The viral videos on TikTok were already enough of a distraction, as much as he wouldn’t admit that to Polk. Nothing had changed in their weekly routine. They watched NHL and Junior games, and Polk just happened to film his reactions. Country had nothing to do with the editing or posting, which was good since he barely used his phone for anything more than a calendar.
The Snowballs were four and one already, and Sean had just scored a new young winger to replace Fly after months of searching for the right fit. Tonight was initiation after practice, and that was what he was looking forward to. He might not care about many things outside of his family and the ranch, but the team was one of them.
After eating a late lunch of leftover stew, Country showered up. He threw his now-dry pads back in his hockey bag and got in his truck, turning on hockey recaps as he started the drive into Calgary.
As usual, the commentators’ assessments of Saturday’s games were asinine. By the time he arrived at the address he'd been given by John Allen's secretary and parked, he was correcting the clowns out loud. Not juvenile in the least.
Country walked to the first door he saw and strode into the four-story brick office building. A slim woman with mousy hair and pale lips explained that John’s office was on the third floor. He took the stairs.
John Allen was a legend in Canadian hockey. Probably hockey in general if anyone south of the border was paying attention. He played for both the Maple Leafs and the Flames back in the day, then took on commentating when he blew out his knee in the playoffs. Never clinched a Stanley cup win, but after pioneering on-ice graphics in broadcasting and hosting Hockey Evening in Canada for years, he still managed to land his name in the Hockey Hall of Fame.
So maybe he cared a little about meeting the guy.
Country pushed through the third-floor doorway and scanned the hall lined with offices. Not seeing any movement, he started toward the lobby but only got halfway there before nearly bowling over a woman dressed in a cozy cowl-neck sweater and dress slacks.
“Oh!” The woman jumped back into the doorway, a hand flying to her chest. Country took her in, a small chime of warning ringing in the back of his head. Her blond hair was swept up into a claw clip, a loose tendril sweeping over the right side of her face. “I’m so sorry, I—” When she looked up, that bell clanged, and Country’s blood thickened in his veins.
He blinked once, trying to clear his vision and make sense of the face staring up at him. She had the same watercolour green eyes, the same high cheekbones, the same smattering of freckles across her nose. It was like seeing numbers in the perfect order and realizing you still had your phone digits from kindergarten memorized.
Heat flashed through him, followed by what felt like a bucket of icy water being dumped over his head. His reality flickered between the present and past, the narrative he lived every day suddenly fracturing into two versions. One with her and one without. How had he ended up in the latter?
His younger self was jolted awake within him, and in an instant, he remembered he once loved Kraft Dinner and jumping off rope swings and staying up until two in the morning watching old horror movies.
His head swam, and he forced her name to his lips. “Jenna?”
Chapter Three
Jenna pressed her back against the doorframe, willing the world to stop spinning. Gentry was standing in front of her wearing a grey zip-up sweater and black joggers. She’d tried to prepare herself for this over the last twenty-four hours, but she wasn’t expecting him to strike out of nowhere. He was like a deer jumping in front of her headlights with those chocolate eyes and long lashes. A sexy, sexy deer . . .
Say something. She needed to say a word—any word. Preferably English, though French or Latin would suffice. She wasn’t that picky, and maybe it would make her look sophisticated? Her lips parted, but nothing came out because her coherent thoughts were hijacked by the V of the white T-shirt peeking out behind his hoodie. She’d always loved him in white.
At least the new facial hair wasn’t a surprise since she’d spent over two hours last night diving down his content rabbit hole. She hadn’t meant to watch more than a handful of videos, but even the hour of exercising dogs at the shelter hadn’t been enough to shore up her serotonin stores. Gentry, or Country as he apparently went by now, was funny. Charming. So stupid hot all relaxed on his leather couch. And now he was a foot in front of her face smelling like something that probably had the name Ocean Breeze.
“Hi.” The circuit between Jenna’s brain and lips finally reconnected, and she forced herself to straighten and readjust her grip on her tablet. Act normally, damn it. “Did you already talk to John? He’s?—”
“I’m sorry, stop.” Gentry frowned and held up a hand. “You’re back in Calgary?” He looked past her into the office. “You work here?”
She nodded again, pretending that the furrow in his brow was only utter confusion and not thirteen year’s worth of hurt. Jenna had spent hours in the dark coming up with potential excuses for missing work today until she realized that skipping this meeting meant she’d be putting the segment wholly in John and Kessler’s hands. Plus, if Gentry agreed to do it, he’d definitely see her Saturday. There was no way around it, so she’d decided to rip off the Band-Aid. All it took was less than a minute for her to regret that life choice.
Her voice came out like an eighty-year-old smoker. “Mmhmm. I’m a producer for?—”
“You’re a producer?”
“Not like an executive pr?—”
“Were you the one who emailed me?” His eyes hardened, and she could almost see him searching his memory for the email address so he could puzzle it out. She decided to save him the effort and nodded. It felt like her head was a helium balloon, detaching from her neck and floating to the ceiling.
Gentry exhaled. “How long have you been back?”
Shit. Jenna swallowed hard, reminding herself that, just like Kessler, she didn’t owe Gentry anything. They hadn’t spoken since she was twenty-two, and she’d tried to reach out. Yes, she’d broken things off initially, but he’d been a willing participant in the end of their relationship by ghosting her calls.
They’d been the main characters in each other’s stories once. But that was a lifetime ago. Would she have expected him to reach out if he moved to Windsor? The attempt at justification fell flat. Windsor had never been their place, and a pit opened up inside her at the thought of their roles being reversed. “Three years.”
His pupils dilated as he absorbed those words. Jenna’s cheeks heated. And there it was. The look she’d envisioned on his face the last time they’d talked on the phone and she’d told him not to get on the road and drive up. She had a better imagination than she gave herself credit for.
“Country!” John’s voice rang out down the hall, and Jenna sucked in a breath as Gentry turned toward it.
“Mr. Allen.” Gentry walked forward and put out a hand. Of course he’d call him mister. Gentry had always been polite to a fault unless he was on the ice. Jenna repeated his nickname a few times in her head. Country. It helped to think of him as someone different than the boy she’d loved exclusively from seventeen to twenty-two. Longer. She’d loved him from the second she’d seen his face in grade nine health class.
