A Perfect Trade. Anna Sugden

stay here.

      Jenny moved toward the door.

      “One more thing.”

      She stopped and turned. Her heart lurched as Irving pulled a familiar, crumpled cocktail napkin out of his pocket. A terrible roaring filled her head. She grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself.

      “It seems you owe our father a substantial sum of money. Expect a letter from our lawyers.”

      “Not right away, of course.” Felicia’s smile was overly bright, her tone eager to please.

      Irving shot his sister an irritated look. “But we will call in the debt.”

      Unable to force a word past her tight throat, Jenny walked out of the hospital room, holding her chin high. She managed to hold herself together, until she reached the parking garage and sank into her red Audi TT. Lowering her head to the steering wheel, she swore.

      How could she have let this happen? How could she have left herself so vulnerable?

      Surviving without her paycheck would be tough enough. No way could she afford to pay back that IOU. Three-quarters of the money had already gone to the IVF clinic, with the rest due any day. There was just enough left of her savings to scrape together the payment due soon for Lizzie’s tuition and board. Otherwise, she was flat broke.

      Jenny drove home in a daze; half her brain on the traffic, half on what she could do to make ends meet. Get another job. Sell her car. Sell stuff on eBay. Rob a bank.

      As she pulled into her driveway and parked, she was no closer to a solution. Though, obviously, robbing a bank wasn’t a viable option. She didn’t have a gun or a stocking mask.

      Getting out of her car, Jenny felt a slight tug in her womb.

      She froze.

      The tug came again. Her breath caught. Please no. Not this, too.

      Her body trembled as she waited anxiously to see if it happened again. After a few minutes, she released her breath in a hiccuping sob.

      Must have been a false alarm. A warning that she couldn’t take any more stress.

      The phone was ringing as Jenny walked into the house. She was tempted to ignore it, but changed her mind when she saw who was calling.

      She’d barely said hello before Lizzie demanded to know what was wrong. “Is it Harry? Is he worse?”

      Jenny closed her eyes for a moment and tried to sound normal. “No. He’s the same.” She explained about Felicia and Irving being appointed Harry’s guardians. “But I’ve been fired.”

      “How dare they? You’re Harry’s girl Friday.”

      “I should’ve seen this coming when Irving brought his secretary with him.” Lizzie’s fury on her behalf soothed Jenny’s battered soul, but it didn’t solve her problems. “I can get another job, but not one that’ll pay even half what I earn now. I’m hardly well-qualified, with only a GED. I shouldn’t think Irving will give me references, either.”

      “There has to be something you can do. It’s an unfair dismissal. Talk to Maggie or her sister—they must know a lawyer you can talk to.”

      “I can’t afford a lawyer.” Jenny bit her lip. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. Besides, once Harry gets better, this will all be fixed.”

      Assuming he got better. She couldn’t bear to think about the alternative.

      “Why don’t you do something hockey-related? Maybe something in the media. You have incredible knowledge of the sport and you’re familiar with the teams and rinks. Players, coaching staff and commentators already respect your insights. I’m sure readers would, too.”

      Lizzie’s words made Jenny pause and consider. People in the game did feel comfortable around her. She was often asked advice about shots or plays or her opinion of the opposition.

      A tiny bubble of excitement bounced in her stomach. “That’s a good idea. I know the sports editor at The Journal. Maybe he could find a slot for me. Though, technically, there’s only a few weeks left in the season.”

      “There’s still all the stuff over the summer—the draft, free agency. It’s worth a shot.”

      By the time Jenny hung up, she felt a little less panicked. She had a few options she could pursue. She sank onto the couch and leaned her head back against a cushion as she made a mental list of who she could approach.

      She’d got half a dozen names on the list when the tug in her lower belly returned.

      This time, it didn’t stop, but turned sharp and stabbing, like a period cramp.

      Even though she’d given up believing in God years ago, she sent a quick plea heavenward. Don’t let me lose the baby.

      Jenny sat motionless on the couch, delaying. She knew what she had to do, but once she did that, all hope would be gone. Sure, she’d have to wait a few more days to take the pregnancy test to confirm it, but the evidence would be there.

      As the seconds passed, the pain got worse until she was clutching her belly. Finally, she could bear it no more. She forced herself to go upstairs. Her heart thudded heavily with each step. Once in the bathroom, tears spilled down her cheeks.

      Jenny didn’t need to see the blood to know the IVF had failed.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE LETTER HAD looked like a harmless piece of fan mail.

      Tru’s hand shook slightly as he smoothed the scrunched sheet of paper. There had been nothing special about the handwriting. Even the Boston return address had seemed innocent.

      As innocent as a puck bouncing up your stick and into your face, at ninety miles an hour, and just as damn painful.

      He tossed the letter onto his kitchen table and paced the room.

      Why now?

      As if Tru didn’t have enough uncertainty in his life. Trade rumors had exploded with the announcement of the new general manager. Callum Hardshaw was a known rebuilder, with a reputation for clearing out deadwood fast. According to most sites and blogs, Tru was at the top of that pile of logs. Not the news he’d wanted or needed, with the Draft only weeks away, followed by free agency.

      Now this letter.

      After so many years of silence, what had prompted his father to write, asking to meet? And why to Tru? Ike was the eldest, it would have made more sense to reach out to him.

      Tru halted, staring down at the lined, white paper as if it could answer his questions. But it offered no more explanation than the few lines he’d read a hundred times.

      “Did you think I’d be a softer touch?” His voice echoed in the empty apartment.

      An all-too-familiar guilt tightened his shoulders. He’d had to bear the pain of keeping quiet about his father’s infidelity, then the anguish of knowing the action he’d taken had blown his family apart.

      His gaze lifted to the family snapshot on the refrigerator. His mother looked tiny, almost fragile, next to her broad-shouldered, towering sons. But Tru knew the strength behind the delicate appearance. The determination that had kept her going when her husband had walked out, leaving her with four young boys; one still an infant. The stubbornness that had enabled her to keep her family together no matter how hard things got.

      A second photo showed his mother laughing with Jake’s mom. How would things have turned out if Tina and Gio Badoletti hadn’t stepped in to help?

      The doorbell rang, followed almost immediately by several loud knocks.

      The cavalry. Sort of.

      Jake pushed past Tru as soon as he opened the door. His blue eyes scanned the apartment. “What’s up?”

      Now his friend