and grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table then refilled her glass. Monica was watching her, her expression carefully blank despite the curiosity in her stormy eyes. Emily didn't bother looking at her, hoping that maybe, if she ignored her sister long enough, Monica would drop the subject and leave her alone.
"What time is Taylor's game tomorrow?"
The question caught Emily off-guard. She glanced over at Monica, not bothering to hide her surprise. "It starts at seven, but she needs to be there by six."
Monica winced then finished the last of the wine in her glass. She nodded then stood, tossing the end of the afghan onto Emily's feet. "I'll take her, you can sleep in tomorrow."
"But—"
"No buts. I haven't been to one of her games yet this year, it's about time I go." Monica stopped long enough to place a comforting hand on Emily's shoulder, then walked away. Emily listened as the sound of her footsteps disappeared, wondering what that had been about.
She sighed and drew her knees tight against her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Emily knew exactly what it had been about and it was more than just wanting to see Taylor play.
Monica was worried that JP would be there. Again. And she didn't want Emily seeing him.
She should be grateful to her sister. Emily knew that, just as she knew Taylor would be more than excited that her mom was finally going to a game—even if it meant Emily would miss it.
Part of her wondered if the disappointment that squeezed her chest was because she'd be missing Taylor's game—or missing a chance of seeing JP again.
Chapter Eight
JP raced forward, his skates a natural extension of his legs as he gained speed and flew across the ice. Mat passed the puck and JP reached it for it, felt it hit the blade of his stick as he set himself up for the shot.
But he was holding the stick wrong, the angle off, and the puck bounced and slid away before being picked up by one of the New York players.
"Fuck." JP shook his head then raced across the ice, stopping with a spray of ice as he jumped over the wall into the player's bench for the line change. He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to slam his stick against the bench, refusing to look over at the coach. He didn't need to look at Sonny to see his displeasure, not when he could feel the tension rolling off him.
His play had turned to shit. And it wasn't a gradual turning. No, it had happened from the first puck drop of the night. Like someone had flipped a switch on his abilities. And his ice time had been cut dramatically since then.
Now here they were, late in the third period and trailing New York by one. If they lost this game, it would be JP's fault. He'd had at least two perfect scoring chances and he had blown each of them.
"Fuck." He grabbed a water bottle and shot a stream into his mouth, swished it around and spit, then took a long swallow. What the hell was wrong with him?
An image of deep blue eyes and soft golden hair came to mind and he ruthlessly pushed it away. He couldn't afford to think about Emily now.
He couldn't stop thinking about her.
And that, right there, was the problem.
He took another swallow of water and looked up at the giant screen, his jaw clenched so hard his back teeth ground together. Ten seconds, five...the buzzer sounded and the New York team skated to their goalie, piling on him in celebration of their win.
JP slammed his stick against the boards then filed out of the player's bench with everyone else. Sonny's cool gaze impaled him, his scar a fiery slash on his chiseled face. There would be yelling in the locker room tonight, no doubt about it.
And JP was certain a lot of it would be aimed at him. And rightfully so.
Two hours later, his ears still blistering from the post-game chewing out, JP walked into the hotel bar. He paused, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, then walked over to the grouping of tables several of the players had moved together.
"You need a drink." Mat
"What time is Taylor's game tomorrow?"
The question caught Emily off-guard. She glanced over at Monica, not bothering to hide her surprise. "It starts at seven, but she needs to be there by six."
Monica winced then finished the last of the wine in her glass. She nodded then stood, tossing the end of the afghan onto Emily's feet. "I'll take her, you can sleep in tomorrow."
"But—"
"No buts. I haven't been to one of her games yet this year, it's about time I go." Monica stopped long enough to place a comforting hand on Emily's shoulder, then walked away. Emily listened as the sound of her footsteps disappeared, wondering what that had been about.
She sighed and drew her knees tight against her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Emily knew exactly what it had been about and it was more than just wanting to see Taylor play.
Monica was worried that JP would be there. Again. And she didn't want Emily seeing him.
She should be grateful to her sister. Emily knew that, just as she knew Taylor would be more than excited that her mom was finally going to a game—even if it meant Emily would miss it.
Part of her wondered if the disappointment that squeezed her chest was because she'd be missing Taylor's game—or missing a chance of seeing JP again.
Chapter Eight
JP raced forward, his skates a natural extension of his legs as he gained speed and flew across the ice. Mat passed the puck and JP reached it for it, felt it hit the blade of his stick as he set himself up for the shot.
But he was holding the stick wrong, the angle off, and the puck bounced and slid away before being picked up by one of the New York players.
"Fuck." JP shook his head then raced across the ice, stopping with a spray of ice as he jumped over the wall into the player's bench for the line change. He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to slam his stick against the bench, refusing to look over at the coach. He didn't need to look at Sonny to see his displeasure, not when he could feel the tension rolling off him.
His play had turned to shit. And it wasn't a gradual turning. No, it had happened from the first puck drop of the night. Like someone had flipped a switch on his abilities. And his ice time had been cut dramatically since then.
Now here they were, late in the third period and trailing New York by one. If they lost this game, it would be JP's fault. He'd had at least two perfect scoring chances and he had blown each of them.
"Fuck." He grabbed a water bottle and shot a stream into his mouth, swished it around and spit, then took a long swallow. What the hell was wrong with him?
An image of deep blue eyes and soft golden hair came to mind and he ruthlessly pushed it away. He couldn't afford to think about Emily now.
He couldn't stop thinking about her.
And that, right there, was the problem.
He took another swallow of water and looked up at the giant screen, his jaw clenched so hard his back teeth ground together. Ten seconds, five...the buzzer sounded and the New York team skated to their goalie, piling on him in celebration of their win.
JP slammed his stick against the boards then filed out of the player's bench with everyone else. Sonny's cool gaze impaled him, his scar a fiery slash on his chiseled face. There would be yelling in the locker room tonight, no doubt about it.
And JP was certain a lot of it would be aimed at him. And rightfully so.
Two hours later, his ears still blistering from the post-game chewing out, JP walked into the hotel bar. He paused, his eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, then walked over to the grouping of tables several of the players had moved together.
"You need a drink." Mat
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