Page 27 of Rebel Bride
“And you want it back?” He sounded a touch incredulous, with good reason. I couldn’t return, not after what I’d done.
“I liked working there. I liked learning about the business, supporting behind the scenes. I thought—” I broke off, aware of how absurd I sounded.
“You thought what?”
“It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
“That I could learn the hockey trade. Be a scout or an analyst.” I had even agreed to continue research for Scott after I left. If I kept my hand in, I might eventually convince Dash that I could contribute in more ways than just hockey wife and mother.
“Addy loves the stats stuff, too.”
“Yeah, we’ve talked about it sometimes. But I didn’t push for what I wanted.”
“I’m sure you can find another job.”
His hands were still touching me. He seemed to realize that and removed them, sending a chill through me.
“Is there a train back to Chicago?”
“You want to leave?” The words came out gruff.
“I can’t stay here, Hatch. Time to face the music.”
He leaned back and brought his ankle up to cross his leg. I was momentarily fascinated by the shape of his calf, the dark hair that looked eminently touchable. I had no idea calves could be sexy.
“Maybe take a couple of days.”
“The longer I leave it, the worse it’ll get. All my stuff is at Dash’s place. I’ll need to move out and start over.” No job. No fiancé. Virtually no savings. I’d spent so much of it in the last year trying to keep up with the Carters. I had insisted on contributing to the wedding even though the cost of it would barely make a dent in their fortune. I’d paid for the rehearsal dinner and the floral arrangements, only to find my choices had all been superseded by Dash’s mother and sister.
Roses? Oh, no one does roses at weddings.
I had thought roses romantic, but romance wasn’t important to a wedding, evidently. Roses were out of style. Romance, too.
But I’d stood my ground for my bouquet. Pale pink roses, that was what I wanted. Then I’d left it behind at the church, along with this life I’d blown up.
Hatch considered me, wearing that familiar expression I knew. Disapproval. When he was looking at me at all. Sometimes I would glance his way in the Empty Net or at a team gathering and our gazes would clash. He would look away, as if disgusted.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
He wasn’t looking away now. The tiki torch light mimicked the flutter of a flame. It caught his cheekbones, shaded them like a sculptor revealing beauty in the stone.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you can’t figure me out.”
Was that why I held some weird fascination for him? Did he wonder how someone like me could have carved a niche into this life where she so obviously didn’t belong?
“I don’t get why you stayed with Carter for so long. Why you waited to do this. It wasn’t like a whirlwind romance where he swept you off your feet and before you know it, ‘Here comes the bride.’ You had ages to figure this out.”
The criticism abraded, but I could take it. I had Shelby Mae as my constant companion, my own best critic, so Hatch Kershaw was following a well-trodden path.
“I was a frog in slowly-heating water. I didn’t realize how complacent I had become, how accepting I was of that brand of toxicity until it was too late.”
“Anyone could see what a jerk he was to you. Addy and Rosie talked about it.”
