Offside

by Bianca Sommerland

  Jami came to meet them, an apologetic smile on her lips. She pressed close to Akira’s side, speaking low. “Akira, you don’t have to talk to him. I promise, he won’t bother you.”

  Damn it, Akira refused to let Ford make her feel uncomfortable here. She would be around often, and they’d have to learn to deal with seeing one another occasionally. And he has to deal with the fact that I will never let him close to me again.

  She jutted her chin up, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about it, Jami. I should talk to him anyway. There are a few things we have to clear up.”

  Sahara opened her mouth, exchanged a look with Jami, then patted Akira’s shoulder. “We’re here if you need us.”

  As the American anthem trailed off, Akira approached Ford, a lot less anxious than she’d thought she’d be. Mr. Richter was there with his assistant, his gaze like a steady, supportive hand on her back. She wasn’t alone.

  Ford was. And she almost felt sorry for him.

  But just a little.

  “You’ve decided to stop giving me the silent treatment?” Ford folded his arms over his chest, not looking at her.

  “I spoke to you earlier.”

  He snorted. “Right. You appreciate my presence.”

  “Amy certainly did.” She bit out the words, then shook her head, inhaling slowly. That made her sound jealous and she wasn’t that. At all. She licked her bottom lip. “Look, we will never be friends, but we can be civil.”

  “Civil?” Ford unfolded his arms, glancing over at her as he tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his navy blue pants. “You sure you can manage?”

  She pursed her lips. “As long as you’re not being an asshole? Sure.”

  “Akira . . .” He lifted one hand toward her, then dropped it to his side. His brow furrowed as she stared at him. He finally met her eyes. “Tell me what I have to do. I want to—”

  “I’m with someone, Ford.”

  “Dominik?” Surprisingly, he didn’t laugh. Concern filled his eyes. “Shorty, he just broke up with my sister.”

  “I know that.” She crossed her arms over her chest, not wanting to care what he thought. Wishing she didn’t feel like she needed to explain. But she did. Her gaze shifted to the ice. “He’s a good man. A good Master. He’s giving me what I need, and that’s all you need—no, more than you need to know.”

  Ford’s throat worked as he swallowed. His head tilted slightly. “Is that what you need, Akira? You’re into all that . . . stuff?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

  “I think it is. I think it would be different if I was a Dom.” Ford shook his head, his tone softening. “I would do that for you. I could be what you need.”

  She rolled her eyes, cocking her head as she turned completely to face him. “Could you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That’s funny, because one thing that’s most appealing about a Dom is his control.” She lifted her head, the cold from below finding the bare flesh under her sweater and making her shiver. She had the strangest urge to move forward, but she forced herself back instead, rubbing her own arms through the thick cotton. “I need a man who’s in control of himself, his life. You’re not. I’m not sure you ever will be.”

  He shrugged, something in his eyes seeming resolved. Like he’d accepted defeat. For now. “I think I’ll surprise you.”

  “I doubt it.” Not that it matters. “I’m going to watch the game. Just remember what I said.”

  “Which part?”

  “We will be civil.” Her words sounded stiff. Lifeless. Damn it, she needed to put some space between them. “Have I made myself clear?”

  The edges of his lips slanted up. “Yeah, shorty.” He inclined his head. “You made yourself very, very clear. Enjoy the game.”

  Damn him. She retreated back to the other side of the room to sit with Jami and Sahara. To munch on some popcorn, sip soda, and do her best to forget Ford was even there. He’d purposely misinterpreted her words. He thought he still had a chance.

  A guy like him was just arrogant enough to think he could bide his time and wear her down. He could try all he wanted, but it was useless. She’d keep him at arm’s length. Or farther.

  Much, much farther.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Scott swore he was slowly sinking into a coma. His brain pounded against the inside of his skull. Swallowing saliva stung the raw insides of his throat. Something heavy was weighing on his chest.

  But he’d be damned if he’d let Coach know. The flu was going around. He hadn’t puked yet. He could make it to the end of this game. He grinned as he recalled the meeting with Keane and his agent earlier that day. His brand spankin’ new two-year contract. His agent had wanted to push for more, but gave in when Scott threatened to fire him. The man was a bit of a jerk—he wasn’t stupid.

  As for the game, Scott had to do something to get past the sluggish feeling. Coffee made him desperate to piss for about ten of the twenty-minute periods, so he switched to Red Bull. White always had a few, which he was always happy to share. Scott cracked open his can, touching it to White’s in cheers, then gulped down the medicinal-tasting, fizzy liquid. It took a few minutes, but he was pretty sure the dizzy rush as he stood was the figurative wings all the ads promised.

  “Whoa, you good, Demyan?” White held Scott’s elbow as he swayed. He leaned close, lowering his voice. “You been drinking? Coach’ll flip if he catches you—”

  Scott shook his head. “Naw, I think I caught Mason’s bug. Just keep quiet, ‘kay?”

  “’Kay.” White stuffed his mouthguard in as Tim came to give his little speech about how they were doing decently but couldn’t let up. Had to keep pushing.

  I can do that. Scott trailed after the other men, swiping away the sweat beading up over his lips with his glove, clearing his throat to stave off the urge to cough. His padding was a goddamn furnace. It was a relief to get waved on to the ice for the face-off.

  The ref threw him out of the face-off. He wasn’t sure why. He found his spot, almost losing his stick as the opposition’s right winger pressed against him. He gave chase, his skates sinking into the ice melting under his feet. The blue blur under him moved up as something hit him hard. The wall smashed into him. Or a body.

  For a second, things cleared up. A linesman was shouting at him. Zach asked him if he was okay. Only, it wasn’t Zach. Zach was in the press box. Or somewhere . . . fuck, when had it gotten so cold?

  He squinted as Ramos hauled him to his feet. Yelling. Scott snorted, not sure what he was saying. Maybe something sexy. In Spanish.

  “No speakin’ the . . . the . . .” He shivered. Black flashed across his vision. He was sliding and someone was pulling at him. Touching his face. He snarled, slapping away the hand. “Don’t. Lemme alone.”

  “He’s burning up.”

  “Damn it, Demyan.” Tim’s face was suddenly right in front of his. So close Scott could smell the mint on his breath. “Come on, get up. Go with the doctor. He’ll check you out.”

  “Naw, don’t need the Doc.” Scott inhaled, shoving at his helmet. Too freakin’ heavy. “Put me in, Couch.”

  “Come on, buddy.” Ingerslov’s ugly mug replaced Tim’s. He hefted Scott up, half carrying him to the hall, a trainer on Scott’s other side. They both vanished and everything went dark.

  Someone was pulling at his clothes. A palm pushed something into his mouth. He thrashed blindly, panic seizing his guts like a hawk’s talons ripping into a rodent’s soft belly. He shouted, snarling as he was pushed flat on his back.

  “Scott, listen to me, son.” Doc’s wrinkled face appeared over him. His tone was soothing. Nice. He put a cool cloth on Scott’s head. “You’re running a dangerously high fever. I’m sending you to the hospital. I’ve given you something that might help, but I’m not messing around with this.”

  “Don’t go.” Darkness threatened the edges of Scott’s vision. His heart was busting through his ribs. His shirt was gone. His skat
es, all his equipment. When he blinked he could see her. They couldn’t leave him alone. “Doc . . . Doc, where’s Zach?”

  “I’ll have him meet you at the hospital.” Doc nodded to a strange man and Scott was being moved. “Try to relax.”

  “No. No you don’t understand.” Scott tried to sit up. He was forced down. He twisted his body. There were faces, voices everywhere. People holding him. Hands on his bare skin— “Get the fuck off me!”

  “Scott?” The sweetest voice in the world. A beautiful face, clearing through the black smog. Her soft grey eyes met his and she made a gentle sound, stroking his cheek, her lips parting slightly as she moved her hand up to his forehead. “Oh, Scott. You’re so hot.”

  “Mmm, you too, babe.” He groaned as the room swirled around her. He felt a little woozy, like he’d just downed a full bottle of tequila all by himself. Not smart before a game. “Becky, was I drinking?”

  “I don’t think so, sweetie.” She bit her bottom lip, moving with him. Or maybe the room was moving. He wasn’t sure, but she was there. Right beside him. She had a fresh cloth, nice and cold, and was wiping his face with it. “How long have you felt sick?”

  “Not really sick. Little tired.” The air took on a strange, sweet scent. He gulped, staring at Becky as he recognized it. Rum. God, he hated rum. His eyes watered and his whole body shook hard. His mouth went dry and he tried to tell Becky—no, ask her. He had to ask her to stay with him. And that was the only word he managed to get out. “Stay?”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said in her wonderful, firm tone. Her bottom lip trembled as he shivered. She took his hand and held it tight. “Just talk to me, okay? They’re putting you in the ambulance now. I’ll be right with you the whole time.”

  “Ma’am, unless you’re family or—”

  Becky lifted her head, her eyes hard. “I’m the closest thing he has right now. Please don’t argue with me about this. Take care of him.”

  Scott smiled, even though he was pretty sure someone had just injected ice into his veins. He’d never been so cold. But Becky was here. Staying. She was all he needed.

  But . . . He inhaled and exhaled through his open mouth, not sure why he couldn’t breathe right. “Z-zach. You’ll call Zach?”

  She squeezed his hand hard, nodding quickly. “I think the doctor called him, but if he didn’t, I will.”

  “Good. And, Becky . . .” It was dark again. The smell returned, but he could still feel Becky. She wouldn’t leave him. But he had to tell her something . . . something important. The people had talked about family. They wouldn’t fucking get it, but Becky . . . he could trust Becky to do this for him. “No family. Don’t let . . . any family take me. They aren’t real.”

  “Shh, don’t worry, honey. I won’t let anyone near you.” She kissed his forehead. “Just me and Zach.”

  Eyes drifting shut, Scott smiled. Her and Zach. I’ll be okay.

  He’d be safe.

  * * * *

  “Your husband is resting, ma’am. His fever was at 104.8 degrees, but we managed to bring it down considerably.” The doctor paused. “Are you aware of any health conditions he may have that his team doctor wouldn’t be aware of?”

  Becky opened her mouth to tell the doctor Scott was not her husband, but then decided against it. So far the hospital staff was telling her anything she wanted to know. She would be his wife if it would get them to talk to her. “Not that I know of. Several of the men had a stomach flu, though. Could this be . . . ?”

  “I don’t believe so. We’re doing some blood tests . . . his doctor did mention the possibility of Scott having caught something that may have compromised his immune system.” The doctor made a face and fidgeted with his clipboard. “I would advise you to get some blood tests as well, ma’am.”

  Her cheeks heated. She shook her head. “I’ve had blood tests within the last three months and . . . we used protection.”

  “Becky?” Zach came down the hall, running. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead and breathing hard. “Where is he? Do they know what it is?”

  “Not yet.” For a split second, Becky considered slipping out of his arms. Putting some space between them—and not just because of the look the doctor was giving her. He’d stayed away from her for so long, been so cold and distant . . . it shouldn’t feel this right to be held by him. But it did. She clenched her jaw as all the strength she’d managed to hold on to for Scott splintered. She blinked fast, resting her head against Zach’s chest, the rapid beat of his heart making her feel so much better. He wasn’t calm either. He was scared. “They brought his fever down. They’re doing tests.”

  Zach nodded, then turned to the doctor without letting her go. “Can we go see him?”

  “He’s resting.” The doctor gave Zach a hard look. “I suppose his wife may decide if you can see him.”

  “His . . .” Zach shook his head, then glanced down at Becky. His lip quirked when she shrugged. “May I go see him, Mrs. Demyan?”

  Damn, that sounds weird. Her throat was still tight, but she couldn’t help but smile as Zach waited for her answer, like he needed her permission. The lines around his eyes and lips were deep. He was trying so hard not to show how worried he was. There was no way she could say no. “Yes. He’ll be happy to see you.”

  They went into Scott’s room together, Zach a step behind Becky. She felt him hesitate near the door and reached back to take his hand.

  Scott was spread out on the bed, his hospital gown twisted around his waist as though he’d fought to get it off. A fine sheen of sweat covered his broad chest and darkened his blond hair. His tanned skin had lost most of its color. He looked very young with his eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. The heart monitor showed his pulse had steadied. An IV was taped to the back of his hand.

  “Fuck, how could I have . . . I should have noticed something was wrong.” Zach rubbed his lips with his hand, approaching the bed, speaking softly as though he was afraid to wake Scott. “He must have been feeling crappy before it got this bad. If I hadn’t been so busy doing my own thing—”

  “He’s been trying to prove himself, Zach.” Becky stroked Zach’s palm with her thumb and hugged his arm. “No one knew. Not even Tim, and he’s been keeping an eye on the guys ever since Dominik and Ingerslov got sick.”

  “But I’m—”

  “His lover?” Becky tipped her head back to meet Zach’s eyes. If either of them had Scott close enough over the past few days, maybe they would have noticed he wasn’t feeling well. She shook her head, placing her hand on Scott’s chest to feel the steady rise and fall as he slept. “So am I. And I wish I’d seen more of him, maybe dug a little deeper when he sounded tired—but I’m not about to beat myself up, thinking about everything I should have done. I have my job, my daughter, and Scott understands that.”

  Zach’s brow creased. He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “So do I. And I’m sorry if it didn’t seem like it, Becky.”

  “That wasn’t the issue, Zach.” She didn’t want to talk about this now, but they might as well get it out of the way. “What I did—the way I left—was wrong. I get that. But you were wrong too. You can’t expect me to open up to you if you walk away when I say something you don’t want to hear.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not what I was doing. I love you. I needed to know we had more than my being your Dom.”

  “And we couldn’t have discussed it? Decided together what we do have?”

  “We can. But at that moment, I wasn’t sure if I could be calm. I was angry, hurt, and a Dom doesn’t—”

  “Ugh, I want to . . . to slap you. Not something a sub should want to do, but fuck, I’m tempted!” Becky jerked away from Zach and hugged herself. “Is that what’s going to happen whenever we have a disagreement? If you can’t handle it as a ‘good Dom,’ you won’t deal with it at all?”

  “No, that’s not . . .” Zach pressed his eyes shut, nodding slowly. “You’re right. I just don’t ever want to be
like your husband. I won’t get into a screaming match with you. Not now. Not ever.”

  “You don’t need to scream at me to be angry with me.” Becky scowled. He might say she was right, but it wasn’t much better than the dismissive “Yes, dear” Patrick used to give her whenever he didn’t want to discuss things anymore. “I’m not always right. I know that. But I need to know you care enough to tell me. That you care enough to let me know you’re angry or hurt. Let me know that I’ve made a mistake, but you still love me.”

  “I do still love you. I never stopped.”

  “But you didn’t forgive me. Not really. So you saying you love me doesn’t mean much.”

  A rustling of sheets from the bed brought both their eyes to Scott, who was trying to sit up. Zach rushed to his side, speaking quietly, trying to get him to lie back down.

  Scott groaned and dropped back onto his pillow. “I’m dying here, and all you guys can do is fight?”

  “You’re not dying, Scott.” Zach paled, looking at Becky for reassurance. She quickly shook her head and went to Scott’s other side. Zach cupped Scott’s cheek and gave him a shaky smile. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. The press blocked my car in the parking lot, asking me about my leg, about the game.”

  “You’re here now, so it’s all good.” Scott’s eyes drifted shut. “But you two have to make up. It’s my last request.”

  “Stop it, Scott.” Becky stroked Scott’s arm. “You have some kind of virus.” Let it be something small. Something that he’ll recover from. She wouldn’t think the worst until the doctors gave her a reason to. “Zach and I will work out our issues. You focus on getting some rest so we can get you out of here.”

  Chuckling, Scott let his head flop over, facing her without opening his eyes. “So we can have our hot threesome? It’s on my schedule.”

  Becky rolled her eyes. Then laughed. He must be feeling a bit better to be talking like that. “We’ll see.”

  “Not a no. I’ll take it.” Scott huffed in a breath. “Did we win?”

  “In overtime. Hunt saved us in the shoot-out,” Zach said.