Puck Love Page 5

“Hot cocoa it is.” He smirks and turns on the kitchen light, momentarily blinding us both.

  “So, is there any other wildlife I should know about?”

  “Well, that depends. Emmett turns into a werewolf on a full moon, but aside from that, the only wildlife you need to worry about is a bite from my anaconda.”

  “That’s all, huh?”

  “It’s a pretty big snake,” he assures me, as he pulls a container of cocoa from the cupboard along with a bag of mini mellows.

  “Isn’t that what they all say?”

  “No, really. I can show you if you like? It’s like Pringles-can big.”

  “Oh my god. No! Keep your pants on.”

  “Okay, but you asked. I was just trying to get you acclimatized to the locals.”

  I open several cupboards until I find the mugs and remove two from the shelf, setting them down on the counter before him. “You’ve taken a lot of hits to the head in your career, haven’t you?”

  “Sadly, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m delusional about the size of my dick.”

  “Can we please just not talk about this?”

  He pours the milk into a metal pan and slowly heats it on the stove. “What would you rather talk about?”

  “Why does Canadian milk come in a bag?”

  “Seriously? That’s what you want to discuss?”

  I shrug and lean against the counter, watching him work. “I’m curious.”

  “Do you see my milk in a bag?”

  “No, but when I was in Ontario ’most all of the milk was.”

  “Then why didn’t you ask an Ontarian?” he deadpans and then adds, “I don’t know, because of the change to the metric system, or it’s better for the environment or some shit.”

  “You know what’s not good for the environment? A Hummer. Did you know they produce more greenhouse emissions than any other vehicle?”

  “Hey, leave the beast out of this.”

  I roll my eyes and fish a couple of spoons out of the top drawer. “So, is it just you and Emmett, then?”

  “Our mom lives in Calgary. Emmett stays with her three out of seven nights. More if I have to play a series of away games.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Is an asshole. Not even worth talking about.” Van carefully pours the warm milk into both mugs while I stir.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “It’s fine. He took off a couple days after Emmett was born. He couldn’t handle the fact that he had an ‘imperfect’ son.”

  “Wow, that’s . . . What a dick.” Van’s brows shoot skyward. I slap my hand over my mouth. “Sorry, that was really rude of me.”

  “No, he is a dick.” He hands me a cup of hot chocolate. “You want marshmallows?”

  “Of course. What kind of question is that?”

  “Well, you don’t eat meat—which would have been nice to know before I served you barbecued beef ribs by the way—so I don’t know what kind of soulless freak you are. I didn’t want to be rude.”

  I roll my eyes and wait for him to sprinkle some of those tiny marshmallows on top. “You don’t have Cool Whip, do you?

  “I’m Canadian, not a monster.” He takes the Cool Whip from the fridge and sprays both our mugs with it until they look less like hot chocolates and more like mountains of fluffy cream and sugary goodness. “So, what about you, Stella? Is there a Ma and Pa Hart that I might someday get to meet?”

  All the wind rushes out of my sails, and tears sting my eyes. It’s stupid—I’ve been on my own now for years, but I’d give anything to be able to feel her arms around me again. “No. I mean, there was. Obviously. My mom died not long after my career took off.”

  “Holy shit, that must have been hell. We’re you close?”

  “Yeah, we were. It was always just the two of us.”

  “Did your dad die, too?”

  “No, he’s still very much alive. He comes from old money, good name, and all that. Turns out he was okay screwing a cocktail waitress, just not okay with marrying someone like her when he knocked her up.”

  “Ah, shit. I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “Dads, huh?”

  “Yeah, they can be assholes.”

  I follow him over to the seat by the fireplace and sit. There are several other chairs here, and I’d probably be a lot more comfortable with some distance between us, but I don’t want to be rude. Besides, he brought the Cool Whip with him, and I’ll be damned if I let him eat it all.

  “So, you still haven’t told me what you’re running from.”

  “Nothing,” I say too quickly. He gives me a look that says he isn’t buying it. “Everything. I don’t know exactly.”

  He nods like a sage. “And the panic attacks?”

  “I’ve always had them. Ever since I signed my first deal. Of course, they were never this bad. I don’t really know what’s changed. I guess a sixty-city tour and back-to-back albums will do that to you. I can’t remember the last time I had a day off.”

  “Well, I know this might sound strange, considering we only just met twenty-four hours ago when I pulled you from a frozen car, but you’re welcome to stay at Lodge Ross as long as you want. Don’t want to go back to work next week, or the week after? No problem. You take as many days as you need here. Rest, recoup, soak in the hot tub.”

  “I don’t have a swim-suit.”

  “That’s fine. We’re not clothesists here.”

  I laugh. “You know that’s not a word, right?”

  “Emmett and I will pick up some things for you as soon as the roads are clear.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. I mean, you’d be keeping it secret from the world, not to mention they’ve probably already tracked my car.” I can’t do this. I can’t hide out in a stranger’s house until I feel strong enough to go back to my everyday life. Can I? No. That’s ridiculous.

  There are already so many consequences to my actions. Venues that still need to be paid, even though Lana likely would have cancelled the more recent upcoming shows. I have a huge staff of road crew to take care of. Oh my god, I can’t be here. I can’t . . .

  I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until Van lays his huge palm on my back and rubs in slow circles.

  “Hey, just breathe.”

  Heat claws at my cheeks, and I want to scratch and peel my skin away. I do as he instructs and close my eyes. Van continues the lazy circles on my back, and I feel the tension slowly drain out of me. He’s an awfully good distraction.

  “I have someone who can get rid of your car for us at first light.”

  I open my eyes. “I thought you said the roads were closed?”

  He sets his mug down on the table with a waggle of his brows and stands, holding his hands out to me. “Come on. Let’s go light your fire.”

  I narrow my gaze on him, but I can’t help but feel a stupid little flutter in my lady parts as I take his warm hand.

  Oh, I think it’s already lit.

  With my hand in his, I follow him out of the room, and just like that I find myself a guest at Lodge Ross, and I’m not sure I’ll ever want to leave.

  The following day I wake late to a quiet house, and a note from Van on my pillow that reads,

  Don’t worry, we’re not going to murder you.

  At training, back soon.

  V.

  I should have been alarmed that he’d been in my room while I slept, like some kind of creeper, but I smile instead because he remembered our conversation from yesterday. I let the note flutter back to the pillow, and I roll over. I can’t remember the last time I slept in, but wintery sunlight is streaming through my window, and for a long time I just lie here, watching it pool on the waxed floorboards.

  Eventually, the pangs in my stomach force me to go in search of food. I help myself to coffee, and forage through Van’s kitchen cupboards for sustenance before settling on a bagel. At least, I think it’s supposed to be a bagel. It’s sticky, sweet, covered in seeds, and a little misshapen. It’s almost impossible to
halve so that it will fit in the toaster, and when I’m done, I discover that the lashings of cream cheese I put on top don’t go over as well as I’d planned. The whole thing leaves a bad taste in my mouth so I clean up my mess and wander back to the den with a second cup of coffee in hand. I don’t dare turn on the giant flat-screen. I have no interest in the outside world right now, and I still haven’t made up my mind as to what the hell I’m going to do. I know I can’t stay here forever. Emmett and Van have been far too kind to me already, but the thought of leaving sends my heart hammering against my ribcage and my nerves into overdrive. I set down the cup of coffee and smooth my hands over the soft leather couch. I wish I had my guitar right now, because I’ll go crazy fidgeting if I can’t find something to keep my hands busy.

  Van might be able to help with that.

  Shut up, brain.

  Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Van’s preposterous shiny black Hummer pulls up the drive, and I practically sit on my hands to keep from running to the window like a little kid. A beat later, he opens the door and he and Emmett step inside, bringing a blast of cold with them.

  “Oh no, she’s robbed us blind,” Van says with a grin that makes me think about keeping my hands busy again.

  “Very funny.”

  “Hi, Stella,” Emmett says, giving me a little wave.

  “Hey Emmett.”

  Van gives him a playful shove, and Emmett punches him in the arm and wanders off to his room, where he slams the door. Van shrugs and kicks off his shoes. “Did you get my note?”

  “I did, thank you. It was nice to have the clarification that I wasn’t about to be murdered after waking in a strange house.”

  “I thought you’d like it.” He takes several more steps toward me. “Did you eat?”

  The way he says this, his voice all deep and husky, makes me want more . . . food. Of course. Not other things, like getting naked with hot hockey players who are made of grunt and sweat and too much time spent in the gym—and possibly in the bedroom.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t date hockey players. I don’t have time for relationships. Besides, I’m sure he’s used to women that are more experienced, and I haven’t the slightest idea how to keep someone like Van Ross satisfied.

  “I ate,” I say quietly. I also blush all the way to my hairline.

  “What are you doing, sitting here all by yourself?”

  “Thinking too much.”

  He nods, as if he understands what’s going on inside my head. “Okay, that’s it. Get up.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, country. We’re springing you from this joint.”

  “You are?”

  “Emmett, we’re heading down to the woods. You wanna come? There might be moose.”

  He calls from behind his bedroom door, “Has Stella seen moose?”

  “I don’t know. Has she?” Van says, studying my face. Why does everything feel like a loaded question with him?

  “Only once. The other night, when I crashed my car. My life has been surprisingly moose-free up until I totaled my car attempting not to hit one.”

  A moment later, Emmett’s door opens a crack and he pokes his head out. “You hit a moose?”

  “Emmett loves moose, almost as much as he loves you.”

  “Fuck you, Van.”

  “Oh, come on, buddy. Stella knows I’m just kidding.”

  Emmett looks to me for conformation, and I nod. “Totally.”

  “Come on, let’s go introduce Stella to Bullwinkle J. Moose,” Van says.

  “Bullwinkle is not code for your penis, is it?” I fold my arms and glare up at him. Van just laughs as he climbs the stairs, and I’m left wondering if he really has taken one too many pucks to the head.

  When he returns a few minutes later he’s decked out head to toe in hunting gear and carrying what looks like more of the same. He lobs the armful of fabric at me, and I catch it, though mostly I just get drowned in a puddle of waterproof clothing.

  “What is this?”

  “Can’t hunt moose without blending into your surrounds.” Van takes a key from his pocket and opens a locked chest across the room that I assumed was housing cushions and throw rugs, but he pulls out a rifle and my blood turns as frosty as the weather outside.

  “Hunt? I thought you said we were just going to introduce ourselves?”

  “Relax. We don’t ever shoot anything. It’s just for protection.”

  “Protection from what?”

  “Bears, cougars, wolves . . .”

  “You forgot wolverines,” Emmett says.

  “So basically, everything then?” I swallow hard.

  “Can’t forget the rabid puck bunnies, either.”

  Emmett nods sagely. “Good point.”

  “Do I even want to know what they are?”

  “Probably not.” Emmett’s now decked out head to toe in camouflage, too. They both look ridiculous. I guess this hunting moose thing is happening whether I go or not, and the thought of sitting here alone twiddling my thumbs doesn’t really appeal, so I gather up the clothing that will no doubt make me, too, look like a lumberjack, and I head upstairs to change.

  The pants are far too big. So is the jacket. I feel ridiculous, but Van’s expression when I come down the stairs looking like a cammo marshmallow is sort of adorable, so I decide I may as well continue impersonating the Stay Puft man. We pile into the Hummer—with some difficulty, I might add—and Van reverses the beast. It really is a beast. I don’t understand why anyone needs a car this big, but for all its size, it does seem to navigate the side of the mountain far better than my stolen SUV. Which is no longer parked in a snow drift near Van’s house.

  “Did you move my car?”

  “Oh yeah. Tim came and towed it this morning. I’m surprised it didn’t wake you. It’s not easy to get a truck up here.”

  Well, that information would have been useful several hours ago. I could always ask Van to drop me somewhere but then I’ll be on a plane to wherever the hell Lana and my next show are scheduled to be. Right now, that’s the very last thing I want.

  Twenty minutes into the drive, we pass a building that looks a little like Hogwarts nestled into the base of the mountain. It seems oddly familiar, but it isn’t until we pass it that I put two and two together. I recognize it from the sign on the highway.

  “Van, isn’t that the hotel I asked you to drive me to yesterday?”

  “Er . . .”

  I slap his arm. “Oh my god, you lied to me.”

  “You don’t wanna stay there. Seriously, the second you check in everyone’s going to know about it.”

  “I thought you said the only way to get there was over the mountain.”

  “It is, unless, of course, you take the road.”

  “The road that was supposed to be closed?”

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

  “Van . . .”

  “Come on, country, where’s your sense of adventure? If you’d checked in to that hotel you’d already be back to your miserable life. This way, you get the break you so desperately need, and the bonus of two strapping young gentlemen for company. Tell me it wasn’t smart to lie.”

  “It wasn’t smart to lie,” I say, but I think my smile tells him everything I won’t say.

  “Here’s the thing—you have to be absolutely quiet,” Van says, as he settles in the snow beside me.

  “Okay.”

  “You can’t make a sound,” Emmett says too loudly. I glance at Van, expecting him to shush his brother like he just did me, but he winks. I’m freezing my ass off out here. I’d much rather be sitting cozy at Lodge Ross with a hot chocolate that I’m not supposed to drink. Instead, I’m knee-deep in snow, decked out in cammo and sporting black war paint under my eyes like a football player.

  I hunker down between the two boys, using their bodies as a shield against the cold, and when I’m sure I’m about to die of hyperthermia we hear a guttural bellowing sound. “Hear that?” Van whi
spers.

  I gulp, not sure I want some mammoth moose coming toward me, but after an hour of freezing my boobs off, a bull finally enters the grove. He’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen, with a deep brown coat and antlers so wide they must be at least six feet from end to end. I still.

  Emmet whispers, “See it, Stella?”

  I can’t speak—I can only nod. I don’t know if it’s the size of the beast that I find the most intimidating or the fact that it’s walking in tight circles and butting its head into trees.

  “Oh shit,” Van whispers.

  The moose looks right at us and sways a little.

  “Oh shit? Oh shit, what?”

  “He’s got brainworm.”

  “What does that mean?” I hiss back. Panic swirls in my gut. The zombie moose charges for us, then falls down in the snow, but it’s back on its feet again in a matter of seconds. I shriek and take several steps back.

  “You’re gonna need to go,” Van shouts.

  I’m frozen to the spot, watching the animal stumble and fall. “What are you going to do?”

  “I gotta put him down.”

  The moose charges again, and this time I don’t wait to be told to move. I run. With flailing arms, I take off through the forest, but the moose runs, too, right on after me. Somewhere far behind, above the sounds of a one thousand-pound moose chasing me, I hear a shot ring out from the opposite direction, and Van shouts, “Stella!”

  Emmett’s voice echoes his, but I keep running, and then I hear something bearing down on me, a huge body thundering through the woods, and I think I’m done. I can’t look back for the fear of running headfirst into a tree, but that panic is nothing when my legs go out from under me as I’m crash-tackled to the ground. I scream, tense, and wait for the moose to eat me alive or spear me right through, but I land hard on the forest floor with . . . Van, on top of me? All the air is squeezed from my lungs.

  “Are you fucking crazy? You’re going to get shot! There are hunters out here.”

  I slap his chest. “You scared me half to death. Where’s the moose?”

  “He’s down for now, I think.”

  A shot goes off, ricocheting off a nearby tree. “Oh my god! Is someone shooting at us?”