Corbin released her and stepped back with a careless shrug that did nothing to hide his tension. "Her lawyer has assured mine she will not press charges...in exchange for a settlement."
"A settlement?" Lori's voice shook with disbelief. "A settlement? She wants money?"
"Yes, of course."
"That's not right! You didn't mean—"
"Intent does not matter, ma cocotte. I was wrong, and I will take responsibility for what I did."
"But what she's doing—she's making a mockery of every other woman who's ever been assaulted! All the women who have never had a chance for justice. What about them? And what about you? What happens to you?"
A shadow crossed his eyes. "For now, I keep playing. And then..." He looked away for a brief second, the muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. "It's too soon to tell, but I think it will be okay, eh?"
"And that's it? She gets money and you get smeared in the public eye? That's not right. What she's doing—"
"Is no more than I deserve for what I did. And what I did was wrong. Surely you must see that."
Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away. She understood what he was saying, she did. And on the most basic level, she knew he was right. She tried to imagine how she would feel if someone had grabbed her and kissed her. She didn't have to imagine—she knew.
How many times had men propositioned her? Brushed up against her in a bar? Made lewd comments as she passed by? Dozens? Hundreds? And mostly she ignored them, or—depending on her mood—she might berate them, cut them down with a scathing reply or a superior look. How had she acted two nights ago, when Corbin had explained he hit his teammate for saying something inappropriate about her? She hadn't been upset—she had brushed it off, had even laughed! But never, not in a million years, would she ever think of accusing them of assault then demanding money as a payout.
So who was wrong? Dawn? Or her?
Both of them. Her, for becoming so immune to it that she simply expected it as normal behavior from certain men, and for not being more vocal. Dawn, for going to the other extreme and taking advantage and turning it into a financial windfall.
"Corbin, I—" She hesitated, not sure what to say. She was sorry? She wished she had never brought Dawn along with her the other night? She wished she had stayed home instead of going out? Yes, all of that and more. But she couldn't get the words out. And Corbin didn't give her a chance to, anyway. He simply leaned forward and grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the door.
"You should get back to work, ma cocotte, so I can get ready to leave. Let things work themselves out."
She waited while he opened the door, stepped into the hallway then turned back to face him. "But what about you? What's going to—"
"Don't worry about me. I'm a grown man, eh? I'll survive."
Lori heard the forced lightness in his voice, saw the briefest shadow cross his eyes. She didn't stop to think, just leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek before stepping back.
"I'm here for you, Corbin. If you need anything—"
"I will call." He gave her a brief smile, there and gone so quickly, she almost missed it. Then he closed the door, throwing the lock as she walked away.
It wasn't until she was in her car, driving back to the office, that she realized Corbin didn't have her number.
Chapter Nine
Corbin sat near the back of the plane, taking advantage of the empty seat next to him and stretching out. He told himself he preferred being alone; that being alone gave him time to relax, to settle. To focus on exercising his eyes, to focus on focusing. It didn't matter that the game wasn't until tomorrow evening, didn't matter that his vision was blurring from following each blip and dot on the screen in front of him.
Just like the whispers didn't matter, or the speculative glances tossed his way. Wondering, judging. Believing? He didn't know.
And he lied to himself and said he didn't care.
He turned the tablet off and tossed it on the seat beside his stretched-out legs, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Stunned disbelief washed over him again. He didn't bother to push it away, didn't bother to ignore it the way he'd been doing since yesterday at practice, when all hell had broken loose.
How? How could it have happened? What a fucking stupid question. He knew how. He hadn't been thinking, hadn't even stopped to consider the ramifications. How many times had his teammates—from different teams, in different parts of the country—done the same thing? Had a woman approach them, touch them, wrap an arm around their waist and lean up in hopes of a scoring a kiss from a professional athlete? Dozens. Probably hundreds. It had never mattered before, he had never stopped to think—
He pushed the thoughts from his mind. It didn't matter what he thought. It didn't matter how many times the same scenario had been played out in the past. What mattered was what happened two nights ago, and the ramifications of that single kiss meant to distract curious onlookers.
He was guilty of assault. There was no other word for it, no getting around it. What he'd done was assault. How the kiss had happened didn't matter. His intent didn't matter. Whatever intent the woman—Dawn Lowry—had didn't matter.
It was as he told Lori: he'd been wrong. And Crisse! Lori. What must she think of him?
He squeezed his eyes tighter, pinching the bridge of his nose as an image of Lori's face materialized in his mind. He hadn't wanted to let her in earlier, had hoped she would give up and leave. But she'd kept knocking, so hard that she was in danger of hurting her hand, so he'd given in and opened the door.
Given in and let her inside his barren apartment, just as he'd let her inside his heart all those years ago.
He kept his eyes closed, focusing on the expression in her beautiful gaze. The disbelief. The initial horror when he tried to convince her of his guilt. The anger and steadfast belief that flashed in her eyes when she rushed to his defense. He needed to keep that image in his mind, in his heart.
She was the only one who believed him. Against all odds, she believed him. He needed to remember that in the cold days and months to come, because he wouldn't be able to see her again.
And because—in spite of how much he had tried to reassure her—he didn't think this would go away so quickly or so easily. The woman's lawyer had already requested a specific sum, one that made his gut clench and his own attorney balk before making a much lower counter-offer. How long would it go on? How long would this be hanging over his head? And would the woman press charges if her demands weren't met? He had lived in Vegas for five long years, knew all about playing the odds. And if he was betting man—which he wasn't—he would be forced to bet against himself.
No, he couldn't allow himself to see Lori, couldn't allow her to be dragged into his mess—a mess he had created in some wayward, awkward attempt to draw attention away from her. Even if he paid out the woman's initial request and she quietly went away, there was still the public's opinion. And that, he knew, would never go away—whether he was guilty or not. No, he couldn't—would not—allow Lori to be dragged into this.
And that didn't even factor in the protective streak of her uncle.
Corbin sighed then shifted against the seat, trying to ignore the stares he felt. No, impossible. He was in the back, alone, nobody could be staring at him. It was just his imagination, the pangs of a guilty conscience.
He opened his eyes and bit back a strangled gasp when he saw two sets of eyes looking straight at him. He quickly schooled his face into an impassive mask and stared back at Shane Masters and Hunter Billings. Silence settled around them, thick and tight, broken only when Masters pushed Corbin's feet from the empty seat and quickly sat down.
He leaned forward, his voice pitched low. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have never said what I did if I had known you two had a thing going."
"You should have never said it at all, eh? And we don't have a thing."
Shane snorted, the sound garbled and muffled. He reach
ed up and gingerly fingered his nose, then sat back and shook his head. "Yeah, right. That's why you fucking decked me the way you did."
Corbin stared at the other man for several long seconds—long enough that the other man squirmed in the seat. Then he shifted and looked away, refusing to let either man see any expression that might creep into his eyes. "There is nothing between us."
"Bullshit." Hunter's loud voice drew the attention of several teammates a few rows up. He winced, waved his hand in a general apology, then looked back at Corbin. "Bullshit. There's something between the two of you. Don't deny it."
"There is nothing."
"Yeah, uh-huh. Sure there's not." Hunter shifted, placing one knee on the aisle seat in the row in front of Corbin, then leaning over the seatback like a small child worried about being left out. "And you haven't just met, either. You've known her a while, haven't you?"
Corbin hesitated, wondering if he should continue ignoring them, knowing they wouldn't leave even if he did. "I knew her when I was here before. A long time ago."
"Yeah? Did you guys have a thing going back then?"
Corbin turned to Shane, the frown on his face fierce enough to make the other man sit back. He raised both hands in supplication—or maybe in self-defense.
"Hey. It was just a question. I didn't mean anything by it."
Corbin grunted then settled back in the seat, trying to wedge himself into the corner. Maybe if he feigned sleep, they would leave him alone.
But no, that was nothing more than wishful thinking. The two men exchanged a weighted look then glanced up the aisle, as if making sure they were still alone. Then they both leaned in closer.
"Why are you taking the heat for this? Why are you letting her get away with it?"
"Because I was wrong. Because I'm guilty."
Shane blew out a sigh of disgust. "For fuck's sake, you are not. It was just a fucking kiss. Since when is that assault?"
"Since she didn't ask for it. Since she—"
"The hell she didn't."
Corbin turned toward Hunter, torn between grabbing him by the collar and knocking some sense into him or ignoring him. "No woman asks to be kissed without permission—"
"Dude, she grabbed my fucking junk at the bar. And she slipped Masters here her number. The woman was on the prowl."
"Seriously. I thought she was getting ready to invite us for a three-way when someone came in and said they saw you in the parking lot. Then she motioned for some guy to follow her and tore off after you."
"Yeah, along with twenty other people."
Corbin sat up, hope flaring in his chest. It died just as quickly. Had the woman been planning something? It didn't matter, because he had kissed her.
Hadn't he? Yes, he had. At least, he thought so. He remembered bumping into her, remembered bracing her with a hand on her arm. Remembered thinking how much she resembled Lori at first glance, just as he became aware of people snapping pictures with their phones. Remembered someone asking who he had been kissing.
And then—he frowned, the details hazy. He remembered the panic he felt, the worry that someone would chase after Lori, that someone would snap her picture and post it on social media.
A laugh, light and airy. Someone saying "Oh, that was just me." And then his lips were pressed against the woman's. Just a quick kiss, closed-mouth, the woman's lips cold and off somehow. He pulled away after the brief contact, hid his grimace with a forced smile and wondered why the woman had such a bright smile on her face, remembered thinking that maybe she was just as stunned as he was. Then guilt had swept over him and he had leaned closer to apologize, to ask her name and offer her tickets and—
Had he been set-up? No. It was too random, too risky, with no guarantees that he'd even fall for the set-up. And even if it had been one, it still didn't matter. He had kissed her. He said as much to the two men watching him, only to have them dismiss his words with muffled swearing.
"But we know what really happened. That shit statement her lawyer made about you hitting me because we were arguing over her? It's fucking bullshit and you know it. All you have to do is let us tell someone what really happened and—"
Corbin shook his head, immediately dismissing the idea. "No."
"What the fuck? Seriously?"
"I said no."
"Why the fuck not?"
"Because I was wrong. Because—"
Hunter leaned forward, sudden clarity filling his gaze. "It's because of Coach's niece, isn't it?"
Corbin started to shake his head, wanting to deny it. He stopped, sat back with another sigh and leveled a scowl at both men. "Leave her out of it. I do not want her involved. At all. Nobody says anything."
"But—"
"Non. No. That's final."
The two men exchanged another long look. Shane muttered something beneath his breath then leaned forward, his voice an angry hiss. "You need your fucking head examined. Are you worried about Coach getting pissed because you were with his niece? Because if that's the case, that's the least of your worries and you know it. Shit like this—it doesn't go away."
"I said no—"
"Let me explain what happened. I'll tell Coach what I said about his niece, how you were defending her. We'll tell him what that crazy bitch was doing. He'll figure out what to do, get the team's lawyers or PR gurus or something on it and—"
"No." The word came out more sharply than he intended. He pulled a steadying breath in through his nose, slowly released it and lowered his voice. "No. It's done. Both of you stay out of it. Lori stays out of it."
"That makes no fucking sense. Why not let us speak up? Why not let us tell what happened—"
"Because I was wrong. I shouldn't have done what I did."
"Are you trying to be the fucking poster boy for bad decisions? Is that what this is about? Some twisted fucking warning for what not to do?" Shane curled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the leather seat. "Because if that's the case, we get it. Now let us help—"
"That's not what this is about." And fuck, wouldn't his agent have a laugh at that idea? Especially after all the mistakes and bad decisions Corbin had made for five out of the last eight years.
"It's about Coach's niece, isn't it? About Lori?" Hunter leaned in closer, something close to amazement tingeing his voice. "You're doing this for her. Because you're afraid someone will find out about her, aren't you?"
"No. Of course not. I told you—"
But Hunter interrupted him again, disbelief and amazement mingling in his eyes as he stared at Corbin. "Man, you must really love her."
Corbin opened his mouth to deny it, but no words came out so he simply shook his head.
Love?
No, not even close.
He didn't know anything about love.
Chapter Ten
Quiet settled around Lori, the darkness of the night acting like a thick blanket that muted the sounds drifting from inside the house. She jammed her hands into the oversized pockets of the coat and huddled into the corner of the porch swing. It would be so easy to just close her eyes and drift off, to forget about the events of the last six days. But she couldn't, no more than she could forget about the family gathered inside for Sunday dinner.
How could she go back inside and act like nothing was wrong? How could she paste a bright smile on her face and ignore the questioning glances from her uncle? Or ignore the tension that seemed to grow heavier between them with each passing minute?
She wasn't the only one picking up on the tension—she couldn't be. Or was she simply imagining it? Was she overreacting? Had everything that had happened this past week warped her sensitivity to the point where she was picking up tension everywhere she looked?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
But could anyone blame her if that was the case?
The incident in the parking lot—she still couldn't bring herself to call it assault, even after her conversation with Corbin—hadn't died down yet. The comments being posted o
n social media sickened her and she had been instructed, in no uncertain terms, to ignore them. To not comment. To pretend they weren't even there. Everything regarding the incident was being handled by staff way above her, specialists who dealt in situations like this, while she was charged with focusing on the feel-good fluff.
How could she focus on that, when her heart shredded a little more with each negative comment she saw? When she heard the boos whenever Corbin was announced at the beginning of a game? Not that he'd been introduced the last two games. He'd been in net for the first game this week, the road game he'd left for right after she went to his place. But Uncle Ian had started Dan Lory the last two games, even though he wasn't anywhere near as good as Corbin.
Never mind that the Banners had lost both games. That was probably Corbin's fault, too.
Because he'd become a distraction.
That was why Lori was sitting out here in the cold. She needed to get away from the judgment in Uncle Ian's voice when he'd been talking about the last two games. Needed to get away from the disappointment in his gaze whenever he looked at her.
It was too much for her to handle, sitting around the large family room with everyone talking all at once. She couldn't pretend it didn't bother her, couldn't pretend to get lost in the dozen different conversations going on all at once between her dad and step-mom, her aunt and uncle, her brother and her cousins.
What was she going to do when dinner was finally ready? How could she go back inside and pretend everything was fine? She didn't think she could, but she didn't have a choice. No way could she leave, not now, not without being subjected to a hundred different questions she didn't want to answer.
She sighed, her breath escaping as a puff of fog in the cold night air. She reached out with her foot and pushed against the porch railing, setting the swing in motion with a small squeak of the chains.
Squeak, back.
Squeak, front.
Squeak, back.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, losing herself in the hypnotic sway of the swing. Maybe she drifted off. Maybe she was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear the screen door open and close. One second, she was by herself; the next, she felt someone watching her. Staring at her.
Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance Page 7
