. He wasn’t going to risk messing that up.

“You seriously think you’d ruin the fun for her? You’d be a good coach precisely because you know how wrong it can turn out.”

“It’s not going to happen,” Bryan said, hoping to end the conversation. “What’s the mom’s name again?”

“Clare,” Danny said. “Clare Sampson. She does some thing with computers.”

That seemed to fit with the little he’d seen of her. Last night she’d been controlled, maybe cold. No…not cold. Tough. She’d been ready to take him on, her pointed chin and sleek hair contrasting with big brown eyes she hid behind those smart-lady glasses.

“She wasn’t backing down last night, was she?”

“She doesn’t seem like the backing-down type.”

Would she be willing to meet him? His pulse kicked up again almost as hard as it had been going when he was on the ice. What the hell? He recognized the feeling—the anticipation of looking forward to seeing a hot woman—but he hadn’t felt this way in years.

He shouldn’t be feeling that way now because there was no way he thought Clare was hot. Haughty, more likely. Aloof. Convinced his kid was some kind of thug. Nowhere in that package was there room for anticipation.

Except he’d really liked the way her hair shone, so perfectly smooth and silky where it swept her neck. And there’d been something about how she looked at Tim that made him imagine if she might know what he was talking about if he shared his worries about Allie.

The glass doors from the lobby opened and John Langenforth walked in.

“Bryan,” he said. “Danny.”

Bryan had grown up with John. He’d been the instigator of more locker room shenanigans than any two kids combined, and was still the only player in the history of the Twin Falls League to draw a penalty for mooning a ref while the puck was in play. After college, he’d come home and worked himself up to afternoon deejay for the local classic-rock station. John was also the president of the Twin Falls Youth Hockey board.

Three minutes ago, Bryan would have taken an oath that John was incapable of being serious. Judging by the expression on the other man’s face now, he’d have been wrong.

John unzipped his Twin Falls Hockey parka. “I guess you know why I’m looking for you.”

Bryan nodded.

“I’m sorry we’re in the middle of this mess, Bryan. But now that the fight’s been reported, the board has to address it. The national organization has a bullying policy and we could lose our standing. I want you to know we’ll do everything we can to help Allie.”

Bryan nodded, more than uncomfortable with his friend’s implication. “I understand.”

And he did, too well. John’s son was on Allie’s team and he wasn’t the only parent counting on her to get the team to the state tournament. He still remembered John’s delight when he found out Allie wouldn’t be able to play on the select travel team this season. The supposedly blind draft had somehow landed Allie on a team with John’s kid and the sons of two other board members.

Antibullying policy or not, there was little chance John was going to drop Allie from the roster. This kind of blatant favoritism was one of the reasons Bryan had wanted her on the select team in the first place. She’d have been one of the better kids on that team, but she wouldn’t have been the big fish she was in the Twin Falls pond. He couldn’t have her cultivating unrealistic ideas about her talent. That was what led him straight to the end of his playing days.

“Danny told me he suggested mediation and the board talked it over this morning. We agreed that if Allie and Tim complete mediation, she can stay on the team.” John wasn’t able to meet his eye when he added, “If they don’t go for the mediation, we’ll have no choice but to deactivate Allie’s membership in the league.”

Kick her out was what he meant. John couldn’t bring himself to say the words so clearly, but that was what he meant.

“But no reason to consider that,” John said. “Allie will manage this if she has to, right?”

Suddenly, he couldn’t take them looking at him.

“Call me when you have the meeting set. I’ll be there.” He made a show of checking the scoreboard clock. “I have to head out. Appointments.”

John cleared his throat. “Actually, Tim’s mom is on her way here. Danny told me you were on the ice so when she said she had time, I figured we might as well lock it down. We can reschedule if we have to, but Allie can’t practice until this is settled.”

Bryan looked out the doors toward the lobby. Of course Clare wasn’t here yet. She couldn’t have gotten here so fast.

He wished he’d had time to plan what to say, but maybe this was better. Clare was brand-new territory for him. He could keep lying to himself or he could admit that he found her attractive. She was different from the other women he knew, self-contained and a little fierce. With the divorce finally sinking in those instincts he’d buried for so long were waking up again. It didn’t matter why he was attracted. He had to ignore it, end of story.

The important point was that Allie could play hockey if Clare went along with mediation. Persuasion was familiar ground at least; he was more than used to sales. Needing her cooperation and wanting her complicated the situation. Next time Allie decided to pick on someone, he certainly hoped the kid’s mom wasn’t cute.

“I’ll go change.” He lifted his hand, nodded at the other two and turned away. He felt their eyes on him as he walked around the edge of the ice to the locker room door. He’d come to the rink to leave his frustrations on the ice and instead everything and everyone had come crowding in with him.

He unbuckled his knee brace and let it slide to the floor while he rested against the cinder-block wall behind him. Digging in his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. He typed in Allie’s number. She’d been the one who taught him to text, laughing at the typos his big fingers made on the tiny keypad.

“You okay?” he typed and then pressed Send. She wasn’t supposed to text in class, wasn’t even supposed to have her phone on, so there was a good chance she wouldn’t answer even if she wanted to. He set the phone next to his gloves on the bench. He waited but it sat silent.

If Allie texted him back before he got his skates off, he decided, that was the sign that Clare was going to be reasonable. He bent and untied the knot on his right skate. He didn’t dawdle, it wasn’t fair to try to manipulate a sign, but he couldn’t help noticing moisture on the skate blade which meant an extra careful wipe dry before he stowed the skate in his bag. He’d just tugged the lace out of the top set of holes on his left skate when the phone buzzed. He grabbed it, flipping the screen open. She’d texted back, “OK.”

He dropped the phone on the bench and tugged his skate off quickly. OK. He snorted. The two of them didn’t have a single conversational skill to split between them. Still, short and unsatisfying as OK was, she’d replied. He zipped his bag and wished he still believed in luck.




CHAPTER FOUR


THE HOCKEY LEAGUE BOARD must have been up before dawn, Clare thought, if they’d had time to meet and still call her before Tim left for school. Fanatics were always so…fanatical.

She’d agreed to meet mostly just to get off the phone because she’d wanted to talk to Tim. But before she had a chance, he’d shouted that he was leaving and slammed the front door. She called his cell. When he answered, he said it was too cold to talk while he was walking.

She took a quick shower and then was lucky enough to get Lila Sykes, the mediator, on the phone, but that conversation hadn’t gone well, either. Lila had homed in on the fact that they moved a lot and most of her suggestions were aimed at making Tim feel at home in Twin Falls. Every time she said “settle” or “connect,” Clare felt more sure mediation was the wrong move for them at this time. Sure, she wanted Tim to enjoy himself while he was here, but they weren’t staying and there was no sense getting involved in a program that would make it harder to leave when her contract redesigning the data security for the Twin Falls Savings bank was up.

The hockey league would have to find another solution for Allie.

When Clare got to the rink, Danny Jackson and John Langenforth, the man she’d spoken to on the phone, met her in the same cluttered office off the lobby where she’d waited for Bryan the night before. They told her Bryan would be here soon and then excused themselves because there was an issue with the bylaws they should discuss in private.

She put her leather backpack down next to a chair, but she didn’t sit. She was chilly and nervous, on edge about this discussion and about Tim, and unhappy being in this room again.

The office was cold—probably people who spent their lives inside a hockey rink didn’t feel cold the way normal people did. Or maybe it was growing up in Twin Falls that made them impervious to cold. It was only November and already she’d forgotten that she even had toes, let alone what they felt like.

All signs of the confrontation last night were gone. All that was left, according to John Langenforth, was for her to agree to mediation and the entire incident would be swept away. Except the part where she didn’t trust Allie and didn’t want Tim playing hockey. And the part where she didn’t want any hand in mediation. And the part where she was worried about her family. Tim was pulling away so fast. Wishing for things she had no idea how to provide. She wasn’t even sure she knew what he wanted when he asked to stay in one place. Did he know?

Was it simply this?

A spot on this hockey team? Maybe the chance to belong to a place so the seasons became yours and you wouldn’t notice cold that would shock an outsider?

The walls of Danny’s office were covered with framed photos of kids and teams, and the desk was a clutter of files and magazines with sticky notes. Clare bet it would take her less than five minutes to find his online bank account and voice-mail passwords on those notes. After ten years in the computer security field, she never failed to be amazed at the cavalier attitude people took toward their private information. His password was probably hockey or puck. Men liked their passwords easy to type.

The door to the office opened, startling her away from the desk.

“Sorry,” Bryan said. “I thought Danny and John were in here.”

He had a hockey bag slung over his shoulder and a blue stick gripped in his right hand. He dropped the bag on the floor near the door, the chest and shoulder muscles under his shirt moving with tantalizing strength. His dark hair was damp, swept back from his forehead with little wings curling out around his ears and at the back of his collar. He must have just come from the shower; she caught a faint hint of soap and spicy aftershave.

He was wearing a navy crewneck sweater with a white T-shirt underneath and soft gray corduroys. When he straightened up, she was struck by how tall he was. She’d noticed the difference between him and Danny last night, but even on his own he was tall, and with his broad shoulders and the muscle she’d seen in his chest, he was…oh no. No.

Her body was not going to react to him. He was gorgeous and built, and in this tiny office with her he seemed to be breathing all the available air, but she was here for Tim, not chasing some guy. Bryan James was a parent, not a man.

She swallowed and tried to think about anything besides what it would feel like to tangle her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck.

“They stepped out to look at the bylaws,” she said. “They should be back any minute.”

He nodded, his mouth tight. Was he angry? Nervous? As confused about his kid as she was?

He sat in the same chair he’d been in last night and she stayed where she was near the wall of photos. Snow slid off the roof overhead with a crunching grind and they both glanced up, but neither of them said anything.

The silence stretched.

Working as a consultant meant she joined existing companies or groups, recommended changes and facilitated shifts in products and systems. Most of the time, she came on the scene after a breach of data security when the company was already out time, money and reputation. She was used to being around people who were on edge and uncomfortable around her. She was also used to not caring how those people felt about her as long as they managed to work logically on the issues. She’d never experienced quite this level of strained silence before.

A small voice in her head murmured that maybe she was uncomfortable because Bryan was attractive, male and just plain took up space in a way most guys, especially the tech guys she was used to, couldn’t.

She cleared her throat and watched him, hoping he’d pick up on her signal that he should start talking.

It was bad enough she was going to be the only woman in this meeting with three old hockey pals, she didn’t care to fall into the traditional female role of small-talk facilitator.

Nothing.

He seemed perfectly capable of sustaining an uncomfortable silence for hours. Gender roles be damned, she was ready to break the silence herself, except how? Hey, Bryan, did you figure out why your child hates my child yet?

Where the hell was his wife? Weren’t meetings about the kids like this traditionally the wife’s job? Shouldn’t Allie’s mother at least have come with him? She thought she’d seen a woman driving the car when Allie got dropped off at practice last night. So where was she this morning? The tension might have been eased if there were another person here. Certainly she would find it easier not to fantasize about the man’s hair if his wife were sitting next to him.

Would his wife have made time for this if they were meeting at the police station instead of the hockey rink?

Enough.

Not only was she developing a case of baseless animosity toward the missing Mrs. James, she was dangerously close to being affronted on Bryan’s behalf.

“Your wife couldn’t make it this morning?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

Well, that had been spectacularly unsuccessful as far as conversation starters went. He hadn’t looked at her, was sitting with his chin down, studying his hands, a worried wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Is she working?” Clare tried again. So much for getting away from the topic of his wife. Why was her brain so uncooperative?

“Sleeping probably. She’s in California.” He twisted the silver ring he wore on his right hand. She realized then he didn’t have a ring on his left. Even before he continued, she started to recalculate.

If he wasn’t married…she sneaked a glance at his hair and then linked her hands behind her back. He was cute, but he was a dad whose daughter was bullying Tim. He wasn’t a man. Not to her.

“Actually,” Bryan said, “she’s on the road with Lush. The girl band? They have that song, ‘Little Me’?” He looked at her as if she might recognize the name but she didn’t. “Anyway, I never know exactly where she is. I can’t keep the schedule straight.”

“She’s in a band?” Clare was shocked enough to forget about his hair and her fingers. Bryan was over thirty, she was sure of it. How old was his wife? “I thought I saw a woman dropping Allie off.”

“Must have been my sister. She watches her when I’m out of town. My…Allie’s mom is on the crew. She does the hair.” He twirled his hand in the air near his ear as if his wife liked to create Princess Leia style ear buns for the band. He sounded angry. He paused and then asked, “Where’s Tim’s dad?”

Clare felt her cheeks heat up. She was sure the aggression in his tone was payback for her prying. She supposed she deserved it because she had been poking into his business, but the man couldn’t expect that he’d say his wife was on the road with a band and people wouldn’t want to know more.

“Tim’s dad lives in Italy. We don’t see much of him.”

Bryan studied her for a moment and she wondered how much emotion he could see in her face.

“Well,” Bryan finally said. “I guess it’s just the two of us then.” He crossed his arms on his chest, which did amazing things to his shoulders under the fine knit of his sweater. The combination of hard muscle and soft fabric was making her hands twitch again.

She turned her back to study the photos on the wall. She realized that, of course, the one right in front of her was Bryan. His name was printed on a piece of tape on the bottom of the picture. Once she knew it was him, she recognized the man in the boy.

He was about ten and he was facing the camera, hefting a trophy that looked as if it was made out of a traffic cone spray-painted gold. A bunch of grinning boys surrounded him with their fingers in the number-one sign, all of them soaked in sweat with their hair sticking up and ice caked on their hockey socks. Bryan was head and shoulders taller than most of the kids and he looked…well…he looked exactly how a ten-year-old hockey champion should. Cocky. Thrilled. Adorable.

Why couldn’t he have been a thug?

She scanned the wall and discovered there were quite a few photos of him at different ages. In most of them he was holding awards or trophies. Perfect. Tim had tangled with the daughter of Twin Falls hockey royalty.

She spotted a more formal one, from when he was in his late teens, probably his college team. His smile was just as cocky as it was in the first picture she’d seen, but this older version seemed to include not only joy, but a promise. A sinful promise. She wondered how many girls had fallen for his smile back then.

He hadn’t uncrossed his arms, but he was looking at her, must have been watching her. His eyes were so guarded, so different from the boy in the photos behind her. Had she hurt him by asking about what seemed to be a difficult family situation?

“I didn’t mean to pry about your wife,” she said. “I was trying to find something to say and that came out.”

“At least you didn’t ask who I voted for.” He sighed. “Forget it. I still wonder where she is half the time. But to be clear, she’s my ex.” He held up his ring-free left hand.

Clare nodded and held up her bare left hand. “I never had one in the first place.”

He started to smile but then stood up abruptly, the motion bringing him near her, startling her with his sudden closeness and the way the room seemed even smaller. The spots of color high on his cheekbones, probably from the heat of his recent shower, deepened. She stood her ground, looking up to him, and for a second neither of them moved. Then he spun, pacing the few feet toward the far wall, away from her.

“Listen, Clare. My kid is in big trouble because you accused her of bullying your son. I don’t intend to sit here and swap life stories.” He crossed his arms on his chest again. “No offense.”

Clare let out an impatient breath. No offense, my ass.

“I thought we were here to talk about mediation. Shouldn’t we set a good example?”

“I’m not planning to bully you,” Bryan said slowly and deliberately. “So as long as you’re not planning to bully me, I’d say we’re good.”



HE SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID that, Bryan conceded. He’d meant to keep quiet until Danny and John came back. Instead he sure had ticked Clare off. She had a wide mouth, with corners that turned up naturally, making her always seem as if she was on the verge of smiling. Except she wasn’t smiling at him after that remark. Her mouth had tightened to a thin line.

He was just so sick of people making him feel as though he didn’t know what he was doing. He was perfectly capable of making himself feel incompetent. And if he needed any reinforcement, he had his sister who’d chewed him out for being late to get Allie, at least half of Allie’s teachers who were concerned about her attitude and a whole mess of other people who never seemed to miss an opportunity to mention how Erin liked to run things. “Are you serious?” Clare asked, her brown eyes flashing. He’d noticed the night before that her pronunciation got sharper when she got mad, as if she were biting each word off individually.

“What did you expect?” he said.

“I expected that we’d meet here and try to work out this problem like civilized people.”

“Was that a crack about Allie?”

“What?”

“Civilized? She lost her temper. That doesn’t mean she’s not civilized.”

“Lost her temper?” Clare took a step toward him. “She slammed Tim’s head off the floor!”

“Well, since she hasn’t hit anybody else, I’m curious what Tim did to make her hit him.”

“What he did—”

The door opened and John and Danny came back into the office. “We’re ready,” John said. Danny looked worried as he glanced between them.

Clare’s mouth snapped shut. Bryan forced himself to lean back against the wall. God. He couldn’t believe they’d been shouting at each other. He hated that Clare saw Allie as a punk. He wanted to make her understand how wrong she was, but instead he kept making things worse.

John held up a stack of stapled paper. “We went over the league bylaws and the solution is legal. So, if the kids go to mediation and successfully complete the course, everything is settled. Allie keeps her spot on the team and we relax and enjoy the ride while the Twin Falls Cowboys take States.”

Bryan looked quickly to Clare, but she was studying John.

“And if they don’t?”

“Don’t?” John asked. “Don’t take States? I don’t see that happening considering that we have the new-generation James on the team.” He winked at Bryan. Clare saw it and her mouth tightened even more.

“I meant if they don’t agree to mediation,” she explained.

John put the rule book down on the desk and leaned over a folding chair, gripping the back in both hands. “Allie’s membership in the league would be deactivated.”

“She’d be kicked out?” She raised her eyebrows. “Just like that?”

John nodded. “We haven’t been able to find any wiggle room on that one.”

Bryan wanted to say something, but Danny beat him to it.




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/ellen-hartman/calling-the-shots/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.