A Perfect Trade (Harlequin Superromance) (6 page)

Getting out of her car, Jenny felt a slight tug in her womb.

She froze.

The tug came again. Her breath caught.
Please no. Not this, too.

Her body trembled as she waited anxiously to see if it happened again. After a few minutes, she released her breath in a hiccuping sob.

Must have been a false alarm. A warning that she couldn’t take any more stress.

The phone was ringing as Jenny walked into the house. She was tempted to ignore it, but changed her mind when she saw who was calling.

She’d barely said hello before Lizzie demanded to know what was wrong. “Is it Harry? Is he worse?”

Jenny closed her eyes for a moment and tried to sound normal. “No. He’s the same.” She explained about Felicia and Irving being appointed Harry’s guardians. “But I’ve been fired.”

“How dare they? You’re Harry’s girl Friday.”

“I should’ve seen this coming when Irving brought his secretary with him.” Lizzie’s fury on her behalf soothed Jenny’s battered soul, but it didn’t solve her problems. “I can get another job, but not one that’ll pay even half what I earn now. I’m hardly well-qualified, with only a GED. I shouldn’t think Irving will give me references, either.”

“There has to be something you can do. It’s an unfair dismissal. Talk to Maggie or her sister—they must know a lawyer you can talk to.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer.” Jenny bit her lip. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. Besides, once Harry gets better, this will all be fixed.”

Assuming he got better. She couldn’t bear to think about the alternative.

“Why don’t you do something hockey-related? Maybe something in the media. You have incredible knowledge of the sport and you’re familiar with the teams and rinks. Players, coaching staff and commentators already respect your insights. I’m sure readers would, too.”

Lizzie’s words made Jenny pause and consider. People in the game did feel comfortable around her. She was often asked advice about shots or plays or her opinion of the opposition.

A tiny bubble of excitement bounced in her stomach. “That’s a good idea. I know the sports editor at
The Journal.
Maybe he could find a slot for me. Though, technically, there’s only a few weeks left in the season.”

“There’s still all the stuff over the summer—the draft, free agency. It’s worth a shot.”

By the time Jenny hung up, she felt a little less panicked. She had a few options she could pursue. She sank onto the couch and leaned her head back against a cushion as she made a mental list of who she could approach.

She’d got half a dozen names on the list when the tug in her lower belly returned.

This time, it didn’t stop, but turned sharp and stabbing, like a period cramp.

Even though she’d given up believing in God years ago, she sent a quick plea heavenward.
Don’t let me lose the baby.

Jenny sat motionless on the couch, delaying. She knew what she had to do, but once she did that, all hope would be gone. Sure, she’d have to wait a few more days to take the pregnancy test to confirm it, but the evidence would be there.

As the seconds passed, the pain got worse until she was clutching her belly. Finally, she could bear it no more. She forced herself to go upstairs. Her heart thudded heavily with each step. Once in the bathroom, tears spilled down her cheeks.

Jenny didn’t need to see the blood to know the IVF had failed.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE
LETTER
HAD
looked like a harmless piece of fan mail.

Tru’s hand shook slightly as he smoothed the scrunched sheet of paper. There had been nothing special about the handwriting. Even the Boston return address had seemed innocent.

As innocent as a puck bouncing up your stick and into your face, at ninety miles an hour, and just as damn painful.

He tossed the letter onto his kitchen table and paced the room.

Why now?

As if Tru didn’t have enough uncertainty in his life. Trade rumors had exploded with the announcement of the new general manager. Callum Hardshaw was a known rebuilder, with a reputation for clearing out deadwood fast. According to most sites and blogs, Tru was at the top of that pile of logs. Not the news he’d wanted or needed, with the Draft only weeks away, followed by free agency.

Now this letter.

After so many years of silence, what had prompted his father to write, asking to meet? And why to Tru? Ike was the eldest, it would have made more sense to reach out to him.

Tru halted, staring down at the lined, white paper as if it could answer his questions. But it offered no more explanation than the few lines he’d read a hundred times.

“Did you think I’d be a softer touch?” His voice echoed in the empty apartment.

An all-too-familiar guilt tightened his shoulders. He’d had to bear the pain of keeping quiet about his father’s infidelity, then the anguish of knowing the action he’d taken had blown his family apart.

His gaze lifted to the family snapshot on the refrigerator. His mother looked tiny, almost fragile, next to her broad-shouldered, towering sons. But Tru knew the strength behind the delicate appearance. The determination that had kept her going when her husband had walked out, leaving her with four young boys; one still an infant. The stubbornness that had enabled her to keep her family together no matter how hard things got.

A second photo showed his mother laughing with Jake’s mom. How would things have turned out if Tina and Gio Badoletti hadn’t stepped in to help?

The doorbell rang, followed almost immediately by several loud knocks.

The cavalry. Sort of.

Jake pushed past Tru as soon as he opened the door. His blue eyes scanned the apartment. “What’s up?”

Now his friend was here, Tru wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing by calling him earlier. He’d needed to share this with someone. As close as one of his brothers—they’d grown up together—Jake knew all about what had happened between his parents.

Well, not all.

“Thanks for coming, bro,” he hedged, leading the way back to the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee? Beer?”

“You said it was urgent.” Jake shot him a disbelieving look. “I broke the speed limit getting here and you’re playing freaking hostess?”

“You speeding is unusual, how?”

“Funny, Truman. Don’t give up your day job.”

Tru tried not to squirm under the all-star defenseman’s penetrating gaze. Normally, it wouldn’t have affected him, but with his emotions in turmoil, Tru’s nerves were raw.

He grabbed the letter and tossed it to his friend. “See for yourself.”

Jake groaned. “You called me over here to read some puck bunny’s fantasy?”

His friend’s words sent a dart of pain to Tru’s chest. An image of one particular puck bunny sprang to mind.

He hadn’t seen Jenny since her boss’s collapse. Tru figured she had to know he’d inquired after Sturridge several times, yet she hadn’t reached out to him. He shouldn’t be surprised or hurt; it would take more than keeping her company in the E.R. to regain her trust.

Worse, memories of the past had plagued him over the past ten days. Now, with this letter, he felt as if he was in some weird kind of hellish purgatory—the misdeeds of his life being held up before him so punishment could be exacted.

Hadn’t he already paid the price—over and over again?

“Is this serious?” Jake’s disbelief mirrored Tru’s initial reaction to the letter.

Tru tried to sound nonchalant. “Crazy, huh?”

“What’s your old man after? Does he need money?”

Jake’s assumption that Radek Jelinek had an ulterior motive stung, even though Tru had thought the same thing. “Why would he need money? He ran off with that Boston heiress.”

“Maybe she dumped him. Maybe he cheated on her, like he did your mom.”

“Which is why he wouldn’t approach us for money.”

“You don’t think it’s strange he wants to meet his
rich
hockey-star son?”

“Maybe he wants to reconnect with his kids.” The words escaped before Tru could stop them.

Jake shook his head sadly, his apologetic expression acknowledging the unspoken emotion roiling through Tru. “Why didn’t he get in touch before? He could’ve contacted you guys at any time over the past twenty-plus years. Why now?”

“Perhaps he’s sick and wants to see us all before it’s too late.” God, he sounded desperate. Pathetic.

“Possible.”

Tru slumped into a chair. “But you doubt it.”

“I think he’d have mentioned a terminal illness.”

“He might not have wanted to play the sympathy card.”

Jake sighed and sat next to him. “You’re giving your old man way too much credit.”

His friend was right. Perhaps Tru was eager to believe the best of his father because he’d always hoped he’d have a chance to put things right for his family one day. Because, since he’d opened the envelope, he’d wanted the letter to be that chance.

“He’s still my father,” Tru said softly. “He deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“Does he? He didn’t care that much about you guys when he was around and until now he made no attempt to reach any of you for all these years. This sudden change of heart stinks. I’d be wary about his motives, bro.”

Tru hated to admit it, but Jake was right. He sighed with frustration. “My mind has been working overtime trying to figure out what to do.”

“That’s your problem. You shouldn’t think.”

Tru punched Jake in the arm. “Like your nickname’s Einstein.”

“Hey, I can use my brain.” Jake hit him back, harder.

Chairs scraped as the two men jumped up and squared off.

“We all saw what using your brain did. You almost lost Maggie with your stupid ideas.”

The mention of Jake’s wife brought a big goofy smile to his friend’s face. “I was smart enough to go after her and win her in the end.”

“With a little help from your friends.”

“I know.” Raising his hands in mock surrender, Jake sat back down. “You didn’t do so well with Melanie, though.”

“I tried.” Not hard enough. He should feel worse; couldn’t explain why he didn’t. “Probably for the best.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Jake made it sound like
definitely.

Tru went to the refrigerator and pulled out a couple of soft drinks. Passing one to Jake, he popped the top on his and took a long swig, before grabbing a chair and straddling it.

The letter lay on the table between them. Demanding his attention. Demanding action.

They both stared at it. The silence lengthened.

“Are you going to tell your mom?” Jake asked finally.

Tru shook his head. “Not until I’ve checked my dad out. I don’t want her upset unnecessarily. If he turns out to be on the level, I’ll consider telling her then.”

“Ike may disagree with you.”

“Ike won’t know.”

Jake’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I’m not telling any of my brothers,” Tru said firmly. “Not yet anyway.”

“Why the hell not? You can’t keep them in the dark about this. It’s too important.”

“I have to be sure my dad isn’t screwing with us again. I won’t raise their hopes, only to have them shattered.” Tru thrust his fingers through his hair. “Kenny’s finally got his shot at making the Cats full-time and is working like crazy to be ready for training camp. Linc has to decide whether to stay in college or turn pro.”

“And Ike?”

He had no excuse for keeping his older brother in the dark. At least, not one he could admit. Tru had to be the one to get to the bottom of this; he owed his family that much. He’d been the one who’d made sure his mom had found out about his father’s infidelity. It was Tru’s fault their old man had left.

No damn way he’d let Radek Jelinek hurt them again.

“I’ll tell Ike, just not right now. Dad leaving hit Ike the hardest. I think because he’s the oldest, he felt responsible somehow.”

Tru hadn’t had the courage to tell his brother what he’d done; not then, and not since. “It shouldn’t take me long with the internet to research my father. Then I’ll bring them all up to speed.”

God, he hoped his old man really had changed and this was a genuine attempt to reach out and reconnect.

Concern filled Jake’s blue eyes. “Ike’ll be mad as hell if you blindside him.”

“He’ll understand, when I explain.”

Jake didn’t look convinced. His friend opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by a knock and the sound of the front door opening.

“Hey, bro,” Ike called out.

Tru swore. “Don’t say anything about this, okay?”

“Damn it, Tru.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck.

“Come on, man. I need you to go with me on this.”

Jake puffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m not happy about it, but I’ll keep quiet. For now.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.” Tru raised his voice. “We’re in the kitchen.”

He snatched up the letter, shoving it in his back pocket as his brother walked in.

“Glad I caught you both together,” Ike said. He slumped into a chair, his expression grim. “Saves having to say all this twice.”

Tru exchanged concerned looks with Jake. “What’s up?”

“There’ll be a conference call with all the Cats players tomorrow, but as union rep, I got a preview. I wanted to give you guys a heads-up on what’s going to be said.”

“Sounds ominous.” Jake leaned forward. “Don’t tell me the Scartelli brothers are moving us to Kansas City.”

Ike didn’t crack a smile at the old joke.

Tru’s stomach rolled with uneasiness. “They’ve just changed the GM, what else is...” He broke off. “Crap. They’ve fired Max.”

Ike nodded. “There are some critical decisions to be made over the next few months—who to pick at the draft, which contracts to renew, who to trade, who to keep—so Callum Hardshaw wants his own man in place ASAP.”

“Any word on who the new coach will be?”

“Not yet, but Hardshaw must have a name in mind. He may even have tapped someone already. I’m guessing it won’t be long before he announces Max’s replacement.”

Which made Tru’s position with the Cats even more precarious. He tried to look on the bright side. “There are a few coaches with good track records looking for jobs. Maybe Hardshaw will choose one of them. The Scartellis want to win, so a veteran coach would make sense.”

“Yeah. Not so sure about that.”

The way Ike avoided his gaze made Tru nervous. “Spill, bro. What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything for sure.” Ike sighed. “The phrasing Hardshaw used about the future of the team smacked of blowing everything up and starting afresh.”

Jake frowned. “We knew that was a possibility when he was hired. The guy’s known for making something out of nothing. Look at the job he did with Columbus. So, what’s put a bug up your ass?”

Ike’s gaze swung between Tru and Jake. “Hardshaw said the Scartelli brothers have promised him time to achieve success. They want the Cats to be another Pittsburgh.”

“You’re kidding. They want us to molder in the league basement for a few seasons in order to get high draft picks, in the hopes that we’ll become a serial Cup contender?” Tru swore. “That’s my career with the Ice Cats done. I’ll be gone this summer. I wish I’d hired an agent
before
I negotiated my last contract. I might have got a no-trade clause. Then they couldn’t just ship me out to the highest bidder.”

“Andy will get you a great deal.” Jake crushed his empty can.

“But it won’t be with the Ice Cats.” What a difference a few years made. From hero to zero. “The last time my contract was up, I was the team’s MVP. The Cats were terrified they’d have to shell out major money if they let me reach free agency.”

“I told you agreeing to your contract early was crazy.” Ike crossed his arms. “You’d have got way better terms from most other teams.”

“I was happy to take a hometown discount to stay with the team who drafted and developed me—and to keep playing with you. I was damn loyal to them. Where’s their loyalty to me?” Tru threw his arms up in disgust.

His brother shrugged. “There’s no loyalty in professional sports. Especially when you’re losing. They only care about the bottom line.”

“Ike’s right,” Jake said quietly.

“Doesn’t make it suck any less.”

Neither Jake nor Ike disagreed.

When they left a short while later, Tru threw himself onto his couch. His hockey-playing future was looking bleaker by the minute.

With his current run of luck, he’d end up without a team at all or worse, bussing it in the AHL. Damn it! He didn’t want to play in the freaking minors. He still had good legs and decent skills.

The room darkened as afternoon turned into evening, mirroring his darkening thoughts.

Maybe he’d have to resort to playing overseas in Europe or Russia. The money was great, but the other leagues weren’t as good as the NHL. Plus, he didn’t want to become one of those guys he’d always felt sorry for; a has-been, desperately clinging to a career everyone else knows is already over.

He’d rather walk away from the game than be a laughingstock.

Can the pity party.

Jeez. He was going to drive himself crazy if he didn’t get away from his own thoughts. He had to get out of the house. Go to the Plaza. Plenty of options at the mall to keep himself occupied for a few hours.

Tru leaped up, grabbed his keys and headed out to his car.

Dealing with the crazy drivers on Route 17 helped blow some of the self-pity from his head, so he was able to walk into the mall with a sense of purpose. He’d check out some stores, grab a bite to eat and maybe take in a movie.