He had raced through his shower, barely managing to dry off enough to get his dress shirt on, not even bothering with the undershirt. He hadn't bothered with his tie, either, just simply draped it around his neck, grabbed his small duffel bag, and took off toward the elevator.
More reporters were waiting for him there but someone must have called ahead because two of the security staff were there as well, keeping the reporters away from him until he reached his car.
His shiny, low-slung, powerful car, that had earned every last dollar he'd spent on it by proving just how fast it could really go. He pulled into Lori's street, the rear end fishtailing as he made the turn. A spot was open two doors down from her townhouse and he slid into it, cut the ignition, and jumped from the car. Then he was banging on her door, his heart pounding, the need to see her nearly knocking him to his knees.
Danny opened the door, his calm gaze raking Corbin from top to bottom. "Took you long enough. I was starting to worry. Although you do clean up nice."
Corbin pushed past him, his frantic gaze searching the empty living room. "Where is she? Is she okay?"
"She's fine. She's upstairs in her bedroom. I'm assuming you don't need directions?"
Corbin shook his head, moving toward the stairs only to be stopped when Danny grabbed his arm. Something cold was pressed into his hand and he looked down, more anger rushing through him when Danny handed him the cold pack.
"She's fine," he repeated. His eyes darkened, filling with lethal warning as he leaned toward Corbin. "But I'll tell you right now. I don't care how honorable you think you're being—you hurt her, and I will wipe the floor with your ass. I love that woman like a sister and I won't stand by for anyone hurting her."
"Good, because I love her too and I have no intention of hurting her."
Danny studied him for a long minute then finally nodded. He released Corbin's arm and stepped back, a faint smile on her face. "I'm glad we're in agreement. Now make sure you tell her that."
He grabbed a thick wool coat from the coat rack and shrugged into it, then moved toward the door. "I'll lock up. Make sure she stays in bed to rest. I think twenty-four hours should do it."
Corbin laughed. "You're a doctor now, eh?"
"No. But I almost married one. Learned a lot from him the two years we were together." Danny winked then opened the door, throwing the lock before pulling it closed behind him. Corbin turned and hurried up the steps, taking them two at a time in his rush to reach Lori.
She was stretched out on her bed, propped up by several pillows behind her, reading something. She glanced over at him, smiled, then dropped the e-reader on the nightstand.
"Has the mother hen left yet?"
Corbin moved closer, his gaze fastened on her face. A bruise marred her cheek, the skin mottled and swollen. There was a small cut in the middle of the bruise, in the center of her cheekbone.
Corbin growled, a string of angry French falling from his mouth as he moved to the side of the bed and sat next to her. Lori laughed, then winced and grabbed the side of her face.
"Stop. It hurts when I laugh."
"You shouldn't be laughing. There is nothing funny about this, ma cocotte."
"You're just as bed as Danny. It's not that bad so stop looking at me like that."
Corbin moved her hand, replaced it with the cold pack and gently held it in place. "Foolish. So foolish. Why did you do it?"
"Why?" She brushed his hand away and moved the cold pack. "Because I had to do something. I didn't feel like waiting another eight years for you to come to your senses."
"Lori—"
"Don't. It's over, okay? And if people still want to believe her instead of you, I don't care. I don't care what anyone believes. I don't care what anyone thinks. I just want to be with you."
"Lori—"
"Lecture me all you want, it's not going to matter. I love you, Corbin. I always have. And if people want to believe lies and innuendos, then let them. I know better. I know the real you and—"
He leaned forward and kissed her, captured her sigh with his mouth, swallowed his own sigh when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.
He finally pulled away, rested his forehead against hers and smiled at the dazed look in her eyes. "I wasn't going to lecture you, ma cocotte. I simply wanted to tell you that I love you."
"Oh. Well." She blinked, a small flush staining her face. "And in English, too. Wow."
"You don't like my French?"
"Only because I don't understand it—even if it is a bit of a turn-on."
Corbin laughed and sat back, whipping the tie from around his neck. He tossed it on the chair then shrugged out of his coat and shirt, throwing them to the side. "A turn-on, eh? You've never told me that before."
She watched as he kicked his shoes off and tugged off his socks, as he stood and undid his belt and pushed his pants off. "Well, I can't tell you everything, can I? I need to keep you guessing."
He pulled back the covers and slid in beside her, settling her next to him as he wrapped one arm around her. Holding her, simply holding her. "I think you will always keep me on my toes, eh? Like tonight. Your cheek, is it really okay?"
"Yes, it's fine. I mean, it stings a little but not like it did. I had no idea she had that stupid ring on." She raised the cold pack to her cheek and held it in place. "How do you guys do this every night? The fights, I mean. It doesn't exactly tickle, you know."
"It's part of the game. The adrenaline masks it. And I don't fight much, not as goalie."
"Maybe not, but still—"
"What happened, Lori? Why? Why would you take such a risk?" He pressed a kiss against the top of her head, her hair soft and warm under his lips. She moved the cold pack and tilted her head back, staring up at him.
"I told you why. I had to—"
"But you didn't know it would work. And what would you have done if she had done more than hit you? When I think what could have happened to you, what she could have done—"
"Nothing was going to happen."
"But she hit you—"
"Well, yeah. That was part of the plan. It wouldn't have worked if she hadn't hit me."
His heart slammed into his chest and he swore. "All that risk, when you didn't even know if it would work."
"Oh, we knew it was going to work. We were going to actually post it on the team's social media but—"
"On the team's? You could have been fired!"
"Yeah, I know. But that was a chance we were willing—"
"We? Who is we?"
"Me and Danny. Who else?"
Corbin swore again. Of course, he should have known.
No, he shouldn't have. He could have never even guessed that she would do such a thing.
"Anyway, we were going to put it on the team's social media but then I remembered TR. She's doing some stuff for the Blades and helped with that whole mess with Caleb and Shannon two months ago—right before you came back. And she loves stuff like this so I figured, why not? And she agreed so we did."
Corbin watched her, his heart filling with emotions that had no name, emotions stronger than love and so powerful, they took his breath away. What she had done for him, what she had been willing to risk...he was torn between kissing her or holding her in his arms and never letting her go. Both, he decided. He definitely need to do both.
"You're not mad, are you?"
"Non. No, I'm not mad, ma cocotte."
"Good, because I'd do it again. No regrets." She pressed a quick kiss in the center of his chest, right above his heart, then gazed up at him. Her amber eyes glowed with love, holding nothing back. "How about you? Any regrets?"
He started to shake his head, to tell her no. Then he stopped, a tiny hint of sadness slicing through the happiness. "Maybe just one. That I let you walk away all those years ago. That I waited eight years to find you again and even then, I almost pushed you away."
Lori pushed to her knees, her arms braced against his chest a
s she leaned in for a kiss. Soft, sweet, filled with promise. "I think that maybe we were supposed to wait. I think that maybe things would have been different if we hadn't."
"Do you?"
"Yeah, I do. But that doesn't mean I want to wait anymore. This is our time, Corbin. I love you. And I don't want to waste what we've been given a second chance at."
He cupped her face with his hands, careful of the bruise on her cheek. "Neither do I, ma cocotte. Neither do I."
Then he leaned down and caught her mouth with his, making the most of every second he had with the woman he loved.
Starting now.
Epilogue
Fifteen months later...
There were no crowds. No cheering fans. No cameras or live media feed. Not for this.
Nobody would know what Corbin had done, what several of his teammates had helped build.
Nobody except the women who would be able to get help from the shelter. Victims of assault who had nowhere else to go for help. Nowhere else to turn to for protection. For job training. For a place to go to recover and heal. To deal with the trauma—physical, emotional, and sexual.
Lori walked the halls beside Corbin, their hands entwined as the director gave them a tour. The building was new, unobtrusive, set back from curious onlookers on several wooded acres just north of Cockeysville. There was no name on the building, no sign at the entrance of the long drive.
The center currently had space for fifty residents, each given a small bedroom with a private bathroom. There was a larger dining area for community meals. A game room and library. Offices for therapy sessions, both private and group sessions. An exercise room. And spaces to go to reflect, to meditate...to escape if they needed.
Corbin squeezed her hand then turned to the director, a middle-aged woman with eyes that let the world know she had seen unimaginable things. "Will it be enough?"
That was the question he had asked from the beginning, the question he always asked: will it be enough? He was still plagued with guilt over what happened last year, still convinced that he was partially at fault, even though Dawn Lowry had finally admitted what she'd done.
His attorneys had been able to recover some of the settlement. Corbin had refused to accept it, instead coming up with the idea of building this center. He had recruited the help of several of his teammates—including Shane Masters, of all people.
Fifteen months later, the center was a reality. And all of it had been done anonymously.
The director offered Corbin a small smile, one that held traces of sadness. "It's never enough, Mr. Gauthier. But it's a start. And we have hope. With that, anything is possible."
Corbin nodded but didn't say anything. He had known the answer, even before asking. Had known the answer even before ground had been broken.
The center wasn't the only cause Corbin had gotten behind. They had been out one night with several of his teammates. Lori had been returning from the bathroom when some guy bumped into her. She had chalked it up to the place being crowded until the guy had placed his hand on her hip and pulled him against her, asking if she wanted to go for a ride.
She had turned, so stunned and humiliated she could only stare. Then Corbin had been there with his teammates, shielding her, protecting her, lecturing the guy with blunt warning until she was certain he'd pass out from fear. And the guy hadn't known what he'd done was wrong, had seriously thought he was simply being funny.
Several weeks later, an awareness program was started at the Hopewell League—a new program championed by the Banners, a program designed to educate and to empower.
Was it enough?
Lori glanced up at her husband, caught his gaze with hers, saw the same question in his eyes.
Was it enough?
It was too soon to tell. But as the director had said, it was a start.
She leaned up, brushed her mouth against Corbin's, felt a world of love in that brief contact.
Love...and hope. And with that, anything was possible.
# # #
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PLAYING THE GAME
The York Bombers Book 1
Harland Day knows what it's like to be on rock bottom: he was there once before, years ago when his mother walked out and left him behind. But he learned how to play the game and survived, crawling his way up with the help of a friend-turned-lover. This time is different: he has nobody to blame but himself for his trip to the bottom. His mouth, his attitude, his crappy play that landed him back in the minors instead of playing pro hockey with the Baltimore Banners. And this time, he doesn't have anyone to help him out, not when his own selfishness killed the most important relationship he ever had.
Courtney Williams' life isn't glamorous or full of fame and fortune but she doesn't need those things to be happy. She of all people knows there are more important things in life. And, for the most part, she's been able to forget what could have been—until Harland gets reassigned to the York Bombers and shows back up in town, full of attitude designed to hide the man underneath. But the arrogant hockey player can't hide from her, the one person who knows him better than anyone else. They had been friends. They had been lovers. And then they had been torn apart by misunderstanding and betrayal.
But some ties are hard to break. Can they look past what had been and move forward to what could be? Or will the sins of the past haunt them even now, all these years later?
Turn the page for a preview of PLAYING THE GAME, the launch title of a brand-new hockey series, now available.
The third drink was still in his hand, virtually untouched. He glanced down at it, briefly wondered if he should just put it down and walk away. It was still early, not even eleven yet. Maybe if he stuck it out for another hour; maybe if he finished this drink and let the whiskey loosen him up. Or maybe if he just paid attention to the girl draped along his side—
Maybe.
He swirled the glass in his hand and brought it to his mouth, taking a long sip of mostly melted ice. The girl next to him—what the fuck was her name?—pushed her body even closer, the swell of her barely-covered breast warm against the bare flesh of his arm.
"So you're a hockey player, right? One of Zach's teammates?"
Her breath held a hint of red wine, too sweet. Harland tried not to grimace, pushed the memories at bay as his stomach lurched. He tightened his grip on the glass—if he was too busy holding something, he couldn't put his arm around her or push her away—and glanced down. The girl looked like she was barely old enough to be in this place. A sliver of fright shot through him. They did card here, right? He wasn't about to be busted picking up someone underage, was he?
She had a killer body, slim and lean with just enough muscle tone in her arms and legs to reassure him that she didn't starve herself and probably worked out. Long tanned legs that went on for miles and dainty feet shoved into shoes that had to have heels at least five inches tall. He grimaced and briefly wondered how the hell she was even standing in them.
Of course, she was leaning against him, her full breasts pushing against his arm and chest. Maybe that was because she couldn't stand in those ridiculous heels. Heels like that weren't meant for walking—they were fuck-me heels, meant for the bedroom.
He looked closer, at her platinum-streaked hair carefully crafted in a fuck-me style and held in place by what had to be a full can of hairspray—or whatever the fuck wom
en used nowadays. Thick mascara coated her lashes, or maybe they weren't even her real lashes, now that he was actually looking. No, he doubted they were real. That was a shame because from what he could see, she had pretty eyes, kind of a smoky gray set off by the shimmery eyeshadow coloring her lids. Hell, maybe those eyes weren't even real, maybe they were just colored contacts.
Fuck. Wasn't anything real anymore? Wasn't anyone who they really claimed to be? And why the fuck was he even worried about it when all he had to do was nod and smile and take her by the hand and lead her out? Something told him he wouldn't even have to bother with taking her home—or in his case, to a motel. No, he was pretty sure all he had to do was show her the backseat of his Expedition and that would be it.
Her full lips turned down into a pout and Harland realized she was waiting for him to answer. Yeah, she had asked him a question. What the hell had she asked?
Oh, yeah—
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I play hockey." He took another sip of the watery drink and glanced around the crowded club. Several of his teammates were scattered around the bar, their faces alternately lit and shadowed by the colored lights pulsing in time to the music.
Jason pulled his tongue from some girl's throat long enough to motion to the mousy barmaid for a fresh drink. His gaze caught Harland's and a wide grin split his face when he nodded.
Harland got the message loud and clear. How could he miss it, when the nod was toward the girl hanging all over him? Jason was congratulating him on hooking up, encouraging him to take the next step.
Harland took another sip and looked away. Tension ran through him, as solid and real as the hand running along his chest. He looked down again, watched as slender fingers worked their way into his shirt. Nails scraped across the bare flesh of his chest, teasing him.
Annoying him.
Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance Page 19
