Knock Me for a Loop Read online

  “Hell if I know. Want me to meet you at the front of the hotel and we can search the parking lot for Grace’s car?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Zack hung up, searching for his cell phone and a pair of shoes before leaving the room. On the way down in the elevator, he dialed Grace’s number, praying for her to answer, but not surprised when voice mail picked up instead.

  “Grace, it’s Zack. I know what you think, but you’re wrong. Call me back so we can talk about it, okay?”

  Disconnecting, he stared at the lighted elevator panel as it slowly counted down the levels to the lobby.

  With a curse, he flipped his phone open again and hit the button to redial Grace’s cell. “Come on, Grace, don’t be like this. It’s not what you think, babe, I swear. Call me.”

  The elevator doors swept open and he pocketed his phone as he stepped out. Dylan was waiting for him at the front entrance. Without a word, they walked outside and headed in opposite directions to scour the parking lot. Ten minutes later, they met up back where they’d started.

  “No luck on my end,” Dylan said. “You?”

  Zack shook his head, not trusting his voice. The sinking sensation in his gut was getting worse, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to get better anytime soon.

  He almost wished he hadn’t run that woman off, after all. If she’d stuck around, he could have asked how she’d gotten into his room in the first place, what the hell she’d thought she was doing, and forced her back to Cleveland with him so she could tell Grace in person that he hadn’t invited her up and definitely hadn’t slept with her.

  “You wanna talk about it?” Dylan asked quietly.

  Zack thought about shaking his head again. At the moment, there was only one thing he wanted—to find Grace and make her listen, make her believe him. Barring that, going back to his room and getting blind, stinking drunk sounded like a pretty good idea.

  But Dylan was one of his best friends, so maybe he’d understand. Besides, it would be nice if at least one person he knew believed he wasn’t a two-timer.

  “Some groupie got into my room while I was in the shower. I didn’t even know she was there till Grace spotted her, but now Grace thinks I cheated on her.”

  His lips flattened as he gritted his teeth, and he shoved his hands deep in his front pockets.

  “Well, don’t worry too much,” Dylan offered, slapping him on the back. “Ronnie’s with her, and will probably be able to talk some sense into her by the time they get back to Cleveland. Come on, let’s go get a drink or something.”

  Rolling his shoulders, he did his best to resist the urge to leave his team high and dry and head back to Cleveland himself, even if it cost him a year’s pay in cab fare.

  “No, thanks,” he told his friend as they started walking slowly back toward the bank of elevators. “I don’t think I’d be very good company right now. I’m just going to head up to the room and try giving Grace a call.” Another one or two or a million, if that’s what it took. “Maybe she’s calmed down a bit by now and will let me explain.”

  They stepped onto an elevator behind a couple of giggling teenage girls. They were staring at Zack and whispering behind their hands, but he ignored them. He was in no mood for fans right now, not even the young, fairly innocent ones.

  When the elevator stopped at Dylan’s floor, he stepped off, then turned back and held the doors open, his gaze locking on Zack. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll be in my room all night.”

  Zack heard the concern in his friend’s voice, saw the hint of worry bracketing the thin set of his mouth. Later, he knew he’d appreciate it. But for now, he just wanted to get away, be alone…and maybe put his fist through a wall.

  He nodded, and Dylan dropped his hand, letting the doors slide closed. The teenagers got off on the next floor, leaving Zack to ride the rest of the way up by himself.

  His feet felt like lead weights as he walked slowly down the hall to his room, opened the door, and stepped inside. Taking a seat at the end of the bed, he studied his reflection on the blank surface of the television for long minutes before flipping open his phone one more time and hitting the button to speed-dial Grace—her apartment this time rather than her cell.

  For a second or two after her voice-mail system picked up, he remained silent. What was there to say that he hadn’t already told her in his last two messages? So he settled for the most important thing.

  “I love you, Grace,” he said in a rough whisper. “I didn’t cheat on you with that woman. I’ve never cheated on you, and I never will.”

  But somehow, even as he flipped his phone closed and continued to watch the hollow-eyed man looking back at him from the flat gray panel of the TV screen, he knew the words wouldn’t make a difference. He knew, deep down in his soul, that he’d already lost her.

  Zack sat bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, perspiration dotting his forehead.

  Shit, he hated that dream.

  Probably because it wasn’t really a dream, but a nightmare that forced him to relive the worst day of his life over and over and over again.

  Scrubbing his hands over his face in an effort to wash away the feelings of panic and impotence brought on by the dream, he threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Leaving the lights off, he padded naked to the bathroom, then grabbed a pair of boxer briefs from the arm of a chair on his way to the living room.

  His housekeeper, Magda, had been there only a couple days before, but already the place was a pigsty. Most nights, after he got home from practice, games, or going out with the boys, he was just too damn tired to pick up after himself. Too tired to do more than dump his equipment inside the door, grab a beer or a slice of cold pizza from the fridge, and crash on the couch until he could work up the energy to drag his sorry ass to bed.

  And the sad part was that he did it on purpose. He pushed himself extra hard on the ice and used any excuse he could come up with to stay out late, all so that on those rare occasions when he was alone, he would be too exhausted to think about Grace.

  It had been six months since the breakup. Since she’d overreacted to something that hadn’t even been his fault and refused to let him explain.

  Six months, and still everything reminded him of her.

  He drove a brand-new blue Hummer only because she’d destroyed his red one.

  His empty apartment was only empty because she’d stolen his dog.

  Even the ice, which used to feel like a second home to him, was cold and uncomfortable now because it brought back memories of how he and Grace had met.

  With a sigh, he bypassed the hole in the wall where she’d planted one of his hockey trophies during her post-supposed infidelity tantrum and dropped down on the sofa across from the TV. Flipping it on to ESPN, he sat back and reached for the pile of yarn in the center of the glass-topped coffee table.

  This was something else he’d taken up only after Grace had left him—under the misguided notion, he supposed, that if he shared more of her personal interests, she’d be more likely to come back to him.

  His two closest male friends—Dylan and Gage— had recently learned to knit for their women, who were also members of Grace’s weekly Knit Wits knitting group. One on a dare, and the other because yarn and needles apparently acted as an aphrodisiac with ex-wives who didn’t really want to be exes.

  But if they could do it without having their Man Cards revoked, then he’d figured he could, too. And maybe once Grace heard he’d taught himself to knit—for her—she’d be impressed enough to at least be willing to hear him out on the whole bimbo-in-his-bed issue.

  That had been in the beginning, when he’d believed she had a modicum of mercy in her soul and that there was still a chance of getting her back.

  Her refusal to speak to him for months on end, either on the phone or in person—hell, he’d even tried e-mail, texting, flower delivery, and Candygrams—had finally made him realize nothing he did was going to make a difference. She wa
s never going to forgive him for what she thought he’d done, and he was damn tired of jumping through hoops in an effort to get her to see reason.

  So he’d given up. No more phone calls, no more flowers, no more parking outside the craft store or Penalty Box waiting for her to come out. His stalking—and groveling—days were over.

  He’d thought he was over the worst of the nightmares, too. The more he’d come to terms with the fact that Grace was truly gone and not coming back, the less they’d plagued him.

  And the only reason he could think of for why they’d suddenly come back, why he’d felt extra antsy and tense the past week or so, was tomorrow.

  Tomorrow, he would see Grace for the first time since last summer. Tomorrow, he would be expected to stand beside her, share air space with her, paste a smile on his face, and pretend his nerve endings weren’t jumping beneath his skin like live wires.

  Concentrating more on the soft feel of the chocolate-brown wool yarn slipping through his hands than the Penguins/Oilers recap on the television screen, Zack wondered if he should just call Gage and beg off. His friend would understand. He wouldn’t like it and would probably be hurt—even if he didn’t admit as much—but if anyone understood the push and pull of being in the same room with an ex, it was Gage.

  Fingers going white around the size-eight needles he was using for this particular pair of slipper socks, Zack did his best to school his breathing and tamp down on the sour, squirming sensation snaking up from his gut.

  If he didn’t show up tomorrow, everyone—including Grace—would know why.

  Call it pride, call it male ego, call it plain old-fashioned stubbornness, but damned if he was going to let the world think he was too chicken to face his exfiancée half a year after she’d kicked his butt to the curb. And he would eat broken glass before he’d let her think he was afraid to face her.

  He’d done nothing wrong, dammit. Grace might have judged him and found him guilty without a shred of real evidence. And the press may have labeled him a womanizer, skewering him in every newspaper and magazine in the country. But he knew the truth and had nothing to be ashamed of.

  Finishing the row he was working on, he tossed his knitting aside and pushed up from the sofa, padding back toward the bedroom and the master bath. It wasn’t yet four A.M., but he was used to being up early and putting in a full day. So he’d grab a shower, fix himself a nice, big breakfast, then jump into his tux and head down to the courthouse.

  He had a wedding to get through.

  Row 2

  The first time Jenna Langan married Gage Marshall, she had been a June bride, wearing a white, full-length gown with lace and pearls, a veil covering her short, dark hair, and a billowing train sweeping behind her. The wedding had taken place in a church decorated with ribbons and bows and live flower arrangements, the ceremony witnessed by more than two hundred and fifty guests.

  The second time Jenna and Gage tied the knot, it would be in front of a judge and only a handful of their closest friends and relatives. Instead of a long white gown, the bride was wearing a cream-colored tea-length dress a little more suitable to the scaled-down ceremony, but no less beautiful. Her bouquet was a bunch of bright red poinsettias suitable to the holiday season, and the bridesmaids had been asked simply to wear something classically festive in the red and/or green of the bridal/Christmas color scheme.

  Grace, who had opted for a red satin dress that fell just above her knees and was decorated with a string of sparkling rhinestones along the scoop neckline, thought her friends had the right idea. No fuss, no muss, just get hitched and move on with your life.

  Of course, this was Jenna and Gage’s second marriage—to each other, no less—so they’d already experienced the bells and whistles and fairy-tale excitement. This time around, they just wanted to make things legal again and get down to the business of starting a family.

  Ironic, considering that the reason for their divorcing in the first place had been Jenna’s desire for children and Gage’s equally strong insistence that they avoid procreation at all costs. Somewhere along the line, though, they’d patched up their differences.

  It must be nice, Grace thought wryly. Not only to have had the big, beautiful wedding, but to have rediscovered the love of your life.

  Her own wedding would have been amazing, she knew. She could picture it all in her head, down to the smallest detail, and she’d hired some of the city’s best wedding planners to ensure that everything was perfect. Sponsors of her show, Amazing Grace, had been tripping over themselves to offer her gowns, makeup, limousines, flowers, and gifts for her guests—all in hopes of getting their company and product names into the public eye or having her thank them personally on the air afterward.

  As tempting as it was to imagine walking down the aisle in a ten- or twenty-thousand-dollar designer dress, though, Grace had been determined to hand-knit her own wedding gown. From the moment Zack had proposed, she’d begun mentally working on the pattern and sharing updates of its progress with her viewers on the air.

  It had almost killed her to unravel every delicate stitch, to undo what had taken her months upon months of painstaking work to accomplish.

  But while Jenna had been lucky enough to reunite with the love of her life, Grace’s Prince Charming had morphed into a lying, cheating ball of slime. She would never get her fairy-tale wedding or her happily ever after. She’d never get to wear her homemade wedding dress or spend her honeymoon in Paris.

  Taking a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her face and continued the job of touching up Jenna’s makeup while Ronnie dug into a fabric tote for a pair of cream satin pumps to replace the heavy, fleece-lined winter boots Jenna had worn to the courthouse.

  The three of them were standing in one corner of the judge’s chambers, fluffing and fussing, while Gage and Dylan stood in another. The ceremony was officially scheduled for one o’clock, so they had a few minutes yet—not to mention that they were still missing the judge and a couple of guests, Zack included.

  Zack.

  Grace’s stomach went tight and her teeth clenched just thinking of him. Even though everything about this day—especially having to be in the same room with Zack—cut like a knife, Grace would walk naked down Superior Avenue at rush hour, in the middle of an ice storm, before she would do or say anything to put a damper on Jenna’s happiness.

  So she would smile, and she would make sure it reached her eyes. If anyone could convince the world she was brimming with enthusiasm, it was Grace. Her job required it.

  Never mind if she was tired and not feeling much like pretending she cared about the stay-at-home-mom versus moms-who-work debate.

  Never mind if she had the flu and was running a temperature of a hundred and three.

  Never mind if she’d just walked in on her fiancé in flagrante delicio with some peroxide-blond whore of Babylon and had her heart broken into pieces.

  No matter the circumstances, no matter what her true emotions might be, she was expected to bat her eyes, flash a grin, and put on the Ritz in front of the camera. And the more popular she and her show became, the less often she was able to let her hair down and breathe a sigh of relief outside of her own apartment.

  Part of her didn’t mind; she’d worked hard to reach this point in her career, and she’d chosen the public-celebrity path knowing exactly what she was getting into. But another part of her wanted to scrub the makeup off her face, climb into a pair of ratty old sweats, and refuse to wash her hair for a week.

  Today, though, she’d been more than happy to get all dolled up and make sure she looked not just decent, but freaking fantastic. She wanted to make sure Zack knew what he was missing and what he’d given up for a quick roll in the hay with Miss Black Roots and Plastic Boobs.

  The judge and his clerk walked in just as Grace finished adding a dab of glitter to Jenna’s lashes, and just behind them was the devil himself.

  Most people probably thought Lucifer had red skin and black hair, horns and c
loven feet. But Grace knew the truth. He was tall and blond, with pearly white teeth and a smile that could charm the panties off a nun.

  Steeling her spine and making sure no trace of emotion other than pleasure for the bride and groom was visible on her face, she turned and followed Jenna as she moved to take her place beside Gage.

  At six foot three, Gage Marshall was a handsome, extremely well-built man. The rippling muscles that filled out his arms, chest, and abdomen could put professional wrestlers to shame. And anyone with eyes could see he was head over heels in love with his wife. Soon-to-be-wife. Soon-to-be-wife again.

  Geez, this remarriage stuff was complicated.

  But where other guys might be sweating, wringing their hands, or shifting from cold foot to cold foot with a case of prenuptial nerves, Gage was steady as a rock. His mouth was quirked up on one side and he hadn’t taken his gaze from Jenna since they’d entered the room.

  Grace’s heart squeezed with renewed regret. She’d almost had this—a wedding day, bridal jitters, true love.

  And then Zack had gone and fucked it all up.

  She cast an angry, sidelong glance in his direction before regaining control of her features.

  Okay, so he was handsome, too. Slightly taller than Gage, but leaner and more athletic, his sleek musculature was due more to hours spent on the ice than lifting weights at the gym. He also had a head of full, wavy blond hair that had prompted the press to compare them to Barbie and Ken more than once while they’d been together.

  He looked exactly like what he was—a playboy. And she’d been well aware when they met of his reputation with women, that he went through them faster than a box of Kleenex. Or condoms.

  So why the hell had she let herself believe she would be any different than the dozens of women he’d seduced, slept with, and discarded over the years?

  Oh, yes, things would be different with them. He’d grown, matured, was ready to settle down. She was The One, so of course he would never stray, never look at another woman, never cheat on her.