When I Fall in Love(80)

“Did . . . did you ride home together on the plane?”

“No.”

“Give me something here. Please tell me that at least you’re going to see him in Minneapolis.”

“Nope.”

Eden said nothing else as they drove.

Jace lived in a beautiful high-rise apartment complex in the heart of St. Paul, just blocks from the arena where he used to play his heart out and now would help coach the Blue Ox.

The doorman sent them up, and Jace met them at the door of his apartment, wearing jeans and a Nike T-shirt. “Grace.” He swept her up in a hug.

She couldn’t help noticing how much it felt, for a second, like being in Max’s embrace. Big. Strong. Breathtaking.

Except he wasn’t Max. Didn’t make her heart race. Didn’t make her want to pound her fists on his chest and demand answers.

Eden closed the door behind her and gave Jace a kiss. Grace walked to the tall glass windows that overlooked the skyline. The sun had already begun its descent behind the gleaming buildings to the west.

“I hope you don’t mind—I invited Max,” Jace said. “I thought we could have a little celebration for your almost win.”

Grace whirled around, her mouth open, but didn’t have to say anything because Eden had Jace’s arm and was shaking her head.

Jace’s eyes widened. “What?” He looked at Eden, back to Grace. “What don’t I know?”

Eden sighed. “I don’t know why, but Max and Grace didn’t hit it off like it seemed they did on national television.”

“It wasn’t national television. It was local cable, and I had no idea the world was watching.” Grace moved into the kitchen, leaned against the black granite countertop. Sighed. “Okay, the truth is—you saw the fiasco. The moment when we realized we’d ruined our dessert.”

“Yeah. That was . . . wow,” Jace said, his expression betraying the horror of the moment.

“Max didn’t take it well. He totally freaked out and . . . and then he just left.”

“He left you at the competition?”

“No.” She took a breath, searing her lungs. Blinked her tears away. “No. He left . . . Hawaii.”

Silence thrummed in the room as the couple stared at her. So apparently his behavior was exactly as horrible as she thought. “He hates me.”

“Oh, Grace, he doesn’t hate you.”

“No, you don’t understand. He loves cooking. And he hates mistakes. I blew it big. I handed him the salt, and . . . I embarrassed him.”

Eden took her hand.

Jace shook his head, a grim look on his face. “I’m going to have to hurt him. I have no choice.” He didn’t seem like he was kidding.

“No, Jace. It’s fine. It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Especially after the Owen thing.”

Now Eden turned to him, and she nearly chorused with Grace. “What Owen thing?”

Jace stared at them, the blood draining from his face. “Uh . . .” He ran his hand behind his neck. “Oops.”

“Jace Jacobsen, tell me what you’re talking about.”

Oh no, Eden used her scary voice.

He winced, clearly drawn in by her power. “It was an accident, no doubt, but Max came to me shortly after Owen’s injury and confessed that he believed he was the one who hit Owen. It was his stick, his movement. His fault.”

The room went silent. Grace’s heart hammered in her chest.

And then, like a wave crashing in and wiping clean the past, she got it.

Max didn’t blame her—he blamed himself. Maybe that was why he’d apologized at the competition. But she hadn’t listened, and . . . it was too much for him. Not only had he hurt Owen, but he’d hurt her too. Accidentally, both times.

Max didn’t do accidents.

She used the counter to balance herself, to keep herself upright as the phone rang. Oh, Max.

Jace answered the phone. He spoke quietly, then hung up. “He’s here.”

Trust Me. The words tucked into Grace, and she took a breath. Trust Me and expect more.

“Okay. Let him in.”



The last place Max wanted to be was riding in Jace’s penthouse elevator, about to face his old captain with the news that he’d let him down. Apparently he’d perfected that MO. First Brendon, then Grace, of course, and finally Jace.

And probably himself because of the hundreds of promises he’d broken over and over and over during the three weeks in Hawaii. Like, don’t date a girl more than twice. Never date anyone connected to the team. And finally, don’t let a girl into your world—hockey, cooking . . . heart.

Yeah, he’d broken that one and he still couldn’t look at himself. In fact, he’d arrived home and locked himself in his condo, watching reruns of old hockey games, hoping he might scour from his mind the look on Grace’s face when he’d abandoned her at the competition. Or maybe the sound of her voice in the messages she’d left him—shaky, worried.