Lila ignored the blood singing in her ears. She loved him but she had been down this road before.
Making her voice cold, she told him, “For you, perhaps. Not for me.”
Stepping out of the warmth of his arms, she let him draw his own conclusions about her meaning. He knew about his cousin, of course, but his likely assumption about Jack would be wrong — she had never slept with her boyfriend.
“You want this, Lila.” The raspy words were persuasive. “Don’t deny it.”
“I won’t. I just don’t forget my promises that easily.”
His upper lip curled in a fierce scowl. “To Jarrett, you mean? You made a promise to me that predates anything you and he had going.”
It terrified her how easily he could dismiss her relationship, placing it firmly in her past. If he knew the truth …
Her barriers already paper-thin and scorched by his nearness, Lila squeezed her eyes shut to block out the strong temptation of his muscled chest.
“I can’t go through this again, Cahal. It will destroy me.”
Drawing her chin up, he met her gaze. “Whatever you’ve heard about me, whatever may have been said, it wasn’t true, Lila. I never gave you any reason to turn to Chris.”
Every quivering nerve wanted to believe him, wanted to cast aside the barriers her mind raised and give into the sweet sensation of being held in his arms once again.
“You never gave me any reason not to.”
He ran a hand through the thick blond hair at the back of his head. “What you experienced is no different from what any other hockey wife goes through. You’ve blown it out of proportion.”
Sucking in a shocked breath, Lila could only stare up at his hard, frustrated features.
What was it she was exaggerating? The loneliness? The infidelity? The feeling of being in a part-time marriage and still coming in second to her husband’s career?
Pushing past him, she said, “You’ve proved my point, Cahal. I can’t go through with this. I can’t keep making the same mistakes.”
Nearly out of the door, his voice stopped her.
“Our marriage wasn’t a mistake, Lila. I’ll prove that to you yet.”
• • •
A perusal of the official Internet site devoted to the team told her that while the rest of the players were touring, Jack Jarrett and another player were left behind in Toronto. The other player was recovering from knee surgery but Jack was listed as a healthy scratch, meaning that while he was physically able to play he was not going to be utilized by the team’s coach.
They agreed to meet at a downtown restaurant; Lila agreed with a measure of relief that he hadn’t suggested something more private or intimate. Her husband’s warning still echoed in her ear.
As she slid into the booth where Jack was already seated, she noted the lines in his face and the darkness beneath his eyes. If she were called upon to hazard a guess, she would have said he last slept several days ago.
He moved his blue eyes over her slender figure in its close-fitting black pants and colorful long sweater. “You look good.”
“Thanks.” She couldn’t return the compliment.
Lila ordered a soft drink and made the pretense of reviewing the menu but Jack wasn’t willing to wait.
“Are you going to tell me what this whole thing is about?”
Gone was the fury of the day before. He seemed willing to be convinced — of what, Lila wasn’t entirely sure.
When she didn’t immediately speak, he went on. “It’s a publicity ploy, isn’t it? Your faces were plastered everywhere overnight, Cahal Wallace and his cute little hometown gal. That has to be the real reason you went back with him.”
His guess was surprisingly good. Sensing something was wrong with the lightning reconciliation, he sought the obvious solution.
Lila poked a finger through the largest hole. “Why would Cahal need more publicity?”
Jack took a leisurely swallow of his beer, his eyes still locked on her. “With those superstars, I heard there’s no such thing as too much.”
“That’s money,” she replied, “not celebrity. Most of your colleagues are good Canadian boys who don’t care for notoriety.”
“Notoriety is right,” Jack murmured as the waitress made another pass around their table and managed to catch Lila’s eye, dooming them to put in an order they didn’t want and Lila knew she wouldn’t be able to eat.
“I don’t want to talk about Cahal,” she said. “I wanted to talk about you and me, Jack.”
He let the comment sink in for a full minute before he spoke, low and vehement. “Do you think I’m blind?”
She stared. “What? No!”
Jack went on as if she hadn’t spoken.
“I know he managed to lure you back. What I want to know is how? Money? Promises of even greater stardom? What?”
The questions hit her like a barrage of hammer blows, shocking in their violence.
“I love him.”
Her answer was a firm yet gentle counterpoint and it sounded believable even to her ears.
For a second Jack looked stunned until his quick reflexes brought him back up, fighting.
“And you didn’t know this a few months ago when we started dating?”
“I knew it even then,” Lila heard herself saying, “but I struggled to deny the truth. I should have known better than to go against what felt right and natural. I’m sorry, Jack. Really, I am.”
“Sit down.”
Lila hadn’t risen, yet after speaking the perfect exit lines she was already sliding out of the booth. The command brought her feet back onto the edge of the raised floor and she unwillingly settled her bottom back into the tough upholstery.
“I’m sitting.”
She owed him the courtesy of a ready ear.
He leaned forward over the high table. “You’ve got to help me.”
“Help you?” Lila probably looked as blank as she sounded. “With what?”
Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, her companion threw a handful of crumpled papers down between them.
“This.”
Lila moved reluctantly to take the balled up pages and smooth them out on the tabletop. They were all articles from newspapers, except for one that came from a glossy weekly sports magazine. All were pictures of Cahal and her, old shots from their days in Chicago, and all told the same story of tragic parting and triumphant reconciliation in the most glowing words imaginable.
Looking up from a particularly saccharine quote, she said, “That drivel didn’t come from me. This hasn’t been easy for me, Jack, and it certainly hasn’t been a dream come true as this guy writes. It hurts me to hurt you.”
Though she had already abandoned any hope of convincing him without words that she was doing this for both of them, she still wanted him to believe her in this at least.
“That’s a load of bull!”
Jack’s voice brought the anxious waitress within a few feet but one glance at his face kept her from coming any further.
“Keep your voice down,” Lila hissed. The last thing they needed was some observer to grab his cell phone and take a quick picture of the newly reconciled Mrs. Cahal Wallace with her ex-boyfriend.
Jack’s volume stayed turned up. “I’ll keep my voice down when you explain all of this to me, this time without the crap. I don’t believe you love him. He cheated on you. While he was keeping you sweet and pampered in his big house, he was fucking around behind your back. Tell me you love him still. Tell me.”
The force of his anger hit her full in the face and she backed down from the humiliation of answering him in the way she needed to, admitting that she loved a man who could shame and disrespect her on a constant basis.
“He loves me,” she said instead, “despite what he did and I need to give the marriage another try.”
Dark eyes searched her face before jerking away. “Then you probably deserve the marriage you’re in. Wallace is a cold, manipulative bastard, but he’s got you right where he wants you and for some reason you’re willing to make the same mistake twice. Just remember that I won’t be waiting the next time he hurts you, ready to pick up the broken pieces.”
Now she had nothing left. No marriage once the contract was over and no boyfriend.
“I won’t need you to do that, Jack. You have to trust me that I know what I want finally.”
He downed the rest of his beer in a gulp. “I don’t know about what you want, but you’re sure getting what you deserve.”
Lila’s patience was wearing thin.
“That’s my decision, isn’t it?”
Jack eyed her darkly. “You heartless bitch. I see right through your lies, just as I see right through your motives. I was never rich enough or successful enough.”
Lila jumped to her feet at the first epithet and struggling into her coat couldn’t help but hear the rest of his venom.
“You don’t know the first thing about this situation,” she told him in a low voice, “but you don’t care to understand, do you? You only know that you’re hurt and you want to hurt someone in return. Well, I’m not going to be your target.”
“Sit down, Lila.”
The belligerent command no longer worked and she was out of the booth and halfway across the restaurant before he had pulled out his wallet to settle the bill. A taxi was fortunately waiting outside of the door and she hopped into it with a confused order to take her to the apartment. She wanted to be in the safety of closed walls before she gave way to tears and disillusionment was always upsetting.
The future was growing bleaker by the day.
November days were cold even when the sun shone, and Lila traveled to and from work in darkness. Home life was depressingly repetitive. Rarely did she see Cahal although signs of his movements were evident in the debris he left. The condo suggested an intimacy that was impossible to form with inanimate objects.
The rambling Chicago house had allowed her to forget her husband’s existence for days at a time. Out of the house and out of the city meant the same thing. The coach had believed in preserving his players’ energy during stressful periods such as championship series and he often ordered the team to check into a hotel for several weeks even during home stretches.
The telephone rang with regularity.
“Hello, darling.”
She suspected the phone line was tapped; otherwise his endearments were pointless.
“What do you want?” In the absence of an audience she didn’t try to pretend.
Deep laughter rumbled in her ear. “Such affection.”
Eyes fixed on the television she turned on for company in the evenings, Lila resisted the urge to throw the phone at the enormous screen.
“I’m not here to stroke your ego,” she told him.
Cahal laughed again. “That’s not the part that needs stroking.”
As satisfying as it was to slam the phone down on his amused voice, she was forced to pick it up a moment later when his cell phone number displayed. This time he didn’t bother with a greeting.
“This isn’t a joke, Lila.”
“Don’t I know it,” she sighed.
In the following silence, she could almost hear him counting to ten and probably swearing to himself. When he spoke, he sounded very calm and level.
“What are you doing?”
Lila stiffened up again. “Watching television.”
“Anything good?”
“No.”
His voice dipped lower. “I miss you.”
She nearly dropped the phone. “Damn it, Cahal, what are you trying to prove?”
“I’m trying to be a good husband.”
It was impossible to tell if he was joking, although it was the obvious conclusion.
“It’s too late for that,” she said. Angry tears sprang up, blurring the chaotic images onscreen. “In all the years we were married you never told me that you missed me.”
Flowers and expensive presents never made up for his emotionless words over the phone. Daily calls were appreciated but most wives received those; Lila was the only one who could never quote a particularly soppy line from her husband because there weren’t any. Always vague about the details of his own activities, Cahal wanted to know about every minute of her day even though the recitations were usually very dull.
“I’m telling you now,” he replied in the same low tone.
“I don’t want to hear it now! I wanted to hear it then.”
Another series of rustles expressed his restlessness. “What do you want me to do? Turn back time?”
Deep breaths calmed her down somewhat. “No. What I want is a normal life.”
“And you think you can have that with another hockey player?”
Lila sniffed. “I — ”
He was right to be so caustic. She was hanging on to the familiar when the familiar was all that was wrong in her life. No matter what Jack promised for their future, their only hope for a happy relationship was if he retired.
“Baby — ”
“No!” She nearly screamed out. “I don’t want to rehash the past. We’ve done enough of that.”
“When?” A smooth voice inquired. “You ran away and you’re still — ”
The phone provided a buffer. In person he would have been able to finish his sentences and she would have buckled.
“I’m not running,” Lila cut in. “I’m here and as usual you’re a thousand miles away. It’s really like being married to you all over again.”
“Lila — ”
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “It’s getting late.”
“All right.” It was clear that he gave in to the limitations of the phone connection rather than her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Lila put down the phone and burst into tears. Despite everything that had gone wrong, she still missed him. Damn him.
• • •
Lila’s quiet workplace couldn’t remain unaffected by the publicity machine Cahal’s agent put into motion. The employee pool small enough to be cozy, yet its patronage large enough to be anonymous, the library was her last refuge. Now she never knew if the person on the other side of the counter wanted a rare book on special order or a few snapshots for the back of the sports section.
Complaints to Billy Avery’s agency produced no reaction. Approaching the team with her irrelevant problems was unthinkable and, as usual, Cahal was AWOL. She was alone. Again.
On the telephone with her husband, she invented outings so that Cahal wouldn’t worry. In reality she spent those weekends alone at the movie theater watching unpopular foreign films or at work doing after-hours inventory. The theater collected small steady revenue from her and the inventories had never been more up-to-date, but Lila’s nerves were being shredded with every passing day. Counting down the hours until their ridiculous charade was over didn’t help; she had nothing to go back to once the act was finished.