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CHAPTER ONE

“THE TOWN OF Elmside is tonight mourning the passing of one of their beloved and most popular figures, Pastor Douglas Boult.”

The newscaster’s words made the laughter die in Jenny Martin’s throat. Her mind froze, abandoning the celebrity gossip she’d been sharing with her friend Maggie. Her coffee cup dropped from her nerveless fingers as she spun to look across the Ice Cats’ family room toward the large flat-screen television. She barely noticed the hot, wet patch on her black jeans; her attention was focused on the photograph of the smiling, white-haired man that now filled the screen.

The smiling face of evil.

Bile churned her stomach as the newscaster read tributes from local dignitaries.

“...Pillar of the community...champion of youth programs...a spiritual leader...”

“Are you all right?” Maggie laid her hand on Jenny’s arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A specter from her past, more like. “I’m fine.”

Her murmured words lacked conviction, but she couldn’t explain. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Use these, Jenny.” Maggie’s daughter, Emily, thrust a paper napkin at her.

When Jenny looked uncomprehendingly at the little girl, Emily pointed at the damp patch, then began rubbing at the stain herself. After a moment, Jenny took over, making a few halfhearted swipes, before tossing the crumpled napkin in the trash. “Thanks, Em.” Putting words together was an effort. “Great job.”

“All right. What’s going on?” Concern darkened Maggie’s eyes.

“I’m okay.” Jenny wanted to plead with her friend not to press, but couldn’t form the words. Then her cell phone started to play “Dancing Queen.”

Her sister. Saved by the bell. Sort of. “I have to take this. I’ll be outside.”

As Jenny crossed the room she felt Maggie’s worried gaze on her back. Once outside in the lower concourse, the backstage of the Ice Cats Arena, Jenny answered her phone.

“Have you seen the news?” Lizzie asked without greeting.

Jenny nodded, then realized she needed to speak. “Yes.”

“Do you need me to come home?”

“No.” The word erupted from her; desperate, urgent. She forced herself to sound calm. “You have classes.” She swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

She had to be.

“Are you sure? I’m only a few hours away. College isn’t like school—I won’t get detention for missing a few seminars.”

“Really, Lizzie, I’ll be okay.”

“But people will want to speak to you about him. Even though we haven’t been part of Uncle Douglas’s life for over a decade, someone will make the connection and want a quote or something.”

Her sister was right. Everyone in their parish knew that Douglas Boult had become Jenny and Lizzie’s guardian following their parents’ deaths in an accident. It wouldn’t take much digging for the media to unearth the records.

“If that happens I won’t say anything more than ‘no comment’ and I don’t want you to, either.”

“Not even to set the record straight? It makes me sick. They’re talking about him like he was a saint. They need to know what kind of monster he was.”

“Please, Lizzie.” Jenny couldn’t bear the thought of people knowing what he’d done to her. Her shame was enough of a burden. “He can’t harm me anymore. Let the past be buried with him.”

“But he doesn’t deserve to be put up on a pedestal. The man was a sexual predator.”

“I know what he was.” Better than anyone. Her voice was soft, but firm.

She had never shared the full extent of her uncle’s abuse. Not even with her sister, who knew what Jenny had suffered to protect her. In fact, Jenny had only ever trusted two other people enough to tell them part of the story and one of those—her boyfriend at the time—had been a huge mistake.

Pain sliced through her; the memory of his betrayal, as fresh and sharp as if it had happened last night, rather than thirteen years ago.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” Her sister’s words trailed off.

“I know. It’s okay.” Jenny cleared her throat, trying to ease the tightness. “I just don’t think it’s worth opening that can of worms. No one will want to believe what Douglas did and, without proof, it’ll be our word against that of a supposedly good man—a man of the cloth—who’s no longer here to defend himself.”

“You’re right.” Lizzie sighed. “They’ll retaliate and it’ll get nasty.”

“I’m not ashamed of what I do in my spare time, Lizzie.” Being the de facto queen of the puck bunnies wasn’t everyone’s idea of a “hobby.”

“I’m not ashamed of you, either. But some people wouldn’t understand. They’d put two and two together and get twenty-two. They’d turn what we said about Uncle Douglas against you. It’s bad enough that he’ll never be punished for what he did. It’s not fair that the truth could ruin your life, too.”

“We both know life isn’t fair.” Jenny made her voice bright. “Anyway, did your professor like your paper on movie remakes?”

Lizzie accepted the change in subject with only a slight hesitation. “He hated it. The man’s a dinosaur.”

The sound of male voices made Jenny turn. Players were heading down the corridor toward the family room. Unlike the boisterous joviality there would have been after a win, they were subdued. Not much to celebrate after a sixth straight loss. As they passed Jenny, they each nodded or lifted a hand in greeting.

“I have to go, sis. The guys are coming out of the locker room.”

“I forgot you’re at the game. Say hi to Jake and the others.”

“I will.”

As Jenny hung up, Jake “Bad Boy” Badoletti and Truman “Tru” Jelinek stopped beside her. Their expressions were grim; the strain of the loss etched across their faces.

She passed on her sister’s message and hugged Bad Boy, deliberately focusing her attention on him, not his best friend. “Tough night, guys. The ice was tilted against you.”

“Yeah.” Jake hitched a shoulder wearily. “It’s been that way since the All-Star break.”

“It’s bound to change sometime.” Her encouragement sounded hollow.

“The odds of us making the cut for the play-offs are pretty slim. We’d have to win ten of our last sixteen games and hope Buffalo and Washington slip up to have a chance of making a wild-card place.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Guess I’ll be improving my golf handicap come April 7.”

“At least you’ll get to spend more time with your personal fan club.”

Jake’s ice-blue eyes lit up. “Speaking of which, time to see my ladies. Catch you later at the restaurant?”

Jenny shook her head. She needed to be alone. “Sorry, got things to do.”

Jake squeezed her shoulder, then strode toward the family room.

Her smile faded as Tru remained standing beside her.

She damned the way her pulse hitched. When would her traitorous body learn that she was no longer interested in the good-looking defenseman? Hadn’t been for thirteen years. Other women might drool over the way his broad shoulders filled out his black, long-sleeved shirt and how his faded jeans fit his muscular thighs, but she’d learned the hard way not to trust his pretty packaging. She could resist those high, Slavic cheekbones and that rugged jaw, too. Her mom had always said “handsome is, as handsome does.”

That made Tru as ugly as sin.

“I saw the news about...him,” Tru said quietly. “Are you okay?”

For a moment, the protective concern in his green eyes touched her. Warmed her. As it had the day they’d met in first grade. He’d had her back when she’d squared off against the class bully over her lunch money. He’d always had her back. Until the night he hadn’t.

The warmth vanished, leaving frost in its place. “I’m fine.”

“If you need anything...”

She cut him off. “You’ve done more than enough.”

“I’m sorry.” Red tinged his cheeks and rose up his neck. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“So you’ve said.” But an apology couldn’t fix the damage he’d done.

Ordinarily, she’d have left it at that. Perhaps it was the news about her uncle. Perhaps it was the shock of the past reaching into the present to smack her in the face. Either way, a door she usually kept locked burst open. “It was too damn little, too damn late, the first time. And it sure as hell doesn’t change anything now.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing the thrust of her bitter words. “I was sixteen. I thought I was doing the right thing. Besides, you didn’t tell me who was responsible. How could I have known...?”

“You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone,” she interrupted.

“I thought I could trust a priest.” He thrust a hand through his still-damp, dark hair. “I was trying to protect you.”

“We both know how that turned out.”

Tru’s girlfriend stuck her head out of the family room and cast an annoyed gaze in their direction. “Is everything okay out here?”

“Just peachy.” Jenny’s smile was brittle.

Tru stiffened, then shifted away from Jenny. “I’ll be there in a minute, Melanie.”

Jenny blamed the way her stomach lurched on the evening’s news, not the exchange of lovey-dovey looks between Tru and his girlfriend. Nor the fact that he’d once looked at her that way.

“We’re done here.” Jenny turned on her heel and stalked off.

The sharp click-click of her heels on the stone floor echoed through the near-silent subterranean concourse. Her heart pounded so hard and so fast, she thought she’d be sick, but she didn’t break stride until she slid behind the wheel of her red sports car.

As she turned the key in the ignition, the radio blared with a variation on the newscast she’d seen earlier. Though she smacked the off button, the words reverberated in her head.

Douglas Boult was dead.

He couldn’t hurt her ever again.

Her hands shook on the steering wheel. Her throat tightened and her eyes burned with unshed tears. It was over. Finally.

She was free.

* * *

DATING WAS A pain in the ass, especially on a game night. Truman Jelinek should have known better. “We can eat out another time, Mel, when I’m not so tired.”

He hefted his sports bag into the back of his Range Rover and slammed the tailgate shut, wincing as pain shot through his right shoulder. Crap. That check into the boards in the third period had done some damage. That’s all he needed; another freaking injury. “I just want to go home, ice my bruises and sleep.”

He opened the passenger door for Melanie, tensing when she didn’t get in.

“But you’ve been away for a week and you promised me a night out when you got back. I got dressed up.” She pouted, then fluffed her long, red hair and swept her hand provocatively down her green, silky top and white jeans. “We can skip the nightclub, but why can’t we have dinner someplace nice?”

He started to shake his head.

Before he could speak, she slapped her hands on her hips. “You can rest tomorrow. You don’t have another game for a few days.”

Though they’d been dating for almost a year, Melanie still didn’t understand how much playing took out of him. It wasn’t so bad during a homestretch, but after a West Coast swing—with four games in six nights—then tonight’s grueling sixty minutes against Boston, he was a wreck. Perhaps his age was catching up with him. He’d just turned thirty, but tonight, he felt twice that. “We could go out for dinner tomorrow.”

Melanie frowned as she climbed into his SUV. “You know I teach Pilates on Wednesdays. It’ll have to be Thursday.”

“That’s the night before we play Pittsburgh.”

“It’s not like that one game will make a difference.” She rolled her green eyes. “You won’t make the postseason anyway.”

Tru bit back a retort. He closed Mel’s door, then stalked around to his side. He didn’t need a reminder of how badly the Cats were doing. It had been two years since they’d won the Stanley Cup. Last year, they were bounced from the play-offs in the first round. This year, they wouldn’t even make the cut. Veteran players, like him, were being blamed for the team’s lackluster performance. After the crappy, injury-plagued season he’d had, he couldn’t argue.

“Hey, Tru, you coming to eat?” Jean-Baptiste Larocque called out as he walked past.

“I’ve got other plans.” Tru nodded toward Melanie, who was applying lip gloss. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

J.B. grinned. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“With your track record, that gives me a pretty free rein.”

“Be careful. For an old guy like you, that might be dangerous.”

“This ‘old guy’ can still grind your candy-ass to dust, kid.”

“You keep believing that.” Larocque laughed, before sliding into his Porsche.

Melanie pursed her lips as Tru fastened his seat belt. “You never let me go to dinner with the team.”

Tru swallowed a sigh at the familiar complaint. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t want Melanie at the postgame meals. It just didn’t feel right. Perhaps because taking a girlfriend felt like too much of a statement about their relationship. He and Mel weren’t at that stage yet. Would they ever be?

Would any woman ever be?

He pushed the questions aside. He didn’t want to think about something that deep tonight. Bad enough that the past had raised its ugly head with that newscast about Douglas Boult’s death.

And the torturous encounter with Jenny afterward.

He’d thought he’d dealt with the fact that Jenny would never forgive him. After trying over and over to make up for his mistake, he’d realized a few years back that he was hitting his head against a brick wall and decided to cut his losses. Since then, he’d done his best to stay out of Jenny’s way.

When, like tonight, they did meet, his body reacted for the first few moments as if nothing bad had happened between them. As if she was imprinted onto his DNA.

Melanie continued her complaint. “Jenny always goes. Why can’t I?”

“You know why Jenny goes.”

“It’s not fair. I should have more rights than a puck bunny,” she huffed. “Jake takes Maggie to the team dinners.”

“They’re married.”

Tru swore silently, wishing he hadn’t mentioned the M-word. Melanie had been pressing hard lately to move their relationship to the next stage, but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t need another emotional fight about commitment tonight. With weariness clouding his brain, whatever he said wouldn’t be right.

Time to steer their discussion along an easier path.

He flicked the turn signal. “How about we go to the little Italian place you love? I’ll take you into the city for dinner on Saturday.” He named a couple of hot restaurants in the Meatpacking District. “Your choice.”

Melanie perked up. “Okay.”

The tension eased. For the rest of the drive, she chattered about what she’d been doing all week. At La Trattoria Paulina, the effusive personal service and a complimentary glass of champagne put her in a better mood.

Tru was beginning to think he might escape the evening unscathed, when Melanie dropped her bombshell.

“I think we should move in together this summer.” She flashed a dazzling smile.

The chicken parmigiana turned to rubber in his mouth. Tru gulped down ice water, but still felt as if he had half a puck stuck in his throat.

He forced himself to sound calm, despite the dread rising in him. “We agreed to hold off discussing that until the off-season.”

“Why wait? You’ve only got a few weeks left and there are decisions to be made if we want to be settled before you start again. Like where we’ll live. I think we should sell our places and buy something new together.”

“Whoa. Slow down.” Tru held up a hand. “I don’t even know if I’ll still be in New Jersey next season.”

Melanie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jeez. Hadn’t she been paying attention? “You know I’m a free agent this summer, right? That means my contract is up with the Ice Cats.”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “But they’ll renew it.”

“Not necessarily.” His poor numbers had sparked rumors that the team wouldn’t offer him another deal, but would instead try to trade him for younger, fresher legs.

He knew his best years were behind him. If he could stay healthy, he might manage another seven or eight seasons. He’d been lucky enough to spend his entire professional career with one organization and had banked on one more contract, so he could finish his career there. Sure, trades were part of the game, but he’d never dreamed it would happen to him.

“We shouldn’t make any decisions about the future, Mel, until we know how it’ll all shake out.”

Melanie wasn’t about to be fobbed off. “So you go to a team that’s close by. There are two in New York. Or we could move somewhere nice, like L.A.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I don’t get to pick where I go. I could end up in Edmonton or Detroit or North Carolina.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then we could do the long-distance thing, right?”

Damn it. He really didn’t want to discuss their relationship or his future tonight.

“Let’s table this until I know for sure where I’ll be.” Tru rubbed his temples, trying to ease the brewing headache. “There’ll be plenty of time to make decisions then.”

Melanie’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t want us to move in together, do you?”

Crap. Like that moment when he knew he’d been caught too far out of his zone and couldn’t beat a streaking winger back, Tru could see the disastrous play unfolding. “Look, I’m tired and sore. We can talk about this on Saturday.”

“I want to discuss it now.” Her lips pinched. “We agreed we wanted more commitment.”

“We agreed to think seriously about where we wanted our relationship to go.”

“I know where I want it to go.” Her voice rose in pitch. “I want to get married.”

His stomach twisted. “Marriage is a big decision,” he said carefully.

“That’s why we should live together first. I know you’re scared of commitment because things were tough after your dad left your mom.” Her smile had a brittle edge. “This way, you’ll see it works, before you have to wear the ring.”

Tru drained his glass. She was right. He wouldn’t get hitched unless he was sure the marriage would last. He didn’t want his kids to go through what he and his brothers had.

The problem was, he couldn’t convince himself to take even the first step with Melanie. That should tell him something, shouldn’t it?

He tried one last time to delay the inevitable. “Let me think about that and we’ll talk on Saturday.”

“You don’t love me, do you?” Her voice wobbled.

Double crap.

Tru wished he could say what she wanted to hear—the words he’d said only once before—but he couldn’t. Not yet. “I care about you. With time...” His voice trailed off, as she shook her head.

“I hoped I was wrong.” Her voice hardened. “You’re still in love with someone else.”

“What?” He blinked, surprised. “Who?”

Even as he asked the question, an image of Jenny flashed into his brain. Her shiny, straight blond hair falling past her shoulders to rest against the scooped neckline of her black top. Faded black jeans that clung lovingly to every inch of her knockout legs and black, spiked-heel boots with buckles and studs that could make grown men whimper. Fire shot through his veins.

He tamped down the unwanted desire and scrambled to cover his ass. “I’m not in love with anyone.”

“Come on, Tru. Don’t try to tell me there isn’t unfinished business between you and Jenny.” Her lip curled.

His short laugh was humorless. “What there was between us has been finished for over a decade.” How could it not be, after what he’d done? “We’ve both moved on.”

“Have you?” Her question rang with disbelief.

Jenny sure as hell had. He’d been reminded of that every damn time she’d left the arena with her player of choice. It had taken a while, but he’d moved on, too, even if he’d never learned to ignore her fully.

“There’s nothing left between me and Jenny.” His tone was flat, uncompromising.

“There’s too much emotion between you, for former high school sweethearts.”

If only she knew. He’d never told anyone—not his best friend Jake, nor his brothers—the truth about what had happened with Jenny. “We weren’t exactly sweethearts.” Not quite a lie. Their relationship had barely started before he’d blown it to hell. “We were buddies, played hockey together. We grew apart.”

Melanie shook her head. “I doubt it’s that simple.”

“It is.” It had to be. He changed the subject away from Jenny to one that wasn’t any more comfortable; it too was littered with guilt and betrayal. “I’ve told you before, I’m cautious because I don’t want to make a mistake. Divorce is painful all round.”

“If you believe that’s the only reason you don’t want commitment, then you’re lying to yourself as well as me.” She rose. “I want you to take me home.”

He knew he should try to rescue their relationship, but he couldn’t find the energy. Where was his “fight till you hear the buzzer” mentality? Gone. Like his chances of winning the Stanley Cup this year. He knew which he felt worse about.

“Okay.” He motioned for the waiter to bring the check.

As he paid, Tru wondered what he could have done to make the evening end differently.

His depressing conclusion was nothing. He didn’t question too closely whether he couldn’t think of a solution to the issues they—he—had or he didn’t want to.

The drive to Melanie’s place was tense and silent. There was nothing left to say. After a stilted goodbye, Tru headed to his apartment.

He closed the door and relief filled him. He should be upset. His relationship with Mel had lasted longer than any other. If there was a chance of him having a happily-ever-after with anyone, he’d have thought it would’ve been with her. Yet, now that it was over, he knew this was the right outcome.

Maybe he wasn’t meant to be married. He thought enviously of Jake and his wife, Maggie. Of the obstacles they’d overcome to be together. Of their happiness. Their marriage would last, for sure.

Tru wanted to believe there was someone special out there for him. Unfortunately, it looked as though the odds of finding that person were as slim as him being voted the league’s most valuable player this year.

He pulled an ice pack from the freezer and pressed it to his shoulder, then slumped onto the sofa and flicked on the TV to catch the Kings’ game.

He should forget about relationships and stick to hockey.

It was simpler. You win or you lose, you move on to the next game. On the ice your only commitment was to the logo on the front of your sweater.

Sure he wanted more than his career, but not unless what he felt for the woman was absolutely right. In hockey and in love, second-best didn’t count.

* * *

JENNY DIDN’T KNOW how she made it home. By the time she closed her front door, her body was trembling. Despite the balmy spring evening, she was chilled through.

She should be dancing through the house, yet she couldn’t shake off the gloom that shrouded her, extending its cold, snakelike tendrils deep inside.

Perhaps it was shock. Jenny had been looking over her shoulder for so long, waiting for her uncle to take revenge for leaving and taking Lizzie with her. Even when Lizzie had grown too old to be of interest to Douglas, he’d made sure Jenny knew that he could make their lives miserable if she took one wrong step.

She lit the fire in the living room, made a mug of hot chocolate and curled up in her rocking chair, her parents’ wedding-ring quilt wrapped around her shoulders. She drew comfort from the handmade quilt, as if her parents were hugging her.

The heirloom was the only thing of her parents that Douglas had let her take when she’d left. Jenny hadn’t cared; Lizzie’s safety had been worth more than everything she’d had to leave behind. And a small price to pay for ensuring her uncle would leave them alone.

Not that she’d trusted him to keep his word. But her only leverage against him would have been to tell the truth about what he’d done to her. But that would have destroyed her and, worse, Lizzie would have been wrenched from her care.

Slowly, warmth seeped into her body, relieving the tension that had tightened her muscles. A tiny spark of joy lit deep inside and she allowed it to glow.

The doorbell rang, jolting her out of her reverie. Jenny debated not answering, but her visitor was impatient and leaned on the bell again. Slowly, she rose and went to the door. Checking through the peephole, she was relieved to see her boss’s craggy face.

Harry didn’t say anything when she opened the door, simply enfolded her in his arms and pressed her to his barrel chest. The familiar smell of Old Spice and the cigars he wasn’t supposed to smoke clung to his tweed jacket.

The tears she’d held back spilled over.

“No need for waterworks,” his gravelly voice rumbled beneath her ear as he patted her back awkwardly.

Jenny stepped away and led him to the living room. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

His jaw set. “They’re tears of happiness. We’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I’ve never been happier to hear of someone’s passing.”

Harry had insisted she tell him her story the first time they met, when he’d rescued her from a shoplifting charge at the local grocery store, not long after she and Lizzie had left their uncle’s house. Surprised a teenager would steal milk and bread, instead of candy or alcohol, he’d paid for her haul and offered to buy her lunch.