Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Fuck! What the fuck? Corbin scrambled to his knees as bedlam erupted around him. Christian lunged in front of him, his stick held out in front of him, his legs braced wide apart—shielding Corbin, protecting him.

  Hunter and Jaxon were pulling at Harrison as several more players from Tampa launched into the fray. He heard a whistle, the shrill blasts almost lost in the noise of the crowd as the officials skated in to break things up.

  Logan Simms got in two more punches, landing them square against the jaw of one of Tampa's wingers before he was finally pulled off and pushed back by one of the officials.

  Christian turned and grabbed his arm, helping Corbin to his feet before bending down to retrieve his helmet.

  "What the hell was all that about?"

  Corbin shook his head, jammed his helmet back on his head and made sure it was secure. "Fuck if I know."

  They stood there, watching as the net was put back into position, as equipment was returned. Christian tapped him on the leg with his stick then skated back to the bench. Coach Donovan looked like he was ready to launch himself over the boards, yelling at the refs and motioning with his ever-present roll of papers.

  Corbin turned away and ducked his head, hiding a grin. Coach Donovan hadn't been quite so loud last week behind the barn—although maybe it would have been better if he had been. Donovan tightly controlling his temper was a hell of a lot more intimidating—and probably ten times deadlier. Corbin still had the bruise on his cheek to prove it, even if it had faded to nothing more than a smudge.

  The shrill blast of a whistle cut through the chants of the crowd. Corbin watched, listening as penalties were handed out.

  The crowd went wild when the goalie interference penalty was called, along with a slashing call against Tampa. Corbin nodded and rolled his shoulders, still hiding a grin. Good. This was exactly what the Banners needed. If they could capitalize on the five-on-three, if they could focus and do what they did best, they could put this one in the win-column.

  And break that fucking losing streak that had been weighing them down.

  Corbin glanced at the clock. Three minutes, twenty seconds. They could do this. He knew it. Felt it.

  He rolled his head from side-to-side, crouched into position, then swung the stick in a wide arc around him, hitting each post twice. He pulled in a deep breath, released it through his nose, focused his concentration once more at center ice...and waited.

  The puck dropped and a split second later, the Banners were in control. Caleb skated back, slid to the side, passed it to Brendan Hays, who took off toward the net. Shane and Caleb were right behind him, getting into position. Back and forth, nice and easy as screams of "Shoot it! Shoot it!" echoed around the arena.

  Not yet, not quite yet...

  Corbin watched as the passing grew tighter, faster, changing directions before the three players from Tampa could react. Caleb skated behind the net, executed a perfect one-eighty as Brendan sent the puck his way—and shot it straight at the five-hole. The light flashed behind the net, the screaming crowd drowning out the horn as his teammates celebrated.

  Corbin released a quick sigh, pumped his stick in the air twice, then tilted back his helmet and reached for the water bottle sitting on the net behind him. He shot a long stream into his mouth, swished it around, then spit it to the side before finally drinking. He closed his eyes, opened them, then squeezed the bottle, his gaze following the drops of water as they arced through the air in front of him.

  One more time then he tossed the bottle back to the net and got into position, ready for the last two minutes of the game.

  But there was nothing to be ready for. Caleb's goal had shattered the curse and they were unstoppable for the last two minutes, even putting an insurance goal up on the boards.

  Not that they needed it.

  The mood heading back to the locker room was a thousand times better than it had been during the two intermissions. The tension was gone, as well as the frowns. Everyone was pounding each other on the back, yelling and shouting.

  Corbin headed into the locker room behind Caleb, only to be stopped by Coach Donovan. Guilt immediately washed over him, the way it did whenever Coach had looked at him this past week, making him wonder if he knew what had happened in his family room last Saturday night.

  If he knew what they had done—him and Lori. If he knew his niece had—

  And fuck, he couldn't think about that now, not with Coach watching him that way. He couldn't take the chance of anything showing on his face—and it would, just as it did every single time he relived that moment.

  And he relived it at least twenty times a day.

  He schooled his face into what he hoped was a mask of casual indifference and met Coach Donovan's steady gaze with one of his own. "Yeah, Coach?"

  "Are you up for an interview?"

  The question surprised him. He'd been kept away from the reporters since the incident, had been ordered not to address the media at all. The team and the attorneys would take care of everything. Had that changed?

  Obviously, or Coach Donovan wouldn't be asking him the question. Part of him wondered if it had anything to do with the picture of him that had appeared on social media on Wednesday, two days after the incident had been resolved.

  It had been a picture of him flat on his ass in the dirty straw with a newborn calf partially in his lap. His shirt and pants were drenched with fluid made up of things he still didn't want to know about. But it was the expression on his face that spoke volumes: disgust, amazement, awe...and, somehow, laughter.

  And the caption with the picture simply said:

  Goalie Corbin Gauthier makes another great save!

  #Banners #hockey #greatsave #goalielove

  The picture had been posted from the Banners' account but Lori swore she hadn't been behind it—and he believed her. She wasn't the one responsible for the picture, either—the angle was all wrong. She had been standing behind him and to the side, and the picture had been taken from in front of the cow—exactly where Coach Donovan had been.

  The same coach who was watching him now, waiting for his answer.

  Corbin pushed the helmet back on his head and finally nodded. "Uh, yeah. Sure. I can do an interview."

  "Okay, get ready. I'll send them your way. And if anyone asks about the incident or settlement, your answer is no comment. Got it?"

  Corbin nodded, trying not to show his sudden hesitation. Would anyone ask, or would they be given instructions not to approach the subject? He hoped it was the latter—he wasn't ready for questions. Not now, not ever. He just wanted it to go away, to pretend it had never happened. The woman had her money—let him have his peace.

  He shrugged out of his jersey and pads, placed everything on the floor by his feet as he took a seat. Someone tossed him a sports drink and he cracked the lid, tilted his head back and drank greedily. Then the reporters were there, a cluster of five, most of them familiar faces.

  What was his opinion on the game tonight?

  How did it feel to put one in the win column?

  Did he know what was behind the interference in the third period? Did he think the power play so late in the game helped energize the team?

  Corbin answered the questions, smiling and nodding when expected, turning serious when needed. Someone even asked about the picture of him with the calf, and he laughingly replied that he never missed a chance to practice.

  Then it came, the question that wasn't supposed to be asked. He didn't recognize the man, couldn't see the information on the press credentials hanging from the lanyard around the man's neck. And it didn't matter, not when the question hung in the air around them, waiting to be answered.

  "Corbin, can we get your thoughts on the settlement with Dawn Lowry?"

  "I'm sorry, I can't comment—"

  "How about your feelings on the way it's impacted the team? The Banners have been on a losing streak for the last few weeks. Do you think the incident had anything to do with that?
"

  "Um—" Corbin looked around, his gaze searching for help—from anyone. But everyone seemed to be busy doing something else. He cleared his throat, tried to grin when he looked back at the guy. "Yeah, we were going through a tough time. All teams do, eh? I'm still new, still adjusting to the system, but it's coming together and we're really working hard. As for the losing streak, well, I think we took care of that this afternoon, eh?"

  "But what about the incident? Do you think it's going to continue hanging over your head, even with the settlement? How does the team get over something like that professionally? And how do you get over something like that personally?"

  Corbin stared at the small microphone, his mind spinning as he tried to come up with an answer. But then Coach was there, ushering them away, leaving Corbin alone.

  It didn't matter, not when he was still searching for the answer. Would it always be hanging over his head? Would he be able to get over it, professionally and personally?

  Five minutes ago, he would have thought the answer had been yes. But now—

  Now he wasn't so sure.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Traditional Italian music played in the background, a perfect backdrop for a romantic evening out. The cozy corner table, away from the curious glances of the crowd. Gentle candlelight from the elegant taper placed in the middle of the table. A bottle of expensive red wine in a lacquer holder off to the side, uncorked and half-full.

  Everything was perfect—except the man sitting across from her. Lori swirled the wine around her glass and took a delicate sip, watching him over the rim. It didn't matter, because Corbin wasn't even looking at her. His gaze was focused on the silverware in front of him, on the knife that he kept flipping back and forth against the linen tablecloth.

  Why was he so preoccupied? He should be excited, especially after the Banners' win this afternoon. Lori wanted to think he'd be excited about this date as well—it was the first time they had managed to go out for a real date on a Saturday night. Saturday games were generally at night, not in the afternoon like today's game against Tampa. Not that they had been together long enough to have many Saturday nights out—or any nights out, actually. How long had it been? A little more than a month, but it felt like so much more. How was that possible, when they hadn't spent much of that time together? And certainly not anywhere near as much as she wanted.

  It didn't matter, because she knew how she felt—realized it that first night weeks ago when she ran into him coming out of the elevator. What she felt for Corbin—it had never stopped. She had simply deluded herself into thinking it had, into thinking that what she felt all those years ago was nothing more than a teenager's—a young woman's—crush.

  But it was so much more than that.

  Because they knew each other already. Because her feelings had already been in place. It didn't matter that eight years had passed since the last time they saw each other. It was the same thing as when you ran into a friend you hadn't seen in years, and the bonds of friendship were so strong, you simply picked up where you left off.

  That's how it was with Corbin—only better. Back then, neither had acted on their feelings. But now...now, they were older, with none of the obstacles facing them that had been in their way all those years.

  At least, she didn't think there were obstacles in their way, not anymore. But maybe she had been wrong.

  The waiter appeared with their entrees, arranging the plates of savory dishes in front of them, then asking if they needed anything else. Corbin finally looked up, offered the waiter a brief smile and shook his head.

  Then simply looked down again, his gaze now focused on the steaming food in front of him instead of the knife he had been twirling back and forth.

  Lori drained her glass with a sigh then reached for the bottle. Corbin stopped her, his hand gently brushing hers away as he refilled the glass for her then returned the bottle to the holder. She watched him, waiting for him to say something, anything. To at least look at her, acknowledge her in some way.

  But he didn't.

  She bit back a sigh then gently nudged his foot under the table. "So the losing streak is over. That's something to celebrate, right?"

  He finally looked at her, but without any of the excitement she expected. Even his smile was forced, nothing more than a brief curling of his lips, hasty and meaningless.

  "Yes. Good."

  "What was up with that scuffle in front of the net in the last period? That pretty much came out of nowhere, huh?"

  Corbin shrugged, his gaze not quite meeting hers. "You watched the game?"

  "Of course, I watched the game—I was live-tweeting. Part of my job. Even if it wasn't, I would have still watched." She pasted a smile on her face, wondering why she even bothered because Corbin still wasn't looking at her. "I don't think I breathed much after Caleb tied it at the start of the third, though. That was definitely a nail-biter."

  Corbin absently nodded. His gaze drifted to hers, quickly looked away. "Did you see the interviews after the game?"

  "No. I was officially off the clock as soon as the horn sounded. Why? Did I miss anything interesting? Please don't tell me they interviewed Marc Sanford. Every time he says something, it gets all twisted and we have to worry about putting out fires the next day. I'm supposed to be off tomorrow, I don't want—"

  "No, not Marc. Me."

  Lori leaned back in the chair, uncrossed her legs and braced both feet on the floor while trying to hide her surprise. They had let Corbin be interviewed? How? Why? The last she had heard, he was still on media lockdown until all the interest over the 'undisclosed settlement' died down.

  She reached for her glass, took a hurried sip and almost choked. "So...how did it go? Any surprises?"

  "Non. No surprises."

  Her stomach twisted at the tone of his voice, at the expression of defeat on his face. She straightened and took a deep breath to mentally prepare herself. "Did they, uh, did they ask about—"

  "Of course, they did. Why wouldn't they?"

  "They shouldn't have. They shouldn't have even let reporters near you. Who okayed it?"

  Corbin shrugged, his gaze still not meeting hers. He reached for the glass of wine that had been sitting at his elbow, untouched, for the last twenty minutes. She could see the tension in him, in the way his hand closed around the glass, hard enough she expected it to shatter. He released the glass, dropped his hand to the table without taking a sip.

  "Corbin, what happened?"

  "Nothing I shouldn't have expected, eh?"

  "How did you answer? Did you answer? You shouldn't have—"

  "Don't worry, ma cocotte, I know how to respond to the media. You won't have any fires to put out in the morning."

  She sat back, stunned. Shaken. By both his words and the chilled bitterness in his voice. Is that what he really thought? That she was worried about having to address any repercussions on social media, instead of worrying about him? How could he even think that?

  "I didn't mean it that way." Her words were clipped, her voice just as chilled as his. He finally looked up, his eyes carefully blank for a few long seconds—too long, long enough for her heart to twist, for her stomach to clench and roll.

  Then he blinked, ran a hand over his face to muffle his long sigh. Gone was the frightening blankness in his eyes, replaced with regret and remorse and pain.

  "I'm sorry, ma cocotte. I did not mean—" He reached for her hand, his fingers trembling as they grazed hers. Then he moved his hand away, curled it loosely by the glass instead as his gaze slipped from hers.

  Her heart calmed, her stomach unknotted—and regret filled her at the loss of his touch, at the pain and disappointment she heard in his voice. She leaned forward, dropped her hand over his and squeezed. "Corbin, what happened?"

  "Nothing I shouldn't have expected."

  "Like what? What did they say?"

  He shook his head, was quiet for so long, she didn't think he was going to answer. Minutes stret
ched around them, filled with nothing but the soft background music and the clatter of silverware, with the murmured conversations of other diners.

  With the pounding of her heart as she waited.

  His gaze slid to her hand, resting gently on top of his. She held her breath, watching, wondering if he would move it again. But he didn't. Instead, he turned his hand over, threaded his fingers with hers. Holding, comforting...seeking. But seeking what?

  "Corbin? What did they say?"

  "One reporter—I don't know who—asked if I thought this would ever go away. If I thought it would always be hanging over my head. I wanted to say yes but..." His voice trailed off, the words disappearing into the soft noises in the background.

  "But?"

  He finally looked at her, the expression in his eyes stealing her breath. Lost. Alone. Frightened. Disheartened. "I don't think it will, ma cocotte. I think it will always be there. That people will see me and always remember. Always wonder."

  Lori's throat clogged at his choked words, at the despair in his voice and in his eyes. She swallowed against the lump of emotion, forced a smile she didn't feel as she squeezed his hand. "It's only been a little more than a week, Corbin. Give it time. People will forget."

  "Will they? Should they?"

  Two different questions, their meanings worlds apart. She focused on answering the first, knowing she couldn't answer the second. "They will. The public has short memories now. Something else will happen, something that will demand their attention and they'll forget—"

  "But will they? Really? You know things never disappear, Lori. Never." He sighed and removed his hand from hers, grabbed his wine glass and downed the contents in a single swallow. "I'm sorry, ma cocotte. I have ruined our night out, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. You should eat, enjoy the food in spite of the company, eh?"