Playing to Win

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  She was just about to head in, when Brett Sillinger pushed through everyone in his quest to leave the dressing room in a hurry. His brow was creased and his scraggly play-off beard did little to hide his frown and the determined set of his jaw. The phone in his hand was blaring the “Charge” rally.

  That damn anthem had become her nemesis. Every time she heard it—which in the course of a day’s worth of interviews with twenty-three players on the active roster, was a lot—her heartbeat tripled and she went on high alert. She couldn’t help herself. Even though she knew it was a clue with a lot of dead ends, it remained the most concrete lead she had.

  If she could just re-create that bathroom happenstance, overhear the right conversation at the right moment, she’d have her man. She’d lost her chance for a byline on that damning article she’d written because she didn’t want to hurt Luke, but the silver lining was the fact that she hadn’t blown her cover with the Storm. Now she was this close to an on-camera exposé on a betting scandal. It was the kind of hard news story her mom would have killed for. The kind of legit sports reporting that might impress her dad.

  That was why, with a quick apology to Jay and directions on a few questions he should ask should the opportunity arise, Holly hurried after the rookie. His long strides had given him a pretty good head start.

  When he disappeared around a corner at the end of the hallway, Holly took a quick moment to stop and take off her pumps. Television shows that portrayed their women detectives chasing down perps while wearing high-heeled boots were such a load of crap, she decided. She resumed her chase, more sure-footed and quiet with her shoes safely in hand.

  The hallway came to a T intersection, and Holly stopped for a second, debating which way to go. She decided any direction was better than no direction. She arbitrarily went left. When she got to the end of that hallway, she came to a skidding halt outside the occupied room, not at all prepared for what she found.

  J.C. had his hands up to protect his face, ducking and covering as his fiancée screamed and swung her fancy designer purse like a flail.

  “I can’t believe you did this!”

  Whack.

  “I can’t believe you would do this to me! To the baby! How am I supposed to show my face with the other hockey wives?” Whack. “Why would you sell the Porsche? Who’s going to take us seriously driving some low-end four-door!”

  “Come on, Tania. Quit hitting me with your purse already!”

  “I’m going to be a laughingstock.”

  Holly tore her attention from the fighting couple, backing away slowly, trying to leave unnoticed.

  She almost made it, too, but Tania gave a particularly wild swing of her bag, and J.C.’s gaze caught hers. She didn’t even break stride. She just spun and ran.

  Cowardly? Maybe, but she was hot on the trail of a suspect, and Tania’s brand of a woman scorned was more than she cared to deal with right now.

  Obviously, Sillinger had gone in the opposite direction, so she hurried back to where she’d lost him and turned the other way.

  She was relieved that it did not take long to locate his nasally whine.

  “What the hell, man? I thought we had a deal! I told you, I just need a little more time!”

  Holly stopped short at the outburst. Her scalp prickled at the realization that this might be the break she’d been searching for. She tried to recall the harsh whisper that had echoed off the tiles in the Storm’s bathroom. Had it been the rookie all along?

  “Dude, you can’t do this to me. I’ll get you your money. Just give me a week. Two, tops. My mom’ll help me out. She’s in Vegas on vacation or I’d have your cash right now.”

  Holly frowned and leaned forward to peek around the corner.

  Brett shoved a hand in his dark curls, his knuckles white, he was clutching his hair so tightly. He pressed his back against the concrete wall, then slid down until he was sitting on the rubber floor.

  “You don’t understand. The Lamborghini’s all I’ve got. My teammates think I’m a joke. This is the only thing I’ve ever done to impress them. Just give me a couple of weeks. I’ll get you your money.”

  There was a long moment of silence, followed by, “Yeah. I understand you’ve got a business to run. Whatever.”

  He swore, then slammed his phone on the ground before wrapping his arms around his legs and dropping his forehead to his knees. All in all, it was quite a dramatic show.

  “Brett?”

  He started like she’d hit him with a cattle prod. He scrambled to his feet. The pout on his face made him seem even younger than his nineteen years, despite the pitiful beard.

  “How long have you been there, Holly? What did you hear?”

  Holly shook her head and started toward him slowly with her hand out, like she was approaching a skittish deer. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “No, Holly. Actually, I’m not okay. I just found out they’re repossessing my Lamborghini, so life pretty much sucks balls right now.”

  She did her best not to laugh.

  After such an intensely emotional weekend with Luke, his parents, Ethan...the idea that a nineteen-year-old hockey player making a salary that most people could only dream of, herself included, was pouting like a child because he couldn’t make the payments on his Lamborghini seemed the height of absurdity to her. Talk about your first-world problems.

  She stared at the simpering man-child before her and mentally crossed his name off the suspect list. A man raking in extra money by betting on his team wouldn’t have to ask for money from his mother. Even more damning was Brett’s complete inability to deal with surprises.

  Point-shaving was a delicate balance, especially in a low-scoring game like hockey. The idea that the kid before her had the chops to handle and manipulate a rink full of veteran hockey players was ridiculous. Truthfully, she was a little embarrassed she’d put him on the suspect list at all.

  “You’re not gonna tell the team, are you? About my Lambo getting repossessed?”

  “No. I’m not going to tell them about your Lambo,” she said dully.

  “Okay, great. Maybe I can make up a story about how I totaled it or something. That would make me sound cool.”

  Holly let Brett disappear around the corner so she wouldn’t have to walk back to the dressing room with him. Then she put her high heels on again to slow her down even further.

  The dressing room was packed. She sidled up to Jay as soon as she spotted him. “What’d I miss?”

  He shook his head. “No idea where J.C. is. I scored some face time with Eric and Doug, asked them the stuff you wanted for the ‘How Well Do You Know Your Teammate?’ segment. We’re up next with Luke, after Baniuk finishes with him.”

  Holly watched Corey and his cameraman set up the shot and launch right into the interview.

  “I’m Corey Baniuk from Portland News Now. Here with me is the Storm’s captain, Luke Maguire. Luke, Sports Nation has recently published an article saying that your play, in particular, might be suffering because it’s your first time in the play-offs since your brother, former Wisconsin center Ethan Maguire, took a brutal hit in the post-season three years ago. What do you have to say to those allegations?”

  Shit.

  Holly had hoped she’d have a chance to warn Luke before the article hit the media. John must have pressed “publish” the moment he got off the phone with her.

  Why hadn’t she said something to Luke after dinner? On their way home? After they’d made love? Because she was a coward, that’s why. And she’d wanted to enjoy what she had with him as long as possible.

  The color drained from Luke’s face for a split second before it returned with a vengeance. “No comment. We’re done.” He pushed past the camera and headed for the exit.

  Holly hurried after him, but inst
ead of the hunt she’d endured with Brett, she found Luke pacing in the hallway right outside the dressing room door.

  She couldn’t keep the concern from her voice. “Are you okay?”

  “I just need a minute.”

  “I saw what just happened with Corey Baniuk, Luke. You don’t have to be fine. He coldcocked you. That was way out of line.”

  Luke just shrugged. “Rumor has it Baniuk’s about to inherit the anchor desk. I should have expected him to go for the jugular on that interview, go out in a blaze of glory.”

  He took a breath. “Besides, Baniuk’s not the problem. He was just the first reporter to get a crack at me. The problem is the damn Sports Nation article.” Luke shook his head. “It’s going to dredge up all the Ethan questions again. That guy really hit me where I live.”

  He lowered his voice, leaned toward her, and Holly could only hope he couldn’t smell the culpability rolling off her in waves.

  Luke continued. “The article talks about how my scoring drought started on the same day the team was mathematically guaranteed a play-off spot. This guy just laid out all my neuroses. I don’t even get how he could figure out half that stuff. Much as it hurts to admit it, it’s a really professional and well-written article. No cheap shots, just facts.

  “It’s probably for the best he didn’t have the balls to sign his name to the thing. I’m not sure if I should pay him for the therapy or punch him in the face.”

  Luke shook out his hands. He was moving around a lot.

  Holly, on the other hand, was frozen to the spot under a blizzard of remorse and shame. How had she thought taking her name off the article would ease the impact? She should have fought harder to keep it from being published in the first place. Again, coward.

  Luke didn’t seem to notice her anxiety. “Anyway, the article doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’ve got a game tonight and I need to calm down and get back in the zone.”

  He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “We really have to win tonight. Any advice?”

  She couldn’t make her confession now. That would only screw with his head more. As the cause of his messed-up equilibrium, the least she could do for him now was to keep quiet.

  Holly tucked her hair behind her right ear as she stepped toward him. “Montana’s notoriously weak on their left side, so just keep the pressure on. Forecheck hard and whenever you get a shot on Krouse, remember to shoot stick-side. His glove has been hot in the post-season.”

  Luke grinned at the counsel. “Man. You weren’t kidding when you said you know hockey.”

  “Kick the Wolfpack’s ass tonight and I’ll show you what else I know,” she teased. It was a desperate attempt to keep the guilt from winning.

  It didn’t work.

  12

  IT WAS PAST midnight by the time Luke finished doing press and they’d arrived back at his place. Still, when Luke walked out of his ensuite bathroom wearing nothing but black sweatpants, Holly’s weariness dissipated at the prospect of making good on her promise. Luke had kept up his end of the bargain and the Storm had come out victorious, downing Montana 5–3.

  “So, what have you got in store for me tonight?” he asked, joining her on the bed. “And bear in mind that you’re going to have to pull out all the stops to impress me, since I am currently a man in possession of flavored body oils and a tin of Altoids.”

  “Oooh! Flavored oils? Sounds fun! Where are you stashing ’em?” Holly rolled onto her stomach and reached for the bottom drawer of the nightstand closest to her.

  “No! Not that one!” Luke practically vaulted over her, pulling open the small top drawer instead.

  Holly shot him a frown. “What? Is that your fetish drawer, or something? You don’t want me to find your ball gag?”

  Oh my God, is Luke blushing? Her curiosity bubbled to new heights.

  “It’s nothing, okay? You wanted sexy oil, here it is.” He pulled the lube out and set it on the end table. “Ooh, look! Cherry flavored.”

  “Nice try.” She couldn’t keep the grin from her face. “What’s in there, Luke?”

  He shrugged but it looked painful, like his skin was too small for his body. “Remember how we were going to have sex? Remember that fun plan?”

  “But how am I supposed to really concentrate on doing naughty things to your body when all I’ll be able to focus on is what’s in that drawer?”

  “You are very bad at taking no for an answer, do you realize that?”

  Holly shook her head and heaved an innocent shrug. “What can I say? Our misogynistic culture has forced me to become a fighter, to believe in my dreams and power through the glass ceiling. You’re part of the patriarchy, the reason I must pursue things with such single-minded determination. Face it, Mags. You’re fighting a losing battle here.”

  With weary defeat on his face, Luke flopped back onto the bed and slung an arm across his face. “Fine. But you cannot, upon pain of death and/or laryngitis whenever there’s a camera on you, tell anyone what you’ve seen here today.”

  Holly smiled graciously in victory. “What is it? What is it?” she chanted, pulling open the drawer. “What the...?” To her utter amazement, she found a pair of knitting needles attached to what she assumed was a striped scarf. But as she began to pull, the haphazardness of the striping became obvious, as did the never-ending length. “Seriously, what is it?”

  Luke heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I told you. It’s nothing.”

  Holly was still searching for the end of the navy, white and teal monstrosity. It was at least twice as long as she was tall and she still hadn’t pulled it all from its resting place yet. “It’s a pretty long nothing.”

  “It’s just knitting, okay? My mom taught me.”

  Holly sat on the edge of the bed, yanking foot after foot of inconsistent stripes into her lap. “Okay, you have got to tell me how this came about.”

  Luke pulled his arm away from his face and stacked a pillow under his head. “When I was young, I used to really dwell on stuff—especially hockey games. If we lost, I’d go over it again and again, trying to figure out what I did wrong, what I could do better. If we won, I’d try to deconstruct what went right, how I could build on it. I was a pretty intense kid, especially once my little brother started climbing the hockey ranks. I’d get so deep in my head that I developed some pretty bad insomnia.”

  Holly ran her hand across the yarn in her lap. She could imagine a young Luke, solemn blue eyes, a determined set to his chin as he figured out how to be faster, stronger and better, all in the name of the sport he adored. He was still doing it.

  “So she taught me how to knit. She said knitting would keep the chattering part of my brain occupied so I could mull over only the most important stuff and keep my thoughts really focused. She made the rule that I could only go over the game until I was done knitting five inches and then I had to put the yarn away.”

  He smiled. “It sounds dumb, but it worked. I would replay the game for however long it took me to knit five inches, and then I was free. I didn’t have to think about it anymore. I’ve made one of these every hockey season since.”

  She held up the project in her hands. “All color-coded to your team, I hope.”

  Luke laughed at himself. “Yep. For my Portland Storm years, navy is a loss, white is a win and teal is a tie. Every game is five inches of knitting or purling and intense contemplation.”

  “So it’s a good thing that this is mostly white then, huh?”

  “Yeah, it was a pretty good season.”

  “And these thin teal lines at this end? That’s the start of each play-off series?”

  He nodded. “No ties in the play-offs, so that’s my way of keeping track of how far we make it.”

  “You are a very surprising man, Luke Maguire. Just when I think I’ve figure
d you out, you change the game. Although I’m pissed at you that you told me that your secret talent was speaking French. This is way cooler.”

  Luke rolled his eyes.

  “I’m serious,” she said, with a playful punch to his arm. “I just have one more question.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “How do you hide it from the other guys on road trips?”

  Luke grinned. “Nobody ever thinks your World Junior Championship duffel bag is full of yarn.”

  “Hiding in plain sight.” Holly laughed. “Well done.”

  She set the knitted record of the Storm’s current season on the end table. Every piece of himself that Luke revealed made Holly fall in love with him just a little bit more.

  How could she hurt someone she loved? And she would hurt him; that seemed inevitable. But was it better to hide the truth from him and let him have his win? Or come clean and destroy everything? There were no easy answers. She only knew that she wanted him to be happy, and tonight she could make him happy.

  “I gotta say, that knitting was a much sexier find than a ball gag.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Holly nodded. “Yep. And now that my curiosity is sated, I find myself with plenty of naughty things percolating in my brain.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do say,” she countered, crawling over and straddling him. She grabbed the end of his knitting project. “So here’s the plan. We’re about to take your knitting to a whole new level.”

  * * *

  LUKE LAY BACK against the pillows as she tied up one of his wrists before looping the free end of the yarn monstrosity through the slatted headboard. His body was already approving where she was going with this, even before she’d finished fashioning the woolen shackle around his other wrist.

  Although his restraints could easily be slipped with a few tugs, her foray into light bondage was turning him on in a big way. He loved the satisfaction in her smile as she surveyed him, all trussed up and at her disposal.

  If he’d known knitting would score him this kind of action, he would have opened the damn drawer himself.