Grant’s gut hurt from laughing at the tales Dwayne spun of Holly’s current high school hockey team.
He leaned his parka-covered ass against his SUV so he could keep an eye on Faith in his peripheral vision. She was watching him from a window above the hardware store. He’d known all the buildings in town had spaces above, but most had been used for offices even when Grant had lived there.
As soon as she discovered who he was, she’d be calling. The thought spilled another burst of heat through his body. If he didn’t stop thinking about quieting her sassy mouth in creative ways, he was going to have to take off his jacket.
“And then…” Dwayne said, winding down his most recent story of an away game with the team. The roads home had been closed due to snow, and they had to stay in a motel overnight. “Even after eight other guys had failed, Healy decides he can reach the ground floor, with, get this—”
“Oh God, he didn’t—” Grant said with humor bubbling up from his belly.
Dwayne was already nodding. “The Saber sling.”
Grant doubled over laughing. Ten years later, kids were still reenacting his legendary antics in high school. When he ran out of breath, he straightened and asked, “Did he make it?”
“Nope.” Dwayne chuckled. “Kids nowadays aren’t like my generation. They all spend their time on video games, not out on the farm or ranch. Most don’t even have chores around the house. None of them could tie a square knot to save their lives. Healy ended up ass first in the snow.”
“How long did you leave him there?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Grant winced. “Ooo, harsh.”
Dwayne just chuckled, and Grant noticed the light in Faith’s apartment go out.
“So when do you want to get started?” Dwayne asked. “I’ve been holding back in case something came up and you couldn’t make it. Just told the boys there would be extra practice over the break. You should have heard the moans and groans. I miss the days when kids couldn’t wait to get out on the ice, and I’m hoping you can bring some of that back to us.”
“The sooner the better. Like I told you when we cooked this up, I’m ready.”
“Perfect. I’ll corral the boys. Plan on something tomorrow afternoon. Say around two?”
“I’ll be there.”
With a beaming grin, Dwayne shook Grant’s hand and used the other to slap his bicep. “This is gonna be real special for the kids.”
“My pleasure. See you tomorrow.”
Dwayne turned toward the sidewalk, and Grant pushed off the car.
“And thanks for agreeing to judge the ice sculptures this year. The posters are getting printed right now. The team will be slapping them up all over the county.”
As he rounded the front of his car, Grant’s attention swung back to Dwayne. “What? What about ice sculptures?”
“You haven’t been gone that long,” Dwayne said, a smile in his voice. “You remember, the biggest draw of the Winter Wonderland Festival? But once word got out that you were judging, the entries poured in. That money helps with the hockey team’s travel and uniform expenses. But it’s looking like we’ll have enough to put together a training camp over the Christmas break next year too. Could maybe even pay someone to come and give clinics.”
Grant was definitely missing something. “This is the first I’ve heard of judging…”
Dwayne’s expression clicked from happy to deer in the headlights. “Your mama told me she got the okay from you about being a judge last week.”
Which would have been about the time Grant had finally given in to his mother’s nagging to come home for Christmas.
Anger started to simmer beneath his skin. “My mama.”
“This is one of her biggest fundraisers for the Art League. A portion of the proceeds from the ice carving goes to her charity.”
“Yeah, that I remember.” That fucking charity. It wasn’t the charity that Grant disliked as much as it was his mother’s obsession with running it. He took a deep breath and let it out in a billow of condensation. “Don’t you love life’s little ironies, Dwayne?”
Dwayne hesitated. “Hey, Grant, if it’s a problem—”
“No, Dwayne. It’s not a problem. My mama’s the problem. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to support you and the kids. You know that.”
“It means a lot to me, kid.” Dwayne smiled, but the enthusiasm was gone, and Grant knew the older man was pulling up memories from the past over the sore subject of his family and their refusal to support Grant’s love of hockey.
Dwayne’s gaze traveled to Grant’s SUV. “Quite a ride you got there. That a Range Rover? What did that set you back, a hundred grand?”
A hundred and a half, but Dwayne didn’t care. This was just an attempt to shift gears and get away from the troubling topic of family. “Something like that.”
“Quite a tree you picked out. A ten footer?”
“Twelve.” Grant glanced at the monster atop his vehicle, wishing he’d told his mother no to the holidays and chosen another charitable way to spend his time to get the Rough Riders’ owner off his back. But Grant had thought he’d be killing two birds with one stone by doing both here. He was also four hundred miles away from those tempting Rider Girls, who were always sweeping him into the kind of distraction the team owner was tired of hearing about through the media or friends. It was probably the only drawback to signing with the team—the owner’s conservative view of how players should run their life off the ice. Grant didn’t mind doing what he was told when it involved his game or even his career. He did take issue with being told where to develop his morals.
But the guy was paying Grant a fucking mint, so… Here he was.
“Glad you bought it from Faith. She’s had a real hard year.” Dwayne’s gaze turned on the hardware store, his brow pulled in concern.
“Oh yeah?” Grant looked up to see if Faith was still watching, but he couldn’t tell with the light out. A hard year would explain why she was living in a tiny apartment above the store. “How’s that?”
“Since her daddy passed, she’s been handling everything herself.”
Grant’s attention snapped back to Dwayne, and shock chilled his gut. “Her daddy? When?”
“’Bout six months ago. It was a blessing in a lot of ways. He’d been battling the cancer for so long. Made a real good run of it. There was a year or two he and Faith thought he was going to beat it, but then it came back meaner than ever.”
The shock transitioned into dread, and Grant’s stomach dropped. “Ah, damn.”
“It wasn’t a surprise. He was ready to go. Faith, well, she never would have been ready. But it was long past time she got on with her own life. It ate at her daddy how much she gave up for him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He got the news her first year in college. She came home that summer and never went back. That boy she went with all through high school… Well, let’s just say he didn’t let no grass grow under his feet. He brought the new girlfriend home with him from college the following Christmas break.”
Grant took another hit to the gut. “Ouch.”
Dwayne made a sympathetic sound in his throat. “She was at her daddy’s side every day since she came home. They had more than a few arguments over her putting her life on hold to nurse him, but she always won.” Dwayne chuckled. “A fighter, that one. Once she sets her mind to something, ain’t no one gonna change it. Reminds me a lot of you that way.” He patted Grant’s arm. “I’m gonna let you go before we both turn into icicles.”
“Sure, sure.” Grant started around the front of his SUV far more subdued than when he’d first spotted Dwayne. “Hey, Dwayne? You need a ride home?”
“No, thanks, kid. These nightly walks are my quiet time with MaryAnn.”
Grant nodded. “Breakfast tomorrow, then? Seven a.m.? Shelly’s? I’m buyin’.”
Dwayne grinned. “I’ll be there.”
Grant slid into the driver’s seat, his mind swamped with the new information. A lot of people thought Dwayne rambled. But if they took the time to listen, they’d figure out the man said a hell of a lot in a short amount of time.
Grant turned the engine over, backed out, and started home. Facing his parents pushed his turbulent feelings about Faith and her father to the background, because Grant didn’t know how to feel or what to think about everything he’d just learned. Right now, all he could focus on was what he could understand—his mother and her manipulation.
He shouldn’t be surprised. Shouldn’t give a damn. But by the time he pulled into his parents’ driveway again, he was damn good and ready to bail on the festival and leave a check in Dwayne’s mailbox instead.
He pulled the tree onto his shoulder, pushed through the front door, and turned into the living room. Then immediately dropped the tree, spreading ice and pine needles across his mother’s perfectly manicured carpet.
Dual gasps touched his ears before he looked up.
“Grant Saber,” his mother scolded. “What on earth is wrong with you?”
“You” was what he wanted to say, but he saw someone else in the room. A young woman sitting on the next cushion. Even after being away for years, Grant immediately knew who she was and why she was here.
Which only angered him more.
“What’s going on?” Grant’s father came in from the next room. “What in the hell happened here?” Martin Saber spread his hands, indicating the mess of the tree, but didn’t wait for an answer before his glare turned on Grant. “Clean up that mess right now.”
“I’ll clean up my mess if you clean up yours.”
“Grant.” His mother’s cutting, shape-up-right-this-second tone hauled Grant back to his childhood. “You remember Natalie.”
Natalie Duboix, the oldest daughter of Dad’s business partner. Grant remembered her because the two families had been trying to set them up for years, all with the hope of pulling Grant away from hockey and back into the family fold.
“She’s organizing Winter Wonderland this year,” Hazel said when he didn’t answer, “and we were just talking about the possibility of you presenting the keynote speech at the banquet that always wraps up the festival.”
“The answer to that would be no. Just like the answer to me judging the ice-sculpting contest would have been no had I been asked. In fact, if I’d known I was going to be manipulated while I was here, I wouldn’t have come at all.”
Natalie cast a dry smile at Hazel and patted her hand. “I’ll just give you all some family time.”
She stood and walked toward Grant. Or rather sashayed. Her tight fitted skirt made it impossible for her to do anything else. Her heels were spiked, her blouse see-through with something lace beneath. She’d always been pretty, but Natalie had become truly beautiful with age. In a word-association game, her image would elicit a response of Stepford wife—perfectly proportioned features, creamy skin, every deep brown strand of her hair curled just so.
For a second—just a split second—he wondered what she’d look like throwing Christmas trees. And his admiration for Faith’s perseverance and tenacity sparked again.
Just when Grant thought Natalie would walk past without comment, she stopped beside him. Slipping her arm around his, she hugged his bicep against her breasts and surrounded him in a bubble of powdery perfume. Grant looked down into her crystal-blue eyes and realized that if he didn’t know her, if they’d met somewhere else, like at a party in DC, he’d be all over the idea of getting her back to his place. She was gorgeous and refined. She reeked of money and connections and easy sex. And reminded Grant of the kind of women he’d dated when he’d taken breaks from playing with the anything-goes Rider Girls.
“You look better than ever.” Her voice was soft and alluring. “I see you on the news doing all sorts of great things for charity. Your generosity is one of the things I adore most about you. And you’ll be doing a lot of good right here in your hometown if you participate.” Her grin grew, and her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth gleamed. “You can bet I’ll be here to keep you company.”
She squeezed his arm and continued through the living room toward the foyer, escorted by Grant’s father.
As soon as the door closed behind Natalie, Hazel turned an icy glare on Grant. “What in God’s name has gotten into you?”
“Eight years,” he said, forcing his voice down so Natalie wouldn’t hear through the many windows that looked out over the property. “You’ve been nagging me to come home for the holidays for eight years. And when I finally do, I find out the only reason you wanted me here was so you could use my name to rake in money for your charity. That’s what’s gotten into me.”
“Watch it,” Martin warned, returning to the living room. “We gave you that name.”
“You might have named me, but I earned the reputation behind the name—despite you.”
Martin’s face reddened, and he opened his mouth.
“Just calm down, everyone,” Hazel said. “Let’s take a second to put everything into perspective.”
“I’ve got it all in perfect perspective, and it’s damned ironic,” Grant told her. “After suffering through decades of disappointment over my love of hockey, you now need me—and the fame I’ve earned through the sport you hate—to pull in money for your charity. All so you can look like hot shit to people in this town.”
“You will not talk to your mother like that—”
He swung toward his father. “I’m talking to you too, Dad. You’re no better.”
“Get out.” Martin stabbed his index finger at the door. “Right now.”
“No, he’s right,” his mother countered before Grant could even take a step. “I’m sorry, Grant. You’re right. In my defense, I have always wanted you home to have the family together, but when I heard you weren’t skating over the holiday and could make it, I did leverage your visit for the good of the community. And while your success hasn’t come in the way your father and I had hoped, there is no denying you have reached incredible heights in your career.”
She paused, looking more contrite than Grant had ever seen her, and drew a breath. “Regardless of whether I care for hockey or not, as your mother, I’m proud. So, yes, I want you out there front and center, where everyone can see what a success you’ve made of your life.”
No. She wanted him out there front and center so she could brag about him. So she could take some sort of credit for his success, when the truth was Grant had fought his parents every step of the way to get to this point in his career.
But he knew that look in her eyes. She wholeheartedly believed what she was saying. And there was no point in trying to get her to see that she was still lying to herself. As for Martin, Grant already knew the man would go to his grave disappointed that his middle son had gone rogue and deserted the family business.
Bottom line: Grant would always be considered a loss to his parents, no matter what he achieved.
“Please stay, son,” his mother said. “You’ll be doing great things for the high school team. A lot of boys here look up to you.”
Like she knew anything about the high school team. Neither she or his father had ever been to one of his games. Not one in Grant’s entire life.
“Don’t try to guilt me. We all know neither of you care who looks up to me or what I could do for the team. All you care about is what you care about. It’s always been that way. It will, obviously, always be that way. But you’re right about one thing. There are people here who respect what it took for me to get where I am. And I do want to help those people. So if I stay, I’ll be staying for them.”
“Grant…” His mother exhaled and shook her head. “Let this argument blow over and see how you feel about things. Your brothers will be here soon, and they’re looking forward to seeing you.”
Perfect. His brothers. The older one was so green with envy over Grant’s career success, he constantly took cuts at Grant’s game like the fucker knew what he was talking about. The younger one was so wild, Grant was shocked he was still alive. Surely the only reason he wasn’t incarcerated was because their father repeatedly bailed him out.
Now Grant wished he’d thought this decision through better. But there had been a sliver of hope that his family had changed over the years. And the fact that they hadn’t, that they might even be worse than they’d once been, both hurt and deflated Grant.
“This was a fuckin’ bad idea,” he muttered, rubbing the tension from his face. Now he felt stuck. He’d promised Dwayne. Dwayne would have promised the kids by now. And one thing Grant hated to do was let kids down. He knew how that felt and avoided it at all costs.
“Stay in the guesthouse if you need your own space,” his mother added.
What fuckin’ choice did he have? He could get a hotel, but the closest one was a several miles out of town and he’d end up driving back and forth all day, every day.
“I’ll think about it.” He bent, picked up the tree, and dragged it toward the front window, where their Christmas tree had reached toward the open-beamed ceilings for as long as he could remember. “And for the last time, stop trying to force Natalie on me. I have a life in DC. A damned good one. I’m not staying here, and no one is going to change my mind about what I do for a living. Sure as hell not a woman.”
He gripped the netting and took out his frustration on the nylon, ripping it open. “Now where do you want this damn thing?”
