“But you’ll be separated.”
The look on Vanek’s face would have been comical, if the fact that the kid had been deluding himself wasn’t so freakin’ sad. Much as a game might be old-school, the league had taken on the mentality of any big corporation. Players were moved across the board like chess pieces. Playing for the team in the city where you were born was a brief treat rather than a lifetime commitment.
By next season, Sloan would be playing with strangers. And his linemates would become rivals.
Turning off the dirt road onto a gravel one, Sloan gazed up at the quaint log cabin in the center of a semicircle of recently pruned white cedar trees. Movement between the branches caught his eye, and he slowed the car and cut the engine.
“Hey, Oriana.” He waved her over. “Come here.”
Oriana wiggled between the seats and leaned against the dashboard. “What is it?”
Setting his hand on the small of her back, Sloan pointed. “See that?”
She squinted and moved forward so her face was practically pressed against the windshield. “A deer?” She looked down at him and smiled. “Do you think it will run off if we get out real quietly? I’ve never been this close to one before.”
“You can try.” He slid his hand over her butt, loving the snug fit of the tights Dominik had chosen for her, and loving even more that she didn’t object to his casual touch.
Actually, she didn’t seem to notice as she eased the car door open and moved away from him. He heard the gravel crunch under her shoes and watched the startled buck dash out of sight.
He got out of the car and walked around it to stand at her side. “Maybe next time. They eat the foliage from the cedar trees—my dad had to put gates around these ones when they were saplings to keep the deer from killing them. Actually, if you want to try some deer steak, my dad’s probably got some in his freezer.”
“Deer steak?” Oriana stared at him like he’d just told her they were going to have puppy tartare. “You eat that?”
How to answer without her thinking he was a monster? He decided he better not tell her he preferred the meat of a deer he’d shot himself. She probably wouldn’t take it well.
Thankfully, the door to the cabin opened, distracting her. His father came out, looking like a lumberjack in his red plaid shirt and ragged jeans. Sloan watched Oriana fiddle with the hem of her dress and wondered what the rich girl would think of the most important man in his life. Vanek came out to join them, and Sloan decided to intercept the pair as they approached his father.
“Dad, this is Vanek, the rookie I told you about.” He let Vanek shake his father’s hand, then pointed to Oriana. “This is Oriana Delgado.”
Oriana winced at the emphasis he put on her last name. Then she squared her shoulders and skirted around him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Callahan.” She took his father’s hand and leaned close. “You seem like a nice guy. How did you manage to raise such an uptight kid?”
Sloan’s jaw dropped.
His father laughed. “My son’s got issues with your father—which I’m sure you know. I hope he hasn’t given you too much grief about it.”
“Oh, he makes sure I pay for the sins of my father.” Oriana’s lips quirked. “But I’m dealing.”
“Good for you.” His father’s ruddy cheeks crinkled as he looked Oriana over. “Well now, that outfit’s got to go. Me and my buddies planned a game for Sloan’s visit. Do you play?”
“Not since I was a kid.” Oriana shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “But I’d love to, sir. Are there going to be other girls?”
“Of course.” His father hooked Oriana’s arm with his own. “And I have a feeling you’ll fit right in. But don’t call me sir. My name’s Jim.”
They disappeared into the cabin. Sloan leaned on the hood of the car and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inner pocket of his open sports jacket. He didn’t smoke often because he needed his lungs clean for speed on the ice, but he needed to steady his nerves.
Vanek held out his hand, and Sloan passed him a cigarette. Not the time for a lecture, and he didn’t have it in him to play hypocrite.
“If you were worried about how she’d act around your dad—” Vanek took the Bic lighter Sloan handed him and flicked it. The slight breeze forced him to cup his hand around the flame “—why’d you bring her?”
“Last time my dad docked, he asked me why I don’t introduce him to the ‘special’ ladies in my life.” Sloan sucked at his cigarette and shrugged. “Figured it was about time I did.”
Vanek pushed up onto the hood of the car and hunched over. “I think my mom would like her. Do you think I should introduce them?”
Oh, boy, this could get awkward. After a few hot nights, Oriana was being passed around for the dreaded “meet the parents” thing. Only Max really had the right, but it was easy to forget. Oriana was just as affectionate with him and Vanek as she was with Max. And then there was Dominik.
T.J. was the only one who could really be considered a one-night stand. And he hadn’t even fucked the girl.
But had any of them really? Sloan had a hard time pinning the crude word on what had passed between them. He had made love to her. The inevitable aftereffects were creeping up on him.
When Oriana came back out with his father, the “aftereffects” cracked him upside the head.
Dressed in clothes his packrat dad had kept since Sloan was a teen, Oriana was transformed. Snug black Levis, the jersey from his days playing for the Hamilton Bulldogs, her hair up in a simple jaunty ponytail, Oriana looked young and vibrant. A pair of his old hockey skates slung over her shoulder, she hopped in place and giggled when his father poked her in the ribs, motioning for her to go on while he locked the door.
She tripped on the last step, and the skates fell off her shoulder. Sloan lunged to catch her. Vanek was a step ahead of him. He watched the boy twirl her around. They fell onto the grass, and Vanek bent to kiss her.
“Well, now.” His father joined him and arched a brow at the cigarette. He smiled when Sloan dropped it and ground the cherry into the gravel with the heel of his shoe. “I expected to meet your sweetheart, not your boy’s.”
“It’s . . .” Sloan shook his head and combed his fingers through his hair. “Complicated.”
“I can see that.” Dark green eyes fixed on his face, as all-knowing as they’d always been. “But you don’t like things simple. You planning to make a bid for her?”
Seeing her like that with Vanek, all playful, after seeing her bond with Max and her intensity with Mason, despite the fact that they’d been platonic all week, he almost put himself out of the running. But the inclination felt wrong.
He had a place with her. He just had to figure out what it was.
“You two coming, or do you need some privacy?” He went to his open driver’s side door and planted a neutral smile on his lips. “‘Cause I’m itching to hit the ice.”
Oriana scrambled to her feet. “We’re coming. I’ve got some moves to show you, Captain.”
“I take it you’re not planning to play on my team?” Sloan rested his forearms on the hood of the car as she circled to the other side.
“No way.” She blew at the bangs that had come loose during her roll in the grass and grinned. “I fully intend to knock you on your ass. Only fair that I’m not the only one sore.”
A blush spread over her cheeks when his father chuckled.
“Quite the handful, aren’t you, cutie?” He patted her hand and winked. “If I was ten years younger, I’d give these boys a run for their money.”
Face red as fall leaves, Oriana ducked into the car.
His dad was right, a handful. But a good one.
And she’d made his father smile. And laugh. Had to admit, it made him love her a little.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Skate laces tied tight, Oriana stood and let the other woman dress her in all the necessary protective gear. The pads felt weird, heavy, like wearing ar
mor. She rolled her shoulders to make sure she could move despite the weight.
“Good?” asked the girl, who’d been introduced as Chicklet. She popped the gum she chewed nonstop. “Not too tight?”
Oriana nodded absently, then glanced at the other three women in the locker room. They had their backs to her and were whispering.
“They don’t seem happy that I’m playing.”
Chicklet snorted. “They’re thrilled. They just won’t show it because you’re the opponent. Once your name was picked for the red team, the head games started. Don’t let it get to you.”
Ah. One of the girls looked over, and Oriana gave her the snobby look she usually reserved for pushy reporters.
“That’s the spirit!” Chicklet said. After handing Oriana a plain red jersey, she combed the bangs of her short brown hair away from her face, then put on her huge goalie mask. “Ready?”
“Yep.” Jersey on, stick in one hand, helmet hanging from the other, Oriana wobbled toward the door. “I might be a little rusty, but I promise, nothing gets to the net unless I’m glued to the boards.”
“Good enough.” Chicklet swung out her stick, smacking Oriana’s padded butt with the blade. Oriana let out a muffled shriek and Chicklet laughed. “Guess I can figure out why Sloan likes you so much. You’re into that ‘chain ’em and beat ’em stuff.”
“Well . . .” Oriana already felt like she was boiling inside all the equipment; flushing didn’t help. “I don’t—”
Chicklet held up one gloved hand. “Just an observation, kid. I’m bisexual, so I don’t presume to judge.”
Looking to be in her late thirties, Chicklet displayed a confidence Oriana wished she could emulate. The bold proclamation should have shocked her, but, considering what had passed between her and the men over the past week, she found herself taking it in stride.
The only thing that surprised her was what Chicklet knew about Sloan. She’d gotten the impression that he kept that part of his life private.
“So, you and Sloan, have you been friends long?” She stopped halfway down the long hallway and braced her hands against the gray stucco wall, rolling her ankles in the skates to relieve some of the strain.
“Ever since he moved his dad here five years ago. His dad served in the Navy for twenty years, making Sloan your typical military brat. He’s lived all over the place. The only constant was hockey—his dad made sure he was on a team, no matter where he was deployed. That’s how we met. Even though Sloan had been playing in the minors since he was seventeen, his father was so used to asking around for local teams that he did it automatically before he’d even settled in. People in town thought he was nuts—why the hell would Sloan Callahan want to play with us? But Jim’s such a nice guy, I told him to come watch us play a few times, see if his son would be interested. Found out the old guy was a pretty decent player himself.” Chicklet stuck her stick between her wide, black leg pads, and rested her chin on top of the handle. “We get together every weekend. Took a few months before Sloan had the time to visit. By then, everyone was excited. We’d all heard so much about Sloan, it was like we knew him. A bunch of guys organized a barbeque as a kind of ‘welcome to the neighborhood.’”
Oriana pushed away from the wall and rocked on her skates. “What happened?”
“Sloan didn’t show up.” Chicklet grinned, her puckish face small behind the white cage of her mask. She chomped harder on her gum. “People were pissed. They decided he was a jerk, but they acted all sweet around him whenever they saw him after ‘cause they didn’t want to upset Jim. I didn’t feel the same—I knew the man could take it. They came into my bar one night, and I flat out ignored Sloan.”
“What did he do?” Oriana asked, leaning so far forward she almost fell over. Sloan wasn’t the kind of guy who would react well to any kind of disrespect. And Chicklet didn’t seem like the type of woman who would let him spank her for it. “He must have been mad.”
Chicklet laughed. “He sure was. He cornered me at the bar and asked me what my problem was. So I told him. ‘You ain’t better than us,’ I said.” Her chewing slowed. “He nodded, then said, real quiet like, ‘I know.’ So I asked him why he didn’t show up. Apparently, he doesn’t like crowds. Can you believe that? Famous hockey player like him.”
Didn’t seem to make sense. Sloan obviously wasn’t shy—he dealt with the press just fine. Something about Chicklet’s tone told her there was more to it.
But what?
“He deals with crowds almost every day during the season,” Oriana said, thinking out loud. “Never seems to bother him.”
“Nope.” Chicklet’s teeth flashed, then disappeared as she blew a big pink bubble. “I don’t think it does.”
“Then . . .” Oriana looked down the hall, listening to the faint sound of music coming from the arena, thinking back on the log cabin with boxes full of Sloan’s things stacked up in the attic. Of the room Jim showed her, Sloan’s room. “This is the first real home Sloan’s ever had.”
“Cute and smart.” Chicklet popped her gum. “Sloan wanted normal here. He knew he couldn’t have it, but the big fuss his first day threw him off. He felt like he had no control.”
Oriana traced her upper lip with her tongue. “I can see that being a problem.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Sloan’s got violent tendencies he works very hard to restrain. He uses fighting on the ice, and rough stuff in the clubs, as an outlet,” Chicklet said. “He won’t put himself in situations where he might lose his cool. He wasn’t feeling right about things, so he stayed away.”
The door at the end of the hall opened, and the ruckus from the arena blasted into the hall like big speakers turned full blast. The fresh scent of new ice drifted in, followed by the overpowering aroma of popcorn and cheap beer. A man in a red jersey propped the door open with his stick.
“Coming?” he asked.
Not yet! Oriana hooked her gloved hand around Chicklet’s arm before she could step away. Chicklet frowned the same way Dominik did when she got grabby. She let her hand fall. “Sloan . . . told you all this?”
Chicklet blew at her own face as though to cool herself off, then nodded. “Yes, but it’s not like you think. Sloan’s not my type—I like pretty boys that let me dress them up. But I knew how to get Sloan what he needed.”
Sweaty fist clenched in her gloves, Oriana turned her head to dry her upper lip on the sleeve of her jersey. “Someone who likes pain?”
“Loves it.”
“Is she here?”
“Number seven, Lindsey Moore.” Chicklet arched a brow. “Why?”
“No reason.” With a slight shake of her head, she started down the hall. Between the layers of pads, the wool socks, the humongous gloves with the strange stink of stale pickles—no wonder she was feeling off. A bit dizzy, nothing more. A drink and she’d be fine.
The glaring arena lights reflected off the ice, temporarily blinding her. Then her vision cleared, and all she could see was the stands. Packed with people.
Cameras, she could do. Sitting in a crowded stadium, hell, even kissing Sloan in front of all those people hadn’t been so bad. Actually, it had been kind of nice.
But these people were going to watch her struggle to keep up with two pros and people who played once a week. She hadn’t even skated since she was thirteen! She was going to make an ass of herself, and they’d all be there to witness her humiliation.
“Skate a few laps to warm up,” Chicklet said, propelling her toward the rink. She leaned close, then whispered. “Sloan and Lindsey are already out there—looks like they’re getting reacquainted.”
True enough. One look and she spotted Sloan, the biggest person on the ice, skating backward while a clunky woman wearing a black jersey with the number 7 plastered on her back, followed. Oriana could tell the only reason the woman looked clunky was because of all the equipment. The graceful way she glided across the ice reminded Oriana of Silver. Every movement was meant to entice. But even Silver
wouldn’t have looked that good with that bulk.
Sloan’s laughter echoed across the cold expanse of the rink like the toll of a massive bell. Oriana bit the tip of her tongue and surged forward, sweeping the pile of pucks off the boards by the red team’s benches. They clunked onto the glassy surface like a dozen rubber stones. She grabbed a stick and stepped onto the ice. Her left skate slipped. She toppled to the right. Her arms flailed, and her stick went flying.
The world spun. Her chin struck something solid. Something warm. “Oomf!” Her teeth gouged her tongue and blood filled her mouth. But she hadn’t hit the ice. She was still standing.
Firm arms wrapped around her waist and led her closer to the boards. She glanced up and smiled tremulously at the boyish angel face above her.
“You said you could play.” Tyler skidded a little ways from her but kept one hand under her elbow. “I thought that meant you could skate too.”
“I can, it’s just been . . .” At another boom of laughter, she ground her teeth. “A long time.”
“Hmm.” Tyler slid backward on his skates, then forward, never moving his supportive hand. “Were you any good? If you were, your body will remember.”
She blushed and ducked her head. Her helmet felt like a furnace. “I could do some pretty cool spins, and I was fast.” Fast enough that she’d made it through the tryouts for the Queens County minor hockey league bantam team. They told her she had skill. She dropped out when her father absently told her women had no business playing the sport. And he didn’t respect those who tried.
One of many stupid moves she’d made on a long list while trying to please her father. A list she planned to mentally crumple and burn. Her wild week would mark a fresh start.
If only she could manage it on her own two feet.
“Your body doesn’t forget much, sweetheart.” Tyler backed her into the boards and pressed against her. “You’ll probably be able to recall the feeling of me being deep inside you years from now.” His gaze shifted from side to side, then he pressed a quick kiss on her lips. “Not that I won’t be giving you constant reminders.”
GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) Page 21
