Page 55 of He Has Pluck

Finn grabs the towel from me and whips at my legs. “You asking for trouble, new guy?” The laugh lines reach all the way to his eyes, and I snatch up another towel and whip it at Finn’s legs as he jumps away.

“That’s it; do a jig for me. A victory dance.” Some of the guys laugh when Finn crosses his arms, and hell if he doesn’t break into a jig.

“You’re so damn cute,” I say. “No, really. How about you?” I whip the towel at O’Rourke’s legs, and he laughs, shaking a finger at me.

“No, you don’t. I don’t dance for anyone but my wife.”

I laugh. “And your baby girl,” I say, knowing I’m right. The buzz in the room gets louder and lighter. Something wells up in my chest, and I roam my eyes around, stuttering when I get to Juliette and her fucking camera and then moving on.

“I love this team. You have no idea how much. We’re going to fucking kick ass when we go on the road and beat the ass off New York in their own fucking rink.”

“What’s got into you?” Tony G grins and picks up a towel. “You’re in a mood.”

“We won. That’s what got into me. We’re in the fucking Stanley Cup playoffs.” I grin back, and the hoots and hollers are more genuine now, more appreciative. Or so I’d like to think. “Hey, why was Stan Lee a memorable hockey player?” I shout at the room. Grunts and curious stares answer me. “When he went to his very first hockey practice, he already owned the Stanley Cup.”

O’Rourke let’s out a belly laugh, shaking his head as he finishes dressing.

Rafe picks up on it and starts telling Montreal hockey jokes. “I’d love to stay and entertain you all,” he says to boos and catcalls, “but I gotta go face the media.” He turns to me and says, “At least my smile will be real.” He winks. It wasn’t my imagination.

Juliette stands in the corner of the locker room and films it all. I drag my eyes away from her and head to the shower.

* * *

There’s a mob outside the locker room, and my upbeat mood carries me through the media gauntlet to where Mom and Josh are waiting for me.

Mom hugs me, of course, good and long and hard, and I let her warmth and love soak into me while she tells me how proud she is. Then Josh reaches for my hand, but I haul him in for a bro hug, needing it. It’s not my usual thing, but if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it and gamely hugs me back, bumping his fist on my shoulder.

Juliette and her camera track me, following me to film the family reunion. The normalcy of her presence wars with my tension because the need to touch her spikes in me, clawing like a caged animal hollowing out my gut.

“Oh, my,” Mom says, “are we on television?” She smiles but retains her natural grace, and I wonder where the genetic disconnect between her and me happened because my twin brother is exactly like her, cool and poised. Maybe I used to be like that, before Juliette, before I was called up to the NHL.

But no, my passions always ran deep under the façade of coolness. It’s the reason I got where I am.

“It’s not a TV camera. Remember, I told you they’re making a documentary.” I turn to Juliette, an erratic leap in my heartbeat forcing me to take a breath when she takes the camera off her shoulder. Expectation and curiosity light her extraordinary eyes, and Mom and Josh react to her predictably with that look of admiration and astonishment when she smiles at them.

Fuck, they flat-out stare at her, and I want to take her in my arms and claim her as my chest swells with need and too much emotion to tolerate.

“This is Juliette Sullivan, an award-winning videographer, and she’s filming our documentary.” Mom nods and shakes her hand, her smile glowing as she looks between us.

“This is my mom, Grace Tansem, art teacher extraordinaire, and this guy is my brother Josh. Don’t let his calm smile fool you—he’s an animal on the ice, and he’d beat my ass in hockey if he wanted to.”

“Nice to meet you,” Josh says. “Don’t listen to Jason. I’m a sheep, and he’s a rabid wolf if there ever was one—a beast when it comes to fighting for what he wants. Hockey and…anything else. He’s one of those all-in kind of guys.” He pauses, looking between Juliette and me. “But I don’t need to tell you that.”

“No, you don’t. I’ve been watching—filming him—and he’s a very intense player, very passionate. About the game.” She flicks me a look, almost smirking. I want to laugh. I want to take her in my arms and crush her mouth with mine. I want to scream with the effort to keep her at arm’s length, and I want to run the other way and get out of her orbit, get away from the influence of her essence.

“We’re so excited and proud of Josh,” Mom says as Juliette raises her camera back to her shoulder and rolls her hand to encourage Mom to keep talking. So she does. Mom goes on about my hockey accomplishments, and Josh rolls his eyes.

“Where are you from?” Juliette asks. She knows the answer. Knows a lot about me, more than my family does these days. But she’s backing up, distancing herself, and I can feel the withdrawal like a cold slap.

A stab of betrayal shoots through me at her pretending that I’m no more than a casual acquaintance, cutting me, stinging more than it should. I can’t help staring, my eyes no doubt showing the hurt while I gather my defenses. I’ve already committed to the charade of having only a professional relationship with her for a multitude of reasons, so what’s my problem? It’s not like we have a choice.

Mom tells her we’re from Newburgh, New York, on the Hudson River.

“The murder capital of New York,” I say.

Mom shoots me a look that says you’re not too old to scold. “It’s up and coming,” Mom says.

Josh shakes his head, suppressing a smile.