Forever Wild (Wildcat Hockey Book 5)

EVERLY

Jack lives in the biggest house I’ve ever seen. Since Tyler became a big, hotshot professional hockey player, I have seen a lot of oversized, elaborate houses, but this one still takes my breath away. The circle drive is paved with intricate stonework and surrounded by lush landscaping. The house itself is brick, two-story, and stretches out so far in either direction that you could easily assume the inhabitant refers to them as “wings.”

I park my car at the end of the large circle drive and walk up. Sprinklers are going along the grassy area next to the house. I can’t avoid them as I step closer, and they spray my feet, soaking my flip flops.

A woman appears as I get closer to the van. From her profile, she looks like the sweet grandma everyone wants. Gray hair swept up in a bun, black scrubs, and a Minnie Mouse purse slung over one shoulder. The back door is open, and she stops and pulls out a walker, muttering under her breath. She stops, walker raised, when she spots me. The look on her face makes her look a lot less sweet.

“Hi,” I say tentatively.

The anger on her face slowly melts away and she raises one brow as she takes in my outfit. I did not plan to stop over in a crop top, cut off shorts, and flip flops, but I wasn’t going home to change first just to check in on Jack.

“He says he doesn’t need my help. Maybe you will have better luck looking like that.”

I don’t know what she thinks I’m going to accomplish, but I could walk in there naked and Jack would still be the same stubborn jerk.

She sets the walker down in front of me, shuts the van door, and marches around the front. There’s a window decal on the back with Minnie Mouse and the name Sandra underneath.

I’m still frozen in place as she starts up the engine and pulls away, leaving me in her dust.

An uneasy, foreboding feeling settles over me.

What the hell did he do to sweet Sandra?

I take the walker with me as I approach the house. It’s a heavy, wooden double-door with no windows to look in, but it’s cracked open a tiny bit. Like maybe Sandra slammed it but it bounced open. I ring the doorbell and then knock. I tap my foot impatiently while I wait. Leaning closer, I put my ear up to the crack. The faint sound of music, or maybe the TV, indicates he’s in there.

Pushing it open, I step in. Concern immediately replaces my hesitation at walking in unannounced. What is that smell? I hold my arm over my nose as I continue. It smells like spoiled food or dirty feet. Maybe a combination of the two. And when I see the kitchen, I know why. Empty brown bags and containers of half-eaten food are spread out along the counter.

I set the walker down next to me and pick up a large McDonalds cup with what I think was a strawberry shake. The smell nearly knocks me over. What in the ever-loving hell is going on around here?

“What are you doing here?” The gruff voice sends tingles down my spine.

I drop the cup and then spin around to face him, completely unprepared for the sight that greets me. Jack has the kind of universal good looks that can’t be denied. He towers over most people at six foot three. His dark hair and square jaw give him a rugged edge, but he has a polish to him that reads more white-collar than blue. He’s a professional hockey player so he has the broad shoulders, muscular, thick thighs thing going for him as well. Plus, he just has this arrogant, bossy, I don’t give a fuck attitude that makes people do what he says. People that aren’t me, that is.

But right now, I’m looking at a completely different guy.

His usual neat and put-together appearance is gone and in its place is a surly looking man in baggy shorts, a stained T-shirt, uncombed hair that’s a touch too long and hangs in his eyes, and an unruly beard that is so far beyond the usual playoff beard some of the guys sport this time of year. If I had run into him anywhere else, I’m not even sure I would have recognized him.

“And why is there a fucking walker in my house?” he asks, snapping me out of my shock.

“Nice to see you too.” My smile is saccharine sweet. “Your nurse gave it to me before she peeled out of your driveway, flipping the finger in your general direction. Now I think I know why. What the hell is going on, and why are you holed up in here looking like an injured bear that raided a campsite?”

He makes a harrumph noise that reminds me of a child, then steps forward using a cane as he avoids putting too much weight on his left leg.

Dammit. He’s injured and I’m yelling at him. I swear he just provokes this kind of reaction from me.

“Why are you here, Ev?”

“Should you be standing?” I ask, letting my gaze drop to the bandage on his knee.

His jaw tightens and he doesn’t move.

Okay, I see we’re not going to chitchat. “I’m here to check in on you. Bridget is worried.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because you’re scaring off sweet old nurses.”

“As you can see, I’m fine. Make sure you lock the door on your way out.” He gingerly plops himself down on the couch in front of the TV. He’s watching the Food Network and a woman smiles at the camera as she plates a steak next to steamed vegetables. This is officially the weirdest day of my life.

“Where is your chef?” I pick up a food wrapper and toss it into an empty brown takeout bag. “And your housekeeper?”

“I gave everyone some time off while I recover. I don’t want people in my space right now.” He gives me a pointed stare.

“Glaring at me isn’t going to get me to leave faster.”

“What will?” he asks coolly, then runs his fingers through his messy hair.

I walk into the living room and stand between him and the TV. “Maybe I just want to hang out and soak up some of your winning personality.”

Dammit, I keep letting him provoke me. I need to channel my inner Bridget.

Be nice. Be more like Bridget.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” His gaze finally treks over my outfit and my very short jean shorts. “A backyard barbecue to attend, maybe.”

“I was going to lie out by a pool and relax, so yes.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But I’m glad I stopped by. This is so much more fun.”

His mouth falls into an unimpressed straight line at my sarcasm.

“I’m all out of fun right now so go ahead and scamper off.” He lifts a hand and shoos me away.

God, he’s infuriating.

“I would love nothing more than that, but I’m not leaving here until I can report back to Bridget that you’re okay. She’s worried.”

“All I need is for you to get the hell out of here. And take that walker with you.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Back over it for all I care.”

I can feel my last nerve fraying, but I count slowly in my head and reach for the sympathy that I walked in here with. “Are you doing all right? Seriously?”

He sighs in a way that makes his broad chest lift and fall dramatically, then shifts uncomfortably on the couch. His knee is propped up on the ottoman in front of him. An ice pack is abandoned on the floor in front of it. I lean forward and retrieve it.

“It’s warm.” I turn over the ice pack in my hand. “Do you want me to grab another?”

“I’ve got it.” With quite a bit of effort, he stands again and hobbles toward the kitchen.

“Are you really so stubborn you won’t even let someone grab you an ice pack?”

“I don’t need any help.” He swaps out the hot ice pack for a cold one, but as he’s closing the freezer, it drops in front of him.

He glances down at where it lies on the floor. So do I. I start to step forward and he growls, halting me.

“Did you just growl at me?” I do my best to hide the smile slowly pulling at the corner of my lips. I know he’s in pain and that recovery is probably frustrating, but he’s being ridiculous. It would be so much easier for him if he stopped pushing people out the door.

Shifting his weight over to his good leg, Jack grimaces as he bends slightly at the waist. I once saw this man take a stick to the eye. Blood poured down his face from a deep gash just under his eyebrow. He calmly skated off and returned a few minutes later with a bandage, ready to get back out there.

So I know that if he’s struggling, the pain is real and it’s beyond what most other people could manage.

“Do you maybe need me to⁠—”

“Just go, alright?” His tone is gruff and tight. He closes his eyes and then points his gaze to the floor. “I don’t have the energy to fight with you today and I just want to be left the hell alone.”

My face heats at the verbal scolding. I’ve known Jack since I was barely eighteen, a total mess, and mad at the world. He’s never pulled any punches with me. While everyone else walked on eggshells around me, he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind even if it hurt my feelings. It made me feel less meek in a time when I desperately needed it.

But I’m not that girl anymore. If he wants to grump around here all alone and not accept anyone’s help, then that’s on him.

“Happily.” I move toward him and pick up the cold ice pack. Heat and frustration radiate off him and his jaw clenches. There are dark circles under his eyes and that beard is really not doing him any favors. Still, he’s a handsome guy. I can’t deny it. Too bad he’s a big ole jerk.

With a look of pure annoyance, he reaches forward to take the ice pack from me. His fingertips drag over my palm, replacing the cool feel with his warmth.

And then I turn on my heel and head out to leave him to brood in his castle. Alone.