My relationship with Aaron had evolved over the years, but he’d always been involved artistically, helping me curate and develop the content on my albums. I trusted and appreciated his feedback on my music.
I’d been singing a bit now, after getting the okay from the specialist last week, but he wanted me to take it easy and work with a speech pathologist so I didn’t injure my vocal cords again. We had to put off recording a while longer, but it felt so good to sing, to be able to express my feelings with my music. Because I had a lot of feelings lately.
“I’d like to get Charli Marna to listen to these,” Aaron said.
I blinked at Aaron. Charli was another of his clients, a huge star. “Really?”
“Yeah. That one song—‘Chasing Dreams’—it has a sound that would really work for her.”
“That’s my song.”
“Could be big bucks for you, if she likes it.”
I bit my lip. “No.”
He grinned. “Okay. Are there any you’re willing to share?”
My mouth twitched. “Yeah. Sure.”
Some of these songs were deeply personal, coming not only from what I’d gone through with my voice and not being able to sing, but also from the feelings I’d developed for Chase. Feelings I shouldn’t have developed for him, which made listening to them bittersweet. “I’d be honored if she wanted to record some of my songs.”
That would be freaking fantastic!
“I’ll set it up.”
Malik was moving, eyes closed, clearly playing music in his head, hands tapping on the piano. I watched him, curious. Then he opened his eyes. “Play this one again.” He was referring to “Tempting.”
I set my fingers on the keyboard and started to sing. “I want it so bad but I know I can’t have it, oh yeah. Can I give up what I want most for what I want now, uh-huh.”
He broke in with his own lyrics, tapping his hand on the piano. “What more could you ask for? The strong wine? You complain about an unmade bed. I gotta love it though—somebody still speaks for the divine. Powerful, painful, enticing, like hockey. Boy, I tell you, I thought you were rocking. I can’t take the unmade bed, can’t take the puck. I woulda tried to talk I guess I got no luck. Beyond the walls of friends, life is defined. I think of love when I’m in a Chicago state of mind.”
Excitement and energy filled me, my skin tingling everywhere, because it was good. I kept playing and singing.
“You have to record it with me,” I said to him with a smile when we finished.
“Yeah, boo. I’m in.”
Aaron approved of this idea and told me about some other artists my label had suggested to collaborate with me. When he mentioned Jasper, I curled my lip. “Ugh.”
“It’s business, Jordyn. He’s huge.”
I sighed. “I could do it, but why? There are many other people I’d have much better chemistry with. Yeah, it’s a business, but it’s art too.”
Aaron nodded. “Point taken.”
We talked more business, about when we could start recording the album I’d had to put on hold. I’d given up the idea of recording it in Chicago now that Chase and I were over. Then Aaron and Malik left, with hugs and kisses, and I was alone in my house.
I deflated. I’d been putting on an act for everyone since I’d returned to L.A., pretending everything was fine. The news was good about my throat and my voice. I was singing again, getting back on track. I’d done lunches and dinners and business meetings, and even gone to a party, letting everyone know I was back. I smiled and laughed and sometimes I even had fun.
But there was a hole inside me I could hide from others but not from myself, an aching, gaping, bleeding hole which was where my heart should be. Where Chase should be.
Spending time with him in Chicago, going on that trip with him, doing everyday normal things like shopping for food, making meals together, sleeping over at each other’s places…going to concerts and having dinner with my parents…watching him play hockey, sitting with the other girlfriends and wives…getting to know him better…how could I not fall for him? He was the best man I’d ever met.
Except he was fucking stupid and blind about playing hurt.
Okay, he was the best man I’d ever met, but he wasn’t perfect. Who was? Not me. But even knowing his faults, I still fell in love with him.
I wandered to the windows at the back of the house, gazing out over the canyon. The view was amazing, part of the reason I’d wanted to rent this house. And yet I found myself missing Chicago. And missing Chase.
I should be ecstatic that my career was moving forward after a whopping scare and a forced hiatus. This was all I’d wanted. I was happy. And relieved. But I wasn’t ecstatic. Inside, a heavy sadness weighed me down.
I’d been so honest with him. I’d been my real self with him because I trusted him. I should have known better.
I wandered back to the coffee table and picked up the remote for the TV. I’d tried to avoid hockey, but I couldn’t. My Condors were out of the playoffs. The Aces had had a playoff spot locked up for a while now, so their last few games of the regular season hadn’t meant much. But the playoffs had started and the Aces were up against Minnesota in the first round. With so many guys out with injuries—they’d even had to call up a new goalie since their backup goalie Boyarov was injured—their chances of winning didn’t look good, and they’d already lost two games.
The endurance and stamina the players had to have amazed me. Each playoff round could potentially be seven games. It was a grueling road to the Stanley Cup. I was worried about Chase’s wrist, despite his assurances it would be fine. He was crazy to be playing hurt. No, no, playing injured. Like I’d said to Chase, I got that they were all playing hurt at various times—bumps, bruises, strains, and tweaks.
Hockey players were tough and tried to play through anything. But Chase had a real injury that was putting him at risk.
Maybe it was a small risk. I didn’t really know. But I hated it. Hated it.
He’d been playing hurt all year, basically. It made my heart ache for what he’d been through.
Tonight was game three of the series. The Aces hadn’t won a game yet. If they lost again tonight they’d be facing elimination. Chase’s dream of another Stanley Cup would be just a dream.
I wanted him to have that. He wanted to win. He worked so hard. I knew how frustrated he’d been all season that he hadn’t played as well as he could, that he hadn’t contributed. I knew he felt he was letting down his team and the fans. I knew how much he wanted it.
Okay, so he was stupid and blind about putting himself at risk…but I had to admit that I admired him for his determination and his loyalty to the team. And to his fans. He wouldn’t be the man I’d fallen in love with if he’d been selfish and put himself first. I thought he should put himself first, but he was putting the team first. And that made me love him even more.
But I was still worried about him.
So, so worried.
I curled up on my couch, hugging a cushion, watching the game with my heart lodged in my throat. The two teams traded goals, with the score tied one all at the end of the first period, and three–three at the end of the second.
Chase wasn’t getting a lot of ice time. That had to bother him.
The team needed him. And yet…they needed him when he was at his best. He had to know that. But he was so determined to contribute, to be part of this.
It was near the end of the third period, the score still tied. Chase was on the ice and had possession of the puck in the Aces’ end. He started out, about to cross the blue line…but one of the Minnesota players came up behind him and literally stole the puck away from him.
“And Hartman just had his pocket picked!” the TV announcer crowed.
“Oh my God.” I watched in dismay.
It all happened so fast. Chase turned and tried to recover the puck, and it looked like he could get it, but he…didn’t. He appeared to hesitate and in that split second the Minnesota player turned, skated in alone on Aces goalie Brent Stoyko and flicked the puck over his shoulder and into the net.
The Minnesota crowd went crazy.