SPLAT. That’s the sound of my patience bursting against the four walls of my office, just like my Aunt Linda’s pressure cooker did all over her kitchen one Easter.
“You are a pushy…jerk!” I yell, reigning myself in just in time. Obscenities will only make me sound coarse. Since he’s always believed I’m not good enough for his darling boy, I’m trying not to help him prove his point. “I built this place right alongside Jackson. It’s half mine because I show up here every day and work my…hiney off! So please remove yourself and your suggestions from my office. Right now!”
The door flies open, and Jackson is standing there. “What the hell, Dad? Why is Hailey demanding you leave her office?”
“No idea?” The asshole shrugs and stands up. “She’s out of line. All I did was suggest that she should take a buyout from me. The company should be back in the family where it belongs.”
Jackson’s face flushes with anger. “I told you I didn’t want to buy her out!”
“You’re not. I am.”
“No effing way,” my ex-husband sputters, and my heart lifts. “There is a zero percent chance that I’m partnering with you. You’ll just try to steamroll me at work the way you steamroll me everywhere else.”
“Jackson Herbert Emery! That is seriously ungrateful. You know I’ve been a businessman about twenty-five years longer than—”
“Doesn’t matter!” Jackson interrupts. He’s on a serious roll. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset. “You and I are not running a business together. Ever. And Hailey isn’t going anywhere. Stop pushing her around. Stop pushing me around. And we’re not renting that overpriced spot on the Bridle Path! Enough already!”
His face is bright red and I’m getting a little scared for him. I grab a file folder off my desk and fan some fresh air in his direction. “Breathe, honey.”
Mr. Emery gives me a glare, grabs the file folder from my hand, and throws it against the wall.
Then he storms out, tossing my door aside with such force that the papers from the folder skitter across the floor. My office looks as if a literal storm just blew through. And I suppose one did.
“Wow, Jax,” I say a moment later, still trying to get over my shock. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did,” he says, sagging into the visitor’s chair. “That was a long time coming. And I apologize I never did it sooner. Like, five years ago. I can’t have him insulting my best friend.”
My throat is thick all of a sudden. “Best friend?”
“Of course! Christ, Hails, we’ve known each other since we were six years old. Maybe we weren’t meant to be lovers. But we sure as hell are meant to be friends.”
“And…” I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “Business partners?”
He lifts his hands. “Well, duh. Otherwise I don’t know what we’re been doing these past five years.” His forehead crinkles. “You don’t think I’d seriously want to buy you out, right? That’s nuts.”
Oh, shit. My eyes are watering now. Because I did think he wanted that.
“Hailey!” He jumps out of his chair and comes around my desk. “Jeez, Hails.” His slim arms wrap around me. “I don’t want you to go! Shit. You think I want to run this place myself? What fun is that?”
I gulp back what might have been a sob. “I heard him say it months ago. Thought maybe you were actually considering it.”
“I swear that’s the worst idea I ever heard. No way.”
“No effing way,” I say, and it’s a half laugh, half hiccup. “You really showed him with that e-bomb.”
“Shut up.” Jackson pinches me. “That’s me going wild.”
I giggle.
He giggles, too.
“This year is all about going wild, I think.”
“Yeah. It’s the best.” He smiles at me, and the smile is a little crooked. It’s so familiar my heart aches. “You’re, uh, going wild dating a hockey player. Am I allowed to bring that up for a second?”
“Sure. And it’s still going great. There’s an event next week—family skate. I’m going to skate with the whole team.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “That sounds amazing.”
“And you’re going wild with…” Suddenly a memory of the sex toys from that box I unpacked leaps into my brain. “Uh, I’m glad you’re…having fun with Melinda.”
He straightens and sits on the edge of my desk. “She’s adventurous,” he says, his ears reddening.
“That’s…great,” I say, fighting laughter. “Those handcuffs…”
“Let’s never speak of this again.”
“Right!” I agree quickly. “Let’s talk about springtime promotions instead. They’re going to be awesome.”
“The springiest,” he agrees.
“In springy colors like…pink leopard print,” I say.
“Hailey!”
We both break up laughing. Again.
Twenty-Three
What An Amazing Turnout
Matt
“BLAKEY! WE’RE HERE!”
I cringe at the ear-splitting arrival of Blake Riley’s mother. As every single person in the practice arena turns in her direction, Mrs. Riley steps onto the ice in a pair of scuffed-up black skates, pumps her arms, and goes flying toward her son, who’s leaning against the boards with Jess and Jamie Canning.
“Did you bring ear plugs?” I murmur to Hailey, who’s gliding to the left of me. Her gloved hand is laced through Junebug’s, while Libby is holding on to mine.
“Hush,” Hailey chides. “She’s a lovely woman.”
I’m not saying she’s not a lovely woman. But Mrs. Riley also happens to be the loudest woman on the planet and probably in the whole galaxy. She makes up for that by being our biggest fan. Or, at least, giving Hailey a run for her money in the biggest fan department. I don’t think I’ve ever met two women who are more obsessed with hockey.
This morning, there’re no sticks or pucks in the rink, only people. The team’s hosting a joint charity event for three children’s charities in Toronto, two that aim to help inner-city, at-risk youth and one for the Children’s Hospital.
The latter means that several of our attendees can’t actually be on the ice at once. Many of the kids are too sick to skate, so they’re bundled up on the bleachers, sitting under the heaters. Two or three at a time, my teammates are bringing them out onto the rink on sleds and towing them around so they can get a feel for how much fun it is to fly across the slick surface.
Will O’Connor skates toward me, the rope of a sled around his waist. Behind him he’s towing a child of indeterminate age. A hat covers what I believe is a bald head. And the boy’s legs are a lot longer than my girls’, but this poor kid seems not to weigh any more than my preschoolers. Even so, he’s smiling up a storm as O’Connor glides past us, waltzing like a polar bear. He’s even singing.