Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding) - By Sydney Somers Page 0,41

wife died a couple years ago on one wall. The other wall featured a massive window overlooking the lake.

A framed photo caught his attention and he picked it up. Their first state championship win. Jackson could still feel the solid weight of Coach’s arm around his shoulders, remember the warmth and pride in the old man’s eyes even though he rarely smiled.

Jackson’s throat tightened and he set the picture down, sweeping the room for the hockey stick. After checking the closet and behind a pile of other gear packed neck-high in a corner, he almost gave up. Then he spotted it behind the door.

His fingers closed over the wooden stick, the grip foreign and familiar all at the same time. He closed his eyes, wishing like hell he could slip back in time and remember what it felt like to be so damn sure about something. Anything.

Right now he’d settle for having just one piece of his life figured out. After the accident he hadn’t had a clue what he’d do with himself, and there hadn’t been a single offer worth pursuing until the assistant coaching position came along days ago.

It wasn’t playing, but coaching was as close to the game as he could get now. He wasn’t sure yet how he’d fill the kind of shoes Mitch Stone had stepped into before every game. Take that and multiple it by a thousand and he might be able to guess at the kind of pressure that came with coaching a professional team. It would be worth it, though, if it got him back in the NHL.

His gaze returned to the state championship picture, then drifted across the others on Coach’s desk. The old man was actually smiling in one with Matt and Hayley. Her grin was as bright as her grandfather’s, and Jackson caught himself smiling at it.

Maybe he’d been exaggerating about the women earlier, trying to talk her into keeping up the pretense of a relationship, but he was definitely serious about wanting to spend more time with her. He didn’t need her fend off the local puck bunnies, but he’d use any excuse he could to get a little closer to her.

Hayley didn’t dwell on his accident or hockey career and had been the only one to ask if he even wanted to coach. Everyone else just seemed to assume he would. Between her gorgeous smile and infectious laugh, she had a way of making him forget that his life hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected—

Bang!

Jackson jumped at the slamming of a door down the hall, jerking the hockey stick up like a baseball bat.

“Hayley?” He hadn’t heard her come in, but maybe he’d been too lost in thought.

Eyes locked on the hallway, Jackson left the den. He moved through the house until he came to the only room with the door shut. He reached for the knob—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The hockey stick hit the floor. He might have too, his heart somewhere between his stomach and his throat. He didn’t believe in ghosts and haunted houses or any of that bullshit, but something was fucking with him, something…

“Hayley? You home?” The muffled voice came from out front, followed by a series of short knocks.

On the front door. The one down the hall. Not the one he was crouched in front of like something out of a B-rated horror flick.

He really needed to get a grip.

Swearing under his breath, Jackson stalked to the front door and yanked it open, half prepared to snap at whoever was on the other side. As if it was their fault he’d let some stupid crack Hayley made about the place being haunted get to him.

Two teens stood on the porch. A third, seated in a wheelchair, waited at the bottom of the stairs. All three wore Promise Harbor Hawks T-shirts. Coach’s latest players, Jackson assumed.

“You’re…him. You’re…” the shorter teen stuttered.

He stuck his hand out. “Jackson.”

The two on the porch shook his hand in turn, the shorter one looking like he might pass out.

The taller one elbowed his teammate. “We were looking for Hayley.”

“She’s not here.”

The taller one’s shoulders slumped a little. “We were hoping she could do a few drills with us today. Hockey camp starts next week.”

“It’s not gonna be the same without Coach running it this year.” The shorter one quieted at the sharp look from his teammate.

Jackson recognized that we-don’t-talk-about-it look. His former teammates had exchanged that same look dozens of times right after Jackson’s accident. A few of