"I have no idea what I would have done if they hadn't let Val go, if they had taken her to Central Booking, too." Randy's gaze finally met hers, for the briefest of seconds before he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply then let the breath out in a short hiss. His lips tightened, like he was trying to avoid some bitter tasting medicine from being forced into his mouth. The strong muscles of his throat worked as he swallowed, and she watched as a shudder went through him.
She couldn't just sit there and watch him, couldn't let him relive the nightmare he had just described by himself. But she had no idea what to say, what to do. Val had jokingly said he needed to suffer. There was no doubt in Alyssa's mind that Randy was suffering enough, without help from them. And if Val could see him now, she would hate herself for adding to his suffering.
Alyssa pushed herself from the chair and made her way around the desk. Before she could question herself, before she could stop and wonder if she was doing the right thing, she kneeled in front of him and wrapped her arms tight around his waist. She pressed her face against his chest and tightened her hold even more. The body in her arms was as hard as a statue, cold and impersonal. Immovable. Untouchable. But she didn't let go.
"Val's going to be okay. I know it."
Long minutes went by but Randy said nothing, didn't even move. The beat of his heart was a steady pounding in her ear. She listened to it, the heavy thump-thump-thump that was the only indication that the man in her arms was really alive and not an immovable statue.
Alyssa wasn't sure how much more time went by—enough that her knees started aching against the hard floor and the muscles in her arms quivered from holding him so tightly. But he finally moved, his body softening in her hold just the tiniest bit. His arms wrapped around hers, the hold loose at first, then gradually tightening. She felt his head lower, felt the coolness of his cheek against her skin when he rested it against the top of her head. His chest heaved with a deep breath, the echo of his breathing loud in her ear. His arms tightened even more.
"I fucked up, Alyssa. Everything. And I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make it right."
"I told you, Val is going to be fine. I know it, trust me."
Randy moved his arms, releasing her, then shifted in the chair. She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, wincing slightly at the prickling sensation running down her legs. She stepped back and leaned against the desk, watching him. But he wasn't looking at her, wasn't looking at anything. He just leaned forward in the chair, his hands fisted together and hanging between his legs, his head dropped forward. He stayed that way for several quiet minutes, then inhaled deeply and stood up so quickly that she pressed herself against the desk.
"Not just Val. Everything. My career. You, us. All of it." He ran his hands through his thick dark hair and let out a deep sigh. Alyssa couldn't breathe, her mind a complete blank, struggling for something to say. There was more going on than they had realized, something else that had happened they didn't know about. But she had no idea what, and didn't know how to ask.
"I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean shit to you, but I'm sorry." He looked at her, a brief glance filled with regret, then reached for the door.
Alyssa couldn't move, could only watch as he walked through the door and out of the office into the chaos of the busy kitchen. It wasn't until he disappeared through the outside door that she could breathe, and she forced herself to finally move.
She reached across the desk and grabbed the phone, quickly dialing Val's number.
Chapter Twenty
Randy dug in with his skate and pushed himself off, gaining speed as he headed across the ice. He reached the line, turned, pushed himself off again. Muscles stretched and burned; sweat dripped down his face and soaked his practice jersey. Stop, turn, push off.
The drills continued, hard, fast, repetitive. Harsh breathing and grunts echoed in the cavernous rink, broken by the occasional muttered swearing or loud shouts from the bench.
It was the first week of practice, and Randy wasn't the only one feeling it. But that was little comfort, not when he knew he had so much more to prove, so much more to make up for.
A shrill whistle pierced the cold air, signaling a break. Randy bent forward and rested the stick across his knees, drawing in huge gulps of air as he drifted toward the bench.
"Michaels, get your ass over here." Sonny LeBlanc's harsh voice rose above the surrounding noise, startling him. Randy took another deep breath then pushed off once more, hurrying to the bench before Sonny decided to mete out punishment for being too slow.
"What's your problem, Michaels? Too much fun over the summer? My fucking grandmother can move faster than that. Laps, now."
Randy swore beneath his breath, careful to keep the words soft so Sonny couldn't hear him. He skated past JP and Mat, only slightly mollified to see the younger player as drenched in sweat as he was. Then he pushed them out of his mind and focused on the ice in front of him, his strong legs screaming with each forward move.
One lap. Two. Sonny's loud voice carried above the other noise, ordering more players to join him in doing laps. JP skated next to him, grumbling, the words lost in the noise of skates scraping across ice. Randy shook his head and dug in deeper, pushing away from JP, pushing away from everyone as his legs stretched and moved in a smooth rhythm. He pushed harder, moving forward, faster, digging to find his internal zone so nothing else would matter, not the pain, not the burning.
Not the events of the last two weeks.
The shrill whistle splintered the air once more, longer this time, signaling the end to practice. Randy sucked in air and raced to the bench, sliding to a stop in a spray of ice before stepping through the door. He walked pass Sonny, noticed the man's eyes watching him with an unreadable expression. Randy almost expected to be stopped, was waiting for an iron fist to close around his arm and pull him to the side.
But Sonny let him go, not saying a word. Randy moved past him and breathed a small sigh of relief when he made it to the locker room. He pulled off his jersey and pads and tossed them to the floor, then sat on the bench with a small groan to remove his skates.
It could be worse, he thought. Despite the burning in his muscles, despite the sweat drenching him, it could be worse.
He could not be here at all.
But, by some miracle, the charges from the fight two weeks ago had been dropped. He didn't know why, didn't question how, was just thankful they had been. But that was too little comfort too late and he tired, again, to force all thoughts of what could have happened away. He had spent too much dwelling on what could have happened, too much time dwelling on what would probably happen in the near future. He needed to get over it and move on, to focus on playing his best damn game ever day this year.
One day at a time, one practice at a time, one game at a time. He didn't have a choice.
"You're too quiet, my friend. That's never a good sign, eh?" JP lowered himself to the bench, not bothering to hide his own deep groan as he leaned forward and worked at untying the laces of his own skates.
Randy said nothing, just focused on removing one skate, then the other. He stood and loosened his shorts, then pushed them down and stepped out of them. Next came the socks, followed by more pads, until he stood there in nothing but his sport briefs.
"I think you're worrying too much. Worrying won't help."
"You're not helping, JP."
"You need to get out. Unwind. Forget about what happened."
"You're not the one whose contract is up this year." Randy reached into his locker and pulled out his shower kit, tossing the towel over his shoulder.
"No. But that doesn't mean I don't worry. We all worry." JP tossed his gear into a pile then reached into his own locker. He paused then looked over at Randy, his gaze steady, focused. "But we don't let the worry rule us. You know that. You're the one who taught me that, eh?"
Randy shook his head, not bothering to reply because JP was right. That
didn't mean he had to like it, and he sure as hell didn't need to have his own words thrown back at him. It was different this time. Randy knew that, just like JP knew it. There wasn't anything either one of them could say to change it, so it wasn't worth saying anything.
"You should come to lunch with us. A big hearty meal, some downtime and fun. Get your mind off things."
"I'll pass." Randy stepped around his friend and made his way to the showers, only slightly surprised that JP didn't stop him. They've been having this same conversation for the last week, every single day. Maybe JP finally realized he wasn't going to change his mind.
The post-practice soak and shower marginally eased his burning muscles, but did nothing for his frame of mind. He was brooding, plain and simple, something he had been doing for entirely too long. It wasn't healthy, dwelling on things he couldn't change, but he couldn't snap out of it.
He pushed through the glass doors of the practice rink and squinted against the September sun. He paused long enough to put his sunglasses on, then hurried across the parking lot, ignoring the calls and good-natured ribbing from some of the other players as he made his way to his car.
And stopped so suddenly that the gear bag fell from his shoulder.
Val was leaning against the side of the convertible, her slender arms crossed in front of her. Like him, she was wearing sunglasses. She pushed them up and anchored them on top of her hair, catching a few long strands so they fell in her face. She pushed her hair behind her ears and fixed him with a fiery look that made him pause again.
"When the hell are you going to snap out of it?"
Randy took a deep breath then moved forward. She didn't move, so he was forced to reach around her to toss the bag on the seat.
"What are you doing here?" He couldn't quite meet her eyes when he spoke, but he didn't care, not when he knew she wouldn't know because his eyes were hidden behind the dark shades.
"I'm here to talk to you."
"Val, I'm not in the mood to talk."
"No kidding. I figured that out when you started ignoring me. Randy, you have to snap out of this."
"Don't tell me what I have to do." He dug the keys from the front pocket of his jeans and walked around the rear of the car. He wasn't surprised when Val followed him.
"Dammit, I will tell you. You're being an ass."
He turned on her, so fast that she took a step back to avoid being bumped into. An icy finger of regret trailed his spine but he pushed it away. "This isn't the time or the place, Val."
"Then when is? Tell me, please. Because you don't answer the phone, you don't call me back. You won't answer the door when I go to your place. You don't even come to the restaurant any more. And how about Alyssa? What happened with that? You don't even talk to her anymore!"
"Leave Alyssa out of it."
"Randy, please. Just tell me what's going on."
He yanked open the car door then paused, his hand tight on the door frame. Val watched him, concern clear in her eyes despite the stubborn lift of her chin and tightly compressed mouth. Randy took a deep breath, fighting the urge to pull his sister into a hug and reassure her. He swallowed, hard, and made an effort to soften his voice when he spoke.
"I fucked up, Val. Okay? I fucked everything up. All I'm doing now is my best to fix it. So please, just let it go. Okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, just lowered himself into the seat and pulled the door closed behind him. The engine turned over with a soft purr and he jammed the shifter into gear, backing out of the parking space slowly.
He didn't bother to look in the rearview mirror as he pulled away. He knew Val was still standing there, watching him, because he could feel her eyes burning into the back of his head.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alyssa stared at the door, wondering once more why she was even here. The idea was a stupid one, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't see how it was going to work.
It wouldn't work. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name. So why was she standing here, frozen in place like some stalker?
Because she had promised Val, that's why.
She took a deep breath then pushed the doorbell, holding it in longer than was really necessary. Her finger shook, but she chose to ignore it. If she didn't, she'd probably give in to nerves and just bolt—turn right around and take the elevator back down. Which is what she should do anyway, because this was so not a good idea.
Long minutes went by, and the door remained closed. She leaned forward, not quite pressing her ear to the door, listening for sounds. Shuffling footsteps, grumbling, the muffled sound of a television or music.
Nothing.
He probably wasn't home.
She reached out and pressed the doorbell one more time, holding it in even longer this time. She'd give it another minute—or maybe ten whole seconds—then turn around and leave. That way, she could tell Val she had tried. Her conscience would be clear because it would be the truth, and her friend would be satisfied.
Well, probably not, but at least Alyssa could say she tried.
He obviously wasn't home. Good. She whispered a small thanks and was ready to turn and make her way back to the elevator when the door suddenly opened. Alyssa inhaled so quickly she nearly choked, then blinked and sucked in her breath once more.
Randy stood in the doorway, his dark hair tousled, his eyes drowsy from sleep. And he was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung gym shorts and a frown.
Concentrate on the frown, concentrate on the frown. Alyssa repeated the words, over and over, but her brain had obviously lost control over the rest of her body because she couldn't stop her eyes from dropping to the bare expanse of his chest. Rock hard, solid, muscled. Signals misfired somewhere in her brain, because her fingers were actually tingling with the need to touch all that bare skin. His flesh would be warm under her touch, warm and inviting and—
She swallowed and dragged her gaze back to his face. Concentrate on the frown, concentrate on the frown.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." It was the first thing that popped into her mind, and she winced at how stupid the words sounded. It didn't help that her voice got caught in her throat and came out in a scratchy squeak.
Randy's brows lifted in silent question but he didn't say anything, just stood there in the doorway like some kind of guardian carved of granite. Alyssa shifted, more uncomfortable than ever, then finally crossed her arms in front of her. She hoped the move conveyed impatience, but she was pretty sure it merely broadcasted her uncertainty.
"How did you get up here?" The question caught her off-guard, even though she should have expected it. She looked behind her at the elevator, then back at Randy, and finally shrugged. He scowled. "Val gave you the key code."
"She's worried about you."
"Tell her I'm fine." He stepped back and Alyssa knew he was going to close the door without another word. She didn't stop to think, didn't stop to consider what she was doing. She stepped forward, close enough that he wouldn't be able to close the door without hitting her with it.
Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body.
"Can I come in?"
Randy stared down at her, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. The muscle in his jaw twitched, just a quick jump. Then he stepped back and opened the door wider in silent invitation. Alyssa took a deep breath and crossed the threshold, ignoring the sensation that she had just crossed some invisible line that would forever change things. It was a ridiculous thought, no doubt spurred on by the knowledge that this was nothing more than an exercise in futility.
That didn't stop her from jumping when Randy closed the door behind her, the quiet click echoing in the entranceway. He pushed by her and walked into the large living area then turned toward the kitchen. Alyssa took a few deep breaths and reminded herself that she was doing this for Val, then followed him.
He was standing in front of the large refrigerator, his broad back to her. She watched the muscles flex and stretch as he rum
maged through the shelves, then felt her face heat when he suddenly turned to face her. If he noticed her flush, he didn't say anything. His expression was carefully blank, his eyes hooded as he leaned against the counter and twisted the top off a bottle of water. He raised the bottle to his mouth and drank, the strong muscles of his throat working with each swallow. His eyes never left hers.
He finished the water and lowered the empty bottle, holding it casually by his side. "So why are you here?"
"I told you, Val's worried about you. You won't return her calls, won't talk to her."
"I already told her I'm fine. I'll tell you the same thing."
"If you're so fine, why won't you talk to her?"
"Because there's really nothing else I have to say to her."
"Oh my God, that is such a juvenile thing to say! She's your sister! If you want to be an ass to me and everyone else, fine. But don't be that way to Val!" Alyssa surprised herself with the outburst. Not just with how she nearly screamed the words, but with the actual words themselves. How could she have been so stupid? She didn't want him to think she cared, didn't want him to know that what he had done had any effect on her.
She turned away from him and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. Coming here had been stupid. So stupid. She should just leave. Alyssa knew that, but she was having trouble getting her feet to move, to listen to the commands her brain was practically screaming at them.
"I'm sorry." The softly-spoken words shattered the silence of the kitchen. Alyssa froze, her heart stumbling in her chest at the hoarse desperation she heard in his voice. She needed to move, to put one foot in front of the other and just walk out before she did something really stupid. But instead of walking out, she turned around.
And called herself every kind of fool, because that one movement would prove to be her downfall. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.
She wasn't a fixer. She wasn't a nurturer. Randy leaned against the counter, his face drawn, regret and sorrow evident in every harsh line of his body. She could actually feel his pain and regret, felt it washing over her in a crushing wave of emotion. Watching him filled her with a sudden need to comfort and reassure, which was so absolutely ludicrous and completely unlike her. What did she know about comfort and reassurance? Nothing.
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