Could Lori blame them? No, not when the evidence was so clear.
Which meant she really was nothing more than a pathetic cliché, because she couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. There was something more here. There had to be.
She wanted to ask Corbin directly, wanted to see his face, wanted to watch the expression in his eyes when she asked. But she couldn't, because she didn't even know where he lived. And she couldn't call, because she didn't have his number.
The only way she'd be able to talk to Corbin was if she showed up before they left for the airport tonight. And there was no way she could do that. She'd never be able to get close enough to talk to him. And if Uncle Ian caught her—she didn't even want to think of what her uncle would do.
Lori looked up at the soft knock against the flimsy divider of her cubicle. Danny Edwards stood there, one shoulder resting against the carpeted edge of the portable wall, his light brown hair in shaggy disarray. To anyone else, it would appear as if he'd been dragging his hands through his hair in a fit of frustration, but Lori knew better. He'd probably spent the better part of an hour in front of a mirror, getting the look just right in order to impress his latest target.
"You look like hell, sweetheart."
Lori rolled her eyes but still took a minute to rub her fingers under her scratchy eyes and smooth her hair back. Danny laughed then shook his head.
"Not helping." He glanced around the nearly-deserted office then stepped inside the cramped cubicle. "How much do you love me?"
Suspicion flared inside her and she narrowed her eyes, wondering what he wanted now. "I'm not playing matchmaker for you."
"Did I ask you to?"
"No but—"
"No, I didn't. Now tell me how much you love me."
"Why?"
"You're not very trusting, are you?"
"Not when you come in here talking like that, I'm not."
Danny made a small tsking sound then waved a scrap of paper in front of him. "That's a shame, because I'm pretty sure I have something you want."
Lori's eyes narrowed to slits as curiosity and suspicion grew. "What?"
"Just a certain someone's address."
"What? How?" Lori jumped from her chair, the sudden motion sending it crashing into the cubicle wall. She ignored it and made a mad reach for the scrap of paper, only to have Danny hold it over his head with a frown.
"Uh-uh. Not so fast. Tell me you love me first."
"Okay, fine. I love you. Now give it up—"
"And you'll agree to go with me later this week for moral support."
"You don't need moral support."
"The hell I don't. The man's intimidating as hell."
"Since when has that ever stopped you? Just ask him out."
"Can't. Not yet. Not while we're in the office. Which means I need you to go with me when everyone goes out Friday after work."
Lori made another desperate grab for the paper, only to have Danny shove it in his pocket. She crossed her arms in front of her and glared. "Since when are you so uncertain of yourself?"
The grin on Danny's face faded into an expression of concern. "Since when are you so desperate to believe that what you're seeing isn't the truth?"
Lori swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat and forced a smile that she didn't quite feel. "Fine. I'll go with you for moral support. Now give it up."
Danny hesitated for a fraction of a second then slapped the slip of paper into her upturned palm. She glanced down at it, the address blurring in front of her eyes until she blinked, bringing the hastily scribbled lines into focus. "How did you get it?"
"Don't ask." Danny stepped closer, all signs of teasing gone from his voice. He titled his head, speaking in a low tone that wouldn't be overheard by anyone who happened to walk by. "I hope you know what you're doing, Lori."
"I do."
"Are you sure about that? Because I'm worried you're letting your heart cloud your normally-sound judgment."
"Yes, I'm sure."
"How? How can you be so sure when the evidence is so clearly against him?"
"I don't know, I just am. There's something else going on. Corbin wouldn't assault anyone."
"Sweetheart, he punched out his teammate in the middle of a crowded nightclub. And you saw him kissing—"
"I told you why he did that—and it wasn't because they were having an argument over that woman." The anger in her voice surprised even her. She brushed it off, warned herself against letting her emotions get in the way. If she wanted to find out what really happened, she needed to do her best to remain neutral.
"For your sake, I hope you're right."
"I am."
"And if you're not? What then?"
Lori tried to shrug off his concern, tried to pretend it didn't echo her own as she reached for her coat and tote bag. "I have to at least ask him. Hear his side of the story."
"And what if it's not what you want to hear? The man has a reputation, you know that."
"He doesn't have a reputation. It was just bad press, that's all."
"And I think you're only fooling yourself."
She ignored his concern and started to brush by him, stopped at the last minute and pressed a quick kiss against his smooth jaw. "Thank you. I owe you one."
"You owe me more than one, sweetheart." He reached out and dragged one hand along her arm, stopping to squeeze her hand. "Be careful. And I'm giving you one hour to call me and report in."
"And what if I don't?"
All signs of joking disappeared from his face. His gaze turned serious, almost lethal as his eyes met hers. "Then I'm coming after you, and God help your hockey player when I do."
Chapter Eight
Lori knocked on the door again, the sound echoing in the spacious hallway. How long had she been out here? How many times had she already knocked? Enough that her knuckles hurt from beating the metal door. Enough that Corbin should have answered the door already.
He wasn't home. Or if he was, he was ignoring every single pound on his door. And why shouldn't he? There was no reason for him to open the door after the media explosion of the last thirty hours. Why take the chance, when it could be some reporter or obsessed fan or angry mob waiting on the other side?
But there was no reporter or fan or mob—just Lori. And all he had to do to figure that out was look through that peephole in the middle of the door. Unless he didn't want to look, unless he just figured it would be safer to ignore everyone.
Unless he really wasn't home.
Unless he didn't want to see her.
Dammit. She didn't have time for this. Her anxiety increased with each passing minute, until she could actually feel it suffocating her. It was like each passing second only cemented her intuition that something was wrong, that there were too many missing pieces to the story. But how could she prove it when he wouldn't even answer the damn door?
He must not be home. That was the only explanation. Maybe he'd gone to someone's house, on the off-chance that there would be a mob after him. Unless...
A dozen different scenarios swept through her mind, knocking the wind from her lungs. Lori closed her eyes and took a deep breath, telling herself to stop jumping to conclusions, to stop assuming the worst.
Weren't things bad enough as it was?
She pushed that thought from her mind as well and raised her fist, bringing the side of it against the door with more force than she realized. Pain shot through her hand and up the side of her arm, making her wince. She glared at the door then looked down at her hand, shaking it out to stop the tingling.
This was stupid. And futile. She needed to just turn around and leave and—
The door finally opened, just a crack. But it was enough to see the frustration on Corbin's face, to see the flash of concern in his eyes before he blinked and quickly shuttered all expression.
"You shouldn't be here, Lori." His voice was flat, void of all emotion, without even a hint of his accent. She suppressed a sh
iver and forced a smile to her face.
"Do you want me to just stand out here and keep knocking?"
"No, I want you to go home." He started to close the door but she lunged forward, jamming the toe of her shoe in the narrow opening. Corbin swore under his breath and stopped just before smashing her foot. He stared down at the shiny black toe of her heel then looked up at her, his face carefully blank.
"Go home, Lori."
"Corbin, wait." She placed her hand against the smooth surface of the door, tried to push it open. But he was holding it in place, his strength no match for hers. She met his stony gaze, didn't bother hiding the plea in her eyes. "Please. I need to talk to you."
She held her breath, waiting. For the first time since her mad dash from the office, she questioned coming here. Questioned her certainty that Corbin would talk to her.
Questioned her certainty that there was more to the story.
A long minute went by, the passing of time agonizingly slow. He finally looked away, swearing in French before slowly opening the door. Lori breathed a sigh of relief and quickly pushed her way inside, afraid he'd change his mind if she didn't. She stopped, her eyes adjusting to the dim light as he closed the door behind her.
The ominous click of the lock echoed behind her, making her jump in surprise. She immediately called herself a fool, bit back a gasp of guilt when she saw the look on Corbin's face.
Regret. Sadness. There and gone so fast, she almost missed it, wondered if she had imagined it.
He motioned to the door with a careless shrug. "It's not a deadbolt. It will unlock as soon as you turn the knob, eh?"
"I didn't—"
He interrupted her with a quick wave of his hand then brushed past her, moving toward the single chair sitting next to the small table in the dining alcove. He dragged it across the room, placed it a few feet away from the recliner, then dropped into it. He nodded toward the recliner, a chilled smile on his face. "You want to talk, non? Please. Have a seat."
Lori hesitated, pretended to study the sparsely furnished apartment as she tried to gauge his mood. She couldn't, no more than she could imagine Corbin living in such spartan conditions. Boxes were stacked against the bare walls, a few of them sitting with their tops open, as if he was pulling things out only as he needed them. There was a small table next to the recliner, empty except for a fancy remote and a small lamp that was currently turned off. Stark white vertical blinds blocked what she assumed was a sliding door leading to a balcony of some sort. She couldn't tell because the blinds were closed, blocking any view—and all but the smallest sliver of sunlight.
There was nothing here that even remotely hinted at the man she knew. Not the one from ten years ago. Certainly not the one who was sitting so rigidly in the chair a few feet away, watching her with carefully hooded dark eyes.
She adjusted the strap of her tote bag, pulling it higher on her shoulder, then cleared her throat. She had wanted to come here to talk but now that she was here, her mind was numbingly blank.
Corbin shifted on the chair, stretching his thickly-muscled legs in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. Her gaze dropped to those powerful legs, followed the line of muscle and sinew of his thighs, down to his calves, finally resting on his bare feet. She finally realized he was dressed in work-out clothes: a sleeveless t-shirt and loose gym shorts.
But no shoes.
She kept staring at his feet, wondering why they were bare, wondering if she was losing her mind—
"You said you wanted to talk." His voice, still flat and emotionless, startled her. She pulled her gaze from his feet and nodded, finally lowered herself into the oversized recliner and dropped her tote bag to the carpeted floor beside her.
"Um, what happened?"
Corbin didn't move a single muscle but she still sensed his body tensing. Or maybe it was just her imagination because he simply looked at her, his sculpted face impassive except for one slightly-raised eyebrow. His hooded gaze remained focused on her, giving nothing away when he spoke.
"You saw the video."
It was a statement, not a question, but she answered anyway. "Yes, but—"
"Then you know what happened."
"You didn't assault her." She had meant for the words to echo the certainty of her conviction but couldn't stop the slight question laying just beneath the surface. Corbin looked away, just for a brief second, but she didn't miss the regret that flashed in his eyes.
Or maybe that was simply her imagination as well, because when he looked back at her, his deep eyes were flat, emotionless. He leaned forward, clasped his hands together and let them dangle between his legs. "I am sorry for your friend."
"She's not my friend." And oh God, why did she sound so bitter? So angry? She took a deep breath, ignored the bile rising in the back of her raw throat. "So you're saying you did it? You assaulted her?"
"You saw the video, Lori."
Anger swept through her. Anger at his non-answer. Anger at his use of her name, so stiff and formal. Fast on the heels of the anger came disappointment. Disbelief. Sorrow and disillusionment. She couldn't be hearing correctly. He couldn't have done it. The man she knew would never do something like that.
But she didn't know the man sitting so rigidly across from her. It had been eight years since the last time she had seen him and he had changed in that time. Older, harder, with a sharp edge to him that went beyond his features. She didn't know him at all, not really. And all this time, after every single thing she had read about him, she had convinced herself it was simply bad press. Nothing more than a negative spin on whatever had happened, barely acknowledged then quickly swept away.
She didn't know him at all.
She closed her eyes. Forced herself to swallow. Forced herself to suck in a cleansing breath and focus. She needed to focus, dammit. To think. Not with her heart, but with her mind. Her gut.
And her gut was screaming something wasn't right. And God help her, how pathetic did that make her? What did it say about her character that she still wanted to believe he was innocent, even after he'd admitted otherwise?
Except...he didn't admit it. What was it he said?
You saw the video.
That wasn't an admission. That wasn't even an answer. Yes, she had seen the video—along with a million other people. The video showed him with his hand on Dawn's arm, showed them briefly kissing. Then it showed him pulling away with what some might consider a grin. And it showed the bright smile on Dawn's face a second she hastily looked away from the camera.
Lori's eyes snapped open and she stared at Corbin, trying to read the expression on his face. She finally leaned forward, not bothering to hide her anger and frustration. "That's not an answer, Corbin. Did you assault her?"
"You saw the video—"
"Yes or no. Did you do it?"
She saw the muscle jump in his clenched jaw, saw the way his fingers curled against his palms a second before he jumped from the chair. He caught it before it could topple backward, righted it with enough force that it nearly fell again.
"Yes. Yes, I assaulted her."
Lori shot to her feet, caught his arm before he could turn away from her. "I don't believe it. There's something you're not telling me—"
"I assaulted her, ma cocotte. There is nothing else to say."
"No. I don't believe it." She sucked in a quick breath, trying to steady her nerves, trying to stop her voice from wavering. "You would never do something like that."
Corbin wrapped his hand around hers, gently tugged it away from his arm. But he didn't let go, didn't step back. Didn't look away. "What else is it, ma cocotte, when a man you don't know grabs you? When a man you don't know kisses you?"
"That's—it's not the same."
"Isn't it?" Corbin released her hand and stepped back, ran a hand across the back of his mouth to smother his strangled laugh. "Tell me, ma cocotte. What would you do if a man you didn't know grabbed you and kissed you?"
"I—I don't know."
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Corbin stepped closer, a sad smile tilting the corners of his mouth for a brief second. He reached out, grabbed a length of her hair between his fingers, slowly caressing it. Then he tucked it behind her ear and dropped his hand.
"You would punch him, I think." He stepped back, his gaze holding her in place. Her breath caught at the ferocity on his face, at the possessiveness that flashed in his eyes. "And I would tear him from limb to limb."
Clarity seized her in that moment, slamming into her with the force of a thousand trucks. The way he had punched Shane Masters. The way he had pushed her away in the parking lot. The way he had shielded her from the small crowd drifting outside—from the cell phones aimed his way as they realized he was still there.
She pressed her fist against her stomach, horror threatening to turn it inside out. "Oh God, it's my fault."
"No!" Corbin reached for her, dropped his hands at the last moment. "No, it is not your fault. What I did, what happened—it is my fault. Only me."
"But it is. You were worried someone might see me. You thought that if you..." Her voice trailed off, another horror seizing her. "I'm the one who brought Dawn. She said...she wanted to meet some of the players and I thought...oh God. What did I do? I think she may have planned this. I have to talk to her—"
"Lori, non." Corbin reached for her again, his hands large and warm where they gently gripped her arms. "No. You must not talk to anyone. You must especially not talk to her. I am the one who acted inappropriately...like—like a fool. It is my fault. Not yours. Nobody's."
"But it's not true! You didn't assault her—"
"But I did. I am the one who kissed her. That, ma douce, is assault. And I must take responsibility for it."
Lori choked back a sob, pushed back the rage, tried to clear her mind. He was right. Of course, he was right. But there had to be something he could do, something she could do. "What—what happens next?"
Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance Page 6
