A Perfect Trade. Anna Sugden

damn little, too damn late, the first time. And it sure as hell doesn’t change anything now.”

      He closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing the thrust of her bitter words. “I was sixteen. I thought I was doing the right thing. Besides, you didn’t tell me who was responsible. How could I have known...?”

      “You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone,” she interrupted.

      “I thought I could trust a priest.” He thrust a hand through his still-damp, dark hair. “I was trying to protect you.”

      “We both know how that turned out.”

      Tru’s girlfriend stuck her head out of the family room and cast an annoyed gaze in their direction. “Is everything okay out here?”

      “Just peachy.” Jenny’s smile was brittle.

      Tru stiffened, then shifted away from Jenny. “I’ll be there in a minute, Melanie.”

      Jenny blamed the way her stomach lurched on the evening’s news, not the exchange of lovey-dovey looks between Tru and his girlfriend. Nor the fact that he’d once looked at her that way.

      “We’re done here.” Jenny turned on her heel and stalked off.

      The sharp click-click of her heels on the stone floor echoed through the near-silent subterranean concourse. Her heart pounded so hard and so fast, she thought she’d be sick, but she didn’t break stride until she slid behind the wheel of her red sports car.

      As she turned the key in the ignition, the radio blared with a variation on the newscast she’d seen earlier. Though she smacked the off button, the words reverberated in her head.

      Douglas Boult was dead.

      He couldn’t hurt her ever again.

      Her hands shook on the steering wheel. Her throat tightened and her eyes burned with unshed tears. It was over. Finally.

      She was free.

      * * *

      DATING WAS A pain in the ass, especially on a game night. Truman Jelinek should have known better. “We can eat out another time, Mel, when I’m not so tired.”

      He hefted his sports bag into the back of his Range Rover and slammed the tailgate shut, wincing as pain shot through his right shoulder. Crap. That check into the boards in the third period had done some damage. That’s all he needed; another freaking injury. “I just want to go home, ice my bruises and sleep.”

      He opened the passenger door for Melanie, tensing when she didn’t get in.

      “But you’ve been away for a week and you promised me a night out when you got back. I got dressed up.” She pouted, then fluffed her long, red hair and swept her hand provocatively down her green, silky top and white jeans. “We can skip the nightclub, but why can’t we have dinner someplace nice?”

      He started to shake his head.

      Before he could speak, she slapped her hands on her hips. “You can rest tomorrow. You don’t have another game for a few days.”

      Though they’d been dating for almost a year, Melanie still didn’t understand how much playing took out of him. It wasn’t so bad during a homestretch, but after a West Coast swing—with four games in six nights—then tonight’s grueling sixty minutes against Boston, he was a wreck. Perhaps his age was catching up with him. He’d just turned thirty, but tonight, he felt twice that. “We could go out for dinner tomorrow.”

      Melanie frowned as she climbed into his SUV. “You know I teach Pilates on Wednesdays. It’ll have to be Thursday.”

      “That’s the night before we play Pittsburgh.”

      “It’s not like that one game will make a difference.” She rolled her green eyes. “You won’t make the postseason anyway.”

      Tru bit back a retort. He closed Mel’s door, then stalked around to his side. He didn’t need a reminder of how badly the Cats were doing. It had been two years since they’d won the Stanley Cup. Last year, they were bounced from the play-offs in the first round. This year, they wouldn’t even make the cut. Veteran players, like him, were being blamed for the team’s lackluster performance. After the crappy, injury-plagued season he’d had, he couldn’t argue.

      “Hey, Tru, you coming to eat?” Jean-Baptiste Larocque called out as he walked past.

      “I’ve got other plans.” Tru nodded toward Melanie, who was applying lip gloss. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

      J.B. grinned. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

      “With your track record, that gives me a pretty free rein.”

      “Be careful. For an old guy like you, that might be dangerous.”

      “This ‘old guy’ can still grind your candy-ass to dust, kid.”

      “You keep believing that.” Larocque laughed, before sliding into his Porsche.

      Melanie pursed her lips as Tru fastened his seat belt. “You never let me go to dinner with the team.”

      Tru swallowed a sigh at the familiar complaint. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t want Melanie at the postgame meals. It just didn’t feel right. Perhaps because taking a girlfriend felt like too much of a statement about their relationship. He and Mel weren’t at that stage yet. Would they ever be?

      Would any woman ever be?

      He pushed the questions aside. He didn’t want to think about something that deep tonight. Bad enough that the past had raised its ugly head with that newscast about Douglas Boult’s death.

      And the torturous encounter with Jenny afterward.

      He’d thought he’d dealt with the fact that Jenny would never forgive him. After trying over and over to make up for his mistake, he’d realized a few years back that he was hitting his head against a brick wall and decided to cut his losses. Since then, he’d done his best to stay out of Jenny’s way.

      When, like tonight, they did meet, his body reacted for the first few moments as if nothing bad had happened between them. As if she was imprinted onto his DNA.

      Melanie continued her complaint. “Jenny always goes. Why can’t I?”

      “You know why Jenny goes.”

      “It’s not fair. I should have more rights than a puck bunny,” she huffed. “Jake takes Maggie to the team dinners.”

      “They’re married.”

      Tru swore silently, wishing he hadn’t mentioned the M-word. Melanie had been pressing hard lately to move their relationship to the next stage, but he wasn’t ready. He didn’t need another emotional fight about commitment tonight. With weariness clouding his brain, whatever he said wouldn’t be right.

      Time to steer their discussion along an easier path.

      He flicked the turn signal. “How about we go to the little Italian place you love? I’ll take you into the city for dinner on Saturday.” He named a couple of hot restaurants in the Meatpacking District. “Your choice.”

      Melanie perked up. “Okay.”

      The tension eased. For the rest of the drive, she chattered about what she’d been doing all week. At La Trattoria Paulina, the effusive personal service and a complimentary glass of champagne put her in a better mood.

      Tru was beginning to think he might escape the evening unscathed, when Melanie dropped her bombshell.

      “I think we should move in together this summer.” She flashed a dazzling smile.

      The chicken parmigiana turned to rubber in his mouth. Tru gulped down ice water, but still felt as if he had half a puck stuck in his throat.

      He forced himself to sound calm, despite the dread rising in him. “We agreed to hold off discussing