you.”
Once the twins got past the idea of a dual ceremony and stopped arguing about who had the worse taste, the meeting calmed. Autumn quickly discovered that both women were very organized and knew what they wanted. They knew how much they wanted to spend and how much each wanted to be involved in the actual nuts and bolts of planning. They were very much alike in that regard, and the three of them went over the contracts quickly and thoroughly.
Both women were marrying high-profile men. Especial y Chelsea. Mark Bressler was a hockey legend in Seattle, and she wondered if the two would mind if she submitted their photos to trade magazines. Once she became a little more familiar with the two, she’d broach the subject. Bo pul ed out her ponytail holder, then gathered her hair at the back of her head once more. “I think we’re about done here, and I need to get some work done.” Her brows lowered as she looked over Autumn’s right shoulder. “That boy looks familiar.”
Autumn glanced behind her at the many photos of Conner on the shelves behind her.
“He looks like the kid whose been in the players’ lounge the last few games. He comes with one of Sam’s tal , dark-haired, big-lipped women.”
Chelsea folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Your basic nightmare.”
“That’s my son, Conner.” She looked from one twin’s face to the other, then added, “LeClaire.”
Light dawned in Bo’s blue eyes. “Ah.”
“I didn’t know Sam had a son. How old is he?”
“Five,” Autumn answered. “Sam and I weren’t married for very long.” Which was an understatement. “Being married to a hockey player just wasn’t for me.” From the beginning, she and Sam had agreed for Conner’s sake to keep the particulars of their marriage short and sweet. It was about the only thing they’d ever real y agreed on. There were only three other people who knew the whole truth. Vince and Sam’s two buddies. And as far as she knew, the buddies hadn’t spil ed the truth.
“That kind of life is hard on a family,” Bo agreed. “It takes a lot of commitment and a strong woman. Hockey players are great, but some can be real dogs.”
Chelsea gasped. “Bo!”
“Oh, I don’t mean Mark.”
Chelsea cut her eyes toward Autumn. “Watch what you say.”
“It’s okay.” Autumn laughed. “Sam is a huge dog.”
Chelsea smiled. “But he’s a charming dog.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you. I’ve always liked Sam. He used to come over to Mark’s and pick him up when he couldn’t drive. He’s been a real y good friend to Mark.”
“Yes.” Autumn didn’t know how good a friend Sam could be, but she did know that he could be a charming dog. He’d certainly charmed her six years ago. Charmed her right out of her bikini bottoms.
Bo stood and reached for her little black backpack. “Jules and I usual y sit in the owner’s box for most home games. If you ever want to come and bring Conner, let me know.”
“Won’t Faith mind?”
“She’s been hanging out in the lounge, and the box is usual y empty unless Jules and I sit up there.”
Autumn stood also.
“I’l ask Faith first, of course, but I real y don’t think she’l mind. In fact she’l probably be happy it’s getting used.”
Autumn had no intention of going to a Chinooks’ game. She wasn’t a hockey fan, and there was no way she wanted to be confused for a Sam fan. Their relationship was fine for the moment, but they weren’t friends. “Thanks.”
She showed the twins out, then moved back to her desk and put the contracts in a file. Sam was picking up Conner from his day care for a few hours. She didn’t know how she felt about Sam’s sudden transition from occasional to involved dad. She didn’t know what had inspired the change in Sam, but ultimately, it was good for Conner. She missed him when he was with Sam, but she had to admit that it did give her a needed break. Like today, she had a ton of laundry and a house to clean, and it was always easier if her son wasn’t making a mess behind her. Before she left for the day, she pul ed a few vendor files and put them on the pile of work she needed to take home. The cel phone on her desk rang, and she picked it up. She recognized Sam’s number, and answered, “What’s up?”
“I have Conner. I thought I’d let you know.”
How considerate. How so unlike Sam. “Thanks.”
“There’s a game tomorrow night.”
She sat on the edge of her desk and looked out the window at the parking lot beyond. “Yeah. Conner told me.”
“He wants to go.”
It was a school night, but as long as Conner’s schoolwork didn’t suffer, she could relax that rule. Sam was leaving for several weeks, and Conner wouldn’t see him. “As long as he doesn’t get tired, that’s fine. Just have Natalie bring him home when he starts to wear out.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. Are you going to watch it on TV?”
“The game?” Why was Sam so chatty? “No.”
“Are you working?”
“Not tomorrow night. No.” She’d just bought one of those Bedazzlers and wanted to glue tacky jewels on something. “November is typical y a slow month for me.”
“Natalie has the flu.”
“Sorry.” Maybe a cheap ugly vase or better yet, glass votive candle holders. That could be cool, and she could use them at events. Maybe.
“So… can you bring Conner to the game?”
Or on pens and… “What? Whoa. No. I’m busy.”
“Doing what? You just said you’re not working.”
What did it matter? She didn’t owe him anything. “Stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“I’ve got a list of stuff.”
“Of course you do, but what’s on your list that’s more important than taking your son to a hockey game to watch me play?”
Just about everything, but to show him how low he was on her personal food chain, she said, “My Bedazzler.”
“Your what?”
“I got a Bedazzler, and I’m going to glue glass stones on a vase or something.”
“Jesus.”
“I don’t owe you any explanation, Sam.” She stood and put a hand on her hip. “But if you want to know the truth, I hate hockey.”
“That’s like saying you hate Canada.”
“I’m not Canadian,” she pointed out.
“Conner is. Listen”—it sounded like he switched ears before he continued—“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m leaving Tuesday for a week.”
From the other side of Sam’s car she heard a little voice plead, “Please, Mommy.”
“That’s not fair, Sam.”
“I know.”
Of course he did, and he wasn’t sorry.
“You don’t have to stay the whole game,” he continued. “If you or Conner gets tired, you can leave. It’s just this one time, Autumn. I wouldn’t ask, but Conner real y wants to see me put the big hurt on Sedin.”
“Conner doesn’t like violence.”
“It’s not violence. It’s hockey.”
Right. She was going to give him what he wanted this time, but she real y didn’t want to, and she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “What do I get?”
There was a pause, then he asked, his voice a deep rasp in her ear, “What do you want, honey?”
