Further proof that they overestimated him lay in the result of tonight’s game. It ended with a Boston win, which translated to a checkmark in the Blizzard’s loss column—a loss Gage draped around his shoulders like the damp towel from his post-game shower.
Exiting the players’ area, he fell in beside T.J. Natalie, a pretty, willowy brunette, greeted them with a wide grin. T.J. slid his arm around her waist and pecked her lips. Beside her, their two dogs—Ford and Deke—wagged and whimpered at the sight of T.J.
“Nice fight,” she said to T.J. “I’m glad to see your lips didn’t get hurt.” She gave Gage a sly look. “Hey, you.”
He bent and ruffled each dog’s neck. “Hi, Natalie.”
“Just ignore him,” T.J. said. “He’s beating himself up for the loss tonight.”
Natalie scrunched her eyebrows. “And he’s doing this why?”
T.J. shrugged. “Who knows? It was a team loss, but he seems to think he did it alone. Pretty impressed with his ability to affect the outcome, I’d say.”
“Walking right here, guys,” Gage huffed.
Though talking to Natalie, T.J. wagged his head at him. “See what I mean?”
“And he’s usually so cheerful,” she said. “I’m not used to Grumpy Gage. I prefer Happy Gage.” She sent Gage a wink, and he flashed her back a grin.
Seeing T.J. with his wife always brought a smile to Gage’s face. After all, he’d helped get them together. Who knows how long it would’ve taken them to find their way to each other if he hadn’t taken charge that one disastrous night a few springs ago?
“Join us for dinner?” Natalie ventured.
“No, thanks.” He was on the verge of saying, “I’m just gonna head home,” but she said it for him. Yeah, he was that predictable.
Holding up his phone, he added for good measure, “I’ve got some family stuff to take care of.”
Natalie’s expression shifted to one of concern. “More trouble at home?”
“Always.”
As she and T.J. peeled away, heading for their car, she called over her shoulder, “Let us know if you change your mind.”
With a wave, he said, “Absolutely.” They both knew he had no intention of taking her up on it.
He climbed into his Porsche Panamera 4S and watched them for a few beats. With a headshake and a smile, he drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. Should he call his mother now and get it over with? Listen to her complain about his sister, his grandma, or whatever drama had her riled up this time? Or wait until he’d recharged his reserves?
Putting aside the looming conversation, he let his normally equable mind travel to the other female force agitating it: the woman who’d sneaked out of his bed in the middle of the night six long months ago, and who’d been haunting his thoughts ever since.
Chapter 2
Etta James is Alive and Well in Denver
Six months earlier
Gage peeked around a pillar, watching the band warm up. Could tonight get any worse? He’d been in a perpetual state of flight-or-fight, evading a very enthusiastic bridesmaid named Blair. Somehow the lady had concluded that, in addition to escorting her up and down the aisle, his groomsman duties included a bedroom interlude. Which it absolutely didn’t.
But in addition to this irritation, a musical tragedy was about to assault his ears. He could practically hear nails scraping down the chalkboard, and his neck hairs stood on end.
From center stage, the band had just proclaimed the first dance would be Etta James’s “At Last.” The announcement had come from what he could only presume was Etta’s stand-in, and Gage slumped inside. This woman was too slight to produce the sort of singing power that placed her anywhere close to an amateur blues singer, let alone one of Etta James’s stature. He’d seen far too many bad blues acts to know she needed at minimum an extra fifty pounds—along with a few inches—on her small frame to do the piece reverent justice.
He checked his disappointment and braced himself for the underwhelming singer about to butcher one of his favorite songs.
For the hundredth time, he questioned whether he’d made the right decision in not bringing a date. Unfortunately, he knew no one well enough to feel comfortable asking in the first place. Not that he’d looked since landing in Denver a year ago. It was events like this that made him miss Sarah. He was a banana split with no banana. She’d been his plus-one countless times, but she lived over thirteen hundred miles away in Seattle. Damn, he missed her! They’d been one another’s crutch for occasions just like this one, and now he was one crutch short and pegging around in circles. Why hadn’t he thought to fly her in?
Gage’s musings were overridden by a breathy purr coming through the sound system. “Please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Shanstrom, everyone,” the singer announced.
T.J. and Natalie stepped onto the dance floor and double high-fived. Around them, applause and whistles rose to a deafening level as T.J. gathered Natalie in his arms. So much happiness shone in T.J.’s eyes that Gage felt a pang. Not that he wanted Natalie. Sure, she was perfect for his buddy, but his envy centered on the fact T.J. had found that rare person he trusted with his heart. What the three generations of romance-reading women who’d raised Gage would have called “The One.” In his teenage years, he’d inevitably countered the term with a loud scoff and an exaggerated eye-roll, if for no other reason than it was expected of him.
Gage raised his Woodford Reserve to his lips and sipped while the singer commandeered the mic. Girding my loins here.
A hand tapped his shoulder, and he startled.
“Whoa, dude. Easy.” His teammate Hunter McMurphy guffawed, his hands up in surrender.
On high Blair alert, Gage scanned the crowd. “Thought you might be someone
