Emory’s eyes shimmer with appreciation that I don’t try to cut her daughter out of the plans, and there’s an underlying glimmer of excitement that we’ll have alone time after.
Whatever I’m seeing in her expression—the excitement of something new between us—is echoed within me. I have no clue what in the hell I’m getting into, but I’m glad it’s happening.
CHAPTER 8
Jett
Vengeance Town is what they call the area of Phoenix that houses the hockey arena. It sits on the very edge of the city and takes up three city blocks. The arena itself sits in the exact middle and it cost $375 million to build. Investors put another $100 million in a retail shopping center that surrounds it on the perimeter, separated by several large parking lots and garages.
The carnival is set up throughout the concourse separating the arena from the retail stores and it’s really quite the spectacle. It has all the standard rides from merry-go-rounds to a huge Ferris wheel. Dozens of game booths are set up where kids can win stuffed animals and goldfish. Not as prolific, but still aplenty, food stalls are dotted around providing all kinds of weird delights from huge turkey legs to deep-fried Snickers. I can feel my arteries clogging as I walk past them.
In an effort to keep things casual and uncomplicated, Emory told me via text she’d be here sometime between 2-4 PM.
My reply was just as laid back. I’ll find you.
Of course, I’ve been here most of the day as the carnival is for the fans, first and foremost. It’s well past two PM now, and I’ve been walking around for almost forty minutes, keeping my eyes peeled for that raven hair.
I’m not a total stalker though. I’ve run into several teammates and their families, entered friendly competitions at some of the game booths, and enjoyed a beer with Dominik, Willow, and their soon-to-be son in the eyes of the law, Dillon. While I don’t have an ounce of desire to create such a familial unit, I can’t help but be moved by how happy they are.
Most particularly, Dillon, who moved out of a group home for boys right into a stable family environment with two caring people who will move heaven and earth to give him happiness.
“Jett.” A male voice—more particular, the left-wing to my right-wing—Jim Steele. He’s at the Whac-a-Mole booth where his daughter Lucy and his wife, Ella, are both furiously trying to smash the vermin as they pop up from their holes. Jim is casually leaning against the corner, arms over his chest, as I approach.
He gives them a nod. “They’ve been at it for almost ten minutes. I thought they’d be tired by now.”
“I’m not giving up until mom gives up,” Lucy chirps.
Ella gives an evil laugh. “I’m never giving up.”
Jim shakes his head in amusement, advising me, “They’re more competitive than I am, and that says something.”
Before I can respond, Jim’s gaze moves past me and his eyes light up with recognition and a bit of excitement. I turn to look that way and I’m shocked to see Riggs walking toward us on the midway with a young teenage girl who I can only assume is his seventeen-year-old sister.
She doesn’t look exactly like Riggs. He has dark brown hair and even darker eyes, and her hair is strawberry blonde cut bluntly at her shoulders and what looks to be either blue or green eyes, but I can’t tell from this distance.
But they have the same mouth—set in the same distinct frown that Riggs seems to perpetually wear. She doesn’t look happy to be here and walks with her shoulders slightly hunched, hands tucked down into her jean pockets.
Riggs’ eyes sweep over us and come back. Jim and I both raise a hand in greeting, and Jim beckons. We’ve been wanting to get to know Riggs better and this is a great opportunity, as it’s the first time he’s brought his sister to a team function.
Our reclusive defenseman looks left and then right, as if looking for someone—something—to save him from being sociable, but then with a sigh, he leans to the side to say something to his sister.
He nods our way, and her eyes follow. They remain guarded but she follows her brother over to us.
“Lucy,” Jim murmurs as they head our way. “I want you to meet someone.”
“In a minute,” she replies, but Ella’s head turns at Jim’s words and she sees Riggs coming.
Her hand reaches out, touches Lucy’s shoulder and that’s all it takes to get her daughter’s attention. Both women put down their Whac-a-Mole stuffed bats.
“What’s up, man?” I say, closest to Riggs as I reach out a hand. He silently takes it in a side clasp, then nods over at Jim.
Knowing he can’t get away without introducing his sister, he puts a large hand on her shoulder and gives it a slight, reassuring squeeze. “This is my sister, Janelle.”
We all smile at her, but it’s Ella that steps forward—ever the mom and ready to spread one wing over the girl who looks very uncomfortable. “Janelle… we are so happy to meet you. This is my daughter, Lucy.”
Lucy beams at her potential new friend, even though she’s a few years younger. Janelle manages a small smile back.
“Want to play Whac-a-Mole?” Lucy offers, tossing her head toward the game.
“I’ve never played,” Janelle replies.
“No worries,” Lucy assures her and beckons her to come to her side. Ella steps out of the way and Lucy picks up both stuffed bats, handing one to Janelle. “You just try to smack the mole when it pops up. It’s great therapy.”
Ella laughs, as do Jim and I, but Riggs and Janelle don’t. However, Jim pulls out some money and hands it to the attendant, who starts a new game as Janelle follows Lucy’s direction.
We all watch for a few moments and it doesn’t take long for Janelle to give in to the enthusiasm of teenage girls trying to smack a rodent. A few moments more, and Janelle is actually laughing along with Lucy.
I cut a glance to Riggs, and for the first time since he came to this team, I actually see a genuine smile on his face. He looks relieved and his eyes seem to shimmer with some sort of gratitude as he watches his sister.
My skin prickles and I move my gaze beyond Riggs. Several game booths down, I spy Emory standing with Felicity and Jenna as they play a ring toss game. I watch for a moment as Emory demonstrates to Felicity how to toss underhanded, and Jenna—who I’m glad to see ventured out—takes pictures with her iPhone. For a moment, I take in how beautiful their little family unit is and a small part of me could see myself right in the middle of that.
But Emory and I agreed no complications. No strings. Casual.
I can do that too.
I clap Jim on the shoulder and give a nod toward Riggs. “I’ll see you guys later. I’ve got a date.”
Jim blinks in surprise, while Riggs’s expression remains impassive. I don’t give them a second glance as I move toward the women.
I’m a good thirty feet away when Emory’s head turns, as if she could sense I was coming, and her eyes lock onto mine. A breeze pulls at her hair and she tucks it behind an ear, giving me a welcoming smile before turning back to her daughter.
When I reach them, Jenna says hello first, and I’m pleased she doesn’t drop her gaze, duck her head or make an effort to ensure her hair is hanging over her shoulder to cover her scars. We had a lot of fun at Not-So-Thanksgiving Dinner last night and I’m pleased she feels at ease with me.