Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Blurb
Chapter 1—Iced
Chapter 2—Skating Chances
Chapter 3—Thin Ice
Chapter 4—Slammed against the Boards
Chapter 5—Playoffs
Chapter 6—Using All the Edges
Chapter 7—Empty Net
Chapter 8—Puck Drop
Chapter 9—Major Penalty
Chapter 10—Shredding the Offense
Chapter 11—Doing Normal
Chapter 12—Body Check
Chapter 13—On the Line
Chapter 14—Playing the Odds
Chapter 15—Chirping
Chapter 16—Dump and Chase
Chapter 17—Missed Shot
Chapter 18—All the Edges
Chapter 19—Iced
Chapter 20—Game On
Chapter 21—Double-Toe Loop
Chapter 22—Drop Pass
Chapter 23—Final Seconds
Chapter 24—Hashmarks
Chapter 25—Wholesale Change
Chapter 26—Third Period
Chapter 27—Final Seconds
Epilogue
Second Epilogue—Team Impressions
Complete Booklist
About the Author
Shot on Goal
Seattle Sockeyes Hockey
GAME ON IN SEATTLE #11
By Jami Davenport
Copyright © 2018 by Cedrona Enterprises
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Jami Davenport. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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The Seattle Sockeyes™, Seattle Steelheads™, and Seattle Skookums™ are fictional sports teams. Game On in Seattle™ is a series of sports romance novels The names and logos are created for the sole use of the owner and covered under protection of trademark.
This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-age readers.
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Dedication
Special thanks to my fabulous editor, Tera, and to Kat and Jackie Z. for helping me out!!! Love you guys!
Blurb
When you're at the top, there's nowhere to go but down.
Two talented skaters. Two bright futures. Two shining stars. One ruined by a career-ending scandal and another by a father's ruthless ambition.
Marina Sanders was the darling of the winter games, winning a bronze in figure skating one week after losing both parents in a car accident. Four years later, she was the most hated woman in America.
Drew Delacorte was the future of the Sockeyes hockey team, crowned the best young player in the league and heir-apparent to the hockey throne once occupied by his father. Only Drew doesn't want that throne. Despite being in the prime of his career, he's considering hanging up his skates.
Together they're fire and ice, and when things get that hot, they melt. Can these two broken souls find comfort and courage in each other's arms or will they find only pain and regret?
Chapter 1—Iced
Drew Delacorte was having a mid-life crisis—at age twenty-six.
Running away from home wasn’t an option, and denial wasn’t working for him, either. Instead, he opted for a Friday night alone with only his sorry self for company.
Lacing his skates, he ignored the constant beeping of his phone. He’d see nothing but a line of text messages, each one alternating between angry and pathetic. Having reached the limits of his tolerance, he grabbed the phone and turned it off, knowing he wouldn’t be able to escape his tormentor for long but grateful for a respite. He briefly considered throwing the fucking thing in the trash or, better yet, off the Space Needle’s observation lounge.
With a sigh, he walked through the short tunnel from the locker room of the Sockeyes Hockey Athletic Center, fondly known as the SHAC, to the practice rink.
How odd that tonight he’d chosen to do the one thing he’d come to hate.
Hockey.
Fucking ice hockey.
Had he ever liked hockey? Or had he played because his family expected it? Make that required it? In his family, skating had been mandatory. He’d been on skates before he could walk.
Drew’s head pounded as he contemplated the sad truth of his predicament. He’d been an imposter all these years. Riding on his raw talent to get him through because his drive and ambition couldn’t and wouldn’t. He was a man locked in a career he wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted.
Perhaps he’d come here tonight in a desperate act to get his mojo back. To skate for the joy of skating and nothing else. No expectations. No screaming crowd. No disapproving ghosts from his past. No judgmental father. His last reason was a deal breaker, and perhaps the root of his problems, but he didn’t want to dig that deep.
He was a fucking professional hockey player, paid big bucks to smack a puck around and get slammed against the boards. He was the son of one the biggest hockey legends ever, a man who still held scoring records and expected his son to be as perfect as he remembered himself to be.
Drew was at a crossroads, no longer able to fake love for a sport he resented at best, despised at the worst. He hadn’t picked this career. He’d taken the easy way out and let everyone else in his life make decisions for him.
Now things weren’t so easy, not that they’d been easy since Dave died, and his life spiraled from bad to worse.
Here he was, one of the go-to scorers on a team that’d just secured a playoff spot and was shooting for the Cup. He should be living the dream. Partying like a rock star. Enjoying the good times. His fucking life should be a beer commercial with women hanging on him and everything being fun times and laughter.
Shit. When was the last time he’d had fun or laughed with meaning?
He had to stop this pity party and get his head on straight. His team depended on him. They had nothing to do with his current emotional state. Just three more months of playing balls-out then he’d reevaluate. Figure out his next steps. All that crap. Today was not the day for introspection and changes of direction.
Drew pushed past the doorway onto the ice. Only the middle bank of lights was on, and he liked it that way. He frowned as he spotted a lone figure at the far end of ice bent down and tightening laces. Not black hockey skates but white figure skates.
Well, double damn.
He had company. In a deserted r
ink at eleven o’clock on a Friday night. This unknown female obviously had as much of a life as he did.
No one was supposed to be in here. This was the team’s night off, and he’d cleared this with the rink manager to make sure he’d be alone. She hadn’t gotten the memo. Of all nights.
Drew stepped onto the ice, prickly as a grizzly and ready to do battle. This was his private time. Not hers, and he didn’t appreciate the company. Annoyed as hell, he skated rigidly toward her. At the sound of the swish-swish of his blades across the ice, she glanced up, stiffened, and squared her shoulders.
Holy fucking hell, she was beautiful. He’d thought himself immune to gorgeous women, but not this one. Her trim little body was encased in a form-fitting navy-blue sports suit, probably one designed for figure skating, if he had to guess. Her almost-black hair was in a ponytail and fell down her back in mouth-watering waves. And her face. Her skin was flawless and ivory white, like those porcelain dolls his grandmother collected but without the creepy aspect. She had an incredible face, sheer perfection. He was instantly smitten, which annoyed the hell out of him. He’d been burned big-time by beautiful women before. He wasn’t interested in repeating painful history.
Yet, she looked familiar. He’d seen her before. Somewhere.
Drew’s gaze met hers and recognition punched him in the gut. He knew her. Not personally, though he’d met her once or twice, but her reputation preceded her. She was an American darling turned villainess. A fallen heroine. A tarnished star. And someone he did not need in his life even for a fraction of a second.
What the fuck was she doing here?
She blinked her long lashes several times over deep brown eyes. Her expression went from surprised to guarded to resigned. In that precise moment she must have recognized him, her shoulders slumped, and she wrapped her arms protectively around herself.
“What are you doing here? This is a private practice facility for team members only.”
“My great-aunt said it would be OK if I skated late at night.”
“Your great-aunt?” His voice dripped with skepticism and disbelief.
“Yes. Mina.”
Drew froze. Mina? Well, damn. The team owner’s geriatric assistant could make the baddest ass of a Sergeant Major pee his pants with one withering glare over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses. No one on the team messed with her. Hell, Ethan, the owner, never messed with her, and Drew wasn’t dumb enough to take her on, either. He’d rather be berated and criticized by his father for an hour than spend one minute under Mina’s scrutiny.
“This is my time. Could you skate at a different time?” he said, already guessing the answer in the stubborn set of her jaw.
“I’ve been skating here all week, and I’ve never seen you here, so seems like it’s my time.”
He glared at her. “I was told I’d have the ice to myself.”
“Well, you were told wrong. There’s a lot of ice here. Probably enough to share.”
He wasn’t so sure of that. There’d be no getting his mojo back with a distraction like her. If his father or mother saw him with—
He shuddered at the thought. He could leave, but then he’d appear cowardly. He’d have to man-up and pretend she didn’t exist.
“Fine.” He sounded grouchy and pissy and almost like a spoiled little boy, but he didn’t give a shit. Tonight had been important to him. He’d needed this alone time to clear his head and reach for all he’d lost. Fat chance that was happening now.
“I’m Marina,” she said, watching him closely, her expression inscrutable.
“I know. I’m Drew.”
“I know.” She nodded and met his gaze. Her jaw jutted out defiantly.
Now that they’d established each other’s identities, he gave her a curt nod and skated off with powerful ice-covering strokes. Her eyes bored into his back. Their imagined heat made him twitchy.
Damn it.
He skated to the end of the rink and did slow, lazy circles to warm up, attempting to concentrate on the sound of his blades on the ice. Only his blades weren’t the only ones making sound. He could hear hers, and against his better judgment, he glanced in her direction. She, too, was doing slow, lazy circles. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she was staring straight ahead. Her petite body was the picture of effortless grace, and she glided across the ice as if it were a part of her.
He couldn’t drag his attention away as she picked up speed with every circle. She was poetry in motion, pure elegance and feminine power. She was also trouble, big trouble, and he didn’t need any more problems than he already had.
With a mighty sigh, he turned back to his own skating.
* * * *
Marina Sanders wasn’t happy about her current situation, but she was no stranger to unhappiness, so she’d power through it. He was here, and nothing was to be done about it until she spoke to Aunt Mina on Monday.
Of course, she knew who he was, and judging by the disgust on his face, he knew who she was, too.
Wonderful.
Four years hiding out in Europe, and he had to be one of the first people she ran into.
He was hockey royalty. His father was one of the best players of his time, a Hall of Famer only outshined by Wayne Gretzky and Sidney Crosby. She’d never seen Drew play but heard he had crazy good talent and might even be better than his dear old dad. He had an older brother who’d died. She couldn’t recall the details. It’d been some years ago, but she remembered it, as the incident happened around the time her parents had died.
Even worse, his mother had not only coached Marina’s former US teammate and rival, Stacy Wright, but she’d coached Marina to an Olympic Bronze at eighteen. When Marina had been wooed away by a Russian gold-medalist-turned-coach shortly after, they hadn’t parted on good terms. Cassandra Delacorte had warned Marina she was making a huge mistake by leaving, and in hindsight she’d been correct. Marina was indirectly responsible for Stacy’s loss of a medal in the next Olympics. From what Marina had noticed over the past four years, Cassandra hadn’t had a world-class skater since. Add to that, Stacy had been Drew’s girlfriend.
It was a freakishly small world.
And now she’d run into Drew. She’d only met him in passing a few times before. Cassandra had always kept her personal and professional lives separate. Regardless, he played for the Sockeyes, and Marina had fretted about crossing paths.
Refocusing, she skated faster. She wasn’t here to think about a hockey player, no matter how hot he was—and he was hot. Despite her convictions, her gaze drifted to the other end of the ice. Drew was skating hockey drills. Sprinting, stopping, turning, sprinting again. His powerful thighs and muscled calves flexed and strained from the exertion, drawing her attention, and she licked her lips. Her gaze slid up his body clad in a simple black sweater and worn jeans, to his lean but muscled chest and broad shoulders. He wasn’t what she’d call classically handsome. His nose had been broken too many times. His forehead too high. His eyes too deep set. But he was attractive, and he’d made it clear he held her in as much contempt as the rest of the country still did.
Marina sighed and skated harder. She flew across the ice and invaded Drew’s space. He didn’t own this facility, after all. And because she could do it, she built up speed until she leaped in the air and spun, executing a damn good triple. Her landing was solid, and she grinned. She still had it at twenty-six, even though she hadn’t competed professionally in four years.
She heard slow clapping and spun. Much to her surprise, Drew stood at center ice, clapping his hands. Against her better judgment, she skated up to him.
“Not bad,” he said. She didn’t miss his quick glance down and back up her body.
Shrugging, Marina skated to the boards and around the arena. Drew caught up with her, matching her stride-for-stride easily. She shot him a sideways glance. He shrugged, but she glimpsed a profound sadness in his hazel eyes, and a part of her wanted to reach out to him and make things better.
&nb
sp; And why did she want to do this?
“Despite it all, you still love this, don’t you?” he said, concentrating on the smooth surface in front of him.
She blinked. What kind of a weird question was that? “Of course, I love ice skating. Don’t you?”
He glanced her way, and a mask fell across his face making his expression unreadable. “Of course.” His voice was flat and dull.
She had the distinct impression he was lying to her, even mocking her, but she wasn’t sure why. A guy at his level loved skating, didn’t he? How would he ever survive those hard hits and off nights if he didn’t have a passion for the sport?
She’d been devastated when she’d no longer been welcome in skating circles. Every door had closed in her face, and she’d been forced to take the first job offered to her—in Great Britain—training young skaters. She’d loved the job, but after four years, it’d been time to stop running from the past and come home.
“When did you start skating?” he said.
“I don’t remember. I’ve always skated. My mother was an amateur figure skater.”
“So it was expected.”
“Not really. I could’ve said no at any time, but I loved it from the second I laced my first pair of skates. Or, my mom laced them.”
He stared straight ahead, deep in thought. She should skate away, go back to practicing, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She’d always been a sucker for wounded animals, and this guy was wounded, even though he should’ve had the world by the tail. A thin thread of unexplored chemistry tugged her closer.
“Are you mounting a comeback?”
She cringed at the slight sarcasm seeping into his voice and gave it back to him. “I think I have a shot at the next Olympics. What do you think?”
He jerked back as if she’d hit him. He’d gotten her message loud and clear. He knew as well as she did her professional skating career had tanked four years ago when she’d been an arrogant, entitled twenty-two-year-old and destroyed her career in a few short hours.
Shot on Goal Page 1
