A Perfect Trade

“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 that until the off-season.”

“Why wait? You’ve only got a few weeks left and there are decisions to be made if we want to be settled before you start again. Like where we’ll live. I think we should sell our places and buy something new together.”

“Whoa. Slow down.” Tru held up a hand. “I don’t even know if I’ll still be in New Jersey next season.”

Melanie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Jeez. Hadn’t she been paying attention? “You know I’m a free agent this summer, right? That means my contract is up with the Ice Cats.”

“Yes.” She shrugged. “But they’ll renew it.”

“Not necessarily.” His poor numbers had sparked rumors that the team wouldn’t offer him another deal, but would instead try to trade him for younger, fresher legs.

He knew his best years were behind him. If he could stay healthy, he might manage another seven or eight seasons. He’d been lucky enough to spend his entire professional career with one organization and had banked on one more contract, so he could finish his career there. Sure, trades were part of the game, but he’d never dreamed it would happen to him.

“We shouldn’t make any decisions about the future, Mel, until we know how it’ll all shake out.”

Melanie wasn’t about to be fobbed off. “So you go to a team that’s close by. There are two in New York. Or we could move somewhere nice, like L.A.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I don’t get to pick where I go. I could end up in Edmonton or Detroit or North Carolina.”

“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Then we could do the long-distance thing, right?”

Damn it. He really didn’t want to discuss their relationship or his future tonight.

“Let’s table this until I know for sure where I’ll be.” Tru rubbed his temples, trying to ease the brewing headache. “There’ll be plenty of time to make decisions then.”

Melanie’s gaze narrowed. “You don’t want us to move in together, do you?”

Crap. Like that moment when he knew he’d been caught too far out of his zone and couldn’t beat a streaking winger back, Tru could see the disastrous play unfolding. “Look, I’m tired and sore. We can talk about this on Saturday.”

“I want to discuss it now.” Her lips pinched. “We agreed we wanted more commitment.”

“We agreed to think seriously about where we wanted our relationship to go.”

“I know where I want it to go.” Her voice rose in pitch. “I want to get married.”

His stomach twisted. “Marriage is a big decision,” he said carefully.

“That’s why we should live together first. I know you’re scared of commitment because things were tough after your dad left your mom.” Her smile had a brittle edge. “This way, you’ll see it works, before you have to wear the ring.”

Tru drained his glass. She was right. He wouldn’t get hitched unless he was sure the marriage would last. He didn’t want his kids to go through what he and his brothers had.

The problem was, he couldn’t convince himself to take even the first step with Melanie. That should tell him something, shouldn’t it?

He tried one last time to delay the inevitable. “Let me think about that and we’ll talk on Saturday.”

“You don’t love me, do you?” Her voice wobbled.

Double crap.

Tru wished he could say what she wanted to hear—the words he’d said only once before—but he couldn’t. Not yet. “I care about you. With time...” His voice trailed off, as she shook her head.

“I hoped I was wrong.” Her voice hardened. “You’re still in love with someone else.”

“What?” He blinked, surprised. “Who?”

Even as he asked the question, an image of Jenny flashed into his brain. Her shiny, straight blond hair falling past her shoulders to rest against the scooped neckline of her black top. Faded black jeans that clung lovingly to every inch of her knockout legs and black, spiked-heel boots with buckles and studs that could make grown men whimper. Fire shot through his veins.