A Perfect Trade. Anna Sugden

      Her murmured words lacked conviction, but she couldn’t explain. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever.

      “Use these, Jenny.” Maggie’s daughter, Emily, thrust a paper napkin at her.

      When Jenny looked uncomprehendingly at the little girl, Emily pointed at the damp patch, then began rubbing at the stain herself. After a moment, Jenny took over, making a few halfhearted swipes, before tossing the crumpled napkin in the trash. “Thanks, Em.” Putting words together was an effort. “Great job.”

      “All right. What’s going on?” Concern darkened Maggie’s eyes.

      “I’m okay.” Jenny wanted to plead with her friend not to press, but couldn’t form the words. Then her cell phone started to play “Dancing Queen.”

      Her sister. Saved by the bell. Sort of. “I have to take this. I’ll be outside.”

      As Jenny crossed the room she felt Maggie’s worried gaze on her back. Once outside in the lower concourse, the backstage of the Ice Cats Arena, Jenny answered her phone.

      “Have you seen the news?” Lizzie asked without greeting.

      Jenny nodded, then realized she needed to speak. “Yes.”

      “Do you need me to come home?”

      “No.” The word erupted from her; desperate, urgent. She forced herself to sound calm. “You have classes.” She swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

      She had to be.

      “Are you sure? I’m only a few hours away. College isn’t like school—I won’t get detention for missing a few seminars.”

      “Really, Lizzie, I’ll be okay.”

      “But people will want to speak to you about him. Even though we haven’t been part of Uncle Douglas’s life for over a decade, someone will make the connection and want a quote or something.”

      Her sister was right. Everyone in their parish knew that Douglas Boult had become Jenny and Lizzie’s guardian following their parents’ deaths in an accident. It wouldn’t take much digging for the media to unearth the records.

      “If that happens I won’t say anything more than ‘no comment’ and I don’t want you to, either.”

      “Not even to set the record straight? It makes me sick. They’re talking about him like he was a saint. They need to know what kind of monster he was.”

      “Please, Lizzie.” Jenny couldn’t bear the thought of people knowing what he’d done to her. Her shame was enough of a burden. “He can’t harm me anymore. Let the past be buried with him.”

      “But he doesn’t deserve to be put up on a pedestal. The man was a sexual predator.”

      “I know what he was.” Better than anyone. Her voice was soft, but firm.

      She had never shared the full extent of her uncle’s abuse. Not even with her sister, who knew what Jenny had suffered to protect her. In fact, Jenny had only ever trusted two other people enough to tell them part of the story and one of those—her boyfriend at the time—had been a huge mistake.

      Pain sliced through her; the memory of his betrayal, as fresh and sharp as if it had happened last night, rather than thirteen years ago.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...” Her sister’s words trailed off.

      “I know. It’s okay.” Jenny cleared her throat, trying to ease the tightness. “I just don’t think it’s worth opening that can of worms. No one will want to believe what Douglas did and, without proof, it’ll be our word against that of a supposedly good man—a man of the cloth—who’s no longer here to defend himself.”

      “You’re right.” Lizzie sighed. “They’ll retaliate and it’ll get nasty.”

      “I’m not ashamed of what I do in my spare time, Lizzie.” Being the de facto queen of the puck bunnies wasn’t everyone’s idea of a “hobby.”

      “I’m not ashamed of you, either. But some people wouldn’t understand. They’d put two and two together and get twenty-two. They’d turn what we said about Uncle Douglas against you. It’s bad enough that he’ll never be punished for what he did. It’s not fair that the truth could ruin your life, too.”

      “We both know life isn’t fair.” Jenny made her voice bright. “Anyway, did your professor like your paper on movie remakes?”

      Lizzie accepted the change in subject with only a slight hesitation. “He hated it. The man’s a dinosaur.”

      The sound of male voices made Jenny turn. Players were heading down the corridor toward the family room. Unlike the boisterous joviality there would have been after a win, they were subdued. Not much to celebrate after a sixth straight loss. As they passed Jenny, they each nodded or lifted a hand in greeting.

      “I have to go, sis. The guys are coming out of the locker room.”

      “I forgot you’re at the game. Say hi to Jake and the others.”

      “I will.”

      As Jenny hung up, Jake “Bad Boy” Badoletti and Truman “Tru” Jelinek stopped beside her. Their expressions were grim; the strain of the loss etched across their faces.

      She passed on her sister’s message and hugged Bad Boy, deliberately focusing her attention on him, not his best friend. “Tough night, guys. The ice was tilted against you.”

      “Yeah.” Jake hitched a shoulder wearily. “It’s been that way since the All-Star break.”

      “It’s bound to change sometime.” Her encouragement sounded hollow.

      “The odds of us making the cut for the play-offs are pretty slim. We’d have to win ten of our last sixteen games and hope Buffalo and Washington slip up to have a chance of making a wild-card place.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Guess I’ll be improving my golf handicap come April 7.”

      “At least you’ll get to spend more time with your personal fan club.”

      Jake’s ice-blue eyes lit up. “Speaking of which, time to see my ladies. Catch you later at the restaurant?”

      Jenny shook her head. She needed to be alone. “Sorry, got things to do.”

      Jake squeezed her shoulder, then strode toward the family room.

      Her smile faded as Tru remained standing beside her.

      She damned the way her pulse hitched. When would her traitorous body learn that she was no longer interested in the good-looking defenseman? Hadn’t been for thirteen years. Other women might drool over the way his broad shoulders filled out his black, long-sleeved shirt and how his faded jeans fit his muscular thighs, but she’d learned the hard way not to trust his pretty packaging. She could resist those high, Slavic cheekbones and that rugged jaw, too. Her mom had always said “handsome is, as handsome does.”

      That made Tru as ugly as sin.

      “I saw the news about...him,” Tru said quietly. “Are you okay?”

      For a moment, the protective concern in his green eyes touched her. Warmed her. As it had the day they’d met in first grade. He’d had her back when she’d squared off against the class bully over her lunch money. He’d always had her back. Until the night he hadn’t.

      The warmth vanished, leaving frost in its place. “I’m fine.”

      “If you need anything...”

      She cut him off. “You’ve done more than enough.”

      “I’m sorry.” Red tinged his cheeks and rose up his neck. “More than you’ll ever know.”

      “So you’ve said.” But an apology couldn’t fix the damage he’d done.