Crista McHugh - Breakaway Hearts

The news the next morning listed all the injuries he’d sustained. Concussion. Torn ACL and MCL. Then the bets had started rolling in on whether or not the starting goalie for the Vancouver Whales would be returning to the team next season, if at all.

Hopefully Gus had given him a get-lost speech and that would be the end of it. Ski season was almost over, and summers in Cascade were usually quiet without the influx of outsiders. He’d probably leave in a couple of weeks, and that would be the last she ever saw of him.

But a squirm deep inside her stomach reminded her she wanted to see him again, if only to give him a piece of her mind after all the shit he’d put her through.

Don’t let him distract you from your goal. Remember your promise to Zach .

She pulled into the parking lot of her dad’s bar and took another cleansing breath in through her nose. This time, it worked. All her anger, her hatred, her frustration flowed out with the air from her lungs. She’d wasted too much time and too many tears over Ben Kelly, and now was not the time to lose focus.

Erikson’s Sin Bin sat right in the heart of town, on the main drag. Complete with a half dozen plasma screen TVs showing the latest games, it was the favorite watering hole for the locals. The Stanley Cup playoffs were in full swing, so the place would be packed tonight. The Whales were also playing, which meant the crowd would be that much more invested in the game. And if the Whales won, then her tips would be up.

She went in through the kitchen and grabbed her apron from under the bar. “Hey, Pop, you ready for tonight?”

“Got seven cases of Labatt.” Her father leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek. She was built like him, tall and lean, with the same bright blue eyes and blond hair. “How was practice today?”

Besides the fact the man who’d refused to acknowledge my existence two years ago had showed up?

“I roughed them up a bit,” she said after a moment’s pause. No need to tell him about Ben. Her dad would probably roll up his sleeves and beat the crap out of him if he knew.

“How bad?”

“Six to nothing.”

“That’s my girl. You keep playing like that, and the Canadian team’s bound to offer you a place.”

“First I’ve got to convince them to give me a tryout.” At twenty-seven, she was a bit older than the average player, but she was still in fantastic shape and could outplay anyone she knew. “Gus forgot his camera today, but he’ll record the next scrimmage.”

“And don’t forget Monday’s league game, either.” He ruffled her hair, pulling some of it free from her ponytail, before crossing the bar to see to a customer.

“Hailey, darlin’,” her stepmother, Cindy, called from the kitchen in her thick Texas drawl, “do you mind getting the drink order for the man at table twelve? I’m trying to get fourteen’s order out.”

One quick peek into the kitchen revealed the petite woman was carefully trying to balance four platters of wings and potato skins. “Can I help you with those?”

“Nope, I got ’em. Just get twelve started, and I’ll be by in a few minutes to see if he wants anything to eat.”

The Sin Bin was a true family-run business. Her father had opened it shortly after her older brother was born, and the whole family pitched in to keep it running. Her brother had moved away ten years ago to work in Toronto, but that was just about the time Cindy had showed up in town to take over his shifts. On busy nights like tonight, they were all there. Her dad stayed behind the bar while she and Cindy split the tables.

Twelve was a small corner booth, usually occupied by someone not entirely into the game since it had the worst view of the TVs. A lone man sat there, his back to the rest of the bar while he bent over his iPad. He was big, powerfully built with short black hair, and wore a fine-gauge sweater that hugged his broad shoulders. Definitely not one of the locals.

She approached the table and pulled her pen and notepad from her apron pocket. “Can I get you started on anything to drink?”

He looked up, and her heart kicked into overdrive as soon as she saw his slate-blue eyes.

Ben Kelly.

Her throat tightened, which was a small blessing. It was the only thing that kept her from calling him a dozen four-letter words.

He held up the display card on the end of the table. “You’re truly serving Labatt for a loonie?”

She swallowed, pushing the lump of anger out of her throat and into her stomach, where it burned with more fire than Cindy’s extra-spicy Buffalo wings. Two could play this nonchalant game of I don’t know who the hell you are . “Yep, but only when the Whales are playing.”

A cheer rose from the other side of the bar as the TV showed the team skating out onto the ice.

“It looks like the game’s about to start,” he said.

She squeezed her pen until it started to bend in the middle. “So do you want one or not?”

He set the card down, his eyes never leaving hers. “Sure, why not?”

“Fine. Cindy will be over in a few minutes to get the rest of your order.” She shoved her pad and pen into her apron and spun around on her heel. He had a lot of nerve showing up here, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he got under her skin.

She grabbed a bottle out of the cooler and popped the lid off, leaving it on the bar. “Here’s twelve’s order.”

“Aren’t you going to take it to him?” her dad asked.

“No.” As far as she was concerned, he could rot in hell.

Ben watched the pretty blond waitress storm off to the bar, the set of her shoulders matching the icy glare she’d given him when he’d looked up. And here he thought Canadians were supposed to be polite and friendly. Not so with her, although he couldn’t understand why. But there was no mistaking it—she was the same pepper pot from the ice rink.

He bent over his iPad and resumed his search through all the photos in his cloud, hoping he’d be able to spot one with her in it and fill in the missing pieces of his memory. The easiest thing to do would be to ask her if they’d met before, but based on her behavior so far, he doubted that would end well. Better to wait until he put two and two together before trying to make amends for whatever wrong he’d done to deserve her treatment.

“Here you go, sugar,” a small woman with bright red hair said as she set an ice-cold bottle of Labatt on the table. “Care to get anything else to go with that?”

In a town this small, she definitely stood out with her sweeter-than-sweet drawl. He grinned. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“Land sakes, no. I’m from Dallas originally, but I’ve lived here for the last ten years.”

He took a swig of beer and studied her. Small creases appeared around her eyes and mouth when she smiled. She was older than the other girl, her face still attractive, but with hair that color, he had a hard time guessing her age.

“How well do you know the girl who took my drink order?”

“Pretty well since she’s my stepdaughter. What did Hailey do?”

He froze with the bottle hovering in front of his lips. Hailey. Why did that sound so familiar? But once again, his memory contained more gaps than he could fill. “She just acted like she didn’t want me to be here.”

“Sorry about that. Just give her time. The locals here are a bit standoffish at first, but they warm up to you quickly.” She jerked her head across the room where Hailey was laughing with a table full of people over something. “So, back to anything to eat?”

He scanned the single page menu. “A burger sounds good.”