Page 30 of Heartless As Puck

Placing the cup in front of her, I said, “Talk with me. Dinner can wait.”

Her lower lip disappeared behind her teeth as she wrapped her hand around the cup. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, we need to sort this out.”

With a sigh, she rounded the counter and leaned against it, facing me. “I suppose you want an answer to what you asked me this morning?”

“If you’re willing to give me one. If not, just tell me to leave it alone and I will.”

A divot appeared between her eyebrows, and for a moment, I thought she might do just that, but I still wasn’t expecting her to straighten and walk away. As I watched her retreat, I considered chasing after her, but I’d told her I wanted her to be able to leave, and she was choosing to do that, so I had to respect her wishes.

My shoulders slumped as I stared at the glossy black surface of my coffee, wishing I could have something stronger.

Footsteps approached, and I looked up.

Jane strode in, a bottle of Corona beer in one hand, a fine mist of condensation already forming on the glass. She opened one of the kitchen drawers, withdrew a bottle opener, and cracked the lid off, then plunked it on the bench, got a lemon from the fridge, sliced a wedge out of it, and slid it inside the bottle’s neck. Finally, she gulped down several mouthfuls.

“I needed more than a decaf coffee for this conversation,” she said, returning to her earlier position against the counter.

I stared, stunned. “You… don’t strike me as a beer drinker.”

I’d always imagined Jane as more the sort of person to enjoy a nice glass of wine, or just stick to expensive coffee from hipster coffee shops.

She laughed, and her eyes sparkled. Usually, they were a pleasant brown color, but when they shone with amusement, they became a tapestry of different shades of brown, green, and gold.

“I grew up in a household of hockey players,” she explained, raising the bottle to her lips once more. She sipped, and I forced my eyes away from the bobble of her pale throat as she swallowed. “After Dad retired, we still watched every one of his games, and nothing goes better with hockey than beer and chips.”

“I can’t argue with that.” It made sense, now that I knew who she was. I had to admit, I’d made assumptions about her, and it seemed many of them were wrong.

Jane glanced over at me and then down at the counter. “This is going to be hard for me to get out, so just bear with me.”

My stomach twisted as guilt assailed me. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Let’s just forget it and cook some dinner. I’ll even help.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m doing this. Okay.” She drew in a breath between her teeth and exhaled sharply. “The truth is, I have a speech disfluency.”

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I stutter. It used to be really bad. As a little kid, I could hardly get out full sentences. It took so long for me to say anything that I’d just give up. The particular style of disfluency I experience gets worse when I’m emotional, tired, or drunk, so when I was younger, I’d get frustrated with myself and then being upset made it more and more difficult. It was a vicious cycle. I still regress sometimes under those same conditions.”

“I never noticed. You don’t seem to stutter more than most people.” It was hard to imagine her struggling as much as she claimed to have, but when I recalled the images of that shy child I’d seen when I’d Googled her, I had to admit she’d come across as being very withdrawn.

She shrugged. “I worked really hard for a long time. I can usually keep it under control these days, although not always.”

God, that was impressive. She’d been almost debilitated by this problem but hadn’t let it get in her way.

“Is that why you’re studying to be a speech therapist?” I asked.

“Exactly.” She flashed a grin, but it wavered. “I had an incredible speech therapist and I owe so much to him. I want to help others the same way. You have to understand, with both Dad and Uncle Wayne in the NHL when I was young, there was a lot of attention on my family, which made it even harder for me to improve.”

My frown deepened. “How do you mean?”

“The press terrified me. Honestly, the fans did too. Whenever people approached Dad when we were out, I’d panic, and sometimes, I wouldn’t be able to speak again all day. I love Dad and Uncle Wayne, and I love hockey too, but I hated the public scrutiny that went with it. I still do. Even now, if I ever end up the center of attention, I feel like I’m right back where I started, unable to say a word.”

“I’m sorry.” I couldn’t imagine how traumatizing that must have been. No matter how careful her family had tried to be, they’d obviously failed to protect her.

“It is what it is.”

For a short while, silence descended between us. She was breathing in a calm, measured way that I suspected was wholly intentional, so I let her do what she needed until she was ready to continue.