Page 22 of Breaking the Ice

“Tommy is your fourth,” Zach tells him. “How many kids do you need to remember?”

“Apparently four.” Troy laughs before adding, “Kelly has made it clear that Tommy is our last.” He turns his attention to his brother. “It’s your turn to bring more Hart men into the world.”

Zach looks appalled at the suggestion. “I don’t think so.”

I want to ask what he has against kids, but I don’t want to appear too interested. Instead, I volunteer, “I’m heading home now.” Addressing Zach, I add, “I’ll be over tomorrow to pick up your curtains for a wash.”

Troy surmises, “So he passed the window washing test and you’re letting him stay tonight?”

I don’t bother explaining that the windows never fully got cleaned. Instead, I tell him, “He’s staying.”

Troy lightly punches his brother’s shoulder. “Looks like if the whole tycoon thing doesn’t pan out, you’ve got yourself a backup career.”

“Ha, ha,” Zach responds, clearly not enjoying being the butt of a joke.

“Can you find your way back to the cottage?” I ask him. Even though I don’t want to spend more time with the man, there’s a small part of me that can’t seem to get enough. I mentally chastise myself for even admitting such a horrible truth.

“I think I can manage,” he says. “However, if you want me to come with you …”

Before he can finish that sentence, I assure him, “I’m good, thanks.” Turning to Troy, I add, “I’ll be over tomorrow to help Kelly get the welcome baskets ready for the players.” He nods his head.

“That’s a nice touch,” Zach says. “What are you putting in them?”

Troy answers, “Just the basics. A brochure of Maple Falls and all the fun things going on here in the autumn, a t-shirt with our Ice Breakers slogan on it, a couple bottles of water, and a commemorative hockey puck.”

When he’s done, I add, “Energy bars, a jar of nuts, custom-made soap that smells like maple syrup, and Kelly’s homemade Rice Krispie treats.” I explain to Zach, “She doubles the amount of marshmallows and butter.”

Zach groans low in his throat which causes a butterfly effect in my stomach. Like seriously, it feels like there are a million of them flapping away in search of freedom.

“Oh, I know Kelly’s Rice Krispie treats,” he says. “I’ll have to make sure I’m around when you gals are packing everything up.” Why did I say anything about those treats? The last thing I want is to spend more time with Zach Hart.

“I’ll bring that turmeric by for your mother tomorrow,” he says.

“Thanks.” So much for hating the guy completely. Waving to the Hart brothers, I skate off the ice, yet my gaze can’t seem to stay in front of me. I keep looking back at Zach like we’re opposite sides of a magnet.

I continue to stare at him while taking off my skates. I consider that he may not be the fiend the media portrays him to be. Or maybe he’s just a good actor. I’ve been watching Yolanda Simms on television for years and I can’t imagine she’s lying about his character. She’s just too credible—she’s too much of a woman’s woman to lie about a dog like him.

An image of Zach leaving Shirley May what was probably the biggest tip of her life creeps in. I question whether he did that for my benefit and a new wave of irritation washes over me. I force myself to break this hold he has on me and turn to storm out of the arena.

Zach Hart is nothing more than an entitled self-serving player and nothing will convince me otherwise. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway …

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Zach

After tonight’s adventure with my brother’s kids, I deduce parents must be bionic. How they manage those rug rats on top of all the responsibilities they have keeping a family afloat is beyond me.

By the time I get back to my little cottage in the woods, it’s all I can do not to flop into bed still wearing my clothes. Somehow, I find the energy to brush my teeth, change into pajama pants, and crawl between the sheets before I lose consciousness. Yet by the time I’m nestled in, my brain gets a second wind and starts churning like I’m destined to take the blue ribbon at a butter-making contest at the state fair.

My biggest concern is Yolanda coming to Maple Falls. She can only have one agenda and that’s to make my life unbearable. What did I ever do to that woman other than correct her assumption about our relationship? She’s clearly dated enough men to know that what we had was nowhere near committed, nor was it a relationship, for that matter.

The truth is that famous people dating each other is often nothing more than a PR arrangement made to give both parties the kind of press they’re looking for. In my case, that was done in hopes that Yolanda would assure the public I was a decent guy, not the opposite. In fact, that had been our agreement to the letter.

Yolanda’s boon was being seen in public with me. And while that may sound egotistical, being aligned with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company has a way of opening doors that otherwise remain closed. Yolanda was using my clout to blast through any obstacle that stood in her way.

Even though our first date was arranged by Fame, Inc.—the company that handles both of our PR needs—she decided to deviate from the script. While technically I could just return her call and find out what her terms are, I can’t for the life of me imagine I would give in to her terrorist demands and let her win this unjust attack. In fact, quite the opposite. She’s declared war on my character, and I’m not going to settle for anything short of total redemption.

Picking up my phone, I set my alarm for my standard five a.m. While I’d love to sleep in, I’m going to get up and finish the window washing so that when Ellie shows up to get the curtains, everything is sparkling. I don’t bother facing the truth of my motivation, which is to see my landlady smile. Instead, I tell myself it’s because I hate when people think I’m one of the idle rich. Just because I’ve made a fortune doesn’t mean I’m incapable of performing basic tasks.

---