But she still couldn't make herself turn the volume down, not when there was a chance they might say something about Corbin. Not about his goaltending—he wasn't in the net tonight, hadn't been for two weeks.
What she was waiting for was commentary on the assault incident.
Lori cringed just thinking the words. Assault. God, she still couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. And she still couldn't shake the feeling that it was all her fault. If she hadn't gone out that night, hadn't let Dawn convince her to take her, none of this would have happened.
Some of the backlash was already dying down—one of the twisted advantages of a digital age, where news had a shelf-life of hours, and drama had a shelf-life of a few days. Would it die down completely, eventually forgotten by the throngs who thrived on negativity? Maybe. But even if it did, that wouldn't help Corbin's reputation. People would remember, even years later.
There had been the news of that one hockey player, accused of rape years ago. Lori couldn't remember the outcome of the case—those details were lost to her—but she remembered the accusations, and the way his reputation was forever tarnished. His team had stuck by him and he kept playing—but that didn't mean people forgot.
And then there was that case all those years ago with the football player right here in Baltimore, the one who had beat his then-girlfriend in an elevator and stepped over her unconscious body on his way out. His career had been destroyed, and rightfully so. Again, she couldn't remember the outcome, if he had been charged or served any time. She didn't think so, but maybe that was because the girlfriend had married him and refused to testify. It didn't matter, because people didn't forget.
Is that what would happen to Corbin? Is that the only thing people would remember, years down the road?
"Have they said anything about it yet?"
Lori glanced over her shoulder, reached out to accept the fresh glass of wine from Danny, and shook her head. "No, nothing yet. Just talking about the lack of Banners' goaltending and speculating on why Dan Lory is still in net."
"I'm kind of wondering the same thing myself." Danny took his usual spot on the sofa behind her, stretching his legs out and getting comfortable. "Your uncle really has a hard-on for your boy, doesn't he?"
Lori nearly choked on the sip of wine, then turned and stared at Danny. He laughed and patted her on the back, maybe a little harder than was really necessary.
"I meant that in the straightest of ways, sweetheart, don't worry. Although I've always thought your uncle was a very sexy man, with those intense, piercing eyes and—"
"Eww, okay. Stop. That's my uncle you're talking about. I don't even want to—just, no. He's not sexy."
"Well your aunt must have thought so. She married him, didn't she?"
"My aunt thought he was an arrogant ass when she first met him. Which is kind of how I'm feeling about him right now."
"So what happened anyway? Why all the hatred?"
"You mean between Uncle Ian and Corbin? I honestly have no idea." Lori took another sip of wine then shifted so she wouldn't strain her neck looking at Danny. "I met Corbin right after I turned eighteen and was doing some intern work for the team. There was some team thing going on at The Maypole and we just started talking. Then I ran into him a week later and we had coffee. Uncle Ian went ballistic, didn't want me hanging around him. Apparently, there's some kind of unwritten bro-code where family members are off-limits. The whole thing was stupid. Still is."
"But that didn't stop you."
"From seeing Corbin? No. But nothing happened, we were just friends."
"Just friends, hm?" Danny reached out and ran his hand over her shoulder, digging in to the ever-present knot there. Lori sighed and let her head drop forward.
"Yes, just friends."
"Why don't I believe that?"
"I don't care what you believe, it's the truth."
"Sweetheart, I saw your face Monday morning when you came into work. Trust me, that was not a look one gets when they've spent the night with a friend."
"I never said I didn't want more. I did. I think he did, too. But he never let it go beyond friendship."
"But that didn't stop you from falling in love, did it?" There was sympathy in Danny's soft voice. Not just sympathy, but understanding as well, as if he knew exactly how she felt.
Lori blinked back the sudden moisture stinging her eyes, cleared her throat and shook her head. "No, it didn't. I, uh, I met him at his place the morning he was leaving for Vegas. When he got traded."
"And?"
Lori laughed, the sound bitter, full of self-crimination. "I asked him to take me with him, told him I'd pack up and leave right then and there."
"I take it that didn't work out?"
"Nope." She reached for her glass, twirled the stem between her fingers and watched the wine swirl, round and round. She sighed and took a long swallow, barely tasting it.
"And now?"
Lori looked over her shoulder, frowning. "Now, what?"
"You still love him." It was a statement, not a question. Lori didn't bother to deny it. Why should she, when Danny knew her better than most anyone?
"Yeah. Not that it matters, not with everything else going on."
"I don't understand. I thought you guys were together. Monday when you came in—"
"Yeah—we were together one night. That was it."
"But I thought—"
"He, uh, he doesn't want me dragged into everything that's going on." Corbin hadn't said it quite so bluntly, but she understood all the same. She just didn't know whether to be glad he'd said it in a text the following day, or if she would have preferred to hear it Monday morning before she left his place.
No—as much as reading that text had sucked, she was glad it had happened that way. She much preferred that, rather than having their time together marred by sadness. It wasn't like she didn't know it was coming—she had known it Sunday night, even before anything had happened between them. Had known it as they were lying in bed together. In the way he touched her. In the way he held her.
As if he was drinking her in. Memorizing every dip and curve and line of her body. Storing up memories for later.
Lori reached for her glass again, draining it one long swallow, trying to swallow back her sorrow along with the wine.
Danny gave her shoulder one last squeeze then dropped his hand. "Game's back on."
She nodded, her gaze moving to the television. The camera panned in on the players as they raced out onto the ice, getting into position. Lori sat up straighter, her head spinning at the sudden motion. Was she seeing things? She blinked, blinked again.
No, she wasn't. Corbin was getting into position in the net, swinging his stick from side-to-side, tapping the blade against the posts. He rolled his neck, swung his arms back and forth, stretching his shoulders before lowering into a crouch.
She heard Danny's low growl behind her, knew he was probably thinking the same thing she was when the camera panned in closer, focusing on Corbin's deep eyes behind the mask.
"Looks like your boy's back where he belongs. Maybe this a sign that things are about to change."
Maybe. But was Danny talking about the game...or something else?
Lori was afraid to hope.
Chapter Fifteen
"You going down?"
Corbin yanked the tie from around his neck and threw it on the bed. "No."
Shane swore under his breath. "Come on, man. You can't just sit up here by yourself, hiding."
"I'm not hiding."
"The hell you're not. You've hid out in your room every single night this week. You need to put that shit behind you, go have a drink. Just one to celebrate."
"Celebrate? What's there to celebrate? We lost. Again." Corbin's voice was flat, emotionless. But neither of the other men seemed to care because they kept hounding him when all he wanted was to be left alone.
"Yeah, but we came close to tying. That has to mean something."
"It means we still lost." He tilted his head back to undo the top button of his dress shirt, then another and another, until the shirt hung open over his plain white t-shirt.
"But Coach finally put you in. That has to be something worth celebrating."
"The only reason he put me in was because he didn't have a choice, not with the way Dan was playing." He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it to the bed next to his tie. Didn't they know he wanted to be left alone? How much plainer did he have to be?
Hunter moved to the empty bed and sat down on the edge. "Listen, I know you think you're doing the right thing by hiding up here. But I think you're only making things worse. You should go down with us, make an appearance and act like business as usual. Let people see you. Send them a message that you don't care about the bullshit."
Corbin grunted. "Yeah. Or make an appearance and have things stirred up again right when it's starting to die down."
For now. But for how long? His attorney had assured him that things were being handled, then in the next breath warned him that these things took time. How much time? How long would this be hanging over his head? It had only been two weeks, but those two weeks felt like a lifetime. And he still couldn't shake the feeling that a ten-ton anvil was ready to fall on his head. How could he, with the woman's threat of pressing charges hanging over him?
It was better that he stayed here, out of sight. Fade into the background as much as he could until things were settled once and for all. But how long would that take? Weeks? Months? Longer?
He couldn't bear the thought of this dragging out for that long.
"One beer. That's it. One beer, no women, and we'll put you safely in the corner."
He glanced over at Shane, the temptation of accepting his offer growing stronger. Would one beer hurt? If they stayed in a group, if he could fade into a corner...maybe.
"No. I don't think it's a good idea."
"It's a great idea. And it's better than sitting up here, wallowing in your misery. Alone."
Hunter nodded. "Yeah, what Masters said. It's not like you have anything better to do."
Corbin tried to ignore the truth of the words but couldn't. He didn't have anything better to do. Sleep was out of the question, at least for now. He could never sleep right after a game, not unless they were on the plane flying somewhere. He had too much adrenaline running through him, too much energy. And after the last few days, he was starting to feel cooped up. Edgy. Ready to bounce off the walls.
Maybe hanging with his teammates for one beer would help with some of that energy. Or at least get him out of this room long enough so he didn't feel like the walls were closing in.
And it would remove the temptation he had to text Lori. To call her.
A temptation that was growing stronger each day.
Even now, knowing he shouldn't, he wanted to reach for his phone and read the text that had been waiting for him after the game. Just two short lines, nothing personal. Certainly nothing to be read into.
Nice goaltending. Glad he put you in.
That was it. Short and sweet. Simple. Generic.
So why did it mean so much more?
Because it was the first time he'd heard from Lori since he'd sent her that text message Monday evening, before taking off for their extended road trip.
I'm sorry. For everything.
He should have said more. Should have explained what he meant. Lori deserved that much, if not more. No, she definitely deserved more. He had grabbed his phone just before take-off, ready to type more, to send her another message. To explain. To apologize. To tell her last night had been the nest night of his life and he'd never forget it. To tell her...he wasn't sure. To tell her too much, tell her things he had no business telling her, not now. But it didn't matter because she had sent a single text message back. Two simple words that sliced through him:
I know.
That was it—until her message tonight. And God help him, he wanted to respond. To call her and hear her voice, to tell her he'd been a fool. A fool eight years ago when he let her walk away the morning he left for Vegas. A fool Monday morning, when he let her walk away a second time, knowing even then what he was going to do later that day.
But how could he do anything else? Especially now, with everything that was going on? It wasn't just about her uncle, not anymore. If that was the only obstacle, he'd plow it over and keep going. But it wasn't, not even close.
And he couldn't let Lori get dragged into this mess.
"Yo. Earth to Gauthier. Are you listening?"
Corbin jerked back, pushed Shane's hand away from his face. "I'm listening."
"The hell you are. You're in one of your freaky ass zones. And since it's not game time, it can't be good so you need to snap out of it. Come on. Put your shirt back on and let's go. You're coming with us."
"I don't think—"
"Don't care." Shane grabbed the shirt from the bed and shoved it at Corbin. "Get dressed. One beer then you can come back up here and brood to your heart's content."
Corbin stared at the wad of material in his hands. Then, with a heavy sigh that broadcast his reluctance, he shrugged into the shirt and quickly buttoned it. Hunter clapped him on the back, then turned toward the door when someone started beating on it.
"Perfect timing."
"Perfect timing for what?" His question went unanswered—but not for long. Shane opened the door, revealing several of their teammates. Caleb Johnson and Jaxon Miller and Logan Simms. Brendan Hays. Christian Harper.
Caleb leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his gaze raking the room before finally settling on Corbin. "You guys talked him into it. Good."
"I don't think—"
"Yeah, and again—we don't care." Shane shoved him toward the door and out into the hallway. Corbin didn't have a chance to argue, didn't have the opportunity to dart back into the room. He was being herded toward the elevator, surrounded by well-meaning teammates who wouldn't let him leave.
They piled into the elevator, rode the short distance to the lobby, then emerged as one. Corbin was still in the center, still surrounded, like some kind of VIP surrounded by bodyguards. He almost laughed at the image, choked it back when they entered the bar.
Heads turned, eyes watching them. A dozen different stares were directed his way. Studying. Judging.
He stumbled to a stop, tried to back away. "This isn't a good idea—"
"Fuck them." Brendan's loud voice cut through the whispers, silencing them. Several seconds went by, slow and agonizing. Heads turned away and conversations resumed, noisy against the background of music and clanking glasses. As if those few seconds of judgment had never existed.
Had Corbin simply imagined it? He didn't think so, was sure he could still feel a few discreet stares directed his way. He took a deep breath and ignored them, the same way his teammates were doing as they moved toward the back corner of the bar.
This is when a few of the guys would leave. When they'd head to the bar and buy a round of drinks for the women sending interested glances their way. When they'd disappear, one by one, in search of company.
Only nobody got up to leave. Not a single man. Logan raised his hand, waving for one of the waitresses to come take their order. Corbin looked around, realized that somehow, he had been placed in the corner, just as Shane had said. Protected by his teammates, whether he wanted it or not.
Shane leaned over, a crooked grin curling the corner of his busted lip. "I told you. We're sending a message. We've got your back. Now relax and have that beer. Things are going to work out. You'll see."
Would they? Corbin didn't have Shane's confidence. But for the first time in two weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope.
No, not the first time. The second time. The first had been Sunday night, with Lori.
With the woman he kept hurting, even when he didn't mean to.
Chapter Sixteen
Corbin leaned his head against the leather-covered steering wheel and sucked in a deep breath
. One more. Again, until he was in danger of hyperventilating.
Even that would be better than sitting here, with his stomach twisted in knots, ready to turn itself inside out.
He shouldn't be here, should have never followed-through on the impulse. He should have stayed home, barricaded himself inside the bare apartment that was rapidly turning into a prison. There was a vast difference between going out for a beer with his team during their road trip and going out here, back in Baltimore. And there was definitely a huge difference between that and showing up here, at Lori's house. Unexpected. Unannounced.
He didn't even know if she was home, had no idea what her car looked like. So why was he here? Why had he given in to the sudden impulse to show up like this?
Because he wanted to see her. Needed to see her. It was irrational, this sudden urge. Only it wasn't sudden, not when it had been tearing at him for the last week, ever since that night his teammates had dragged him from his room.
They'd been back in town for a few days, things slowly returning to a semblance of normalcy—whatever that was now. The tension that had gripped the team for the last few weeks was mostly gone. They were still on a losing streak, still struggling, still dealing with that frustration, with the anger and short tempers of the coaching staff. But the other tension—the suspicion, the wary glances, the feeling of an impending explosion looming on the horizon...that was gone.
No, not gone. Not entirely. He didn't think it would ever be completely gone. But maybe, hopefully, the worst would be over.
He'd met with his attorney this afternoon, after practice. Had sat in stony silence as the older man had summarized the progress so far. They were close to an agreement and simply waiting on the final paperwork from the woman's lawyer. A few signatures, an obscene amount of money, and it would be mostly over.
The money didn't bother him, not really. With his salary and his investments, he didn't need to worry about it. Those few years in Vegas had taught him a painful lesson about spending versus investing, one he hadn't forgotten. No, it wasn't the money that bothered him—it was the dizzying speed with which it had happened. Four weeks, when he had expected it to take much longer. Even his attorney had been a little surprised, although he'd tried to hide it.
Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance Page 11
