face. That was the only reason he could think of.
“She’s...my next call,” Natalie said. “Jessica works as a physical therapist at a clinic in town. Joe mentioned that she helped him after he went through knee surgery last year and needed rehabilitation.”
Kyle caught himself shaking his head. There was so much irony in that job choice, both for her and for him.
Don’t dwell on her. She has no use for you. Never really has.
“So, I’ll see you Saturday, then?” Natalie asked.
In practical matters, Kyle didn’t care what money or other physical property Joe had willed to Jessica. She could have everything else Joe owned and be welcome to it. All that Kyle cared about was getting his rink...and avoiding speaking to her at all.
He stared at his foot again. Physical therapist, huh? No way would he be telling Jessa—Jessica—about his physical problems.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
* * *
THREE DAYS LATER, Kyle was back in New Hampshire. Friday night, in the dark and cold.
He was glad he’d practiced walking with his prosthetic leg so many times in the rehab center that it had become second nature to him. Because in mid-February, the sidewalk in Wallis Point was mounded on either side with snow and ice. The wind from the crashing ocean at high tide body slammed him and threatened to knock him off kilter.
He’d forgotten his gloves, so he kept his fists balled inside his coat pockets. Hunched his shoulders in the thick navy wool coat.
His boot slipped, and for a moment fear gripped him, but he stayed upright. Trained his gaze on the dark sidewalk, gritty from rock salt and sprinkled dirt.
He was a tough New Englander born and bred. He could handle a bit of snow.
With renewed determination, he headed back toward the one establishment open on the boardwalk. The Grand Beachfront Hotel, where he’d just finished checking in.
Kyle had always liked the place. Had even worked a second job washing dishes at the hotel one summer, when he’d been sixteen and saving money for hockey camp.
The turn-of-the-century hotel had been so busy and popular that an army of teen workers had been employed as valet-parking attendants, bellboys and lobby help. That was during the high season from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Now, in February, the arcades on the boardwalk were closed, the fried dough stands shuttered. In the dead of winter it was usually a ghost town.
Not tonight, though. The hotel lobby had even been fairly busy. Kyle had left his truck idling out front while he’d checked in with his single suitcase. But when he’d gone back outside to park his truck, he’d discovered that the hotel parking lot was full and valet parking closed for the season. He’d been forced to squeeze his truck into a spot on the street about six blocks away.
Maybe Wallis Point had become more popular since he left. As he approached the rear of the hotel beside the attached restaurant, he heard noise inside from a large crowd of patrons.
He flinched, but he didn’t know where else to go. He’d kept in touch with no one here. He’d blown out of town on a hot summer night, the week after high school graduation, and no one had come after him.
Other than Joe, Kyle had no living relatives. Nobody he knew of, anyway. Kyle’s friends...old platoon mates...they were scattered over the country. He just wasn’t big on staying in contact with people.
After he left the Marines Kyle hadn’t known what he was going to do, just that desk work wasn’t for him. He’d kill to be manager of a hockey rink, especially this one. Now, if he didn’t screw it up, he had his chance.
Trudging along, slow and careful, he made it to the hotel entrance, opened the door to the lobby and went inside. The plan was to order takeout food from the restaurant and then hide out in his room for a quiet dinner. He needed to mentally prepare for the funeral tomorrow. Get his head together. Figure out how he was going to handle public perceptions of his below-the-knee left leg amputation.
It still made Kyle sick to think about it. In the military world, with other wounded warriors, it was one thing. In the civilian world...frankly, the thought of their reactions terrified him.
Kyle had never even told Joe what had happened to him.
Swallowing, Kyle followed the familiar path past the concierge desk and down the hallway toward the restaurant. But within a hundred feet, he knew that the situation was worse than he’d realized.
The place was packed. As in waiting-for-tables packed. The crowd was so thick in front of the bar that people could barely pass through to the hostess table.
Kyle stood in the middle of it, overwhelmed. A harried waiter pushed past him, moving Kyle ever so slightly off balance. Kyle caught himself and widened his stance.
Another guy brushed past carrying one of those black plastic squares that flashed red lights and sent off an alarm when the table was ready.
Kyle moved carefully to a pillar and backed against it. This place was nuts.
And then he noticed, really noticed his surroundings... Red heart-shaped balloons at the hostess station. Pink bunting edging the doorway leading into the dining room.
It was Valentine’s Day.
Kyle groaned. Just great. The biggest date night of the year.
He stood pressed against the wall, painfully cognizant of his left foot beneath his pants leg and stiff new boot.
Everyone was coupled up.
He closed his eyes. He had not touched a woman since he’d left for his last tour in Afghanistan. He doubted he would touch one again.
Frankly, like this, he didn’t want to.
He edged away. His palms were itching. He had to get out of here. But instead of escaping, he heard the voice of the one woman he most wanted to avoid—Jessica Hughes.
He’d been thinking about her since the lawyer had mentioned her, even though Kyle hadn’t wanted to remember. But the laughter and lightness in her voice as she spoke was so uniquely hers. She was conversing with someone in the crowd nearby, hidden from view by the coatrack. Judging by her tone, she seemed happy and hopeful, though he couldn’t catch what she was saying.
He could have left right then without her seeing him, but curiosity got the better of him. Kyle edged closer.
If he hadn’t heard her first, he would never have recognized her.
She was...heavier than she’d been when he last saw her. She’d taken her coat off and was hanging it up, and he could see she was wearing leggings with a baggy tunic on top. Was she pregnant?
She lifted her hand, and he could see she had a big, pink, glittery rock on her ring finger. His heart sank.
Ridiculous, he told himself. Why shouldn’t Jessa—Jessica—be married? Or have kids? Or be happy?
She’d never been his, not really. He’d never even kissed her.
Still, his feet seemed rooted. She’d always had the most expressive brown eyes. A way of looking at people with her head tilted, as if she was really paying attention to them—really seeing them.
He’d seen between the cracks, though. God, he’d ached for her. Disgusted with himself, he shook his head.
He should leave. Make his retreat while he still could. Ultimately, he’d been the one responsible for injuring this girl—he’d flooded the ice with water when he’d been angry at Joe, and even though Kyle hadn’t personally seen it, as soon as his Zamboni had left the ice, she’d fallen, injuring her knee. He’d tried to talk to her about it afterward, but she was nowhere to be found.
She hadn’t recovered in time to compete for a slot in the Olympic Games. The incident had gotten so much media attention that she’d