Her eyes pierced his. “Really?”
“Fine, never,” he admitted. “But I’m just a player to your father. He’s certainly never treated me as a confidant.”
“My dad is obsessed with the team,” she said flatly. “He’s always loved hockey, but when he was just a coach, it wasn’t this bad. Now that he owns a franchise he’s almost fanatical. It used to be about the game for him. Somehow it’s become about making money. Being as powerful as he can be.”
“Money and power aren’t bad things to want,” Brody had to point out.
“Sure, but what about family? Who are you supposed to rely on when the money and power are gone? Who will be there to love you?” A cloud of sadness floated across her pretty face, her expression growing bittersweet. “You know he used to take me fishing a lot? Every summer we’d rent a cabin up at the lake, usually for an entire week. We moved around so much, but Dad always managed to find a place to go fishing. I hated to fish, but I pretended to love it because I wanted to spend the time with him.”
She moved out of his arms and walked back to the railing, leaning forward and breathing in the cool night air. Without turning around, she continued speaking.
“We stopped going once I moved to California. He always promised we’d go back to the lake during my visits home, but we never got around to it. Though we did go out on the yacht last summer. Sheila spent the entire trip talking about her nails. And Dad was on the phone the whole time.”
The wistful note in her voice struck a chord of sympathy in him. Despite his busy schedule, he always made sure to return to Michigan a few times a year to see his parents. In the offseason he stayed with them for a month and spent every available moment with his folks. Although it pissed him off a little that his mom refused to quit her job and take advantage of her son’s wealth, he loved being home. And they were always thrilled to have him. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever being too busy to hang out with their only child.
Presley Houston was an idiot. There was no other explanation for why the man would pass up the opportunity to spend time with a daughter as incredible as Hayden. She was intelligent, warm, passionate.
“You know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she blurted out. “There’s no point. Dad and I have been drifting apart for years. I was stupid to think he might actually value my support.”
“I’m sure he does value it. It’s obvious he’s been drinking tonight. It was probably the alcohol that made him snap at you like that.”
“Alcohol is no excuse.” She raked her fingers through her hair and scowled. “God, I need to get out of here. I want to go someplace where I can hear my own thoughts.”
He glanced at his watch, nodding when he saw it wasn’t that late. “Come on. I know just the place.”
She studied him warily, as if she’d suddenly remembered what transpired between them two nights ago. He noted her hesitation, her reluctance to let him back in, but thankfully, she made no protest when he took her hand.
Instead, she clasped her fingers in his and said, “Let’s go.”
NINETEEN
“This is it? The place where all my thoughts will become clear?” Hayden couldn’t help but laugh as she followed Brody into the dark hockey rink twenty minutes later.
She’d let Brody drive her car, but hadn’t thought to ask where he was taking her. She’d been content to sit in silence, trying to make sense of everything her father said to her tonight. Now she kind of wished she’d been more curious about their destination.
The night guard, who Brody addressed as Bob, had let them in. He’d seemed surprised at the sight of Brody Croft showing up at the practice arena way after hours, but didn’t object to Brody’s request. After digging up an old pair of boys’ skates for Hayden from the equipment room, Bob the guard had unlocked the doors leading out to the rink, flicked on the lights and disappeared with a smile.
“Trust me,” Brody said. “There’s nothing like the feel of ice under your skates to clear your head.”
“I should probably mention I haven’t ice-skated since I was a kid.”
He looked aghast. “But your father owns a hockey team.”
“We’re not allowed to talk about my father anymore tonight, remember?”
“Right. Sorry.” He flashed a charming grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t fall flat on your ass. Now sit.”
Obligingly, she sat on the hard wooden bench and allowed Brody to remove her high heels. He caressed her stockinged feet for a moment, then reached for the skates and helped her get a foot into one.
“It’s tight,” she complained.
“It belongs to a twelve-year-old boy. No figure skates here, so you’ll have to make do.”
He laced up the skates for her, then flopped down on the bench and kicked off his shiny black dress shoes. He’d retrieved a spare pair of skates from the bottom of his locker, and he put them on expertly, grinning when he saw her wobble to her feet. She made quite a fashion statement in her party dress and scuffed black hockey skates.
She held out her arms in an attempt to balance herself. “I’m totally going to fall on my ass,” she said.
“I told you I won’t let it happen.”
He took two steps forward and unlatched the wooden gate. Like the pro hockey player he was, he slid onto the ice effortlessly and skated backward for a moment while she stood at the gate and muttered, “Show-off.”
Laughing, he moved toward her and held out his hand.
She stared at his long, calloused fingers, wanting so badly to grab on to them and never let go. Yet, another part of her was hesitant. When she’d picked him up at the bar, she hadn’t imagined she’d see him after that first night. Or that she’d sleep with him again. Or that she might actually start to like him.
But she did like him. As much as she wanted to continue viewing Brody as nothing more than a one-night stand who’d rocked her world, he was becoming unnervingly real to her. He’d listened when she’d babbled about art, he’d let her cry on his shoulder, he’d brought her to this dark rink just to take her mind off her worries.
“Come on, I won’t let you fall,” he reassured her.
With a nod of acceptance, she took his hand. The second the blades of her skates connected with the sleek ice, she almost keeled over. Her arms windmilled, her legs spread open and her skates moved in opposite directions as if trying to force her into the splits.
Brody promptly steadied her, grinning. “Well, fuck. You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“I told you I wasn’t,” she returned with an indignant glare. “Ask me to lecture you about Impressionist art, I can do that. But skating? I suck.”
“Because you’re trying to walk instead of glide,” he pointed out. He clamped both his hands on her waist. “Quit doing that. Just take my hand and do what I’m doing.”
Slowly, they pushed forward again. While his strides were effortless, hers were clumsy. Every few feet, the tips of her skates would dig into the ice and she’d lurch forward, but Brody stayed true to his word. He didn’t let her fall. Not even once.
