Chapter 5

Jack parked nearlyfive blocks from the Jukebox after circling around the area twice. He"d been there once before to watch a band Clara was into when he first moved back to Calgary, but it hadn"t been even close to that packed.

He waited for Clara to hop down from the passenger seat, then locked the Chevy and shoved his door closed. The icy air stung his cheeks. March in Calgary meant the weather had a perpetual mood disorder. Earlier that week, it had been nearly fifteen degrees, and now they were back at minus twenty with a bonus biting wind that had kicked up on the drive over. Jack pulled up his collar and buried his hands in the pockets of his heavy coat.

For the first time in months he"d put thought into what he was going to wear. Clara had insisted he don a Henley. She said buttons made a shirt look way more upscale than a plain tee, and though that made zero sense to him, he"d trusted her. She"d approved of his decision to pair the dark blue shirt with a pair of natural wash jeans, but then balked at his choice of shoes. "Slip-ons or loafers, no laces please."

When she found the pair of burgundy slip-on Vans in his closet, she looked physically pained that she"d never seen them on his feet before. They were an inside joke between him and a few friends in Toronto after he found them on clearance for fifteen dollars. Otherwise, he would've donated them years ago. Clara said they were perfect, and now here he was, walking down the frozen sidewalk in clown shoes.

"I can"t believe we"re doing this!" Clara fell into step next to him, burying the bottom half of her face behind her coat collar.

"I love how you"re pretending we"re in this together."

Clara scoffed. "We are in this together. I"ve got your back."

If she meant a hand on the back shoving him toward Delia so she could meet her pop idol, then yes. That statement was true. Jack winced as Clara bumped into his arm, pressing his newly tattooed skin against the rough hem of his coat.

"Sorry. I keep forgetting you're delicate right now." Clara moved further to the left. "Is it doing okay?"

Jack nodded. "It's great. I just have to be careful with it for the next few days."

"It's going to scab, right? Peel?"

"This one was small, so it won't be too bad." He'd gotten the Blizzard logo in silver and blue that morning, and Brett was one-hundred-percent correct. It hurt like hell on that sensitive skin on the inside of his arm. But the burn had been worth it. He'd waited twenty-nine years to fill that spot. Now the ink was permanent. He only needed to make the ink on his contract match.

Downtown Calgary buzzed with activity despite the hour. People wrapped in layers, scarves, and toques moved between restaurants and bars, their breath creating transient clouds in the air.

Jack kept his head down. In the dark, it was less likely that anyone would recognize him, but the frequency of people asking him for photos or autographs lately made him twitchy. He"d never considered himself an introvert, but he"d found himself seeking out alone time more in the past three weeks than ever in his life.

The neon sign for the Jukebox buzzed ahead and the windows were already steamed up. As he approached Will Call, a large "Sold Out" sign was posted on the glass. The woman in the booth shoved a bite of poutine into her mouth with a fork, then reached for a napkin and hurried back to her stool.

Jack nodded. "Hey, I"m here to pick up two tickets."

She scanned his face, gave Clara a passing glance, and didn"t even ask for his name before handing him the tickets. "They didn"t think you were going to show."

He thanked her, then pushed through the glass doors to an instant immersion of his senses. The heat and humidity, the smell of fries and chicken wings, the sound of loud conversation humming under the strains of a guitar, but floating above everything else was that voice. He"d heard Delia sing countless times on the radio, but now that version of it seemed like an echo. Her voice drifted through the entry, lilting with ethereal dexterity, so clear and pure he shivered.

Clara grabbed onto Jack"s arm as he wove through the crowd, fighting upstream until they were past the bar and in the main ballroom. They nestled into a corner behind the ring of tables surrounding the large dance floor.

And there she was.

Standing on stage with her guitar, her auburn waves brushing her shoulders as she strummed. She was taller than he'd expected, which didn"t make any sense because he"d never once thought about how tall Delia Melise was. She wore a soft blouse and pants that were . . . Jack smirked. They were almost the exact same colour as his shoes.

"She has good taste," Clara called to him, winking.

"Excuse me, are you—?" A woman with chunky black glasses slid off her stool, peering closer at him. "Holy shit, you are Jack Harrison, aren"t you?" He nodded, hoping nobody else had heard the woman over the music. "Can I get a selfie?"

He nodded again, but didn"t put his arm around her as she leaned in close and snapped a photo. It was beyond awkward. Where was he supposed to put his hands? One time he"d tried to look friendly by putting a hand on a woman"s back, but she"d unexpectedly turned and he"d nearly felt her up. Now he kept his hands at his sides and tried not to look like a robot.

"Jack!" a voice called out, and he turned as the woman wobbled back to her table. A man in a crisp button-up shirt and hair like the models in a "Top 100 Men"s Haircuts" magazine pushed through the crowd toward him, smiling apologetically. Jack frowned. He had no idea who the man was but had a sinking suspicion he was supposed to. Could he be someone from the Blizzard administration? A journalist he"d spoken to?

The man stopped in front of him. "Damn, this place is packed tighter than a can of sardines." He straightened his sleeves and held out a hand. "I"m Tony. Sorry I didn"t find you sooner, we were expecting you about forty minutes ago."

The pieces clicked into place. Tony. The publicist he"d talked with on the phone who"d set this whole thing up. Jack"s heart picked up speed as the crowd erupted around him.

This was real. He was here watching Delia Melise perform and talking to her publicist who wanted them to pretend get together. What the hell had he been thinking agreeing to this?

"Is this your sister?" Tony leaned in and put out a hand.

"Hi, I"m Clara!" Her voice was barely audible over the audience singing along with Delia"s lyrics. Tony motioned for them to follow. He guided them to a table where a man sat nursing a beer. "This is my assistant, Kels." He was wearing a T-shirt and vest with artistically messy hair. Apparently, he didn't get the Henley memo.

Jack and Clara shook his hand, then took the seats opposite him.

Tony motioned for a server who looked more frazzled than a Co-op employee after a Blizzard home win. "What are you drinking tonight, Jack? Clara?"

"Whatever he"s having." Jack pointed at the beer across the table.

"Just soda water, cranberry, and lime for me," Clara said.

The server nodded and whisked back into the crowd. Jack turned to the stage. Delia had started another song with a chorus he recognized, but he still felt a little like he"d shown up to take a provincial exam without cracking a book. Everyone around him, including Clara, was riveted, chanting every word.

Tony leaned in. "She"s something else, isn"t she?"

Jack nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say to that. Would it be better for him to make it clear that he was totally uninterested so her team wouldn"t worry he was going to try something skeezy? Or would that come off as pompous, considering any hetero guy with a pulse witnessing this would consider the possibilities?

Delia was the definition of attractive, her feminine curves on full display as she curled around her guitar. It wasn"t so much her particular features but how she moved—the way her arm flexed as she strummed, how her brow furrowed as her glossy lips shaped each syllable, how her collarbone cast shadows in the stage lights. Did he finally understand why women threw their bras at heroine-addict-looking rock stars?

He settled on, "I don"t go to concerts often. This is impressive." Compliment her skills and ability to bring in a crowd. That had to be safe.

When the server brought their drinks, he tried to relax and enjoy the show, but his head wouldn't stop spinning. It felt all kinds of wrong to be ogling a woman he'd never met but was hoping to for monetary gain.

When he"d expressed his concerns to Clara and Oscar, they"d related it to any other business deal. "Would you feel weird about going to a meeting with SportChek? If you were hoping for them to carry your brand and make your company money, would it be wrong to meet and sign a contract?" Clara asked.

He"d argued that he wouldn"t have to wine and dine anyone to seal the deal, and Clara said he better not ruin anything for her. So now he was here. Watching Delia Melise in person and trying not to sweat through his shirt.

"Your shoulders aren"t supposed to be earrings." Clara put a hand on his arm. Jack drew a deep breath and held it. "What are you so nervous about?"

He leaned in. "You know what I"m nervous about."

"No, I don"t, actually, because this isn"t a real date."

Jack opened his mouth, but Clara scooted closer and continued. "Yes, I get that she"s a woman, Jack, and I"m not trying to minimize what happened with Angie. I know you"re still hurting, and I wish I could take that away. You have no idea."

Jack shifted in his seat, nodding in the hope that anyone watching them—specifically Tony and his assistant—would assume they were talking about a meeting tomorrow or family drama. Anything but his inability to jump back into dating after losing the love of his life.

"You don"t know what this contract will entail," Clara continued. "If you hate it, you can say no."

"Only after you meet Delia, though."

"Obviously." Clara patted his arm, then leaned over the table and sipped her pink non-cocktail. Jack eyed her suspiciously. Clara had never been a big drinker, but he hadn"t seen her take a sip of alcohol for months. Was it possible?—?

The crowd erupted around them, and Jack straightened and clapped. Clara whistled next to him, fangirling with the best of them.

Delia grinned and looked out over the crowd. Jack was in the middle of ruminating on how much she could actually see into the dark when the lights dimmed from bright white to soft purple, and her eyes landed on him. Her smile slipped a bit at the corners, and her quick intake of breath was visible. As quickly as it happened, the moment passed, and Delia was pulling a stool up to the mic. She sat and lowered her mic stand, then propped her guitar on her thigh. "Thank you for coming out last minute, it"s been a joy playing for you. I"ve got one more song for you, Calgary."

More cheers mingled with "We love you Delia!" and various song requests built to a low roar then silenced in seconds as Delia started to strum. Jack knew nothing about music, but the melancholy chords instantly drew him in. They reminded him of the jazz albums his mom used to play on Sunday mornings.

"Interesting choice," Tony murmured.

Clara sighed, folding her arms over the table. "I love this song. Does she not normally play it?"

Tony shook his head. "I"ve never heard her play it live."

Clara leaned into Jack. "This isn"t on her album. It"s from her TikTok channel. Before she got signed."

"You have a TikTok account?" Jack eyed her skeptically.

"'Kay, I"m not that much older than you, so don"t look at me like I"m Mum or something. Though I think she has one, too. She wanted to watch the Pro Dance-off highlights and hates doing it on—" Clara held up a hand, cutting herself off as she turned mesmerized to the stage.

Delia started singing. She began in French, then switched to English with the words, I"ve never been one to reach for the stars because flying has never felt safe. Jack had never been one to listen to lyrics. He wanted beats that made his adrenaline spike. Rhythms that matched his reps. But at that moment, the room seemed to shrink until everything was blurred at the edges. It was just him sitting at that table with Delia in front of him, holding her guitar at the mic.

"They say it"s a door only I can open, but I don"t want to let out the heat." Her voice was nimble. Like it barely touched each note before floating on to the next. Jack"s breathing quickened. The lights glinted off her hair, the shimmer in her eyes, the polished wood of her guitar. Every sentence struck deeper, breaking into a shell he wasn't aware he"d built inside himself. Memory seeped like molasses through the cracks.

"Jack?"

"Hey, Melanie. What"s up?" He"d only ever gotten a call from Angie"s mother twice in the time they"d been together. Once about a surprise birthday party for Angie"s twenty-fifth and once because she had a snake in the yard and didn"t know how to phone the fire department.

Melanie"s voice shook. Her breath hiccupped. "There was an accident. Angie was—she's gone, Jack."

Jack sat up, gripping the phone tighter against his cheek. "Who"s gone?" Dread slid down his throat like sour wine and ate at the inside of his stomach.

"There was an accident. She was driving over to drop off the ladder she"d borrowed from the garage, and when she didn"t show up?—"

"Slow down, Melanie. Angie was driving over?"

A sob punched through the speaker. "Yes, she was driving over to return the ladder, and I had chocolate lava cakes ready on the counter, and when she didn"t show up, I phoned her, but it went straight to voicemail. We waited for another hour and still didn"t hear anything, so then I phoned the non-emergent line like you showed me and?—"

Her voice had snagged then, and she broke into rough, guttural weeping. That"s when he knew. Even though she said the words, it was only then that he understood what his fiancée's mother was trying to tell him. Angie was dead, and even after three years, that wound still festered. It had hurt to be traded from the Admirals to a different AHL team, but living in Calgary was a breath of fresh air.

Jack looked around, searching for an easy exit. He didn't want to feel this—didn't want to remember this—and every word out of Delia's mouth was dredging all of it to the surface. Clara grabbed onto his arm and mouthed, "Just wait for the ending!"

He didn't want to wait for anything. He needed to get out of there, but Clara held on, swaying with her eyes closed. Maybe if he'd talked to his sister about Angie's death, he would've been able to pull his arm away and walk out, but he hadn't. He hadn't talked to anyone about it, really. She and his parents had given him plenty of opportunities, but when he didn't open up, they'd stopped asking.

Clara and Ange had been close. She must've missed her just as much as he did. But then she'd met Oscar and gotten married two summers ago. She'd moved on.

He had not.

Delia continued, "If there"s ever a day when I don"t see your face, I"ll be right here on my knees. Dans le soulagement et le regret, de toi, je n"ai point oubliet."

Jack held his breath, which only made the pressure in his head worse. When they"d entered the venue, it had been filled with chatter, laughter, and clinking glasses. Now, every person, including those squeezed into the foyer near the bar, was silent. Delia"s fingers were frozen in the air above her guitar strings as her final strain reverberated through the room.

Finally, she dropped her hand and silenced it, sending a metallic whisper through the amp. The room erupted. The people sitting at tables around them pushed back their stools and jumped to their feet. Clara joined them, shouting, "Wasn't that gorgeous?" in his direction.

Jack grunted, not trusting himself to open his mouth. He didn"t understand half the words of the song, but it had shifted him on his axis. He didn't need to know the lyrics to feel the grief. The longing. That sank into his bones like vinegar.

Clara turned, and Jack was about to beeline for the washrooms in the back corner when Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder. "This way."

Tony strode ahead, expecting Jack and Clara to follow him and his assistant. Clara"s eyes grew wide with excitement, looking like she was five years old and about to meet Santa Claus for the first time. He couldn't back out now.

Pull it together. Jack clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, forcing air into his lungs as he started walking. They wove through the still cheering crowd, who were probably hoping Delia would come out and do an encore. Would she do an encore? He hadn"t been to enough concerts to know whether that was still a thing.

Tony nodded to the security guard standing at an unmarked door down a narrow hall past the staff entrances. They walked down an only slightly murderous-looking hallway. Clara leaned in and whispered, "Where do you think they"ll hide our bodies?" when they reached the landing. And comments like that made him positive neither of them were adopted.

They reached the basement that smelled of damp garage floor mixed with stale cigar smoke. Tony knocked on a door painted half teal and half coral as if someone couldn't decide between bubblegum and cotton-candy sponge paint. The door swung open, and a woman with hair like Jennifer Anniston in the nineties stood in front of them. Jack"s heart sank. He hadn"t realized he"d been hoping for that face to be Delia"s until it wasn"t.

"Couldn"t wait for her to mop up her sweat first?" The woman raised an eyebrow.

Tony laughed. "Jack, Clara, this is Mary. Delia"s manager."

"I like to lead with the title of best friend." Mary held out a hand, and Clara's hand shot up first. After Jack shook her hand, Mary stepped back to let them into the room.

Delia sat directly ahead, seated on a stool across the room, leaning close to a mirror. She looked up, and her reflected eyes stopped on him just as they had in the ballroom. Now that he was closer, he could make out more details. The lights surrounding the mirror washed out her already fair skin, but she had light freckles across her nose. Her irises seemed to be three different colours—rings inside of rings—and her hair was less red than it had appeared on stage.

Tony nudged his elbow. "Jack? Would you like to take a seat?"