Then he’d remembered this place. Quiet, great food and nobody would bother him.
“Jack. Rocks. Easy on the rocks.” The familiar husky voice almost made him choke.
Desire slid through his veins like flames licking at dry wood. Anger, frustration and guilt soon mingled with the desire, as they had since he was sixteen.
What the hell was Jenny doing here?
Just like old times, his mind whispered. Except Jenny wouldn’t be rushing toward him, her blue eyes bright with anticipation. She wouldn’t be sliding into the booth, into his arms, her lips raised for his kiss. There would be no entwined fingers as they shared a milk shake.
The diner had been “their place.” They’d found it one evening, after hockey practice, and had begun to hang out there regularly. When their friendship had turned to something more, it had become their private haven. He’d only realized how much of a sanctuary this had been for Jenny when he’d discovered the truth about her uncle.
The click-click of high heels on the wooden floor came closer. Tru shifted into the shadows of the high-sided booth as Jenny took a seat across the room.
“Why don’t I get you some food to go with that drink?” The waitress’s gentle question belied her hard, brassy look.
He couldn’t make out Jenny’s response.
When the older woman moved away, he got his first good look at Jenny’s face.
The change since he last saw her shocked him. Her pale skin was almost translucent. There were dark smudges under her eyes. What could be wrong?
It couldn’t be her boss; the nurse had told Tru there was no change when he’d last called.
For some reason, his mom’s comment about pregnancy vitamins, the day of Harry’s stroke, popped into Tru’s head. At the time, it had raised painful questions he hadn’t wanted to know the answer to, so he’d deliberately scrubbed it from his mind.
Could Jenny be pregnant? A knife twisted in his gut.
He watched her drain the bourbon and knew the answer was no. Jenny wouldn’t drink if she was carrying a baby.
“Here you go.” The waitress placed a plate topped with a burger, fries and onion rings in front of Jenny. “Eat up.”
“Thanks.” Jenny’s smile was wooden.
As soon as she was alone, the smile faded and her shoulders slumped.
Tru was partway out of his seat before he stopped himself. What are you thinking? Slowly, he sat down again.
Think you can help? His inner voice laughed, a mocking, pitying sound. Haven’t you helped her enough?
All he’d wanted was to save the girl he loved. Instead, he’d screwed up badly and made things worse. Dangerously worse.
No matter how many times he replayed the events, he couldn’t find any way he’d have figured out that the man Jenny had refused to name had been the pastor everyone had adored and trusted.
Eat and get out of here. Tru turned back to his burger, but his gaze kept straying across the room. Half of him wanted her to look up and spot him. The other half was scared she would.
He’d barely taken a bite of his burger when he caught a movement at the edge of his vision. Jenny’s fork clattered to the table. She pushed her plate away and cradled her head in her hands.
Before Tru could question his actions, he was standing by her side—with no idea what to say.
“You’re a long way from home.” Were those gruffly spoken words the best he could do?
Jenny’s back stiffened, but she didn’t look up.
Where was her usual snappy comeback? Her lack of reaction worried him. Whatever was wrong, was bad. He had to do something to spark a response. “Didn’t think this was your neighborhood anymore.”
She lifted her head, glaring at him. “Excuse me?”
“Look around. No hockey players.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. At least, no good hockey players.”
Ouch. Still, fire had finally flashed in her blue eyes.
He slid into the booth, opposite her.
“Go away, Truman. I’m eating.”
“Uh-huh. And what was that you were doing when I came over? Praying?” He winced inwardly. He’d wanted a reaction, not to hurt her.
“You, of all people, should know I don’t believe in God.”
“My point exactly.” He helped himself to a French fry.
“Hey, get your own fries.”
“You used to be better at sharing.” He plucked an onion ring from her plate and offered it to her. When she continued to glare, he shrugged and ate it himself.
Jenny stood, marched over to the waitress station and grabbed a bottle of ketchup. When she returned, she deliberately poured sauce over the fries and rings.
His heart kicked. She’d remembered he didn’t like ketchup. “Now, that’s just mean.”
He went to collect his own dinner and returned.
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Do you always force your company upon women?”
“I never have to force anything. They flock to me.”
“Like lemmings to a cliff?”
He grinned. “Not bad.”
“I’m just warming up.” She ate some of her burger and sighed. “I’d forgotten how delicious the food was here.”
“Not been back for a while?”
She shook her head. “Not for a few years.”
What had brought her back tonight? “I’m surprised you’re not at the game in Pittsburgh.”
“I’ve retired.”
“What? When?”
“When the season ended. I’ve handed over the puck bunny crown to Candi-with-an-i.”
“You’ve done all the players in the league?” The question, tinged with disbelief, slipped out before he could stop it. Crap. So what if she’d never slept with him. He didn’t compete with other players for women, or take up with their leftovers.
The fire in her blue eyes was replaced with ice. “I may have missed a few, but then I don’t sleep with married men or guys in steady relationships. Or jerks.”
Time to change the subject. “Why are you here tonight?” he asked gently.
Jenny blanched. Her vulnerable look had him worried enough to press. “What are you hiding from?”
Silently, she pushed her food around on her plate.
“Come on, Jenny. You look dreadful.”
“This from a man with a couple of still-raw scars on his face.”
“You don’t need me to tell you you’re beautiful. You get enough compliments elsewhere. You need the truth.”
She flinched. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Well, ‘nothing’ obviously doesn’t agree with you.”
Jenny shrugged. A small, heartbreakingly defiant gesture he’d seen before. A long time ago. Before he’d convinced her she could trust him. Before he’d destroyed that trust.
“It’s not important,” she said flatly.
Irritation bubbled within at her dismissal. He should have known better than to come